Alex and Eliza: A Love Story(38)
The colonel’s features were less refined, the complexion ruddier, but his uniform was, if anything, even more turned out than his companion’s, the blue jacket as crisp as if it had just been ironed, the boots still in high polish, though the officers must have been riding for some time to get here from wherever they were coming from. A few wisps of brown hair showed in his whiskers, but the rest of his hair was freshly powdered. This was a man who cared about how he looked—how others saw him. When he saw Eliza looking at him, he put a hand to his chest and bowed low.
“I beg your pardon, miss!” he said in a comically loud southern accent. “Had I known there were female presences in this house of fallen men, I would have tied up my companion with the horses outside!”
“Had you known there were women inside, Laurens,” the general scoffed, “you probably would have slunk around to the back door, to save yourself the embarrassment of being passed over for a man of both higher breeding and higher rank.”
Laurens! Eliza recognized the name instantly and the southern accent reinforced her thinking. Henry Laurens from South Carolina was the president of the Continental Congress. This must be one of his sons.
The dark-haired officer’s accent was also intriguing. It was definitely European, but it had a certain aristocratic universality, which made it hard to tell if it was French or Spanish or Italian. Eliza had just decided it was French when the general said, “Allow me to introduce myself, mademoiselle. I am Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette, but you may call me Gil—”
“Or you can just call him Marie, which is what everyone else calls him.” Colonel Laurens cut in, extending his hand with American frankness. “John Laurens,” he said. “A mere three syllables next to my friend’s five and twenty, but what I lack in letters I make up for in charm.”
Eliza watched this display with increasingly widened eyes. At length she said, “I would shake your hand, but I have smallpox on my fingers.”
Colonel Laurens couldn’t have jumped back any faster had a cobra come out of her mouth. In half a second he was on the other side of the room, the marquis well on his heels. Eliza burst out laughing.
The marquis was the first to recover. “I beg your pardon, mademoiselle, but I thought you said smallpox.”
“I did say smallpox, General.”
Angelica and Peggy swooped back into the room, empty-handed.
“It appears word has gotten out”—Angelica sent a scowl in Corporal Weston’s direction—“there’s suddenly not a soul left to be found out there.”
“You see, General,” said Eliza with a wave of her hand, “my sisters and I are here on an errand of medicine, inoculating the good soldiers of our army against an enemy more fearsome than all the British and Hessian troops.”
“You girls?” The southern gentleman seemed surprised. “Inoculating our troops?”
“Every one of them!” replied Eliza. “Why, the man you were calling out for, Colonel Hamilton, just received his yesterday. Would you like to follow in his footsteps?” Eliza smiled her first real smile of the day. There was something immediately likeable about this fellow Laurens.
Laurens scratched at his arm. “The marquis”—he pronounced it “mar-kwiss” in a mocking tone—“and I had that procedure done some years ago. I commend you for your bravery, but I found the whole affair unnatural and unnerving.”
“What? You have been inoculated? Then you have nothing to fear.” As she spoke she stood up, motioning to Peggy to begin packing up the supplies. Laurens retreated farther behind a chair.
“I must take my American friend’s side in this matter. If God had not wanted us to catch smallpox, he would not have made it in the first place,” said Lafayette.
Angelica had finished packing and made to leave the room, but could no longer hold her tongue. “That is the most absurd statement I have ever heard! The Lord presents us with trials so that we may use our God-given gifts to overcome them, not to give in to them. By your logic we would all be naked and living in caves—a condition that I am sure Colonel Laurens would find not at all appealing.”
“Touché, mademoiselle! You are quite correct.” The marquis snickered more at her than with her. He gave her a frank, appraising look that started at the top of her head and landed at her toes. Angelica smiled to herself as she scooped up the last of the supplies and laid them in the basket.
“Peggy, it is high time we left here. Eliza can join us back at Aunt Gertrude’s after she finishes her duties with these gentlemen.”
Eliza didn’t understand why Angelica was rushing Peggy off—neither did Peggy, apparently, judging by the confused expression on her face. Then her older sister caught Eliza’s eye with a wink and a nod in the direction of the charming Colonel Laurens, and Eliza realized: Angelica was playing matchmaker!
“Forgive my friend’s lack of faith in your brave efforts,” the marquis called to Angelica and Peggy as they headed out of the room. “Our Laurens is full of hubris. Indeed, I have discovered vanity to be endemic among southern men.”
“Said the man who goes on campaign with three servants, two jewelry boxes, and wears knickers lined with mink,” Laurens teased.
Angelica smirked. “Good day, gentlemen,” she said, as she pivoted on her shoe and left the room, Peggy right behind her.