Love & War--An Alex & Eliza Story Read online

  “But not as handsome as my three grown girls,” she said as she took a bite of the pie. “The berries cannot still be in season?” She laughed. “How I look forward to apples and pears.”

  “The grounds are almost picked clean. It was a bumper crop this year. We’ll have preserves all through the winter, and won’t run out in the middle of February like we did this year,” said Eliza with a smile.

  “I think that had less to do with the size of the crop than the number of people eating the harvest. I must say, we are an exceptionally full house these days.” She took another bite before speaking. “Have you and Colonel Hamilton given any thought as to where you will settle down?”

  Eliza sighed wistfully, half at the notion of leaving her childhood home once and for all, half in impatience at being fully ensconced in her own home with her own husband, beginning her own life.

  “I was just discussing the matter with Angelica and Peggy. Colonel Hamilton wants to be officially relieved of his commission and witness the end of the war before he decides. There are those who are pressuring him to join the government when the war ends, but since we don’t even know where the capital will be, we have no idea where we would have to live for him to do that. His own preference is for New York City, where he says a young man such as himself can most easily make a fortune. I prefer New York as well. It is too far from the Pastures for my liking, but not nearly so inaccessible as Philadelphia or something farther south.”

  Her mother nodded. “Schuylers and Van Rensselaers have lived in upper New York since Dutch times. I never imagined I would have a daughter live on the coast, but if there is one of us with the equanimity to survive the hustle and bustle of that teeming metropolis, it is you.”

  “Do you think?” Eliza said nervously. She looked out the window at the rolling green fields covered in ordered rows of fruit trees and grazing cows and sheep, sheltered over by a sky of liquid blue. “I do feel like such a country girl sometimes. The idea of living in one of those, what do they call them, town houses? With all those stairs, and the rooms stacked one on top of each other? It sounds so . . . uncomfortable.”

  “All those stairs will be very good for the legs, my dear,” Mrs. Schuyler said with a wry smile. “And New York is growing increasingly elegant. I hear they have even paved some of the streets now.”

  “And I hear the pigs run wild up and down them, rather than confining themselves to well-fenced sties like proper farm animals. But it doesn’t matter!” she added brightly. “I’ll be with Colonel Hamilton, and wherever we are will be home!”

  She tried to picture it—the carpet, the wallpaper, the chandelier or sconces—but all she could see was Alex’s face. The decorations don’t matter, she said to herself. Home is wherever we are together.

  “That’s the spirit,” Mrs. Schuyler said. “Speaking of domestic matters, I need to ask a favor from you.”

  “Of course, Mama, what is it?”

  “I need you to serve as hostess at tonight’s party.”

  Eliza understood immediately. Even if Dr. Van Vrouten had not ordered her mother confined to her bed, Mrs. Schuyler was far too advanced in her term to be seen socially. Even so, she was surprised by her mother’s request.

  “Me?” she said incredulously. “But Angelica is the eldest Schuyler lady. She should play substitute for you in your indisposition.”

  “Angelica is a Schuyler no more,” her mother said quietly.

  “But neither am I!” Eliza said, laughing.

  “It is not the surname that matters,” Mrs. Schuyler replied, “as much as the man who carries it.”

  Eliza sat back slightly. “I am afraid I don’t understand, Mama,” she said formally, though with a slight inkling that perhaps she did.

  Her mother sighed and put her plate on the table beside her bed. “I will admit that I have softened toward Mr. Church in the years since he began courting your elder sister. He is a bit too British for my taste, but that cannot be helped. And while it seems the scandals that hounded him when he first showed up on our shores were base rumors and have been laid to rest, there persists an air of mystery about the man, and mystery translates to disrepute in our circle. It was a blow to our family’s reputation when Angelica eloped with a nameless, fortuneless Brit who, though not a loyalist, remains a subject of Mad King George. But it would be an even bigger blow if your father and I appeared to countenance it by inviting his wife to play hostess to one of our events. Even if she does so happen to be our daughter.”

