Love & War (Alex & Eliza #2)(8)
General Schuyler sighed heavily. “I can recognize that gold-plated rotten egg even from a distance. George Clinton is the only man I know who arrives before a party starts rather than fashionably late. It is to make sure the best of the victuals are still available.”
Alex knew the name, of course, though he had yet to meet the governor of New York State. He thought the Schuylers were magnanimous to invite the man, seeing as he beat General Schuyler in 1777 for the governorship.
George Clinton had served in the French and Indian War two decades ago. He continued to fight for his country when independence was declared in 1776, simultaneously beginning a career in politics. Some people considered it a conflict of interest, since the idea of a political leader who was also an active army officer raised the specter of a military dictatorship—of a leader who held power by force of arms rather than votes. This was at odds with the very spirit of democracy this new country was attempting to foster.
None of this bothered Alex as much as Clinton’s avowed position against any kind of central government or national authority. Clinton believed that every state should have absolute control over its own fate—to such a degree that he had even made noises about “invading” the neighboring state of Vermont after the war was over, and adding it to New York’s territory. All the states should be equals, according to Clinton. Yet, as his threats made clear, he considered some states more “equal” than others.
“He’s a dangerous one,” General Schuyler added. “Claims to be a man of the people, but the only thing he has in common with the common folk is their pocketbooks, which he has emptied into his own. Not one tax dollar is raised without a penny ending up in Clinton’s coffers.”
“Greed is as old as civilization,” Alex replied. “As lamentable as it is, it’s the crassness of his mindset that really bothers me. No lie is too base for him to try to win people to his cause. He knows that by the time he is found out he will have invented ten more lies to cover the first, and if all else fails, he can always wrap himself in the flag and cry, ‘To war!’”
“With Vermont?” General Schuyler chuckled ruefully. “Mrs. Ross may well regret that her name is associated with the Stars and Stripes when she sees to what use it is put.”
“The flag has stood for many a noble cause as well. It remains for each individual American to decide what it means to him or to her,” said Alex, nodding at the portly figure up the hill, who was being let into the house by a liveried servant. “Even that one.”
“Indeed,” the general agreed as they started up the long flight of steps that led toward the eastern, river-facing front of the house. “I can only wonder what brought him here tonight. Mrs. Schuyler did not lead me to believe that tonight’s affair would host the crème de la crème of local society. Just a festive but quiet gathering of family and friends to wish you a safe and speedy journey back to General Washington’s office.”
“When all three Schuyler sisters are in residence, there is no such thing as a ‘quiet’ anything,” Alex replied with a laugh.
And indeed, as the men drew closer to the house they heard the sound of music coming from the windows, opened wide to take advantage of the sweet, cool, early-evening breeze.
“What’s this?” General Schuyler said half under his breath. “Surely Catherine did not engage the services of a band!” In his consternation, he used his wife’s Christian name, and Alex caught him glance nervously around, as if someone other than his son-in-law might have heard him speak so familiarly of his most regal spouse.
Before Alex could hazard a guess, however, the door flew open, pulled inward not by Samson, the butler, or Hendricks, the chief footman, but by Eliza herself.
“Colonel Hamilton! Papa!” his wife said merrily, a sweet if somewhat nervous smile on her face. “I thought I glimpsed you riding up!”
Alex stared at his wife as she greeted her father. Her face bore only the lightest dusting of powder and the natural hue of her lips was enhanced with a paint only slightly darker—her beauty accented, rather than augmented, and framed by wisps of her chestnut hair that spiraled down her cheeks. He felt warm all over, but it was immediately damped by an icy chill on his spine, as he thought about telling her of his plans for Yorktown.
She accepted a kiss on the cheek from her father and turned to her husband with a flushed eagerness that went straight to his heart.
“Darling,” he said, just as besotted as the day he’d first glimpsed her when he had come to this house as a mere messenger just three years ago. He pecked her on the cheek, for propriety’s sake, though he lingered long enough to inhale her perfume, and his fingers paused lightly at her waist.
“Alex,” she whispered, and sound of his name on her lips and her breath on his ear almost drove him mad with desire.
He forced himself to straighten up, even as his eyes caught hers meaningfully in the candlelight. From the way she held his gaze, it was clear that his ardor was returned, but her duties called. Eliza stood aside as her husband and father entered the vast entrance hall, some twenty feet wide and nearly twice as deep, stretching all the way to the rear of the house, where an ornate staircase led to a ballroom on the second floor.
Though the hour had just passed seven, the great hall was half filled already, and General Schuyler’s eyes bulged as he peered into the side parlors and saw even more guests talking and eating and drinking.