Love & War (Alex & Eliza #2)(2)
“It is hard to imagine this war being over,” Eliza said. “I feel as though we have grown up with it. But I do hope he’s right! Alex and I have been married for half a year already, but we have yet to establish a household.”
Indeed, as much as Eliza loved the Pastures, she was impatient to move out of her parents’ house and into one with her husband. After their wedding, they’d only had a few blessed weeks together before he had to rush back to General Washington’s headquarters. These days, Alex was chafing at their present living arrangements just as much as she was, and both were eager for more time on their own.
Though she loved her husband dearly, and knew he loved her, they had spent more time apart than together during the course of their brief romance and even briefer marriage. The flame that burned between them was bright, but they had yet to live alone as husband and wife. In many ways Alex was still a stranger to her. Their lives were mediated by family and servants and soldiers, and as such, their private lives were not as private as they would have preferred.
At least he’d been home now for a spell, although he was scheduled to leave again in a few days. Missing him was the lot of a soldier’s wife, and instead of weeping and worrying, Eliza endeavored to be brave. Still, it was difficult, even in the midst of so much beauty, not to feel bereft. When Alex was gone, she felt his absence as a physical ache. She chided herself for being so selfish. While she was his wife, he was a man of the world, of the state, and she owed it to her country to share, didn’t she?
Her own parents had endured many long separations during their marriage. Even so, General and Mrs. Schuyler had at least had a few years to establish themselves and start their family before their first parting.
Since Alex was leaving soon to report back to duty, festivities had been planned for later that evening. She didn’t want to surmise how long he’d be gone, but hoped when he returned they would finally be able to settle down on their own. “I am ready to live under my own roof,” Eliza declared.
“Hear, hear,” Angelica seconded. “I have been married a year longer than you, and my husband and I see less of each other than when we were courting. Tell me: Do you know yet where he plans to make his residence?”
Eliza shook her head. “It will probably be New York City, which is most conducive to a career in law. But if he is lured into politics, we may well end up in Philadelphia or perhaps someplace farther south, if all this talk of creating a capital in the midpoint of the country comes to pass.”
“Uuuuuugh.” The sisters’ conversation was interrupted by a low moan from a corner of the kitchen, where Cornelia was sprawled across a stack of burlap bags filled with rice. Her face from nose to chin to plump cheeks was painted dark purple from greedily consumed berries. “Too—much—fruit.”
“I told you, Cornelia,” Eliza said, laughing in sympathy. “You must pace yourself or you’ll give yourself a bellyache.”
“Too—late,” Cornelia moaned, rubbing her aproned stomach with fingers that were as dark as her mouth. But even as she did, she sat up and was soon shuffling toward the buckets brimming with fruit.
“Wait till tea, dear, and you can have scones with fresh jam and cream,” Eliza said, catching her sister and turning her around. “Please head inside now and have Dot give you a good scrub. We can’t have you looking like a harlequin at the party tonight.”
Eliza expected Cornelia to protest being handed over to their ladies’ maid. Instead, a piercing scream filled the sweet-scented kitchen. “Party!” the little girl screeched gleefully, running toward the door. “Dot! Dot!” she could be heard yelling as she disappeared into the courtyard. “Eliza says you must give me a bath RIGHT NOW!”
Eliza stared fondly after her youngest sister, then returned to Angelica and Peggy. Just two and a half years separated all three older girls. Though quite distinct in appearance, they were nevertheless so close that they were often referred to collectively as “the Schuyler sisters,” as if they were triplets.
“Speaking of husbands: Will Mr. Church will be joining us this evening as well?” she asked Angelica.
“Oh, Eliza, don’t be so stuffy! We have been married for ages, you can call him John!”
“Ha!” Peggy laughed. “I heard her talking to her husband the other day. Do you know she still calls him Colonel Hamilton in public?!”
“Peggy!” Eliza exclaimed. “You ought not to eavesdrop.”
“It’s not eavesdropping when all three of us are in the same parlor,” Peggy said with a smirk. “Tell me, sister dear. Do you always address your husband so formally? I hope there are times when your discourse is more . . . intimate!”
Eliza felt a deep blush color her throat and cheeks. She did call him Alex when they were alone, but in public, she followed her mother’s model and addressed him by his proper title. Fortunately, the hot kitchen was filled with steam from pots of stew and consommé for the party, and she hoped her sisters wouldn’t notice. Still, she found herself helplessly tongue-tied.
“Oh, Peggy,” Angelica said. “Always the provocateur!”
“Me?” Peggy laughed. “I am but an unmarried maiden, whereas you two are worldly wedded women. How could I possibly provoke you?”
Angelica couldn’t help but grin. “I suspect that our polite Eliza will continue to address him as Colonel Hamilton among company even when they have been married as long as Mama and Papa.”