by Diana Rubino
“Now you are the visionary.” He chuckled. “Maybe your great-great-grandson can do something about that. Look, Maria, we're rushing way ahead of ourselves here. Let me further explore the waterfall idea. I can arrange a visit there within the week and inform you of what I find.”
I felt a bit hurt he hadn't invited me along. After all, it had been my idea. “May I accompany you?” I asked brashly.
He nodded, obviously not having given it the slightest thought. “If you wish.”
“What will you tell Mrs. Hamilton?” I dreaded the answer. I didn't want to hear that she'd be accompanying us.
“That I'm traveling on business. She never questions my travels, before or after.”
I turned my head so he wouldn't hear my relieved sigh.
He continued, “She wouldn't be the least bit interested in this anyway. She's against manufacturing. She likes Jefferson's idea of agriculture, being close to nature, tilling the soil.”
“But that won't grow our nation and create rapid prosperity and make us competitive,” I maintained. “I care not to challenge Mrs. Hamilton, but I feel the complete opposite.”
He pointed his finger at me, like a pistol. “Bang. You hit the nail on the head. Birthing and raising six children won't create our nation's prosperity, either, but that is what she wanted.”
I dared not voice any further opinion on this. I shared no common traits with Mrs. Hamilton. If I did, her husband wouldn't be here sharing his visions of the nation's growth, asking me for my contributions, and sharing my bed.
I wanted to strut the room in smug superiority. But I didn't dare show it. I simply reveled in it…silently.
“Let me know when we can journey to the river, and I shall pack a lovely lunch. We can make a day of it.” The words rushed out of me in my haste to be a part of this.
“It will be more than a day, Maria.” He sat back. “Tis at least a hundred miles from here. Two days to get there, at least half a day to survey the area, two days back.” He focused on me, desire in his eyes, whether for me or for his grand plan, I couldn't tell. “Will you be able to travel this length of time?”
My body responded before my brain. A week alone with him, all to myself! “Yes, of course. Maggie, our servant, is here to run the household.”
“I mean what will you tell James?” He leant forward. “We must keep this under wraps, of course. Perhaps even travel separately, or in disguise.”
In my excitement, I hadn't thought of James. But I'd disguise myself as a gargoyle for time alone with Alex. “No need to worry. I shall tell him the truth.” While on the subject of James, I thought of something else. “Alex, how long have you been playing bid whist?”
He looked away and fidgeted with his cuffs. “I don't play often. Sometimes a friend drops by and invites me to a game of cards for a diversion because they all know I work too hard. But I…” He gave a one-shoulder shrug, “…I win my share of games.”
“James told me of your late-night losing streak. He gloated over his winnings, from your pocket.”
He tried to suppress a smile. “Yes, James is a skillful player. He had me there. At any rate, did you finish the book yet?”
“Why are you avoiding the subject?” Ah, of course! “Alex, did you let him win the other night?”
He tried to show surprise in his eyes, but truth be told, he was a terrible actor. “Now what gave you that idea?”
“Because he cannot even beat me at whist,” I informed him. “He's terrible at cards.”
We sat in silence for a heartbeat, and then he nodded. “Very well, I wanted to help him out.”
“But, Alex, he's a swindler by nature. If you give him that government appointment, he'll ballocks it all up. I know the position would greatly elevate our status, but don't put your reputation on the line by helping him this way. Next thing you know, he'll be selling your secrets to the British.”
His brows shot up. “He's been known to spy?”
“No, but he'd sell our fourteen states to France and ship them there if he got a good enough offer. He still rambles on about how much he admired Benedict Arnold. He said, and pardon my Anglo-Saxon, General Arnold had 'the codlings of an ox,' an old Scottish expression.”
The amusement on his curved lips told me he'd heard that expression before. “The colonies were crawling with would-be spies. They believed it glamorous and exciting. All the more so because Arnold, when he got word that his treachery had been exposed, absconded into the British army's open arms. James obviously knows naught about Arnold's British contact, Major André, who was tried and convicted as a spy.”