  Eliza sensed there was more to the story than her mother was letting on. “What do you mean, ‘a blow to our reputation’?”

  Her mother looked at her frankly. “You must promise me not to repeat a word of this to any of your sisters.”

  Eliza bit back a gasp. Her mother had never taken her into her confidence like this before. “Of course not, Mama.”

  “Stephen’s mother has let it be known, and not so subtly I might add, that she disapproves of Angelica’s choice of husband.”

  Now it all became clear. “You mean, that’s why Stephen hasn’t proposed to Peggy. Not because of our financial situation. But because of the whiff of scandal around Mr. Church?”

  “The Schuylers are a proud family, and a wealthy one,” her mother asserted, “but the Rensselaers are prouder and richer still. I should know. I am one.” She laughed ruefully. “Stephen will be Patroon one day. It is largely a symbolic title, yet it still means much to my family. I believe their attitude will soften in time, especially if Angelica and Mr. Church move to England once the war is over. But until Peggy and Stephen are well and truly wed, I do not want to do anything that would spoil their chances. Peggy’s happiness depends on it, not to mention the assured financial health of all the Schuyler and Rensselaer progeny for the foreseeable future.”

  Eliza was shocked, both by her mother’s news and by her having to play hostess in a mere few hours to the elite of upper New York. She looked down at her hands, which were still faintly stained with blueberry juices. Then her mother’s hand appeared in hers, clasping her fingers tightly.

  “Don’t fret, my daughter. You have reserves of strength that you yourself are not aware of.” She smiled tenderly. “Think of it as a trial run for all those New York City parties you’ll be throwing in just a few years.”

  “New York City!” Eliza said dreamily. “It’s hard to believe it will ever happen!”

  “It will,” her mother said firmly, “and you will be the queen of Manhattan. By the way,” she added lightly, as she helped herself to a second slice of pie. “We had a note from the governor’s mansion this morning. Governor Clinton will be joining us this evening.” If Eliza didn’t know her mother better, she could have sworn she saw her smile turn wicked. “Try not to let him eat all the berries before he leaves.”

  4

  Lord and Lady

  The Schuyler Mansion

  Albany, New York

  April 1781

  The Pastures stood proudly on its low hill surveying the sprawling landscape. There were already a few carriages, both open and closed, parked in front of the house. As Alex and his father-in-law approached (John Church had gone ahead), they saw a covered two-wheeler advance toward the house, its cab tilted rather noticeably to one side. The driver stopped and a corpulent man dressed in a gaudy, ill-fitting gold coat emerged from the cab, which promptly sprung back to an (almost) even keel.

  General Schuyler sighed heavily. “I can recognize that gold-plated rotten egg even from a distance. George Clinton is the only man I know who arrives before a party starts rather than fashionably late. It is to make sure the best of the victuals are still available.”

  Alex knew the name, of course, though he had yet to meet the governor of New York State. He thought the Schuylers were magnanimous to invite the man, seeing as he beat General Schuyler in 1777 for the governorship.

  George
Clinton had served in the French and Indian War two decades ago. He continued to fight for his country when independence was declared in 1776, simultaneously beginning a career in politics. Some people considered it a conflict of interest, since the idea of a political leader who was also an active army officer raised the specter of a military dictatorship—of a leader who held power by force of arms rather than votes. This was at odds with the very spirit of democracy this new country was attempting to foster.

  None of this bothered Alex as much as Clinton’s avowed position against any kind of central government or national authority. Clinton believed that every state should have absolute control over its own fate—to such a degree that he had even made noises about “invading” the neighboring state of Vermont after the war was over, and adding it to New York’s territory. All the states should be equals, according to Clinton. Yet, as his threats made clear, he considered some states more “equal” than others.

  “He’s a dangerous one,” General Schuyler added. “Claims to be a man of the people, but the only thing he has in common with the common folk is their pocketbooks, which he has emptied into his own. Not one tax dollar is raised without a penny ending up in Clinton’s coffers.”

