Alex and Eliza: A Love Story(71)
“Worse!” Henry moaned. “Oh, lying back makes it so much worse.” He fell forward, catching himself on the side of Aunt Gertrude’s wing-backed chair. “Poison!” he moaned. “You have poisoned me!”
Eliza thought to say that she and Kitty and Peggy had all drunk the chocolate without any ill effects, but when Henry looked up at her, suddenly she saw a strange leer in his eye, and her words died in her throat.
“It was all your plan, wasn’t it? To lure me here and take advantage of me?”
“Take advantage of you how?” Eliza said drily. “Braid your hair like a little girl’s, and paint your lips like a courtesan’s?”
Henry giggled uncontrollably at this image, so much so that Eliza thought he was going to fall backward into the fire.
“You are funny! And saucy! I think marrying you won’t be so dreadful after all. If I promise to always stay drunk, do you promise to always inflame me with that naughty tongue of yours?”
“Inflame you? Is your ego so damaged that you take insults as entreaties?”
Henry giggled, but a little less certainly, as he tried to make sense of her words. Then, quite before she knew what was happening, he had lurched across the parlor and half leapt, half fallen upon her.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know what you’re doing. We men like to think that you girls are all innocents who know nothing about the world, but I know better. You little minxes are always trying to control us to satisfy your own craven pleasures. And you know what I say? I say satisfy them!”
His hands pawed at her shoulders and his glistening lips made for hers. She turned her face away in disgust and felt a wet smear across the side of her chin and neck.
“Colonel Livingston, have you quite forgotten yourself? You are a gentleman, and my fiancé as well. You degrade us both with this behavior!”
“You’re right,” Henry slurred, pulling her close when she attempted to slide free. “I am your husband. By this time tomorrow we will be married, and then the law itself will compel you to submit to me. So why not submit to me now. Start your marriage right: by giving your husband what he wants.”
He grabbed at her, and Eliza heard fabric rip as she pushed him away. For the first time she began to be afraid. With another strong push, she was able to get out from under him, and she stood up quickly. Her fingers closed around something of their own accord. She looked down and saw it was the pot of hot chocolate.
Eliza thought of calling out, but to whom? Kitty and Peggy were gone and the servants had retired to their quarters. Only Aunt Gertrude remained in the house, and assuming she even heard Eliza through her alcohol-laced slumber, the prospect of such a reputable woman being confronted with Henry’s scandalous behavior was even more shaming than having to suffer it herself.
She sat up straight and summoned a breath.
“It is time for you to go, Colonel Livingston. If you wish to salvage this marriage, and indeed your reputation, you need to leave now.”
“Or what?” Henry said in an ugly, amused voice. “You’ll hit me with a porcelain pot?”
He took a step toward her, and she took a step back.
“I’ll do it!” she cried, raising it. “Don’t think I won’t!”
“Oh, I think you will,” he said, taking another step toward her. “That’s what I like about you—you’ve got spirit.” He laughed at his weak pun. “This is going to be fun, breaking you in. Now come, give your fiancé a kiss.”
31
Heroes and Villains
Outside Infirmary C
Morristown, New Jersey
April 1780
The rain had stopped while Alex was at the party, but it didn’t matter. His change of clothes was as wet as the uniform he’d worn during the ride from Amboy. Only his feet were dry, protected in the sturdiest pair of boots that man could make, and his face, shielded by a tricorne that could have withstood an Atlantic crossing. No rain got past that formidable hat, but he had worked up a sweat in the barn, though whether it was from heat or agitation was anyone’s guess.
Married, he thought. Eloped, just like her sister. It didn’t seem possible.
He let his boots choose his path. Morristown was gently hilled, and his tired legs skirted the bases and avoided the hills, taking him by more farms than houses, which had been built on higher ground to enjoy the advantage of light, breeze, and view. The great trees that had been left behind when the land was cleared were still leafless but somehow heavier of limb, as their thick sap began to run in anticipation of spring. Their branches cast shadows as heavy as down blankets on the fields and pastures, which lay bare in the moonlight, awaiting the kiss of the plow. The houses were on the small side, but finely made, and sparingly but elegantly appointed with handsome cornices, their chimneys as dormant as the fields at this late hour, though a faint tang of wood smoke still hung in the air. All in all, it was a picture of American handiness and probity, one that filled Alex with pride that he had chosen this side in the war, when he could have just as easily defended the land and traditions of his parents. This continent had put its stamp on him, whether it was the Indies or the northern colonies, making him a person from the New World and an American through and through. If in the future the buildings grew larger and more numerous, Alex hoped that the American cities would never lose this sense of modesty and hardiness.