Love & War (Alex & Eliza #2)(13)

“There are no secrets where Yorktown is concerned,” Clinton replied. “I would say that you are throwing away your life, Colonel Hamilton, but your life is yours do with as you will, beautiful, wealthy wife or no. Yet the men who will be serving under you deserve a more qualified leader, and the chance to return to their families when the day is won.’”

Eliza glanced at Alex, who was struggling to meet her gaze, let alone Clinton’s, or even stammer an answer to such discourtesy. It appeared she would have to be the one to rise to the occasion.

“I can assure you, Governor Clinton,” she said coldly, “that my husband’s love for me and his love for his country occupy very different spheres in his heart. I would not dream of asking him to choose between us. If he feels his country needs him at Yorktown, I fully support his decision, and I know that he will acquit himself with the highest level of bravery.”

Clinton smirked, but admiration showed in his eyes at Eliza’s defense of her husband. “If he has half your fighting spirit, you might just be right.” And then, noticing his hands were empty, he turned toward the meat table. “And now I think I’m going to have some of that sweet, juicy lamb.”

Eliza waited until the governor was out of earshot before turning to her husband.

“Darling—” Alex started. “I’ve been meaning to tell you—”

“How long have you known?” She spoke over him, her dark eyes flashing at his betrayal. “And you had no care to share the news with me? Your wife? Not even to discuss the ramifications of the choice you have made?” It was at times like these it was obvious that Alex was bound more to their fledging country than their fledging marriage.

Alex’s eyes fell. “Nothing has been decided yet. I may not even—”

“How long, Alex?” Eliza demanded.

Alex looked up at her with guilty eyes. “I put in the request a few months ago. General Washington said he would give me an answer when I rejoin him at Newburgh.”

“And you have reason to believe his answer will be yes.” She choked back a sob.

Alex’s eyes wavered. “I told him that if he did not give me a battle command, I would resign immediately.”

“Resign!” she echoed, shocked.

“I am a soldier, Eliza, and a good one. Without a command, I would never rise in the ranks, never gain the respect and the honor I am due,” he said. “Please, try to understand. I am no one, I am nothing. I did this for us.”

She shook her head. “But if you resign, you forfeit your pay and your pension! We would be penniless for certain! You did all this without consulting me?”

“My darling, please,” Alex said, grabbing her hands. “There are some decisions a man has to do on his own.”

Eliza resisted the urge to pull her hands from Alex, lest she cause a scene. But her fury was so palpable that Alex dropped them of his own accord.

“A man maybe. But a husband—never,” she said coldly. She stormed away from him, her head held high.

“Eliza, please!” he begged.

Eliza stopped in her tracks and turned back slowly to face him, her eyes boring into his. “You made your decision on your own. What do you care where I go?” she said, then whirled on her heel and plunged into the crowd.





6





Separations and Reunions


   Aboard the Pilgrim


    Albany, New York, to Newburgh, New York


   May 1781


Alex had a miserable journey to Newburgh. To speed his trip, John Church had arranged for him to catch a ride on the Pilgrim, a merchant vessel loaded with beaver furs. The beautiful weather had yielded to a summer squall, with sheets of rain whipping across the freighter’s deck and rendering it uninhabitable to all but the most seasoned salts. Below decks was nearly as bad, though: unbearably muggy, and suffused with an odor of rotting meat from the uncured hides bundled in the hold. The captain was a grizzled mariner who claimed to be French but between his toothlessness and the pipe he kept clapped between his gums, Alex understood only about one out of five words that came from the man’s mouth, despite his growing up speaking both English and French.

But that’s not why Alex was miserable.

His parting from Eliza had been less than amicable, to put it lightly. Eliza had disappeared from the party after their argument, and did not resurface until the end of the evening, when she shook his hand in full view of the servants who were cleaning up the greasy platters and wine-stained glasses. “I hope you enjoyed your party, Colonel Hamilton,” she said in a voice that could have frozen water. “No doubt you need your rest in preparation for your journey, so I will sleep in Angelica’s old room tonight.”

Two days later, his wife was still cold as a glacier with no hope of melting. Alex had tried to get her alone all the next day, but Eliza spent the entire morning and afternoon visiting friends. When she arrived home at dinnertime, she announced that she had “taken too much sun,” and ate her dinner in Angelica’s room, where she slept once again, refusing to return to their marital bed.

She only consented to speak to him the next morning, when she saw him off at the river pier. Her face was red and puffy. Clearly, she had not spent a pleasant night.

“My darling,” he said, moving to take her in his arms. “Please hear me out. I am so sorry for having upset you. I should have told you earlier.”