Alex and Eliza: A Love Story(65)
“And what makes you think he hasn’t?” Peggy said coyly.
Like Kitty, she had gone full stop for tonight’s party. Even though the ever-thrifty Catherine Schuyler had slashed her daughters’ dress budgets, Stephen was constantly sending his beloved bolts of the most exquisite silks from Europe. Her dress tonight was made of a shocking orange damask, a color that Eliza would have thought no living girl could pull off. Yet Peggy had gone the extra mile, having her maid dye her hair with ancient Egyptian henna, giving it dramatic umber tones. Piled up high, it sat atop her head like the crest of some exotic bird from the jungles of South America, perhaps, or one of those elegant long-legged cranes that wade through the shallow waters of southern wetlands. The summery palette highlighted the rosy hue of Peggy’s skin, which was sprinkled with enough flecks of mica to rival Kitty’s silvery sheen.
“Has he proposed?—oh, do tell!” Kitty urged, jumping ahead of herself. “I know he is not yet of age to access his fortune, but you could always elope like Angelica did and wait until he is twenty-one. That is, assuming his parents don’t disinherit him.”
“Disinherit him?!” Peggy said.
Eliza was unclear if her sister was outraged or merely pretending to it.
“For marrying a Schuyler!” Peggy laughed out loud. “The Van Rensselaers should be so lucky as to join their family to ours!”
“Aren’t you already related to the Van Rensselaers? On Mrs. Schuyler’s side? Or perhaps Mr. Schuyler’s? Or both?” asked Kitty.
“Mama was a Miss Van Rensselaer, and of course a Livingston on her mama’s side. Papa’s mother was a Van Cortlandt, not a Van Rensselaer.”
Eliza couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh dear, we are so related, it is a wonder that we do not turn into those poor Habsburgs, marrying cousin after cousin until we start giving birth to misshapen idiots.”
Eliza had meant her words to come out in jest, but there was enough truth to them to cause Kitty and Peggy to stare at her in incredulity.
“Oh, Eliza, you are too morbid, even for yourself!” Kitty said at last. “Come let us have a bit of fun, as I know my brother certainly is!”
KITTY WAS REFERRING to Henry’s festivities, which were going on in full force near the officers’ barracks several blocks away. Henry had invited every officer from the rank of lieutenant on up—some one hundred men, most of them under the age of twenty-five, and all eager for one last party before the war went hot again with the return of warm weather.
Earlier in the day when she was out for a stroll, Eliza had seen dozens of casks of beer, cider, and sherry being rolled into the long stone barn that housed the C infirmary.
Curious enough, she had peeked in, only to find that all the beds had been cleared out. The four cast-iron stoves had doubled to eight, and large stacks of firewood were piled beside each of them—enough to heat the large space moderately for a week, or to keep a single party raging all night long.
“Pardon me, Corporal,” she’d said, pulling aside one of the enlisted men setting up the party. “But—where have all the patients gone?”
The corporal had blushed deeply. “You will forgive me, miss, if I decline to answer that question on the grounds of decency.”
“And you will forgive me, Corporal, if I tell my fiancé, Colonel Livingston, that you declined to assist a lady.”
“Ah, Miss Schuyler, I didn’t know it was you. I do apologize.” He blushed. “Colonel Livingston had us take the sick to the house on Whitelawn.”
“The house on—” Eliza’s jaw dropped. “You mean, the one on the corner of Farrier Street?”
“Aye, Miss Schuyler. Now if you’ll excuse me, Colonel Livingston said that if we get the party set up by sundown he’ll let us have a cask of cider for ourselves.”
“ELIZA?” KITTY’S VOICE cut through her reverie. “Are you all right? Or is just the thought of the momentous cusp you stand upon that has you so preoccupied?”
Dazed, Eliza looked up at her friend—her cousin, her dreadful fiancé’s sister.
“Cusp?” she repeated. “A cusp is the top of a hill whereupon one can see clearly in every direction. This is not a cusp. It is a . . . it is a cliff, a drop into some unfathomably deep and foggy abyss. And, and—and below it all, I hear the thunderous roar of waves crashing upon rocks, like those that dashed Prospero and Miranda upon Caliban’s island!”
“Eliza!” Kitty said sharply, placing her hand on her friend’s knee. “You are overwrought! I tell you, you must calm down, dear. It is a marriage, for God’s sake, not a shipwreck!”
“Isn’t it, though?” Eliza said glumly.
“Sister!” Peggy spoke up. “You insult our cousin!”
“It’s . . . acceptable,” Kitty said, though the color had come into her cheeks, visible even beneath her makeup. “I-I understand that you haven’t known Henry long enough to love him. I even know that Henry can be . . . difficult, but I promise you, I know all his secrets and his weaknesses, and once I’ve shared them with you, you’ll have him under your thumb in no time. And Papa is grooming him for a career in politics, which means that he’ll spend most of his time in Philadelphia or New York or wherever they decide to place the capital, so you’ll hardly have to deal with him at all!”