Alex breathed a sad, thoughtful sigh. “Myself and several other sympathetic aides begged Washington to let him die by firing squad, as befits a soldier, but he would not hear of it. The poor lad met his demise at the end of a rope. Washington carried out the sentence with tears in his eyes. Tis the only time I'd seen the great man cry.” He paused, a pained look darkening his eyes. “Fret not. James won't be privy to any clandestine operations. He'll be at such a low level, he won't be near anyone important. Not that I'm important…” He cast his gaze away.
He and the whole world knew how important he was, but I thought it sweet and endearing how he always tried to humble himself. I no longer wanted to discuss James. I was doubly sure he cared not to discuss Mrs. Hamilton, so I changed the subject to music. “I wish Mr. Mozart would visit us.”
“Word has it that he's very ill, and not yet thirty-six years of age. He'll never make a voyage across the sea for us to witness his brilliant playing or conducting. But we'll always have his music,” Alex said.
“What a loss for the world—and his poor widow and children. I'll be sure to keep his memory alive by playing his music. Mayhap I can find a violin instructor to further advance my technique.” I glanced at my violin on the shelf. “I need to play it more often.”
“Will you play your violin for me?” he asked.
I loved to perform, but I was still rather nervous around him. Playing for my audience of one made my palms even moister. “I'll play a short ditty.” I fetched the instrument, tuned the strings to my trained ear, and performed a minuet. “This is one of the first pieces I learnt as a child.” I was too nervous to attempt anything more complicated. He tapped his foot and clapped at the end. At the finale, I heaved a relieved sigh.
“Keep playing,” he urged, and rose to stand behind me. I chose a medieval tune as his hands slid up my waist, stopping to cup my breasts. By now I was distracted enough to play a few wrong notes. I lifted the bow from the strings. “Please,” he breathed into my ear. “Keep going.” He slid his hands under my skirt and unbuttoned it. It slid to the floor. “Don't stop,” he whispered, panting more heavily now.
He removed my clothes as I continued drawing bow over strings. Now greatly distracted, I didn't even hear the music, it was a jumble of noise to me. He fondled me under my blouse and chemise. His growing arousal hardened against my flesh as he embraced me. He kissed my neck as he played his magic with his hands. Finally I could stand it no longer. I relinquished my grip on the bow and dropped it on the rug. He took the violin from my other hand as he guided me to the sofa. He shed his clothes, clasped my wrist and brought me down beside him. “Now let us make some real music. Who needs a string quartet in the background?” he purred. “Tonight our music will be sweeter than anything Mozart ever wrote.”
He leaned over and kissed me. Yes, he certainly had bathed. And he wore spicy cologne. The sensual scent aroused even my taste buds.
Our arms wound around each other in a tight, clinging embrace. I'd never wanted to hold anyone this close, to consume him with all my energy, to drink him in and quench my yearning thirst. He molded me to the contours of his body and made me his own.
Between feathery kisses over my neck and earlobes, he whispered words I recognized from our favorite Shakespeare play: Antony's words. Not letting his mounting passion interrupt one word, he said, “Come, my queen. Last night you did desire
it.”
I came up with a line of my own. “Last night I did desire it. But tonight I ache for it.”
He stroked me, fondled me, put me to music. Our bodies harmonized in an exquisite blend as we exploded into crashing chords. I shouted out as my passion came to a crescendo. “Alex! Oh, Alex!”
He transported me to some otherworld. Shouting his name felt so natural to me now, as he was truly mine.
Spent, he lay beside me, winding his fingers through my hair. Locked together with the ebb of our pulsating bodies, we lay side by side on the cushions, our breaths slowing, calming.
“Alex, what is it about us? Why did fate keep us apart until we'd wed others, only to sneak stolen moments? We share so many interests, beliefs, and I feel like I am out of my body when we…” I pulled the chenille cover from the sofa and draped it over our bodies.
He laughed. “Of course. What is closer to immortality?”
