Alex and Eliza: A Love Story(23)

“Pardon me, Miss Schuyler,” he said hesitantly, “but could you kindly keep Hector to a walk? Forgive me but I’m afraid I absolutely must . . .” Suddenly his hands came to rest on Eliza’s waist.

Eliza started, but didn’t speak. Instead, she slapped the reins against Hector’s neck, sending him into a sudden trot. Alex’s quick reflexes were all that kept him on Hector, that and his hands now gripping the saddle’s edge for all they were worth.

“Easy, boy. That’ll do.” Eliza tightened the reins to bring the horse to an abrupt halt. She turned her chin toward Alex.

“Sir, you may place your hands around my waist, but only with my prior consent. Is that clear?”

“As clear as the night air, Miss Schuyler, and every bit as cold.”

Eliza couldn’t help but smile at that.

“Then may I assume I now have miss’s permission to remain comfortably attached to the back of this saddle—even though it involves some slight contribution on her part?” he asked.

Eliza lifted her chin. It felt fine to be in control again.

“You may, sir, and I trust that to mean we will continue our journey with no further breach of decorum. Agreed?”

“You shall have no protest from me, miss.”

They rode on in silence once more, with the colonel settled into position with his legs narrowly touching Eliza’s and his hands surrounding her rib cage like a belt.



THE WINTER SUN was well below the tree line now. Hector stumbled on a root growth along the dark, rutted roadway. Alex instinctively tightened his grip on Eliza’s waist and was surprised when she didn’t seem to mind. The softness of her back revealed she wore no corset, no doubt because she was traveling, but until now her posture was as unyielding beneath his fingers as if she were all laced up. Her shallow breaths barely disturbed her rib cage, and he’d found himself inhaling deeply, breathing against the back of her neck as if to lend her the warm air from his own lungs.

Now he noticed how her shoulders had dropped some of their previous tension. Something about her poise in the saddle reminded him of how she held herself on the dance floor.

“I must say, Miss Schuyler,” he began, “I have nothing but fond memories of your family from the time of my last visit.”

“A visit? Is that what you’re calling it? It felt more like an ambush.”

“Miss Schuyler, I want you to know that my official relationship with your father in no way mirrors my personal feelings toward him. Indeed, I have only the greatest level of respect for him. I do apologize for having been the bearer of bad news that evening and for my strong words about Ticonderoga. And I hope you will accept a belated apology for my repeated offenses against your father’s good name the night we last met.”

“Do go on, sir.”

“I take you into my utmost confidence when I tell you that none other than General Washington himself believed your father to have been a patriot during the fall of Fort Ticonderoga. Indeed, he praised the way the troops defended themselves, greatly outnumbered as they were. It is to your father’s everlasting credit that he refused to let the blame rest on any shoulders but his own.”

“For all the praise you heap on my father, you had a fine way of showing it then. Prosecuting him in a court-martial for dereliction of duty!” she retorted.

“I assure you that if there had been any way to avoid the embarrassment of the trial I would have.”

“If you feel that way, then why did you pursue the matter? Let me guess: You were only ‘following orders.’”

“But I was,” Alex replied. “Your father’s.”

“If you expect me to believe that my father insisted on his own trial, you take me for a fool.”

“But it’s true,” Alex insisted. “I thought you knew. Your father did not want the slightest shadow of doubt hanging over his actions concerning the Ticonderoga battle. He refused to accept the resolution of censure offered by the Continental Congress and insisted on a full trial instead, where he was convinced he would be exonerated—as indeed he was.”

“But, but why would Papa not tell his own family this?”

“I cannot say. Perhaps he thought to spare you the ugly details of politics, or did not want his own family to think ill of the government to which he has dedicated his life.”

“So you did not want to prosecute him? You thought him blameless in the fall of Ticonderoga?” she asked.

“Not just blameless, but exceptionally farsighted. If your father had not instituted the measures he put in place, not only Ticonderoga would have fallen, but all of New England.”

“You know we lost our house and farm at Saratoga,” Eliza said with injured pride. “General Burgoyne burned it all to the ground.”

“I am aware of that. Aware, too, that your father, out of a font of gentlemanly generosity, allowed that same General Burgoyne to shelter at your house after he was defeated.”

A heavy sigh from Eliza gave Alex a little hope that she might be warming up finally.

“Yes, he surrendered his own marriage bed to the general for well over a month. And I must say Mama found that to be a bit too generous.” Eliza sniffed at the memory of it all. “She and Papa were forced to sleep in one of the guest rooms.”

Alex murmured absentmindedly, “I am sure it was more comfortable than the hayloft.”