  “Greed is as old as civilization,” Alex replied. “As lamentable as it is, it’s the crassness of his mindset that really bothers me. No lie is too base for him to try to win people to his cause. He knows that by the time he is found out he will have invented ten more lies to cover the first, and if all else fails, he can always wrap himself in the flag and cry, ‘To war!’”

  “With Vermont?” General Schuyler chuckled ruefully. “Mrs. Ross may well regret that her name is associated with the Stars and Stripes when she sees to what use it is put.”

  “The flag has stood for many a noble cause as well. It remains for each individual American to decide what it means to him or to her,” said Alex, nodding at the portly figure up the hill, who was being let into the house by a liveried servant. “Even that one.”

  “Indeed,” the general agreed as they started up the long flight of steps that led toward the eastern, river-facing front of the house. “I can only wonder what brought him here tonight. Mrs. Schuyler did not lead me to believe that tonight’s affair would host the crème de la crème of local society. Just a festive but quiet gathering of family and friends to wish you a safe and speedy journey back to General Washington’s office.”

  “When all three Schuyler sisters are in residence, there is no such thing as a ‘quiet’ anything,” Alex replied with a laugh.

  And indeed, as the men drew closer to the house they heard the sound of music coming from the windows, opened wide to take advantage of the sweet, cool, early-evening breeze.

  “What’s this?” General Schuyler said half under his breath. “Surely Catherine did not engage the services of a band!” In his consternation, he used his wife’s Christian name, and Alex caught him glance nervously around, as if someone other than his son-in-law might have heard him speak so familiarly of his most regal spouse.

  Before Alex could hazard a guess, however, the door flew open, pulled inward not by Samson, the butler, or Hendricks, the chief footman, but by Eliza herself.

  “Colonel Hamilton! Papa!” his wife said merrily, a sweet if somewhat nervous smile on her face. “I thought I glimpsed you riding up!”

  Alex stared at his wife as she greeted her father. Her face bore only the lightest dusting of powder and the natural hue of her lips was enhanced with a paint only slightly darker—her beauty accented, rather than augmented, and framed by wisps of her chestnut hair that spiraled down her cheeks. He felt warm all over, but it was immediately damped by an icy chill on his spine, as he thought about telling her of his plans for Yorktown.

  She accepted a kiss on the cheek from her father and turned to her husband with a flushed eagerness that went straight to his heart.

  “Darling,” he said, just as besotted as the day he’d first glimpsed her when he had come to this house as a mere messenger just three years ago. He pecked her on the cheek, for propriety’s sake, though he lingered long enough to inhale her perfume, and his fingers paused lightly at her waist.

  “Alex,” she whispered, and sound of his name on her lips and her breath on his ear almost drove him mad with desire.

  He forced himself to straighten up, even as his eyes caught hers meaningfully in the candlelight. From the way she held his gaze, it was clear that his ardor was returned, but her duties called. Eliza stood aside as her husband and father entered the vast entrance hall, some twenty feet wide and nearly twice as deep, stretching all the way to the rear of the house, where an ornate staircase led to a ballroom on the second floor.

  Though the hour had just passed seven, the great hall was half filled already, and General Schuyler’s eyes bulged as he peered into the side parlors and saw even more guests talking and eating and drinking.

  “My goodness!” he said, chuckling even as one of the footmen hurried over to take his and Alex’s tricorne hats. “Married less than six months and already the head of the household and the hostess of the evening! You have been studying at your mother’s side, no doubt. But tell me, did she really contract for live music today?” He waved a hand toward the back of the hall, where two fiddlers and a flutist were plying a reel, though no one was yet dancing. “I did not realize we were throwing a ball and not a mere dinner.”

