I, Eliza Hamilton

by Susan Holloway Scott

  To Colonel Burr’s credit, he did not keep me waiting.

  “Mrs. Hamilton, good day,” the colonel said, rising from his desk as soon as I was ushered into his office. As was his custom, he was dressed in gray so dark as to be black, in keeping with his dark brows and eyes. Some people said he did this purposefully to distance himself from my husband, who did like to wear strong colors to favor his fair complexion.

  “Good day to you, Colonel,” I said, holding out my hand to him. “How does your wife?”

  His smile of greeting turned solemn. “She is not as well as either of us could hope,” he said. “I pray that the warmer months will prove kinder to her. I will convey your regards to her.”

  “Please do,” I said, taking the chair beside his desk. “And how does Miss Burr?”

  “Ah, my sweet Theodosia,” he said, his smile warm with paternal pride. It was no secret that his daughter was the joy of his life, all the more so after his poor wife had struggled to bear him any further children who’d survived.

  “My daughter does very well, thank you,” he continued, sitting across from me. “She thrives. She blossoms. I trust that in time she and Miss Hamilton shall become the most genial and devoted of acquaintances.”

  “I pray that in time they shall,” I agreed. Mrs. Burr and I had in fact already introduced our daughters to each other, although Theodosia, being nearly two years of age, had shown little interest in Angelica at six months, as was expected. “At present I don’t believe that Miss Burr has much regard for my daughter’s conversation.”

  The colonel laughed softly, the way he always laughed, as if he were slightly embarrassed to be caught doing something so frivolous. It was another way in which he differed from my husband: the colonel was reticent to the point of being guarded, while Alexander could be ebullient almost to a fault.

  “I regret that patience is not one of Theodosia’s virtues at this time,” he said. “In that I fear that she takes after me.”

  “Then while Miss Burr may be forgiven on account of her age,” I said, “I will not try your patience any further. My husband received your message concerning the sale of our house. While he is unavoidably detained by a case in Chester, he has asked me to act in his stead, and offer for the property.”

  He turned his head slightly, though I couldn’t tell if he were amused, or appraising me. “He must trust you, Mrs. Hamilton.”

  “He does, Colonel Burr,” I said as evenly as I could. “We understand the house is offered for sale at £2100.”

  He nodded, and I continued.

  “Then we agree to the purchase at that price,” I said. “However, my husband would prefer to pay half the sum as soon as can be arranged, with the other half to follow within a year.”

  Colonel Burr frowned, and tented his fingertips together while he considered. “I do not believe my client can agree to those terms.”

  I raised my chin, praying I didn’t betray my anxiety.

  “Very well, then,” I said. “Would the owner consider receiving the full amount at the end of ninety days?”

  Colonel Burr sighed with a show of regret. “I fear I’m not permitted by the owner to accept anything less than the full amount immediately.”

  I nodded, a quick little jerk of my chin. I couldn’t disappoint Alexander, not when our home was at stake, and I prayed I was hiding my anxiety.

  “Is there another arrangement that would make our offer acceptable, Colonel Burr?” I knew we couldn’t offer more money, because we likely didn’t have it. Alexander wouldn’t have told me to stagger the payments otherwise. But he hadn’t told me what to do next, or what else to offer, or not. Whatever else was said now would be my own words.

  The colonel nodded, as if deep in thought, though I suspected he already knew what he’d say.

  “There is a possibility, Mrs. Hamilton, yes,” he said delicately. “I believe the owner would accept the additional ninety days if General Schuyler would agree to act as a surety for the debt.”

  Sharply I drew in my breath, and stared down at my lap, not wanting him to see my uncertainty. I’d no doubt that my father would agree, for he’d offered this and more many times before. I also knew that he wouldn’t be called to make good the debt, because Alexander would never allow it to happen. The surety would only be for ninety days, only three months, and the house—our home—would in fact belong to us for good, and Alexander would at last be the property owner he’d so longed to be.

