Alex and Eliza: A Love Story(13)
“How is he even here? Why is Papa not arresting him? Or—or shooting him?” asked Eliza.
“Apparently Major André was commissioned on a diplomatic mission to General Gates, for which he was granted safe passage up and down river,” said Angelica. “It had to do with the prisoner exchange for General Burgoyne, and his transport to New York so that he can be sent back to England. When Papa found out he was in Albany, he invited him to dine.”
“I declare, Papa’s chivalry will be the death of us all. But chivalry wasn’t why my mama let him sign my dance card. She is punishing me.”
“For the dress, no doubt. Who do you have after him?”
Eliza looked down and turned paler. “Colonel Hamilton!”
This time, Angelica exclaimed loudly enough that people turned and looked at them. In a quieter voice, she added, “How could Mama do that, especially after his meeting with Papa?”
Eliza shrugged. She knew full well how to incur her mother’s wrath. “How did you fare?” she asked Angelica.
Her sister held out her card with a smile. Only one name was written on it, albeit eight times, for every single dance of the evening: Mr. John Barker Church.
“What?” Eliza exclaimed. “How did you pull that off?”
“Simple,” Angelica answered. “I was not foolish enough to leave my card out for Mama to commandeer. Not my first time at the ball,” she added mischievously, flashing a little smile to Mr. Church himself, who stood on the far side of the room, patiently awaiting his dance.
John Church was almost a decade older than Angelica. Like Major André, he was British born and had only arrived in North America a few years earlier. Unlike Major André, though, he espoused the Revolutionary cause. But he also refused to renounce his British citizenship, and this, coupled with the fact that when he first arrived in the Colonies he set up business under the alias “John Carter,” made many suspicious of his character. General Schuyler had said straight out that he thought Church was a gambler and a spy, and scented something devious about his business methods. However, Mrs. Schuyler, knowing her daughter’s fondness for Church, as well as hearing stories about Church’s growing fortune, had insisted he be allowed to attend the ball. “Until we have proof against him, civility directs us to be for him,” she said diplomatically, and as General Schuyler valued decorum above all things in human society, he had reluctantly assented.
Eliza looked over at her sister’s paramour. He was not what she would call ugly, but he was far from handsome. He was shorter than Angelica, for one thing, and rather thick through the waist, and his face always had a rather silly-looking smile on it, especially when he looked at Eliza’s older sister, as he’d been doing all evening.
“Tell me again what you see in him, Ange? Besides his fortune, I mean?” she asked her older sister.
“I refuse to be an ornament in a gilded cage,” said Angelica, lifting her chin. “And while a pretty face is nice to wake up to, an adoring face is so much more rewarding. Church talks to me like an equal and is grateful for my affection. I need never worry about him stepping out on me. And yes, his fortune is a most welcome quality.”
“Papa will never allow it, though,” Eliza warned. “You know how he feels about the man.”
“We shall see,” said Angelica, and Eliza knew her sister was determined to change their father’s mind about her unsuitable suitor.
Eliza sighed, even as the first song came to an end. Sometimes her sister’s pragmatism was too similar to her mother’s. While Eliza professed no outward interest in romance, at heart she yearned to experience a lush, sweeping love affair of her own.
She was about to ask Angelica if she’d seen Major André, when she was tapped on the shoulder. She turned to face a fine-looking gentleman whose thick brown hair was pulled back from a high brow, his rich chocolate-colored eyes staring into hers.
“Miss Schuyler,” a suave British voice announced. “I believe I have the honor of this dance.”
Eliza’s heart turned a little somersault. She had heard stories of how good-looking Major André was, but she had not been prepared for this. He was the picture of debonair in his dashing suit, which, though not a uniform (wearing his redcoat here probably would have gotten him shot in a duel!), was still sharply cut in a rich burgundy and accented with polished gold buttons and lace at collar and cuffs. She felt as though she were staring into a painting by Sir Joshua Reynolds.
She curtsied politely. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” Major André said, leading her into position directly behind Angelica and John Church. “May I compliment you on your appearance this evening? You are among the brightest flowers here.”
Eliza couldn’t quite stifle her laugh. “No need to flatter me, Major André. I am aware that my dress is a little drab this evening.”
The major turned to look her at her directly. “Your dress?” he said smoothly. “I hadn’t noticed it.” His eyes never left hers. “I’m sure it is the loveliest in the room.”
The music started, saving Eliza from having to answer. For the next fifteen minutes she danced the line with her partner, whose light touch deftly guided her in the turns and twists and bows without ever once overpowering her. Because it was a quadrille, they kept spinning away from each other and coming back, dancing side by side and then turning to face each other. It was a complicated set of maneuvers, one that Eliza had spent many hours learning, and though she went through her paces gracefully, she always felt a little nervous, lest she make a misstep and bring the coordinated roomful of dancers to a crashing log jam. Yet every time she felt a twinge of anxiety she found Major André’s hand in hers, or his eyes on hers, and he deftly set her to rights.