Alex and Eliza: A Love Story(64)
“It’s not that kind of send-off, sir.”
“My God, Lieutenant, I think you should take my place in the upcoming negotiations with General von Knyphausen. You can withhold better than anyone this side of an Algonquin brave.”
Another squirming sigh from Lieutenant Larpent. “It’s more of a, um, a party, sir.”
“A party? What on earth could the men be celebrating?”
Suddenly Alex understood. It was a party for Henry Livingston to celebrate his upcoming marriage to Eliza Schuyler.
“I’m sorry, Colonel Hamilton. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
Alex wasn’t in the mood to be charitable.
“Indeed, you should not have, Lieutenant Larpent. We are on a mission of state. There are thousands of American soldiers festering on British prison ships whose freedom depends on what we do in the next several days. And you can think only of getting drunk on cider and sherry!”
“With all due respect, sir, that’s not why I’m sorry I brought it up. I’m sorry because I know how much you love Miss Schuyler, sir.”
Alex whirled on Larpent, ready to lash out at him. But the face he saw staring at him sympathetically wasn’t that of an underling but that of a boy a few years younger than him, who felt keenly the heartsickness of an admired comrade. Alex’s rage melted on his tongue. He brought his horse up beside Larpent’s.
“At ease, Lieutenant. I confess I have been rather on edge this last week.” He managed a laugh. “So, you feel my pain, do you—but not so much as to decline the invitation of my rival?”
Lieutenant Larpent risked a chuckle. “As you said, Colonel, there’ll be all the cider and sherry you can drink. It’s been a long winter with nothing stronger than the corn mash Sixth Massachusetts brews behind the Langleys’ barn. A man has to treat himself once in a while.”
Alex nodded. “Well, then, let’s get a move on, and I’ll do my best to get you back in time to the celebration.”
He spurred his horse, and Lieutenant Larpent kicked his up beside him. “If it makes you feel any better, Colonel,” he said as they galloped toward the river, “the troops all think Colonel Livingston’s nothing but an empty purse, and you can be sure I’ll be drinking his liquor all the while—and having him on in your stead!”
28
Hen Party
The Cochran Residence
Morristown, New Jersey
April 1780
“Oh, Eliza, isn’t it thrilling! We’re going to be sisters! It is a prospect almost too delicious to contemplate.”
Kitty Livingston, Henry’s older sister and Eliza’s friend since the earliest days of their childhood, had been tasked with throwing Eliza a little celebration of her own. And here it was, coming off as something of a failure
Due to such short notice and Kitty’s lack of acquaintance with the local mademoiselles, she had been unable to round up any guests besides herself and Peggy and Aunt Gertrude, who was now sleeping soundly over in the wing chair next to the fire.
To make up for the lack of guests, however, Kitty had dressed herself in enough fashion for ten women. Her wig was so tall it would have made Madame de Pompadour jealous, and her heavy makeup was done in exquisite grisaille. Her face and décolletage had a silvery sheen, so that she looked like Pygmalion’s statue of Galatea come to life in all her perfect beauty, polished yet nubile.
Her dress was a separate work of art. Acres and acres of laurel-green silk moiré embroidered with the most ornate arabesques of saffron and oxblood, the tones muted yet exquisitely deep, like sugar candies tinted with mint and lemon and cherry. The bustle was three feet wide and the skirts twice that, so the only spot she could find to sit was in the middle of Aunt Gertrude’s longest sofa, which was so crowded with Kitty’s dress that no one else could join her. Eliza thought perhaps Kitty had done that on purpose.
“Can you imagine, Eliza?” trilled Kitty. “One day soon we’ll be able to send out invitations that proclaim ‘Catherine and Elizabeth Livingston and their husbands wish to invite you to Liberty Hall to officially open the season at Elizabethtown’ and ‘Catherine and Elizabeth Livingston and their husbands invite you to—’”
“But, Kitty,” Eliza interrupted her. “If it’s ‘Catherine and Elizabeth Livingston and their husbands,’ won’t your surname be necessarily different after you marry?”
“Oh, I’ve already thought of that. I’ve always said that I’d refuse to marry anyone less distinguished than a Van Rensselaer or a Livingston—or maybe a Schuyler, though Philip is a little too young for me to wait around for,” she added with a wink at Eliza. “And since Peggy seems to have snatched up the Van Rensselaer to have, I’ve set my eye on a couple of cousins on Papa’s side.”
“Oh, Kitty,” Peggy said with a laugh. “You speak of a husband as though he were a long-term investment, like a parcel of land to be cleared and sowed with some slow-growing orchard crop.”
“And isn’t he? How old was Stephen when you began to reel him in? Eleven? Twelve? You have been playing that boy as expertly as a courtesan.”
“Kitty!” Eliza clapped her hand over her mouth. “You go too far.”
“You think I’m speaking ill of dear Peggy, but I’m complimenting her. Your sister will be the richest woman in the United States. If,” she added slyly, “she can ever get him to propose.”