  The decision was hardly as simple as it seemed, however. Alexander’s pride had always kept him from borrowing from my father. He’d be bound to balk at it doubly now because his rival Colonel Burr would know he’d been unable to provide for his family without assistance.

  But I didn’t want to disappoint Alexander, and I didn’t want Colonel Burr to believe he’d somehow won, and most of all, I didn’t want to lose our home.

  “I am sorry to have caused you such obvious confusion, Mrs. Hamilton,” the colonel said, his voice rich as velvet. “I’ll understand if this is too difficult a decision for you to make without your husband to—”

  “But I have decided, Colonel Burr,” I said, resolved. “We will agree to the purchase at ninety days, with my father as surety.”

  Although my heart raced as I accepted the agreement, I managed to smile serenely for the sake of the colonel, as if there’d never been a doubt. But as soon as I returned home, I immediately wrote to both Alexander and to my father, explaining what I’d done, and then prayed feverishly that I’d made the right choice.

  Alexander returned home within two days, sooner than he’d expected, and because he’d been traveling, my letter with my carefully worded explanation had missed him. I had no choice but to explain again in person, standing with him in his library before he’d even shed his coat or boots, and with the door shut against any interruptions from the servants or the children.

  He listened to each word, his expression not changing as I spoke. Finally, he nodded, but still said nothing.

  “I’m sure Colonel Burr didn’t believe we could reach an agreement,” I said finally. “He seemed almost disappointed that we did.”

  “That’s usual for him,” Alexander said, and sighed. “Are you happy with this purchase, Betsey?”

  “I am,” I said quickly, my words rushing out in an anxious torrent. “I know the sale wasn’t done the way you would have wished, but it shall always be ours now, and no one will be able to make us move from it against our will. You earned it for me and the children, and I’m proud of you that you did. My father’s surety is incidental. It’s our house now, yes, but it’s also our home. Ours together, Alexander. So yes, I am happy.”

  He nodded, and at last, he smiled. “My dear, wise angel,” he said. “Then I am happy, too.”

  * * *

  Finally, in July of 1785, my sister and her family returned to New York. To my sorrow, and to Alexander’s as well, Mr. Church insisted that the visit be unbearably brief; I believe they spent longer aboard the ships that brought them and then carried them away than they did on our shores. We had them in New York with us for a handful of days, and then Angelica and I and our children traveled to Albany to visit our parents. Returning to New York, Alexander would then accompany the Churches to Philadelphia to settle more of Mr. Church’s business, and finally they would sail from that port no later than early August. It was a harried, hectic pace, not one I’d wish for myself, nor did it please my sister, though she remained too politic to say so aloud in her husband’s hearing.

  Although Alexander and I had invited the Churches to stay with us in New York, Mr. Church had preferred lodgings. In truth, they were probably too many for our house to accommodate—Angelica and Mr. Church, their four children, a governess, and five servants—and I knew how Mr. Church did like his privacy.

  At least he agreed to let me give a supper in their honor. We invited their friends from New York and from the war, and a few more of our own as well, to make a large and merry company. Su
ch a sizable gathering taxed my little household, but I borrowed a few other servants and a few more chairs, contrived appropriately fancy dishes for the table, and spent indulgently on the wines.

  As was always the case with Angelica, I felt as if a brilliant, fiery star had once again come streaking into my world. After two years in Paris with Parisian mantua-makers and milliners at her disposal and an indulgent, wealthy husband to pay her bills, she’d become even more beautiful, more fashionable, more elegant.

  She swept into our house dressed in a gown of rustling purple silk taffeta, edged with pale green pleated trim, and her extravagantly full skirts flicked around her as she walked. Her hair was frizzled into a huge puff around her face with long beribboned curls down the back, and dusted with the palest of lavender powder. In her ears, she wore enormous gold hoops with pearl drops, and around her throat was a necklace of more pearls mingled with garnets.

