“Bonjour, madame,” he said, bowing over her hand. “Que je suis enchanté et honoré de faire la connaissance de la soeur de ma belle, bien-aimée Eliza.”
I stared, speechless. I could comprehend his name and my own, but beyond that none of what they said meant anything to me. My sister was beaming at Alexander as if this were all delightful, while Alexander continued to frown politely, if such a thing were possible. What had she said to him? How had he replied? I’d never before given much thought to learning French or any other foreign language—I’d not the patience for it—but in that moment I would have given much to have been able to understand what had just occurred. Uncertainly I glanced from my sister to Alexander and back again, desperate for any clues as to the meaning of their conversation.
“Je comprends tout à fait pourquoi ma petite soeur est si dévouée à vous, monsieur.” Angelica delicately slipped her hand free from his and with her fingers smoothed a lock of her dark hair (which did not require smoothing) around her ear. “Votre charme ne conna?t aucune limite! Quelle chance—”
“In English, Angelica, if you please,” Mamma interrupted with a touch of irritation. “My grasp of French is slight, and not so firm as once it was.”
“Pray forgive me, madam, I’d no intention of being so ill-mannered,” Alexander said contritely as he bowed again to my mother. “When Mrs. Carter addressed me in that language, I returned her compliment without thinking. It was barbarously wrong of me—”
“It was wrong of me, Mamma, and I claim full blame,” Angelica said, though with none of Alexander’s contrition. “I should not have led Colonel Hamilton into that impolite snare.”
Now I wondered exactly what he had said that required so much apologizing, that he called “barbarously wrong” and she described as “impolite,” with my name in the middle of it.
“Forgive me, Mrs. Schuyler, I am the one, and not Mrs. Carter, who is entirely at fault,” Alexander began again. I knew how much he valued my mother’s good regard, and her rebuke, mild as it had been and in no way intended toward him, must have cut him to the quick. His usual ease in company had deserted him, and his cheeks had turned endearingly pink, the curse of his fair complexion. “There was nothing impolite in our conversation. That is, ah, I am certain—”
“No one is to blame for anything,” I said quickly, rescuing him and absolving them both, even as my own confusion continued. “What pleases me is that you discovered so much in common worthy of conversation.”
“What we have in common, my dear little goose, is you,” Angelica said, looping her arm fondly into mine. “I told Colonel Hamilton that because of your letters, I felt as if I knew him already, and he in turn told me how honored he was to meet at last the sister of his beautiful, beloved Eliza.”
I glanced quickly back to Alexander, my own cheeks growing warm. How could I have ever doubted him? “You said that of me?”
“Ma belle, bien-aimée Eliza,” he repeated solemnly, his gaze beseeching. “My beautiful, beloved Eliza.”
“Ohhh,” I sighed, overwhelmed to hear such a sentiment, in French and in English, here in the middle of the busy hall. “Oh, Alexander.”
At once all was forgiven, if there was in fact anything to forgive, which there hadn’t been. Even then, before we were wed, I found it nearly impossible to be unhappy with him.
True, it was hardly the first meeting I’d envisioned for my sister and Alexander, but when he called upon us later that evening, the general conversation proceeded much more smoothly, and without any French confusion, either. This could have been because my father was there as well, guiding matters with his usual forthright direction, or because both Alexander and Angelica had each resolved to do better. Whatever the case, by the evening’s end they seemed quite amiable toward each other, and yet I wanted to be sure. I could barely wait until the rest of my family retired so I could ask him in private before we said our farewells.
“Did you like my sister?” I asked at once. “I know she surprised you earlier by addressing you in French, but I hope you can forgive her that.”
He smiled. “Of course I can forgive her,” he said. “She caught me off guard, that was all.”
“But you do like her?” I asked again, more anxiously this time. We were standing outside the front door, on the worn old round millstone that served as the house’s front step.
“I do,” he said, though with a shade more reserve than I could have hoped. “She’s charming company. Is her husband not with her?”
“Not here, no,” I said. “Mr. Carter is a quiet gentleman, much occupied with his business. He also does not always see eye to eye with my father, and it is often better for all parties that she visits us without him.”
He nodded, his face thrown into sharp shadow by the small lantern that hung outside the door.
“Mr. Carter doesn’t see eye to eye with many men,” he said. “You know I find him agreeable, but in some circles his habit of selling supplies to whomever will pay the most makes him as much loved as a usurer.”
I sighed, for it could be difficult to defend Mr. Carter. “My sister says he does very well by the trade.”
“I’m sure he does,” Alexander said dryly. “He has that ability.”
I nodded again, wondering how I’d been cast in the unsavory role of apologist for my brother-in-law. “Angelica says Papa was more unhappy with Mr. Carter’s reasons for coming to New York on account of an unfortunate affair in London.”
“I heard it was a duel,” Alexander said. “With a member of Parliament. Not that I can fault him for that.”
“Hush,” I said softly, resting my palms lightly on his chest. I’d heard that rumor, too, but Angelica had brushed it aside with disdain when I’d asked her about it, so I doubted it was true. “I don’t wish to discuss him any further. What I want to know is whether or not you believe you can be friends with my sister.”
“Of course I can,” he said, now without his earlier hesitation. “Mrs. Carter is witty and amusing, with thoughts of her own and the intelligence to defend them. She is well-read for anyone, man or woman. I never thought to discuss Common Sense and Thomas Paine before your father’s hearth, especially not with a woman as handsome as your sister. It was quite remarkable.”
“So you do like her?” I asked, daring to hope. I had sat by in silence and listened (and marveled, too, at the cleverness of their arguments) as the two of them had sparred in words, and in the end I hadn’t been certain if Alexander had enjoyed the exchange or not. “Truly? It matters much to me that you do, Alexander, and that she likes you in return, almost as much as my parents’ approval.”
“I do,” he said. “She will make a most diverting sister-in-law.”
I wasn’t certain that diverting was the word I would have preferred.