Alex and Eliza: A Love Story(40)
They were in the headquarters of the Continental army, for one thing, where the soldiers were as well appointed as it was possible for soldiers to be. And the truth is she wanted to look especially nice on this occasion. Angelica’s and Peggy’s arrival had made her acutely aware that she was the only one of the grown Schuyler sisters without a beau. And after all, she had not picked the dress out herself. Her mother had packed it for her. To let it wrinkle in a trunk would be wasteful. Not practical at all!
She even consented to wear a wig. Once it was on, she wondered that she did not wear one more often. It kept drafts off the head, for one thing, and for another, one did not have to sit still for half an hour or an hour while a maid teased and styled and powdered and sprayed every strand of hair in place. One need only pin one’s own hair up and sit as the great silver confection was lowered onto the head—et voilà—an ordinary girl was transformed into a ravishing mademoiselle.
When she came down the stairs, nearly twenty people were sitting down to dinner already, tables had been lined up in the hall downstairs and covered with several sheets of embroidered ivory linen. The plates were embossed with a gold-and-green Chinese pattern, and edged with a gold rim, the silver heavy and ornate. The stemware was pewter, but polished to such a high sheen that it shone like silver in the light of the three eight-stemmed candelabras gracing the table.
“The Kitcheners did set a fine table,” Aunt Gertrude noted, as Eliza appeared downstairs. “But you’ll be its jewel tonight. Come,” she added, “your sisters have already taken their places in the front parlor.”
Peggy and Angelica were chatting among a half-dozen other early guests, including Stephen Van Rensselaer. In the two years since that first dance with Peggy, he had grown by nearly eight inches and now stood a full head taller than Eliza’s sister. She was glad to see he had turned out to be a fine-looking, if rather serious, young man.
“Rensselaerwyck, my father’s manor, amounts to some 768,000 square acres, or 1,200 square miles, which is roughly the same size as Long Island. We rent to more than three thousand tenant farmers and their families, who together manage thousands of cattle, sheep, pigs—yes—and turkeys, ducks, rabbits, and—”
Angelica came up and whispered into Eliza’s ear. “And titmice and seventeen-year locusts and seventy-two different varieties of flea!”
The sisters laughed softly. Angelica added, “Mrs. Witherspoon made the mistake of asking him what he wanted to be when he grew up. He said he would be ‘patroon of the manor’ and has been detailing exactly what his holdings will be for nearly fifteen minutes. I can’t tell if people are too afraid of his wealth to interrupt, or if they’ve simply been stunned into silence.”
“—wheat is the primary grain crop, but also oats and rye and corn and alfalfa and milo and—” droned young Stephen.
Eliza laughed into her gloved hand. Perhaps the young man still had a few social graces to master.
“We shouldn’t be so hard on him, Ange. He is so young, after all, and his responsibilities will be vast indeed.” She glanced at Peggy, who was managing to regard her pontificating suitor with an expression that attempted to pass for genuine interest. “Do you think that Peggy will really marry him? I would hate to see her trapped with a bore for the rest of her life just because he was rich.”
“Rich?” Angelica said. “He’s so far beyond rich there isn’t a word for him. There are some who say that his father is the wealthiest man in all the colonies—wealthier even than John Hancock or Benjamin Franklin—which means he will be, too.”
Eliza nodded, but corrected her sister. “You mean, the United States.”
“Oh, can we not talk about the war tonight?” Angelica moaned. “It’s all Papa ever talks about, and my Mr. Church, too. Can we not be happy mademoiselles for once, and talk about dresses and dinner courses and Samuel Richardson’s novels and secret rendezvous?”
Stephen’s voice carried on. “—made it a personal goal to travel each and every foot of the 4,649 miles of roads and paths that crisscross the manor. By my calculation, I have traveled approximately 949 and one-half miles, which means I have three thousand—”
“Who says 949 and a half is an ‘approximate’ number?” Angelica moaned. She was about to go on when Eliza stopped her.
“Did you mention Mr. Church? Are you still seeing him?”
Angelica coyly looked away. “Not exactly.”
“What do you mean, not exactly? Have you broken things off?”
“Not exactly,” Angelica said again, clearly enjoying being mysterious.
“Angelica Schuyler, don’t make me pinch you in a parlor full of people!”
Angelica turned to Eliza and grabbed her hand. “Church is on his way here!”
“WHAT?!” Eliza spoke so heartily that everyone in the room—except Stephen—looked over at her.
“—sometimes I use a whip when I travel, other times I ride horseback, and still other times I go on foot,” Stephen continued, oblivious. “When on foot I find it expedient to employ a walking stick. After much trial and error, I have found that an ash limb has the appropriate combination of strength, lightness, and springiness for—oh, hello, Miss Schuyler,” he interrupted himself, nodding at Eliza, but, mercifully, not crossing to her and trapping her within his conversational prison. “I did not see you come in. I was telling Mrs. Witherspoon how I prefer to employ an ash limb as a walking stick when I—”