Love & War (Alex & Eliza #2)(45)

Eliza listened to her husband with mixed emotions. On the one hand, she understood his frustration. So much of their marriage had been consumed by the war, by Alex’s service to his country, and by General Washington’s needs. But she also knew how much General Washington had meant to Alex, and how much his country meant to him, too. Still, she also adored it when he kissed her hand like this, and it was another moment before she was able to speak again. Duty could be an annoyingly inconvenient thing, but that was the blessing of marriage: There would always be time for more kissing later.

“Turtle soup?” she said at last, making a face. “The general eats that? Really?”

“I am told it is quite delicious.”

“And I am told that opossum has a gamy flavor not unlike rabbit, but I’m still not going to eat anything that sports a hairless tail like a rodent. Well then,” she continued, “far be it from me to ask you to leave my—what was the word you used—”

“Amiable.”

“Yes, my amiable company.” She patted him on the head and he lolled under her touch like a spaniel puppy. “But perhaps you would care to accompany me to the Broadway, where I saw a charming dry goods merchant.”

Alex chuckled. “I think it’s just called Broadway. No ‘the’ needed.”

“I like the way ‘the Broadway’ sounds,” Eliza retorted, to further laughter from Alex. “At any rate, I found this shop quite charming, and thought that we might find some fabric for the curtains, and perhaps also something to cover the sofas and chairs that Mama is sending from Albany.”



* * *





THEIR LACK OF china was solved not a half hour later, in the mercer’s shop that Eliza led Alex to on Broadway. In the middle of a relatively scant, though not unattractive, assortment of brocades and jacquards sat an entire service of the finest bone china Eliza had ever seen, painted with an intricate yet delicate pattern of brightly colored birds and flowers: cups and saucers, plates and chargers, salad bowls, dessert plates, and a full complement of serving dishes as well, including a four-legged covered fish plate that could have held a thirty-pound lobster.

It was an odd display to see in a fabric store, and Eliza was half afraid it was for show only, to set off the embroidered tablecloth beneath. She was delighted, then, when she made inquiries of the proprietor, to learn that the dishes had been left behind in one of the many empty houses the British abandoned when they fled the city. They could be had, she was told, “for a song,” though the price she was quoted, fifty shillings, seemed more like an opera than a ditty. In comparison, they were only going to pay their servants two pounds a month, for instance, in addition to room and board.

“A song?” Alex echoed, overhearing. “Well, turn up the lights, Broadway, because I’m about to start singing!” And, in fact, he crooned over the dishes as if they were a nursery full of newborn infants. Like Eliza, he savored the finer things in life, but unlike his wife, he had not grown up surrounded by them. On the one hand, this ensured that he never took his newfound privilege for granted, but it also made him a bit covetous, and sometimes a spendthrift as well. An impoverished childhood never fully leaves you, and Eliza was learning that her husband needed to surround himself with expensive items to remind himself that he was no longer poor—even if he wasn’t exactly rich either.

Eliza agreed that they were exquisite, but she had never thought of eating off dishes that did not originate with her family, or the family of friends. Still, they were as fine as anything that had ever graced her mother’s table, and clearly had belonged to gentlefolk. And she knew the price, however dear, was indeed a bargain. Her mother had paid as much for a single soup tureen. Admittedly the tureen was as large as a Russian samovar, but still. This was a steal, and she knew it, and before the offer could be rescinded, Alex was making out a promissory note and signing it with more flourish than John Hancock inscribing his name on the Declaration of Independence.

The Hamiltons were so astounded at their find they almost forgot to pick out material for curtains. But soon enough the dishes were purchased, along with the fabric, and Eliza made arrangements with the proprietor to return with Rowena to retrieve them. They had finally hired a few servants: Rowena, a middle-aged lady and her young son, Simon, who were starting the next day. Normally, Eliza would have sent her maid alone, but the proprietor told her that he expected to receive a wide assortment of pewter, crystal, and plate in the coming days, as more abandoned houses were claimed by Americans, and their booty entered the market.

“The spoils of war!” Alex said cheerfully as they left the shop. “At this rate, we shall have a home to rival the Pastures in a few months’ time!”

Eliza nodded, though she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt as she imagined all those families fleeing and leaving behind their heirlooms and memories. It could have easily been the treasures of the Pastures in the store, if the war had gone the other way.

“Don’t let Papa hear your ambitions for our home,” she admonished. “He’ll be moved to outdo you, and Mama is already at wits’ end with his extravagances.” As she tucked the four pounds’ worth of promissory notes in her string purse, she couldn’t help but wonder if she, too, would soon be attempting to rein in a profligate husband. Well, her father had always made good on his debts and then some, and he had not half the mind Alex had.