Alex and Eliza: A Love Story(68)

“Sir?” The shocked word dropped Lieutenant Larpent’s lips like a dribble of chaw.

“I’ll call him out!” Alex hurriedly pulled on his pistol. “I’ll challenge him to a duel. Don’t you see, if he’s dead he can’t marry Eliza!”

“Sir, please,” Lieutenant Larpent said. “Calm down! I don’t know that a breach of protocol, if that is indeed what you are calling him out for, necessitates a duel, sir. Isn’t it simply something for a military tribunal?”

“Then I’ll make him call me out,” Alex declared. “I’ll go to his own party and insult his honor and integrity in front of his own guests. He’ll have no choice but to challenge me to a duel. You know these milquetoast aristocrats! They cannot bear to lose face in front of their peers, but even less so in front of their inferiors.”

“Sir, please,” Lieutenant Larpent pleaded as Alex stuffed his feet into his boots. “I don’t think this is a good idea. It will look like—”

Alex turned sharply on the lieutenant. “Like what, Lieutenant?” he demanded.

Larpent’s chin trembled as he answered. “Like you are manufacturing a reason to duel him. Like—” Larpent bit back a gulp. “Like murder.”

“It’s not murder if he calls me out,” Alex said, striding from the room. “It’s proof of how unsuitable a mate he is for any gentlewoman. Arrogant, quick-tempered, foolish . . .”

“Forgive me, sir.” Larpent panted as he hurried along after Alex. “But do you not see how all those words could describe you in this moment, sir? She chose him, sir. For whatever reason, she accepted his proposal, and not yours.”

Under ordinary circumstances Alex would have wheeled on the man and dressed him down until he was a quivering ball of jelly. But Larpent was right; Eliza had accepted Livingston’s proposal, while he, Alex, had never even proposed. It suddenly dawned on him. That was it! He had never told her what he felt about her. He had never formally presented his suit, never courted her properly.

He had let her sister cut him to the quick, and Angelica was right. He was penniless. Without a name or family. Who was he to think he could be worthy of such a girl as Eliza Schuyler? An American princess.

But the thought of that bright, wonderful girl marrying that slug filled him with an intoxicating brew of anger and hope that he picked up his pace, grabbing his damp hat from the tree in the hall and dashing out the front door.

Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe he could still do something about it. Call the man out, duel him for her honor.

It was his last chance to save Eliza. To save himself.



BUT THE DAY wasn’t done with him yet. After a brisk, rain-soaked trot of some twenty minutes, Alex and Larpent reached the stone barn, his assistant pleading with him all the while to see reason. Alex burst through the doors into a throng of men in various states of disarray and undress. The cavernous space blazed with heat from Colonel Livingston’s appropriated stoves, and a spicy fog of alcohol and sweat laced the air. The revelers were clustered in three distinct throngs.

Alex scanned the leering faces, looking for Colonel Livingston’s, but saw no trace of him. He made his way to the second group of men, then the third, but though he saw two scantily clad lasses dancing for tips and kisses, he found no trace of Henry Livingston.

Suddenly Corporal Weston’s face appeared before his. His cheeks were rosy with heat and his speech was addled by alcohol. “Colonel Hatilmon!” he exclaimed. “I mean, Curling Hallinom! You ma’e it to the par’y!”

He grabbed Alex by the shoulders and would have bestowed a slobbery kiss on him if Alex hadn’t pushed him back.

“Corporal Weston!” he demanded. “Have you seen Colonel Livingston!”

“Corna Who?”

“Livingston!” Alex shouted, trying to make himself heard through the noise of the fog and Corporal Weston’s drunken stupor.

“Corna Livyston?” Corporal Weston laughed. “Never met him!” He held up his glass. “But I’ll drink a toas’ to him. Here’s to Corna Livyston, whoever he is!” He swilled a gulp of some frothy lager.

“But this is his party!” Alex persisted.

“Livyston’s party? Oh, right-right-right!” Weston said, nodding his head enthusiastically.

“Where is he, then?”

“Not a clue. He’s gone. Definitely gone!”

“Gone! But isn’t he to be married to Miss Schuyler tomorrow?” Alex demanded, his frustration rising.

“Miss Schuy’er!” Corporal Weston, his eyes lighting. “She’s a beauty, in’t she!” And then, unbidden: “She eloped!”

“What?” Alex gasped. “It was Miss Angelica Schuyler who eloped. I refer to Miss Elizabeth Schuyler.”

“Don’t tell me no,” Corporal Weston said with great outrage. “I know Miss Angelabeth, Miss Elizica, Miss”—he took a deep breath to steady himself—“Miss Elizabeth Schuy’er, and I know she eloped. Gone since yes’erday mor’ing.”

Alex could only stare at the corporal in shock.

“Miss Elizabeth Schuyler,” he said at last. “Eliza. She—she’s already married? You are certain?”

Corporal Weston nodded cheerfully, as if he were delivering the most felicitous news in the world.