I had to agree with him. We were ever so compatible, as if destined to live here and now. “I know you belong to someone else, and in most ways, I still belong to James. But when we're together, no one else exists, just us and the sweet strains of Mozart in my head.” I kissed his lips. “And what is that intoxicating fragrance you're wearing?” I asked. “Because I want you to wear it every time we meet. It drives me wild.”
“Tricorn. President Washington's favorite.”
“I can picture Lady Washington breathing in this scent, going wild with desire for the General.” I couldn't help laughing.
When he left me that night, I felt fulfilled enough to give him as much time as he needed till our next meeting. I wouldn't bother him with letters. I'd keep busy reading “our” books, studying newspapers so we could talk about daily events, practice the violin and make him look forward to coming back to me. Of course this also meant leaving his home, wife and children behind. I had a very difficult job.
Chapter Thirteen
Eliza
Sabbath Day, September 18th, 11 of clock
While sleep eluded me, I went down to see if Alex would take a break from his endless workload and join me in brewing some tea. He was not there. Disappointed, I glanced at his private possessions—his reading specs, his favorite tankard, his waistcoat thrown over the chair back. His scent of Tricorn cologne lingered in the air. I longed for his company.
“Alex, where are you?” I asked his powerful presence. The clock ticked in the corner and chimed eleven times. I peered out the window into a black void. Raindrops splattered the windowpane, came in and wet the table. I shut the window.
I glanced at his desk, strewn with papers, pens and inkwells. I couldn't imagine the president's desk more cluttered. I did not want to know what he was working on, it was all so intricate and complicated to me—the Report on Manufactures, the banking system, interest rates. He could recite all this in his sleep. Most of our conversation of late was about our strongest bond, the children.
He had companions to share his ideas, discuss politics and policies, his Shakespeare plays, his Voltaire, his Greek myths. Alas, I had not the necessary level of interest in this subject matter. I wasn't even musical enough to go to an opera or a symphony. So he attended with others.
At the only opera I accompanied him to, The Magic Flute, I fell asleep before Act Two. He escorted me out uncomplaining. But its purpose eluded me, dancers prancing around in bird costumes. He'd explained it contained Masonic symbolism. Alex wasn't a Freemason, as were the president and most of his cronies, but he knew about their rituals and customs. These were just a few things we couldn't discuss because I belonged not in that realm. My realm was feeding, dressing, chiding and chasing after children. We did not have enough servants to keep up. I could not be the perfect mother and the perfect wife. Which meant, unfortunately, he had to settle for less than perfect.
Earlier in the day my maid had led an unexpected caller into the parlour.
“I of course have a personal interest in your well being and called purely on a whim,” Dr. Severus Black explained. “And how goes your health?”
“I'm hale and hearty,” I assured him as I gestured to the wing chair across from me. “Stay and take tea with me.”
This he did, and we engaged in pleasant conversation for some twenty or thirty minutes. He then stood to take his leave. “I have another pressing matter to attend to. I'll see myself out.”
Dr. Black was something of an enigma. Most physicians of my acquaintance had premises from which to conduct their practice, but Dr. Black appeared to specialize in calling upon his patients within their own homes. How he made a profit in such a way I could not fathom. Still, he was charming and personable, and his finances were of course not my concern, so I reined in my inquisitiveness and enjoyed his company. Those cobalt eyes enthralled me, sparkling as a sun-kissed ocean, yet lacking in the warmth that should come from within.
Before leaving the parlour, I bent over to pick up a sheet of paper that had fallen to the floor. I glanced at it before placing it on the table next to Alex's favorite chair. It bore a signature I'd seen before—Anon. The same penmanship as in the letter I'd received in Albany, the same stationery. The salutation read “Dear Mrs. Hamilton—” and as I continued, I wished I'd never seen it. It informed me that my husband was seen again entering Mrs. Reynolds's house and not leaving till late at night—more than once. Someone was spying on him to destroy his reputation, and possibly our marriage. But when I guessed at motive, politics came to mind. I ran down the list of his political rivals—Jefferson first, Adams second, Burr a distant third. But would they stoop to such a tawdry tactic?
