Love & War (Alex & Eliza #2)(9)
“My goodness!” he said, chuckling even as one of the footmen hurried over to take his and Alex’s tricorne hats. “Married less than six months and already the head of the household and the hostess of the evening! You have been studying at your mother’s side, no doubt. But tell me, did she really contract for live music today?” He waved a hand toward the back of the hall, where two fiddlers and a flutist were plying a reel, though no one was yet dancing. “I did not realize we were throwing a ball and not a mere dinner.”
Eliza stepped in a little closer. “The musicians are Peggy’s touch, with a little help from Stephen. Apparently, they are the ‘court musicians’ at Rensselaerswyck, and he sent them over to make Peggy feel better about the contretemps occurring between his family and ours. I told her we hadn’t even arranged for dance cards and all would be chaos, but you know Peggy. She just laughed and said, ‘This is America, we can do what we want!’ And so she has!”
Alex could tell from the lilt in Eliza’s voice that his wife was pleased her sister had acted so rashly, but also a bit anxious, lest her father disapprove. And indeed General Schuyler seemed pensive. “I worry to think that Mrs. Schuyler is being kept awake by the festivities,” he said.
“I checked with Mama immediately. I promised her that we would confine the evening’s activities to the first floor, and she said that if she could not be present at the party she was glad to at least hear the merriment through the floorboards.”
“Well then!” General Schuyler said warmly. “Let me find Samson and see if he can round up some cards and pencils, and let’s have some dancing!” And with that, he headed off down the hall.
Alex used his father-in-law’s exit as a chance to sweep his wife into a real embrace in a convenient alcove. “At last, we are alone. You smell utterly delectable,” he whispered into her ear. “Is that . . . strawberries?”
“Maybe,” she said, batting at him playfully with her fan. “It’s probably just rose water, but we were eating berries this afternoon.”
“Ah, that must explain the ruby color of your lips,” he said, leaning in for a kiss.
“Colonel Hamilton!” Eliza laughed, pulling away before their lips could touch in public. “I have enough on my plate without having to keep you in line as well.”
“Oh, do keep me in line, I can’t wait,” Alex couldn’t help himself from teasing her, if only for the sparks it brought to her eyes. His arms went around her waist once more and pulled her toward him.
Eliza swatted at him again. “Darling! We have guests!”
“Hang them,” Alex said, leaning closer. “Let’s sneak off to the barn.”
“We shall have to pitch hay later,” murmured Eliza, as more guests wandered past them. She colored even more at her double entendre, which her husband found wildly irresistible. “But right now, society calls.” She reluctantly pulled away from him, untangling herself from his embrace.
Alex took a moment to straighten his lapels. “Do tell, did your mother really make that comment about enjoying the music through the floorboards? Pardon my candor, but ‘merriment’ is not a word I associate with Mrs. Schuyler.”
Eliza failed to suppress a wicked grin. “In fact, she said that if there had to be music, it would at least be muffled by floorboards and carpet, and should the din grow too loud she could always draw the curtains on her bedstead and drink a dram of brandy to speed her to sleep.”
“That sounds more like the ebullient mother-in-law I know. But did she really cede her domestic authority to you? Angelica must feel slighted,” said Alex, taking her arm as they strode through the parlor.
“Angelica and I spoke briefly. She understands that there are . . . reasons why she cannot act as female head of household for the foreseeable future.”
Alex nodded. He knew—in ways that he could not inform even his wife—that she was referring to John Barker Church and the air of mystery—or rather disreputability—that clung to him. He longed to disabuse her of the notion that either John or Angelica had anything to be ashamed of, but there were certain responsibilities that stood outside the bonds of marriage, or even love. The safety of the Continental troops was one of them.
“One day,” he said in a measured voice, lest she suspect something, “the rather tiny and, dare I say, inbred community of Albany society will realize that Mr. Church is as great a friend to America as any of her citizens who have been here for a century or more.” He looked around the party. “Although I must say, it doesn’t seem very tiny tonight. Who are all these people?”
“With Mama confined to her bed, no one was in charge of invitations, and so Angelica and Peggy and I all sent out cards—as did Mama, it turned out. It appears as if there are twice as many people here as our last great ball—do you remember? In the winter of ’77?”
“You mean the night I met you and my future happiness was sealed forever? You impugn my honor, Mrs. Hamilton! If you weren’t my wife, I would have to challenge you to a duel.” His voice softened, and he risked a little kiss on the tip of Eliza’s nose. “Though I confess you have already stolen my heart, so there is nothing left to shoot.”
Eliza’s resolve weakened and she leaned in against him, happily falling into his arms until a loud voice interrupted.