Alex and Eliza: A Love Story(16)
Alex felt his cheeks go red and had to resist the urge to throw down his glove for a challenge—or just punch the man outright. No matter how important his work as aide-de-camp and ambassador for General Washington, his spending the war doing various non-combat jobs was a source of great shame to him. He wanted to risk life and limb for this country, which, though he hadn’t been born here and had only lived on its shores for a few years, had nevertheless embraced him and inspired him with its ideals and potential. Only the fact that the man speaking so rudely to him was an injured veteran stayed his hand.
“I-I do apologize,” Alex said again, letting the slur against his birthplace go. “Your country owes you a debt of honor.”
“Yes, it does. Whereas all it owes you is a paycheck.”
“Oh, put a cork in it, Peterson,” said a young male voice. He turned to see Stephen Van Rensselaer rolling his eyes. “Everybody knows you got ‘injured’ when you stabbed yourself in the ankle with your own bayonet while you were loading your gun, and then you fell down drunk in a latrine and got it infected so that it had to be amputated. The mules who pull cannons serve their country more usefully than you do.”
Peterson looked distinctly outraged, but before he could speak, Angelica’s partner chimed in.
“Indeed, Peterson,” said John Church. “Colonel Hamilton’s contribution to the war effort is known throughout the thirteen colo—the thirteen states,” he corrected himself with a wry smile, “and across the pond in England, France, and Germany. While we must never make light of bravery under fire, the skill it takes to load and shoot a gun is not a rare one, whereas the ability to address generals and diplomats—and indeed kings—is a truly singular gift. Hence General Washington’s unwillingness to surrender his most valuable asset to the battlefield.”
“Thank you, good sir,” said Alex.
“John Church. A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” said Church as Angelica looked at him fondly.
But that was the straw that broke Peterson. He whirled drunkenly on John Church. “You! A lobsterback! You dare to insult me in my own house.”
Eliza, who had been silent throughout the whole exchange, spoke up. “Actually, Mr. Peterson, Mr. Church is not a soldier and hence does not wear a redcoat, and pray I remind you, the Pastures is my father’s house.”
Peterson looked confused. “Well, in my own country, then! The Petersons have been respected landowners in the Hudson Valley for more than a century.”
“Actually, Peterson,” young Van Rensselaer drawled, not so very awkward anymore. “Your land belongs to my father, ever since you gambled away your income at gaming houses in New York City. You own no more land than Colonel Hamilton. No offense, Colonel.”
“None taken,” said Alex, feeling gratified at the swelling of support from Angelica’s and Peggy’s companions.
Peterson sputtered so hard that Alex was afraid he was going to fall over. “Oh, who cares what you think, Rensselaer. You’re merely a Dutchman. My family are British through and through.”
“I thought you didn’t like the British,” Eliza’s partner, Major André, said smoothly. “You are fighting a war against us, after all.”
Peterson’s jaw dropped. He lifted his cane as if to strike the major, but the movement caused him to lose his balance on his wooden leg, and Alex had to steady him. “Careful there, Peterson.”
“Unhand me! Why I . . . to be insulted in this manner by people who are on the raw edge of respectable!” An ugly sneer covered his face as he turned his attention to Eliza. “And you, girl. If your mother thinks you will make a rich match, she’s sorely mistaken. No one is interested in a girl afflicted with intellect and opinion and a small dowry! It’s why you only have a redcoat and a clerk as your dance partners this evening!”
There was a shocked silence from the assembled, until Alex spoke, his words cold as the first frost: “You will apologize to the lady.”
“Apologize? For telling the truth?” Peterson sputtered. “Why? Is she your paramour, is that it? Oh, Colonel Hamilton, do not protest—everyone has noticed your interest in the girl. You can barely take your eyes off her.”
Alex’s grip on the man’s arm became a vise, as Eliza’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment and anger.
“Nonsense, my interest is purely to redeem something the gentle lady has been holding for me. I assure you it is most business-like in nature,” he said, lying through his teeth.
“A fine story,” sneered Peterson, practically apoplectic and sweating all over the place.
“But a true one,” said Eliza, her cheeks reddening uncontrollably. “However, Colonel, I apologize as I do not have your handkerchief on my person.”
“Nevertheless,” said Alex, turning to Peterson, “you will apologize to the lady.”
“Fine! Fine! My apologies! There!”
“Oh dear, Mr. Peterson,” John Church said. “You seem to have exerted yourself.”
“Here,” said Angelica, “speaking of handkerchiefs, I believe Mr. Peterson needs one,” and she reached into the pockets of her dress and handed one over to him.
“Thank you, my dear,” said Church. And he used the handkerchief to pat down Peterson’s face as if he were a little baby.