*
For the next day and night we kept to ourselves, and though the rest of the household continued around us, Mamma saw to it that no one troubled us, and that our meals were brought upstairs to us on a tray. Not only did we keep to our bedchamber, but we seldom ventured from the bed itself. Such is the happy pattern of the newly wed, and we were no different, discovering a hundred ways to beguile and please and make our love our own. We were wonderfully suited to each other, my new husband and I. I do not know if I believed Angelica’s claim that our family was particularly amorous, or if I should grant all credit to Alexander, who would have been glad to receive it as his manly due. Regardless of the reason, our passions and our satisfaction were in perfect balance, and blissful joy was ours.
Finally, and reluctantly, we rejoined the others after two days apart, appearing at family breakfast together. Although I was flustered to see my parents again, knowing how much had changed about me since I’d seen them last, they kindly didn’t tease me or Alexander, but treated us the same as they had before our marriage. That first awkwardness soon passed, and I settled into the happy state of being Mrs. Hamilton.
But the army was much less understanding of honeymoons, and even the three days of our wedding was an interminable time for Alexander to be away from his desk and correspondence. A considerable pile of reports, dispatches, and letters from headquarters had been delivered for him just in the few days we’d kept to ourselves. He set to work immediately, his focus as intent as if he weren’t a newly minted bridegroom, and he continued to work that night long after I’d fallen asleep in the bed behind him.
Though I’d wished we’d had more time alone together, I could scarcely complain. His devotion to his responsibilities was a kind of loyalty, and one of the inviolable qualities that made him so honorable a gentleman, almost to a fault. I’d always known this of him, and I respected it.
I soon learned, however, that even the most conscientious of gentleman can be seduced into performing duties of a more intimate sort, and over the next weeks letters from His Excellency were made to wait their turn. Nor did Alexander object, and in fact he was every bit as eager as I to be distracted from his work. I have never seen him more relaxed, more happy, more filled with hope, which only increased my own contentment.
I was also pleased to see the ease with which we became part of my parents’ large household in our new roles as husband and wife. Papa in particular was swiftly coming to regard Alexander as another son as well as a military colleague and fellow officer, and I was delighted to see that the friendship that had begun last winter in Morristown had only deepened with our marriage.
Even my younger brothers soon discovered that Alexander could be persuaded to join them out of doors for a mock battle with snowballs, at which he proved ruthlessly adept. I watched them, cheering and laughing, and thinking of how much younger my new husband looked when he played the games of the childhood he hadn’t had. He didn’t hold back with my brothers, either, hurling the packed snow as hard as he could, taking risks, and dodging their missiles with determined agility. His intensity gave me an uneasy glimpse of the kind of soldier he must be in a true battle, and I prayed with all my heart that he’d never see another real engagement with guns and artillery in place of snowballs.
But among my sibilings, it was Angelica’s opinion that mattered most to me, and she, too, continued to laud my new husband for his intellect, his charm, and his wit, and congratulated me for falling in love with so amiable a spouse. Little wonder that I basked in the glow of her approval. But how could Alexander and Angelica not become friends? Their banter at the supper table was more entertaining than the playhouse, and I could only sit by and listen in wonder to their conversations. When English seemed insufficient for a specific point, they lapsed into French, and Papa joined them, for he, too, spoke that language.
I thought of that still-open appointment as an envoy to the Court of Versailles, and how much Alexander deserved it. Surely there couldn’t be another man in the entire country who could fill the position with more skill and delicacy, and while I knew it was unwise to ask the Heavens for temporal gains, I still resolved to say an extra prayer or two that he finally be rewarded.
It was difficult not to share the possibility of the French appointment with Angelica. She would surely share my hope that Alexander would receive it in honor of his merit, but she’d also consider the real possibility that we—Angelica, Mr. Carter, Alexander, and I—could one day meet in Paris. Mr. Carter had promised to take Angelica there (and to his home in London, too) once the war was over and American ships were safe from capture, and to imagine the four of us in Paris—Paris!—at the same time was a dream indeed.
But one late one evening, Angelica revealed an entirely different sort of dream to me involving Alexander.
“I’ve never met a gentleman who enchants me more than your Hamilton,” she declared grandly as we made our way upstairs. Mamma had already retired and the men were still at the table downstairs, as men do. As it was, Angelica and I had stayed there longer than usual ourselves, and all I wished now was to sleep, not begin another long conversation with my sister.
“He is my constant love,” I said, stifling a yawn. “I’m glad you two have become friends.”
“Friends, oh, yes,” she said, sweeping her arms through the air. She’d had her share of drink tonight, too; she and Mr. Carter did enjoy their wine. “What if I asked you to share your darling husband with me, Eliza?”
I laughed at her preposterous request. “That’s Papa’s Madeira talking, Angelica,” I said, bemused. “What would Mr. Carter say if he heard you?”
“John is not your Hamilton,” she said slyly, pausing on the landing to lean against the railing. “I heard you with your bridegroom last night, little sister. What a lover he must be.”
“He’s my husband, Angelica,” I said, blushing furiously. In most cases, I valued my sister’s opinions, but not when she was like this. “We’re married.”
Angelica waved her hand as if this didn’t signify. “I think we should share him,” she said. “He could be our Lord Turk, and please us both.”
“Angelica, no,” I said, ashamed for her.
“He’d agree,” she insisted. “What man would refuse?”
“My husband would,” I said. “Yours would, too.”
She shook her head and wrinkled her nose. “I think we should ask Hamilton his opinion.”