Love & War (Alex & Eliza #2)(55)
Violetta shook her head. “Simon said a clerk in an adjacent office let him into Mr. Hamilton’s reception room, where he left his note. Mr. Hamilton himself was not on the premises.”
An image of Ruston’s Ale House flashed in Eliza’s mind, and the row of third-floor windows that Alex had once pointed out to her as Mrs. Childress’s apartment. When Eliza asked how Alex knew this, he told her that he had often had to call on her to get her to sign some document or other. “It is a quite charming apartment, spread out almost like a country house, and Mrs. Childress is a very amiable hostess indeed.”
Eliza banished the thought of Mrs. Childress’s face and house, and her face in her house, and Alex’s face—
She shook her head to clear it.
“Well, he will have finished his errands by now, I’m sure, and returned to his office, and from there it is only a short walk home. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.” But in her heart, she wasn’t so sure. What if he was detained at the home of a potential client? If Eliza knew anything about the rich men Alex was courting for business, it was that they loved to hear themselves talk, and Alex was not in a position to cut them off. He could be held prisoner for who knows how long. Really, she wished her husband would recognize that there was more to life than work sometimes. She was trying not to be too frustrated with him, as she knew he was simply doing his best to establish his practice and secure their future.
But what was a secure future if they didn’t have time to enjoy it together?
“Come now, Sister,” Peggy said, placing her hand in Eliza’s and patting it soothingly. “You have seen Mama handle a houseful of guests in Papa’s absence without breaking a sweat. And as I recall, you did a flawless job hosting that send-off for Alex and Papa a few years ago.”
They gave Violetta a head start—no one wants to be upstaged by their maid, after all—then headed for the stairs. Peggy led the way. At the door to the parlor, she paused in front of Eliza, blocking her from view.
“My lady; gentlemen,” she said in a showman’s voice, “I present, Mrs. Alexander Hamilton in her own home!”
Peggy stepped aside with a flourish, and Eliza had no choice but to walk into the room like a princess into court. Stephen and two other men stood up, while someone who must be Helena sat in the room’s most comfortable chair, a large, broad wingback in a dark blue upholstery that swallowed her up a little. Even though she was sitting, it was obvious she wasn’t much over five feet tall—a fact that was confirmed when she rose to her feet with a large, kind smile on her face.
“Oh, my dear Mrs. Hamilton! Peggy said you were lovely, but she didn’t do you justice!” She walked across the room and clasped Eliza’s hand in both of hers, beaming up at her. Eliza was immediately charmed. Though Helena was a few years younger than she, she possessed incredible—enviable—poise, somehow managing to put Eliza at ease in her own house.
“It is lovely to meet you, Mrs. Rutherfurd. I must thank you for extending such generous hospitality to my sister and brother-in-law, as well as for gracing my dinner table on such short notice.”
“I think we do everything on short notice these days. New York is still so raw after its recent travails.”
“No doubt, order will be restored soon enough.”
“Indeed. But I suspect we will create some new traditions as well.” Helena stepped back then. “Please, allow me to introduce my husband, Mr. John Rutherfurd, and my uncle, Mr. Gouverneur Morris.”
Eliza shook John’s hand first, then Gouverneur’s. John was a genial-seeming fellow whose pronounced chin dimple rescued his face from plainness. Gouverneur, by contrast, as Peggy had mentioned, was quite young, maybe just a few years older than she, and with sharp eyes and a Gallic nose. His thick dark hair was swept back from his face and tied in a short ponytail, which only added to his rakish appearance. Eliza couldn’t help but find him charming, and his presence only made Alex’s absence at the dinner table clearer, which filled her with an empty ache.
“Goo-ver-neer,” she said, sounding the name out slowly. “Is it French?”
Gouverneur smiled disarmingly. “It is, through my mother’s line. It used to be pronounced ‘Goo-vuh-noor,’ but we Americans have added our own spin to it.”
“Fascinating. And of course the Morris name is known far and wide. My husband and I were engaged in Morristown, New Jersey, which I believe was named after your . . . grandfather, yes?” she asked.
“Lewis Morris, yes. Not to be confused with Helena’s father, also named Lewis, my older brother.”
“Pardon me for saying, but you seem more like Mrs. Rutherfurd’s brother than uncle,” she said with a smile.
He returned it with a genial one of his own, and it was quite clear that their dinner guest was taken with their spirited hostess. “My father’s first wife passed away, and he married my mother and began a second family only some time later. Helena’s father, my half brother, is twenty-six years my senior.”
“Ah, I see. I should also thank you on behalf of the Continental troops. My husband tells me that your reforms greatly ameliorated the conditions our boys served in during the war.”
Gouverneur smiled modestly. “We all did our part. I have been told that your war drives clothed more men than all the tailors and dry goods purveyors in New York and New Jersey combined, so allow me to thank you as well,” he said with a bow.