Love & War (Alex & Eliza #2)(12)
Eliza turned to see Governor George Clinton approaching them, preceded by his bloated stomach, plainly visible between the sagging folds of his unbuttoned coat, which was stained by the remnants of many meals and drinks. His lips were equally greasy and dark, and he held a whole pie in his right hand, from which he now took a large bite, exposing the dark creamy filling. Eliza did her best to keep her eyes fixed on the governor’s as some of the blueberry compote spilled onto her father’s exquisite Ottoman carpet.
Governor Clinton held out a blueberry-stained hand toward Alex. “George Clinton. But you can just call me Governor.”
Eliza knew Governor Clinton well enough to understand that he was fully aware of who Alex was. He was far too cagy to ever approach a strange man at a party without finding out his name and particulars first.
She half hoped Alex would offer Governor Clinton a napkin instead of his hand.
Instead she watched, a little disappointed, as Alex allowed the governor to smear blueberry pie filling all over his fingers. “Hamilton. Alexander Hamilton.”
“Colonel Hamilton, isn’t it?” Governor Clinton said, omitting the obligatory “sir” that military protocol dictated. “Your reputation precedes you,” he said, pointedly glancing at Eliza, not as though she was his wife, let alone the daughter of General Philip Schuyler, but one of the many young beauties Alex had been linked to before he met her.
He’s gone too far! she thought. Alex will not stand for this! Let him have it, Alex!
But all her husband said was, “I-I believe you know my wife, Eliza Schuyler Hamilton.”
“Know her?” Governor Clinton took another bite of pie. “Why, I bounced this young lassie on my knee when she was no taller than one of the lambs carved up on yonder table. My, my, Eliza Schuyler. I’d say that in the game of wife-hunting, Colonel Hamilton, you went out looking for a rabbit and bagged yourself a ten-pointed buck.”
Eliza felt her cheeks burn. To be described thus, and in her father’s house! This was too much. Surely Alex would recover his tongue now. She turned to him desperately, only to find him staring at his shoes as though they had come unbuckled.
“Oh, I’d say that she caught me, Governor,” he said in a voice that could barely be heard, “but I wouldn’t want to flatter myself.”
Alex’s words might have sounded sweet on any other occasion, but to Eliza’s ears tonight they sounded hollow.
“It would be difficult for my husband to flatter himself,” she said, “given all that he has accomplished at such a young age.”
Governor Clinton swilled another huge bite of pie, although he hadn’t quite finished swallowing before he answered.
“So I’ve heard,” he said, spewing crumbs from his lips. “Sailing into the colonies on William Livingston’s purse, marrying into the Schuyler clan, with a link to the even wealthier Rensselaers, and attaching himself like a remora to the great shark that is George Washington himself. Amazing accomplishments for a man born on an island smaller than a good-size farm, and without facing a single musket ball on the field of battle.”
From the tone of Governor Clinton’s voice, it was clear he was baiting the younger man, though Eliza had no idea why. Not the she cared. Clinton had always been a boor, and intimidating people was his primary mode of intercourse. What she couldn’t figure out was why Alex was acting so cowed. What did the man have on him?
“Well”—Governor Clinton shrugged—“I hear there may yet be chances for you to get yourself killed like a good American martyr.”
Alex cleared his throat nervously. “Were I to die in the service of my country, I would not consider myself a martyr. Just a patriot.”
“Have your wife tell the masons to carve that on your gravestone,” Governor Clinton snickered.
“Colonel Hamilton seeks no glory on the battlefield,” Eliza said, a defensive tone in her voice. “Only duty.”
Governor Clinton snorted. “No doubt you know many things about your husband that I do not, but on this account, I can assure you that you are wrong. Colonel Hamilton has been begging General Washington for a battle command for the past two years, despite his utter lack of leadership experience. And now it seems he is making a play to lead a regiment at Yorktown, which has no more need of his ‘expertise’ than a lamb has need of its wool after its throat has been slit.”
Eliza turned to Alex, who appeared to be even more fascinated by his shoes, one of which was doggedly tracing the pattern on the carpet beneath him. She felt her heart sink. Yorktown? A battle command? What was this? She was thankful that Peggy had made her put on a dusting of powder. She hoped it was enough to cover her flush.
“That is your second ovine analogy of the evening, Governor. It would seem you have mutton on your mind, rather than my husband’s career,” she said sharply.
“Your father does raise a tasty sheep,” Clinton said, heedlessly rubbing his belly with his dirty fingers, “but I assure you I am quite correct as to my intelligence concerning Colonel Hamilton’s military maneuvers, such as they are. He may outrank me in the army, but being governor does have its privileges.” His tone softened in mock sympathy. “Oh, you didn’t know?”
“Of course I knew,” Eliza retorted quickly, her stomach in knots. At least now she recognized why Alex was so tongue-tied. Clearly, he was afraid his secret would come out, and now it had. “Nor am I surprised that you knew. Only that you would speak of our army’s stratagems so casually. I thought secrecy was paramount in these matters.”