Alex and Eliza: A Love Story(60)

“I say, are these the Brits who used to live here? What a sad lot they look, huh?”

“The Kitcheners,” Eliza said.

“I wonder that Dr. Cochran keeps their portraits still.” He lifted the portrait of Mrs. Kitchener and peered behind it. “Aha, I knew it. Wallpaper’s all faded. Have to keep these here to cover it.” He regarded Mrs. Kitchener’s face rather longer than he had Eliza’s. “Probably wasn’t a bad-looking woman in her day. Can only imagine what she thought when she was married off to that old buzzard.” He jerked a thumb at Mr. Kitchener. “At least you can say your parents didn’t sell you off to an old man, or an ugly one, if I do say so myself.”

Eliza stared at him blankly. She had never heard a man speak quite so crudely about the marriage contract—least of all about his own.

“I’m sure our parents were thinking of our welfare as well as our families’ when they chose us for . . . for each other.” Eliza found it hard to say the words aloud.

“It’s a nice thought, but I’m pretty sure ol’ Mrs. Schuyler would’ve made you marry me even if I’d been an ugly cuss twice your age. And I know my mother wouldn’t have winked if you’d weighed fifteen stone and drooled when you drank your coffee. ‘She’s a Schuyler,’ she would have said,” he mocked, putting on an accent that was even more posh than the one he already affected, “‘her bloodline is impeccable.’ Well, I’m just glad you’re not a hag.”

“I . . . thank you?” Eliza had no idea what to say.

“The dress, though,” he said, waving a hand at her blue wool jumper. “I’ll get Kitty and Sarah to go fabric shopping with you, or maybe just send you fabric. Something more feminine. As a Livingston, you’ll be doing a lot of meeting and greeting, and I’d rather no one mistook you for the housekeeper.”

Eliza did her best not to gasp.

“Yes, well, my jumper is appropriate to the weather. It is not so cold today, and I thought perhaps you might enjoy a turn about the town after your long carriage journey.”

“Absolutely.” Henry shrugged. “I mean, if you’ve seen one town on the Eastern Seaboard, you’ve seen them all. House, house, steeple, steeple, village green, cow patty. But I’m sure you want to show me off.” He grinned crookedly, as if he were making fun of himself, but Eliza decided he was just showing off his grin.

An hour later, and Henry’s demeanor had not changed. Everything was too familiar, too old-fashioned, and too quaint. The only time he perked up was when they passed the house on the corner of Whitelawn and Farrier Streets, where even at this early hour a soldier could be seen making his way down the alley to the rear entrance, his hat pulled low over his face.

“Well, I know a house of ill repute when I see one,” Henry said bluntly. “If you come looking for me in the middle of the night and I’m not in my bed, you might consider asking for me around there.”

“Mr. Livingston!” Eliza struggled to regain control of her voice. “I most certainly will not come looking for you in the middle of the night!”

“Oh, I’m supposed to come to you, then?” Henry said, and actually dug his elbow into her ribs. “You’ll ‘play hard to get’ and I’ll ‘pretend’ to ravish you, is that it?”

“Mr. Livingston!” Eliza said again. “I find this line of conversation most inappropriate!”

“Oh, come on, Eliza, I’m only trying to break the ice. We’re going to be married in a week.”

“Well, we are not married now, and indeed we have only known each other for a few hours. I would appreciate a little delicacy before the secrets of the marriage chamber are thrust upon us.”

“Thrust being the operative word,” Henry said, sotto voce.

Eliza made to pull away but Henry had locked his arm in hers.

“Oh, come on, Miss Schuyler. I’m just teasing. I promise to be good for the rest of our walk.”

They continued on for ten more minutes, and if Henry refrained from any more off-color comments, he had not said much of anything else. Indeed, Eliza heard him yawn once.

At length they came to the Ford mansion. Eliza peered up at the stately residence, thinking, Was it really only a few weeks ago when I was inoculating soldiers against the pox and bantering with Colonel Laurens and the Marquis de Lafayette and dining with . . .

But she couldn’t bring herself to say his name. It seemed impossible that her life could have been upended so quickly.

Oh, Alex, she thought, staring at the front door and willing it to open. Where are you? What happened to us? Did Angelica scare you away? I have no care for name or fortune; you are more than enough for me.

To her shock, the door opened and Alex flew out in a whirlwind. He ran down the path, but it was only when he was near the end that he seemed to notice her.

“Miss—Miss Schuyler! I was just coming to see you!”

Eliza’s heart was beating so fast that she couldn’t actually speak.

“How do, Colonel,” Henry said in a mocking rendition of a southern accent.

“Henry Livingston!” Alex said, his eyes going wide with shock. “Is that really you?”

Eliza remembered then: When Alex had first come to the United States, he had stayed with the Livingstons. It was Kitty, Henry’s sister, who had first described the young Alex to her.