  She had the seat of honor beside Alexander, with Mr. Church sitting beside me. Angelica swiftly put my husband (and every other gentleman) under her spell, regaling us all with titillating gossip of the French court as the pearl earrings bobbed against her cheeks. She’d also become good friends with the prominent Americans in Paris, including Benjamin Franklin, the first American envoy, as well as the second, Thomas Jefferson, and had amusing tales of them, too. Of course Alexander relished every word, encouraging her by speaking French and applauding her wit.

  If Angelica had been born to other parents, I believe she could have earned her living on the stage, because she possessed a rare ability to make everyone in the room watch her, and be entertained by her wit, extravagance, and beauty. As had so often been the case in our lives, I could only sit in near-silent awe of her, and marvel that I’d such a glorious lady for a sister.

  It wasn’t until she and I and our children were once again at The Pastures that I’d opportunity to converse with her more intimately. With the children left in the house with servants, we went walking together in the gardens early one morning, when the day was still cool and the dew glittered on the grass and dampened the hems of our linen petticoats. Here Angelica was simply my sister, without the constant desire to be the cynosure of society.

  “I’m with child again,” she said when we were far enough from the house to be outside of anyone’s hearing. She said it as an unremarkable announcement, a matter of fact, with neither joy nor sadness in it. “That’s part of the reason John wishes to return to England so soon, that the child be born there.”

  “Is he pleased?” I asked tentatively. Alexander had greeted both my pregnancies with great pleasure, but Mr. Church was much more reserved by nature, and besides, Angelica had already given him two boys and two girls.

  “He will be if it’s another boy,” she said, looking straight ahead. “He prefers the boys. He sees them as having more use in life, and more purpose.”

  I thought at once of my own little Angelica, and how Alexander adored her like a miniature goddess. How sad that Mr. Church didn’t feel the same devotion for his daughters!

  “Perhaps you can return here next summer, and stay longer,” I said. “Consider how much our children would enjoy it.”

  But she only shook her head, twisting a loose strand of hair back beneath the brim of her straw hat.

  “I’ve not told this yet to Mamma or Papa,” she said, “and I’m not sure I will, for it will only hurt them. I don’t know when, if ever, we shall return here. John desires us to live entirely in England. He has already purchased a home for us in Mayfair, in London, and is seeking a second house in the country so that he might stand as a member to Parliament.”

  “Oh, Angelica,” I said softly, trying to think only of her, and not of how I was in essence losing my older sister. “Perhaps in time he will relent.”

  “Once John determines his mind, he never alters from it,” she said. “But I shall adapt. I did in Paris, and I’ll do so again in London. You’d be thoroughly amused, Eliza, to see the ease with which your New York–bred sister can conquer society abroad.”

  But she didn’t sound amused herself. “All those parties,” I said, “and the clever gentlemen who follow you about—you made it sound so diverting.”

  “What else would you have me say, Eliza?” she said with an unhappy shrug. “When I first met John, this was the life I told him I wanted. He hasn’t forgotten, and he’s given me everything I wished. But now—now I would trade it all for my summers back here in Albany.”

  “I’d like that, too,” I said wistfully, but she only shrugged again, this time as if to shrug aside my sympathy.

  “But you, Eliza—how you bask in the warmth of your husband’s love,” she said, deliberately moving the conversation from her life to mine. “I vow your Hamilton grows more sleek and handsome by the year. Life in New York must agree with you both admirably.”

  “It does,” I said, and with a certain pride, too. “Alexander is content with the challenges of his profession, and he’s devoted to our children. Once you warned me of his ambitions, but after the frustrations of Congress, he seems to be cured of public life except for observation at a distance.”

  “That’s a credit to you, Eliza,” she said. “To see you together, there’s no doubt that he loves you even more today than when you were wed.”

  I blushed with pleasure at this truth. Children and marriage had ripened our love, and I considered myself the most blessed of wives to have Alexander as my husband.