I resented my husband opening my post and leaving it lying there. But I resolved to find out the truth by paying a visit to Mrs. Reynolds.
Chapter Fourteen
Maria
By the glow of a candle, I dressed in James's britches, his linen shirt belted at my waist and laced up the front, his woolen hat low over my forehead. At the stroke of midnight, I pranced down our porch steps and slid into the carriage next to Alex. Giddy with delight, I squealed like a naughty schoolgirl. Plopping my satchel down, I clasped my lover's hands, leant over and planted a hungry kiss on his lips. My entire body throbbed with excitement.
“Good eve, Mr. Reynolds,” he greeted me. “Restrain yourself, sir, I do not kiss men,” Alex joked as the carriage lurched into motion.
We laughed and I gave him a squeeze. “Have you ever made love in a moving carriage?” I walked my fingers up his thigh, but he steered my wandering hand away.
“No, I reckon it would be rather painful. We will share pleasure in pleasurable surroundings. I obtained the name of an inn in Paterson, but we must enter and exit separately. And I trust you did bring more changes of men's attire?” He gestured to the burlap sack at my feet.
The carriage picked up speed as the driver led it out of town. “James gave me these articles of clothing with his blessing.”
“Would that I had an understanding spouse.” He turned to look into the blackness of night.
“Not so much understanding as uncaring,” I corrected him. “Why should he disapprove of what we do at this point? I told James everything about this journey, and he even gave me a bottle of whisky to bring along. He applauded my idea of siting a mill on the waterfall. He also told me his brother would be interested in investing in a mill, when the time came. But to him, tis a bit too speculative. That made me laugh.” I snickered. “One quality about James—he does make me laugh. Intentionally or unintentionally.”
Alex faced me again and clasped my hand. “I am proud of you also.”
I returned his smile in the shadows. “Oh, how I wish this magical feeling would stay with me forever.” But of course we'd need return to the real world in a week or so.
At first too excited to sleep, we talked about Henry VIII and his wives until my eyelids grew heavy. I snuggled against his chest as the horse's steady gait lulled me into slumber.
When Alex woke me, weak daylight filled the carriage interio
r. I stretched my stiffened limbs and licked my lips, my mouth dry and stale. “Are we there?” I dug the whisky bottle out of the satchel and took a sip.
“Almost halfway.” He stretched and opened his door. “Tis nearly daybreak, but we're stopping at this inn for a few hours' rest.”
I peered out the window. “All I see is a ramshackle farmhouse. What inn?”
“This one, Mister Reynolds. Stay put.” He and his driver entered the weather-beaten clapboard house. Alex came back out. “Go to the room at the top of the stairs—alone,” he ordered.
I gathered my satchel and entered the old house, my face hidden beneath James's hat. I gave the sleepy innkeeper a nod and clomped up the stairs to the small frigid room. Too tired to think, I collapsed on the narrow cot and let an exhausted sleep overtake me.
After a few hours, we grabbed some bread and butter with cups of lukewarm coffee and departed. The low hanging clouds cast a gray pall over the day. A bone-shivering chill seeped into the carriage. My teeth chattered. What I'd hoped would be a romantic interlude became an exhausting push to reach Paterson as soon as possible. Too tired to discuss any complex topics, we bantered about Italian food.
“Ah, for a whiff of a succulent red tomato sauce garnished with sweet basil and doused with garlic.” He pressed his fingertips together and kissed them in the Italian style. “And the tang of Parmesan cheese.”
“Garlic?” I wrinkled my nose. “That is medicine. My aunt uses it for a purge.”
“Yes, tis medicinal,” he agreed. “But tis also a delight to the pallet when consuming strictly for pleasure.”
He surprised me when he said our elder statesmen, including Ben Franklin, were Italian cuisine aficionados. “Jefferson even had a few dozen Tuscans living and working at Monticello as gardeners. He never passed up the chance to brag about his Italian garden, all his olives and grapes and melons.” He rubbed his middle. “Now I've made myself hungry. And a hunger for an Italian meal is a hunger like no other.”