Love & War (Alex & Eliza #2)(7)
“All those stairs will be very good for the legs, my dear,” Mrs. Schuyler said with a wry smile. “And New York is growing increasingly elegant. I hear they have even paved some of the streets now.”
“And I hear the pigs run wild up and down them, rather than confining themselves to well-fenced sties like proper farm animals. But it doesn’t matter!” she added brightly. “I’ll be with Colonel Hamilton, and wherever we are will be home!”
She tried to picture it—the carpet, the wallpaper, the chandelier or sconces—but all she could see was Alex’s face. The decorations don’t matter, she said to herself. Home is wherever we are together.
“That’s the spirit,” Mrs. Schuyler said. “Speaking of domestic matters, I need to ask a favor from you.”
“Of course, Mama, what is it?”
“I need you to serve as hostess at tonight’s party.”
Eliza understood immediately. Even if Dr. Van Vrouten had not ordered her mother confined to her bed, Mrs. Schuyler was far too advanced in her term to be seen socially. Even so, she was surprised by her mother’s request.
“Me?” she said incredulously. “But Angelica is the eldest Schuyler lady. She should play substitute for you in your indisposition.”
“Angelica is a Schuyler no more,” her mother said quietly.
“But neither am I!” Eliza said, laughing.
“It is not the surname that matters,” Mrs. Schuyler replied, “as much as the man who carries it.”
Eliza sat back slightly. “I am afraid I don’t understand, Mama,” she said formally, though with a slight inkling that perhaps she did.
Her mother sighed and put her plate on the table beside her bed. “I will admit that I have softened toward Mr. Church in the years since he began courting your elder sister. He is a bit too British for my taste, but that cannot be helped. And while it seems the scandals that hounded him when he first showed up on our shores were base rumors and have been laid to rest, there persists an air of mystery about the man, and mystery translates to disrepute in our circle. It was a blow to our family’s reputation when Angelica eloped with a nameless, fortuneless Brit who, though not a loyalist, remains a subject of Mad King George. But it would be an even bigger blow if your father and I appeared to countenance it by inviting his wife to play hostess to one of our events. Even if she does so happen to be our daughter.”
Eliza sensed there was more to the story than her mother was letting on. “What do you mean, ‘a blow to our reputation’?”
Her mother looked at her frankly. “You must promise me not to repeat a word of this to any of your sisters.”
Eliza bit back a gasp. Her mother had never taken her into her confidence like this before. “Of course not, Mama.”
“Stephen’s mother has let it be known, and not so subtly I might add, that she disapproves of Angelica’s choice of husband.”
Now it all became clear. “You mean, that’s why Stephen hasn’t proposed to Peggy. Not because of our financial situation. But because of the whiff of scandal around Mr. Church?”
“The Schuylers are a proud family, and a wealthy one,” her mother asserted, “but the Rensselaers are prouder and richer still. I should know. I am one.” She laughed ruefully. “Stephen will be Patroon one day. It is largely a symbolic title, yet it still means much to my family. I believe their attitude will soften in time, especially if Angelica and Mr. Church move to England once the war is over. But until Peggy and Stephen are well and truly wed, I do not want to do anything that would spoil their chances. Peggy’s happiness depends on it, not to mention the assured financial health of all the Schuyler and Rensselaer progeny for the foreseeable future.”
Eliza was shocked, both by her mother’s news and by her having to play hostess in a mere few hours to the elite of upper New York. She looked down at her hands, which were still faintly stained with blueberry juices. Then her mother’s hand appeared in hers, clasping her fingers tightly.
“Don’t fret, my daughter. You have reserves of strength that you yourself are not aware of.” She smiled tenderly. “Think of it as a trial run for all those New York City parties you’ll be throwing in just a few years.”
“New York City!” Eliza said dreamily. “It’s hard to believe it will ever happen!”
“It will,” her mother said firmly, “and you will be the queen of Manhattan. By the way,” she added lightly, as she helped herself to a second slice of pie. “We had a note from the governor’s mansion this morning. Governor Clinton will be joining us this evening.” If Eliza didn’t know her mother better, she could have sworn she saw her smile turn wicked. “Try not to let him eat all the berries before he leaves.”
4
Lord and Lady
The Schuyler Mansion
Albany, New York
April 1781
The Pastures stood proudly on its low hill surveying the sprawling landscape. There were already a few carriages, both open and closed, parked in front of the house. As Alex and his father-in-law approached (John Church had gone ahead), they saw a covered two-wheeler advance toward the house, its cab tilted rather noticeably to one side. The driver stopped and a corpulent man dressed in a gaudy, ill-fitting gold coat emerged from the cab, which promptly sprung back to an (almost) even keel.