  “Yes, Hamilton loves you well,” she continued, “and after witnessing his regard for you myself, I hesitate to speak further. But for your own good, you should know what is being whispered.”

  My blush deepened, but not with pleasure. “There is nothing to whisper, Angelica. Alexander possesses much charm, and unlike many other gentlemen, he is perfectly at ease in the company of ladies. I would much rather have a husband who retains the air of a young gallant, than one who has become a dour curmudgeon before his time.”

  Yes, I meant Mr. Church, which was most unkind of me to say, but Angelica took no notice.

  “Perhaps I have been too long in Paris,” she began, “where even shopkeepers keep mistresses, and a faithful husband is the rarest of all creatures. When Hamilton is spoken of—as he often is—it is largely to praise his intelligence and his wisdom. Yet there is also quieter talk of how he is perhaps too fond of the company of ladies, his manner a shade too flirtatious, even lickerish, for a gentleman of his stature and accomplishment.”

  I stopped, too shocked to walk farther. “My husband has many enemies, Angelica,” I said, my voice shaking, “and there are those who will say and write any kind of slander to harm him. But that my own sister would dare repeat these calumnies to me—”

  She turned to face me, her expression solemn. “It’s better that you hear it from me than from another, isn’t it?”

  “Not when it’s lies!”

  “Even the worst lies often have a breath of truth to them,” she said. “What you dismiss as gallantry might be perceived as more by others. I consider him as another brother, and yet think of how openly he flirts even with me.”

  I didn’t want to consider it, any more than I wanted this to be one of my final conversations with my sister before she sailed.

  “Alexander means nothing by it, Angelica, I am sure,” I insisted. “How could he, sitting at the same table as Mr. Church and me?”

  “My dearest Eliza,” she said gently. “I don’t wish the rumors to be so. I love both you and Hamilton too well for that. Tell me the tales aren’t true, that you’ve never had reason to doubt him, and I’ll believe you.”

  “None of it is true, Angelica,” I said vehemently. “Alexander is my husband before God, and the father of my children. I love him and I trust him and I honor him, and I will not hear anyone, not even you, say otherwise.”

  “Then you won’t hear further upon the subject from me,” she said, looking down and away from me. “Forgive me, Eliza, if what I’ve said has hurt you, for that was
never my wish. But be aware, as every wife should be. Hamilton is a charming, handsome gentleman, and the more successful he becomes, the more other women will take notice. Be aware, my dear. Just . . . be aware.”

  CHAPTER 15

  New York City, New York

  February 1786

  I sat closely beside Alexander in the gig as he drove, a blanket over our laps and my hands deep inside my muff. As was usual along the city streets, our progress was slow on account of the wagons, horses, cattle, and people that all crowded along the thoroughfares at a much slower pace than Alexander wished. We likely would have traveled just as fast if we’d walked, but Alexander wouldn’t hear of it, insisting that I should be coddled. I was six months pregnant with another child, and although this would be our third, my husband still treated me with the same care, tenderness, and a bit of wondering awe that he’d shown me before Philip was born.

  I glanced at him now as he concentrated on driving. I’d always loved his face in profile, the strong, sharp lines of his nose and chin balanced by the seductively sweet curve of his mouth. He was twenty-nine now, and although he lamented that his youth was done, to me he’d only grown more handsome with time. I wasn’t alone in this conviction, either. Even now, I saw how other women we passed on the street would pause to gaze upon my husband in admiration, and I was thoroughly proud to call him mine.

  This wasn’t new, of course. He’d always been the kind of handsome gentleman who drew female eyes to him. But as much as I was loath to admit it, I was more conscious of this kind of admiration after Angelica had remarked upon it last summer. She’d cautioned me to be more aware and I had, though by doing so I’d felt low and mean, as if I were distrusting Alexander, or worse, countering my marriage vows.