Love & War (Alex & Eliza #2)(75)
“No, no,” Helena said with a laugh. “They would start them, but they would never show up to the field of battle because they’d be forever getting dressed.”
“And with that, my beautiful sister, I bid you au revoir,” Angelica said. “John said it was unlikely that he would be back in time for dinner, but I will do my best.”
“And if we do run late, then I will make sure she’s fed and watered somewhere,” Helena said.
Angelica waited for the maid to retrieve Philip from his crib upstairs. Eliza had offered to watch him but Angelica said that unless she was hiding a wet nurse somewhere, the baby had best stay with her. Kissing Eliza good-bye, she and Helena headed out into the bright March day.
“Well, Mr. Earl,” Eliza said, turning from the closed door, “it seems like it’s just you and me.”
And the decanter, she added mentally, for when she returned from the hall she saw that Earl had made his way to the drinks table and poured himself a double helping. Eliza had made Alex hide the honey wine before he left, leaving out only the heavy red wine her father brewed at the Pastures. Her father was, by his own estimation, “an unaccomplished oenologist,” but had taken the precaution of fortifying his liquor with strong Portuguese brandy. The resulting beverage was not particularly tasty and the dregs turned your tongue as black as a berry, but it got the job done.
“Hmmm,” Earl said after his first sip, which drained half his glass. “The honey wine seems to have lost a bit of its sweetness.”
“Alas, we seem to have drunk all the honey wine last night,” Eliza said. She told herself that technically it wasn’t a lie, since last night’s party had indeed drained the opened cask, and the remaining ones were stored below in the kitchen. “Well, Mr. Earl, you are a free man. How do you wish to spend your first day out of a cell?”
Ralph had already refilled his glass, and now he sprawled across a sofa. Eliza winced, fearful that he should spill the dark purple liquid across the delicate yellow silk upholstery, but Earl handled his glass with the same delicacy he handled his brushes and spilled not a drop on the sofa or himself.
“In the company of a beautiful woman,” he said now, so roguishly that Eliza found herself blushing.
“Mr. Earl! Have you a paramour that you’ve failed to mention?” But even as the words left her mouth, she realized that he was referring to her.
“You are too modest, Mrs. Hamilton. And too formal with me lately. It seemed that we were closer when there were bars between us.”
Eliza stiffened. She was suddenly aware of their intimacy and isolation. She had not been alone with a man other than Alex since she left Albany. “I do not at all want you to feel unwelcome, but I must confess to being very startled by both your and my sister’s presence here yesterday.”
“I hope I will not inconvenience you for any longer than is necessary, Mrs. Hamilton.” Eliza also couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t specify any kind of time frame for finding a place of his own.
“Your and Mr. Hamilton’s immense generosity in my hour of need has meant more to me than I can possibly convey,” Earl continued, “or repay for that matter. I painted no fewer than seventeen portraits during my time in prison, and all but two of the commissions were sent to me by your husband. It is thanks to him that I was able to pay my creditors and earn my freedom—or should I say”—waving a hand at the parlor—“release to a far more luxurious cell.”
Eliza took a moment to look around the parlor. She had to admit that after four months in New York, she and Alex had created a beautiful home. The walls, which had been a handsome but somber cerulean shade when they first moved in, was now covered with mint-green wallpaper with a toile pattern in a color that both Alex and Eliza had delighted to learn was called Hooker green. The darker of the two greens depicted a seven-bayed brick house in a pastoral setting that bore more than a passing resemblance to the Schuylers’ Albany mansion.
The heavily carved walnut sofa was long enough to seat three, and covered in beautiful yellow silk jacquard. It was flanked by a pair of wing chairs, which, though not a set, had also been covered in yellow silk and thus complemented the sofa without being too much of a piece. A low oval table with a pale gold lacquer finish held table and chairs together, while a second, smaller sofa in matching yellow silk, flanked by pair of delicate cane chairs and one well-worn Windsor chair, rounded out the room. The Windsor had the look of a family heirloom (it was), along with a couple of tiny wooden tables with painted tops, and added just the right note of hominess to the room, which otherwise might have looked too impersonal in its newness. The clock on the mantel was marble and silver, flanked by the Revere candelabra that had formerly been in the dining room.
It was indeed “luxurious,” as Mr. Earl said. She and Alex had chosen each piece with care, and at the time Eliza had thought they were creating a room—a home—that they would share together and start their family in. Yet it seemed the only time they ever shared the room was when it was filled with a half-dozen guests besides. The rest of the time it was just Eliza’s prettily decorated cell.
She chose to keep this feeling to herself, instead saying:
“Seventeen paintings. And how long were you incarcerated?”
“For just over eight months.” Ralph said it almost longingly, as if he had visited one of the southern states during winter, and enjoyed the balmy winter. And indeed he continued. “I must admit, though, that prison agreed with me in some way. I have never been a particularly gregarious man, preferring the company of just one or two quality people to that of the mob. And I have never had such a sustained period of productivity in my life.”