Love & War (Alex & Eliza #2)(11)
Alex pursed his lips. “Satisfactory. I would let you serve at table, if I were not afraid that you might distract my guests from their food.”
“You flatter me,” Angelica said archly.
“You haven’t seen my dinners,” Alex replied with equal color. “My food is not so pretty as all that. Next, please.”
Angelica rolled her eyes and stepped to one side. And there was Eliza.
Or, rather, the back of her, for she was busily conferring with Hendricks, showing him how the small tartlets on his tray should be arranged so they didn’t bunch up in a jumble “like leaves pooling behind a dam,” as she could be heard saying.
“And tell Cook to slice the bresaola thinner,” she said as the footman moved to rejoin the party. “It is not sausage. It is should melt in the mouth, not be chewed like jerky.”
She started then, aware of eyes on her, and turned suddenly toward her husband. Her face was completely open, with the practical expression of a busy hostess rather than the tempting pout of a coquette. She had chosen a dress of American indigo, a rich blue that gave off purple tones when struck by candlelight. As was her custom (and despite her sister’s teasing earlier), she had eschewed a corset, and the skirts of her dress were filled out by nothing more than a strategically draped underpaneling. She looked, in other words, not like a statue, but like a woman, and as Alex took in the sight of her, his eyes softened and his lips curled into a gentle, unconscious smile.
(“Come, Sister,” Angelica whispered to Peggy. “Our game is over.”)
They eased back into the party as Alex stepped forward and took Eliza’s hands in his. He did not bother to see if anyone was looking, but leaned in and kissed her softly, briefly, on the lips.
“Do you remember me now, Mrs. Hamilton?” he asked in a hushed voice, his blue eyes shining.
“It’s coming back to me,” Eliza said. “Kiss me again and perhaps I’ll be able to place your—”
Her voice dissolved as Alex did her bidding and kissed her again, longer and more urgently this time. Eliza’s breath caught in her chest as if her corset had been pulled too tight—but she wasn’t wearing one.
“My darling,” he whispered throatily.
“Oh,” said Eliza, speechless and swooning at his touch, as he made his way dangerously close to her décolletage.
Alex looked around and pulled her deeper into the shadows. He kissed his way back up to her lips, and for a moment, they both quite forgot where they were, until the coughing of a few disapproving guests brought them back to their senses. They quickly pulled away from each other.
“I have missed you, Colonel Hamilton,” she said when she could speak again.
“And I you, Mrs. Hamilton,” said Alex, helping her set her gown to rights as he straightened his lapels. “Fortunately, the war will be over soon, and it will be merely Mr. Hamilton again. General Washington is preparing—” His face clouded and his voice broke off.
Eliza peered at him nervously. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” Alex said vaguely. “Just routine military matters. I will give you all the details later, after the guests have gone—if you can stay awake to hear them all,” he added with forced levity.
“I sense that these are more than routine matters,” Eliza said. “But you are right. This is a party, and you are its guest of honor. Everyone has come to say good-bye to you before you rejoin General Washington at Newburgh.”
Eliza noticed another pained look from Alex but didn’t inquire about it. Growing up with a military man for a father had taught her that he would tell her what he could, and pressing him would only cause them both distress.
“Come,” she said then. “Let me present you to all these people who you will never see again—if you’re lucky.”
The next two hours were a blur of handshakes and hugs, colognes and perfumes, drinks sipped and sometimes swilled, foods nibbled and chewed. Eliza led Alex adroitly from one conversational group to the next, angling him in and making introductions, allowing her guests to pepper him with questions about General Washington or the war or what his plans were for Albany’s favorite daughter.
General Washington was “the greatest of men,” Alex replied every time; the war “would be over before you could say Yankee Doodle”; and as for Eliza, Alex said that he had every intention of making sure that the next twenty years of her life were as sumptuous as the first twenty.
“But how?” the widowed Mrs. Peter Rycken asked bluntly. “I hear you have no money and no profession. You can’t be General Washington’s errand boy forever.”
Alex blushed and attempted to answer, but Eliza stepped in smoothly, with a cold smile at the nosy widow. “Alex was reading law before the war started,” she said, “and his years at General Washington’s desk have given him a unique opportunity to continue those studies, if he chooses to. But who knows? Perhaps he will seek out a career in public service. A new nation needs new leaders.”
“Pah!” Mrs. Rycken exclaimed. “Government is not a career, it’s a hobby for wealthy men. At least if they’re honest. You strike me as an honest boy,” she added, as if that were a character flaw.
“Indeed!” a male voice cut in. “The most ineffective leaders have always been the most scrupulous.” A chuckle punctuated the still-faceless words. “That must be why I’m such a bad governor, ha-ha-ha!”