Love & War (Alex & Eliza #2)(44)
“Oh, Alex, you’re just being stubborn.”
Alex didn’t meet her gaze. “I served at the man’s side for four years.”
“I mean about the window,” Eliza said with some exasperation. “They are very clearly the same size. There is no reason to measure them both.”
For a moment, it seemed as though Alex was going to ignore her. He remounted the chair and reached his tape to the corner of the window. Then a chuckle erupted from him, and he hopped from the chair to the floor. “I suppose you’re right, my darling.”
Eliza pulled her chair closer to the fire. Though it was barely noon, she had been on her feet for some six hours, having awakened at six to a cold fireplace and even colder bed—Alex had already risen, and must have secreted himself in the study so as not to disturb her. She had dozed in bed for a few minutes, waiting for the maid to come in to tend to the fire, but then she snapped awake when she remembered that there weren’t three chambermaids and an equal complement of footmen to attend to such mundane duties. If she didn’t light the fire herself, no one was going to.
Alex heard her going up and down the stairs and emerged from his study to join her, and though Eliza thought to go back to bed once the fire was going, there were ash buckets to be emptied first, coal and wood to be brought in and distributed among the house’s three floors, and then the measuring tape had appeared in Alex’s hand, and here they were.
She fixed him in the eye and smiled wanly. “You’re also being stubborn about General Washington.”
Alex opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it. He looked about for somewhere to sit, but there was only the faded floorboards, bare of any rug or carpet.
“You shouldn’t take this personally,” Eliza continued. “I have heard from at least three different people that General Washington invited no one to see him off. The only reason he came to the city was to sign the documents that formally transferred governing power from General Carlton back to the state of New York. By all accounts, his goal was to slip out with as little fanfare as possible.”
“A ludicrous idea,” Alex dismissed.
“Don’t be disrespectful,” Eliza said curtly. “And yes, maybe it was unrealistic of General Washington to think he could escape to Virginia without some kind of ceremonial before his men. But can you blame him? By your own description, he was never a public personality and accepted his role as commander in chief only because of his love for his country. But the bonds he built with his men—including you!—were real, and he deserves a final embrace from them before he resumes life as a country squire.”
Alex sighed. He had been up since four in the morning answering letters, and was as weary as his wife. The bare window made the room rather cold on this late fall day, and so he walked toward Eliza and sat at her feet in front of the fire, his back leaning against the draped fullness of her woolen skirts. “Mark my words, Eliza, he shall not remain a country squire for long. This country is not yet willing to accept a unifying central government, but it will rally behind its heroes—”
“As the gathering at the Queen’s Head demonstrates,” Eliza put in.
“Indeed. And when General Washington realizes that the independent nation he fought on behalf of for seven years is in jeopardy, he will return to public service. As I said, the American people are not yet ready to accept a single government. But they would accept a single leader—if that leader were General Washington. Although I suppose his title wouldn’t be general then. It would be prime minister or perhaps president or, heaven forbid, king.”
“Oh, Alex, no! You don’t think the American people would ever again consent to become subjects of a monarchy, do you?”
“Stranger things have happened. The problem with kings and queens is that when a worthy figure appears—a Solomon, say, or a Charlemagne—their grateful subjects make the mistake of thinking that their descendants will be every bit as wise and just as they are. But the ability to lead a nation is not a heritable trait like hair color or skin tone. It is a rare skill, indeed, and manifests itself only in persons whose unique combination of temperament, training, and experience have made them capable of seeing past the benefits that they can derive from their country, to the benefits that they can bestow upon that country.”
Eliza smiled to herself, glad that Alex’s gaze was fixed elsewhere—she didn’t want to make him self-conscious, or think she was mocking him. Even after four years, she was still moved by her husband’s articulateness and vision, and she found tears had come to her eyes. He had the ability to sound as though he were reading from the pages of a well-edited book, even when he was speaking off the top of his head.
She stroked a lock of his strawberry-blond hair. “It sounds as though you are declaring your own qualifications for the role,” she said, curling the strand around her index finger and giving it a teasing tug.
“Me? To be sure, I hope to serve my country. But if I am honest about my own capabilities, I am less executive than administrator. I am, perhaps, too selfish to be a great leader. So selfish,” he added, turning to her with a smile and catching her hand in his, “that I would rather measure rooms for curtains and carpets with my beautiful wife than abase myself one last time before a man who was willing to make use of my services but not reward them until he was threatened with losing me. Well, let him have his turtle soup with his admirers. He has earned their veneration. But I have earned his, and if he cannot see that, then I see no reason to leave the far more amiable company in which I find myself.” And, pulling her hand to his lips, he bestowed upon it a dozen quick kisses.