  Eliza stepped in a little closer. “The musicians are Peggy’s touch, with a little help from Stephen. Apparently, they are the ‘court musicians’ at Rensselaerswyck, and he sent them over to make Peggy feel better about the contretemps occurring between his family and ours. I told her we hadn’t even arranged for dance cards and all would be chaos, but you know Peggy. She just laughed and said, ‘This is America, we can do what we want!’ And so she has!”

  Alex could tell from the lilt in Eliza’s voice that his wife was pleased her sister had acted so rashly, but also a bit anxious, lest her father disapprove. And indeed General Schuyler seemed pensive. “I worry to think that Mrs. Schuyler is being kept awake by the festivities,” he said.

  “I checked with Mama immediately. I promised her that we would confine the evening’s activities to the first floor, and she said that if she could not be present at the party she was glad to at least hear the merriment through the floorboards.”

  “Well then!” General Schuyler said warmly. “Let me find Samson and see if he can round up some cards and pencils, and let’s have some dancing!” And with that, he headed off down the hall.

  Alex used his father-in-law’s exit as a chance to sweep his wife into a real embrace in a convenient alcove. “At last, we are alone. You smell utterly delectable,” he whispered into her ear. “Is that . . . strawberries?”

  “Maybe,” she said, batting at him playfully with her fan. “It’s probably just rose water, but we were eating berries this afternoon.”

  “Ah, that must explain the ruby color of your lips,” he said, leaning in for a kiss.

  “Colonel Hamilton!” Eliza laughed, pulling away before their lips could touch in public. “I have enough on my plate without having to keep you in line as well.”

  “Oh, do keep me in line, I can’t wait,” Alex couldn’t help himself from teasing her, if only for the sparks it brought to her eyes. His arms went around her waist once more and pulled her toward him.

  Eliza swatted at him again. “Darling! We have guests!”

  “Hang them,” Alex said, leaning closer. “Let’s sneak off to the barn.”

  “We shall have to pitch hay later,” murmured Eliza, as more guests wandered past them. She colored even more at her double entendre, which her husband found wildly irresistible. “But right now, society calls.” She reluctantly pulled away from him, untangling herself from his embrace.

  Alex took a moment to straighten his lapels. “Do tell, did your mother really make that comment
about enjoying the music through the floorboards? Pardon my candor, but ‘merriment’ is not a word I associate with Mrs. Schuyler.”

  Eliza failed to suppress a wicked grin. “In fact, she said that if there had to be music, it would at least be muffled by floorboards and carpet, and should the din grow too loud she could always draw the curtains on her bedstead and drink a dram of brandy to speed her to sleep.”

  “That sounds more like the ebullient mother-in-law I know. But did she really cede her domestic authority to you? Angelica must feel slighted,” said Alex, taking her arm as they strode through the parlor.

  “Angelica and I spoke briefly. She understands that there are . . . reasons why she cannot act as female head of household for the foreseeable future.”

  Alex nodded. He knew—in ways that he could not inform even his wife—that she was referring to John Barker Church and the air of mystery—or rather disreputability—that clung to him. He longed to disabuse her of the notion that either John or Angelica had anything to be ashamed of, but there were certain responsibilities that stood outside the bonds of marriage, or even love. The safety of the Continental troops was one of them.

  “One day,” he said in a measured voice, lest she suspect something, “the rather tiny and, dare I say, inbred community of Albany society will realize that Mr. Church is as great a friend to America as any of her citizens who have been here for a century or more.” He looked around the party. “Although I must say, it doesn’t seem very tiny tonight. Who are all these people?”

  “With Mama confined to her bed, no one was in charge of invitations, and so Angelica and Peggy and I all sent out cards—as did Mama, it turned out. It appears as if there are twice as many people here as our last great ball—do you remember? In the winter of ’77?”

  “You mean the night I met you and my future happiness was sealed forever? You impugn my honor, Mrs. Hamilton! If you weren’t my wife, I would have to challenge you to a duel.” His voice softened, and he risked a little kiss on the tip of Eliza’s nose. “Though I confess you have already stolen my heart, so there is nothing left to shoot.”