Alex and Eliza: A Love Story(30)
Alex noted the wisdom of his friend’s argument, although it took all of his self-control not to inundate Eliza with one love letter after another. But when he giddily told John that Eliza was coming to Morristown for the winter, John knew his dearest friend was smitten.
“The way I see it, Hamilton, is that it’s time to make a bold move.”
It was John who came up with the idea that Alex haunt the post road to intercept Eliza’s carriage, although not even he could have foreseen the broken wheel. It should have been a complete triumph. Instead Alex had ruined everything by revealing himself to be a rake and mortifying poor Eliza.
For over two years he’d pined for the spunky girl who’d put him in his place so deftly at her mother’s ball. Every moment from that evening stung as if it had happened last night—and he could not stop thinking about those laughing eyes, the biting wit. And as for the hours they spent on the ride to Morristown together, he could still feel her small waist in his hands, and her soft hair against his cheek, as well as recall the easy way she had bantered and parried with him. A chaste and sensible girl, with a good shape and a generous nature—qualities he had enumerated to Laurens years ago that he desired in a mate—and here now, he saw in Eliza. He found he liked her even more, knowing that she had never sent that note.
But was he a fool to think she might ever return his ardor?
After all, she had made her repulsion clear during their ride together, and had made it more clear when he visited the Cochrans’ residence and she didn’t want to see him. But Alex knew enough about the game of love to know that there was no surer way to make a fellow interested than to show no interest in him.
Was Eliza Schuyler rebuffing him to egg him on, or because she actually had no interest in him?
If he could see her again he could attempt to sound her out, if only she would allow him to call. Or perhaps he was chasing after an illusory El Dorado and should set his sights on a more realistic goal.
But that was the thing about Alex, a nameless orphan from the Caribbean, who had written his way up to General Washington’s side, he was nothing if not determined.
IT WAS SNOWING lightly when Alex turned up in front of the two-story white house on Chapel Street, a quarter mile down the road from His Excellency’s headquarters. The only light in the Cochran residence radiated from the good doctor’s study. Alex pulled up Hector outside the house to stare at the darkened second-floor bedroom. This was his self-imposed mission tonight—to keep guard duty in the shadows of the Cochran house, to watch for redcoats, of course, but in truth, to hopefully get a glimpse of Eliza’s figure if she happened to pass by the window, God willing.
He sat in his cavalry saddle, hidden from the road by a tree, keeping watch. He rubbed his gloved hands together for warmth, then leaned forward to give his loyal pal’s neck a good long scratching.
Hector was happy to be out for an easygoing moonlit stroll with his human and was feeling a bit spunky himself.
The snow stopped, and the blanket of clouds pulled away from the moon. From far off in a field behind the house came a whinny Hector recognized as decidedly feminine. The horse stamped his feet and tossed his head, half cantering in place with a lusty kick from his hindquarters. Alex’s hands were strong enough to steady him but he knew old Hector had a mind of his own.
“Easy, boy. Quiet down. Suppose somebody saw me out here. They’d think I was a ruffian—or worse, a lovesick lunatic.”
Every bit the good warhorse, Hector needed all of his willpower to hold himself together for his master. He gnashed his bit and stomped the snow under his hooves. Still, nature has a way of its own.
When a second sensuous whinny came floating through the air, Hector’s eyes flew open and he let out a bellowing neigh that would’ve woken the dead. Or certainly everyone in the Cochran household.
Light flooded the downstairs parlor as Dr. Cochran stepped out onto the front porch with a lantern. “Who’s there? Speak up, man! What business have you here?”
Alex froze. He’d been spotted. He eased his horse forward into the closest reach of the lamplight. Alex noticed a shadowy female form pass by the second-story window frame.
“Why, it’s Colonel Hamilton, is it not? What brings you out on such a bitter night?”
“Evening, Dr. Cochran. Not to worry you, sir, but there’s word of a ne’er-do-well highwayman out along the post road tonight; I thought it worth a trip to make sure you and the missus are safely protected. Is all well indeed in the Cochran household?”
Dr. Cochran looked around the empty yard. Quiet as ever. “We are safe, sir, and your concern is much obliged.”
Alex struggled to give off a serious air about tracking down this supposed ne’er-do-well, but his eyes had zeroed in on the second-floor bedroom where a candle flickered behind the lace curtain. The shadowy figure paused near the window and captured his complete attention.
“Well, it’s getting on a bit past my bedtime, young man. Will there be anything else you’re in need of tonight, Colonel?” the good doctor asked heartily, and Alex had a feeling Dr. Cochran could easily diagnose a case of lovesickness in a young soldier. “Ahem. Colonel?”
“What’s that? Oh yes. I mean, oh no—no, sir. That is, if you’re sure my services are not needed here, Doctor, I suppose I’ll be on my way.” Alex tipped his cap to the doctor and dug his spurs into Hector’s flanks.