“You were only quiet when it was appropriate, as any good soldier’s daughter knows to be,” he said seriously, still looking up at the house. “As I recall, you spoke freely of things that mattered, and I liked that, too. I never thought then that I’d return here now, and in these circumstances.”
His humor was difficult to read, but then I was accustomed to that with Alexander. I tucked my hand into the crook of his arm, leaning against him with reassuring fondness.
“You do realize that by marrying me, you’re becoming one of us,” I said. “You must consider us your family now, and this your home.”
He smiled crookedly, but at the house, not at me. “It’s been many years since I could call any one place home.”
I wondered exactly how many years that had been; most likely at least a dozen, before his mother had died, though from what he’d told me they’d lived in such squalid circumstances as to hardly qualify as a home. I didn’t want him to be making comparisons again between those circumstances and the ones in which I’d been raised, comparisons that achieved nothing but to darken his mood.
“Come,” I said softly, leading him forward. “I’m sure my parents are waiting inside, and then you will meet all the rest of my family.”
We were a considerable number to meet, even without Angelica and Mr. Carter and their children, who would join us at the end of the week. Alexander had already met my sister Peggy, a year younger than I, but this was the first time he’d encountered my brothers, John, who was fifteen, Philip, twelve, and Rensselaer, seven, and my youngest sister, Cornelia, who was only four. Yet he met them all with great aplomb and charm, including Cornelia, who was notoriously shy with strangers. Even Papa’s dogs liked him. Best of all was seeing how warmly my parents greeted him, as if he truly were another son.
He and Mr. McHenry (whom Alexander declared I must call Mac) would sleep in my brothers’ bedchamber, with my brothers giving up their beds to sleep on mattresses on the floor, as they often did for guests. This was no hardship for my brothers, who were excited at the prospect of sharing their room with heroic gentlemen from His Excellency’s Family. I could only imagine—though I did not wish to know—what kinds of outlandish tales were told in that room in the evening, but the result was that my brothers considered Alexander the finest fellow they’d ever met.
Things continued well through supper with much merriment, or so I thought. But at the end of the meal, when Mamma and I and my younger siblings rose to leave the table and the wine to the men, Alexander declined.
“If you please, sir,” he said to my father. His tone and expression was serious, even somber. “There are certain important affairs I wish to discuss with Eliza alone as soon as is possible.”
At that everyone fell uncomfortably silent, including me. But Papa was quick to offer us the privacy of his library, and we retreated there.
“What has happened, Alexander?” I asked with concern as soon as the door was closed and we were alone together. “Have the British—”
“Not at all,” he said quickly. “Or rather, when I left Tappan, all seemed quiet on the various fronts. Here, sit beside me, so we can speak properly.”
I’d thought we could speak properly as we were, but I did as he bid, sitting in one of Papa’s mahogany chairs while Alexander took the other. It was all too formal, and being in a room that was so much my father’s domain did nothing to put me at ease. Because no one had expected the library to be put to use this evening, the fire had been hastily lit for us and gave off little heat, and the shutters were drawn over the windows. I’d always found Papa’s leather-bound books in their tall cases and his looming secretary desk to be almost forbidding, and by the light of the single candlestick that we’d brought here with us, the entire room felt uncomfortably cold and gloomy.
“Something has happened,” I said, my uncertainty growing. “Is it my letters regarding Major André? If it is, Alexander, then I—”
“No, Betsey,” he said quickly, and took my hand. “Not at all. That particular tragedy has played itself out, and as we agreed in our letters, there’s nothing more for either of us to say. We have heard, however, through our agents that Arnold’s treachery has earned him a far smaller price than he anticipated. He’d expected a princely sum from the Crown in return for his duplicity, but it seems that since he failed to deliver West Point, his financial reward is much reduced. Nor have they given him the command he’d hoped for, either. His new masters know he has betrayal in his blood, and won’t trust him not to do the same again. Such is the curse of a Judas, yes?”
“Nothing he suffers can be punishment enough,” I said vehemently. “I can’t consider what would have become of you if his plot had succeeded.”
“Fortunately, he didn’t succeed,” he said. “Although you will be glad to learn that the pitiful Mrs. Arnold was granted safe passage to cross our lines, and she and her child have been restored to her husband.”
I couldn’t keep back a small sound of irritable disgust at the very thought of Mrs. Arnold.
“You do know by now that she played you all for fools, don’t you?” I said. “I’d not be surprised if she was behind her husband’s deceit from the beginning.”
Alexander frowned. “I didn’t realize you’d so strong an opinion of her.”
“It couldn’t be otherwise,” I said. “At my father’s request, I called upon Mrs. Arnold whilst I was in Philadelphia, and she impressed me then as a false, faithless woman. I didn’t realize it at the time, but she also urged me to encourage you to follow the same course as her husband, and preserve yourself by leaving the American cause—which she predicted was doomed to fail—for the Crown.”
His frown deepened. “You didn’t tell me any of this.”
“Because Papa said that my impressions were mistaken, and that I shouldn’t trouble you with them.” I sighed. “I think he was as cozened by Mrs. Arnold as the rest of you. At least no harm came to you from my silence, or I’d never have forgiven myself.”
“You’re a perceptive woman, Betsey,” he said, clearly taking what I’d said seriously. “A wise wife shall be a wonderful thing. We must always be honest with each other, you and I.”
“Always,” I echoed with conviction of my own. I was proud of Alexander’s honesty and noble spirit, especially in comparison with the duplicitous marriage of General and Mrs. Arnold.
He rose from the chair and took two steps away, his hands clasped tightly behind the back of his waist. While we’d been apart, it had been impossible to remember exactly how handsome he was, and the realization of his manly beauty struck me again with breathtaking force as I watched him pace. But pacing with Alexander was never a good sign, and I braced myself for whatever was coming.