But on the first of April, he wasn’t laughing, and neither was I.
He came home earlier than I expected. I was sitting in the parlor on the sofa with a children’s primer in my hand, and pressed close beside me was our daughter, Angelica. Now six, she already knew her alphabet, and was beginning to pick out short words, especially when helped by a picture beside them.
I looked up expectantly when I heard his voice and step in the hall, ready to praise our daughter’s cleverness to him. One look at his face, however, and I knew that some trouble had just occurred.
But Angelica saw no such warning and immediately flew to her father, holding her arms up to him as she always did. He plucked her up, swinging her high to make her squeal, then set her carefully back down.
“There you are, little miss,” he said, kissing her lightly on the forehead. “Off you go, for I must speak to Mamma alone.”
Still she hesitated, not wanting to give up her father’s company quite so fast.
“Please, Angelica,” I said firmly. “Find Johanna in the kitchen, and tell her I said you may have a biscuit.”
That made her leave, and Alexander shut the door after her. “I’m glad you weren’t at Federal Hall this morning.”
“Then pray sit and tell me why,” I said, hearing the tension in his voice that was never a good sign. I patted the sofa’s cushion in encouragement, but he ignored me, and instead began pacing back and forth before me, his hands clenched tightly together behind his back.
“A self-righteous representative from South Carolina named ?danus Burke, and a man I scarcely know, decided the debate was the proper time to declare me a liar,” he said, giving each word a sharpened edge. “He was called to order by another from his state, yet still he persisted, and repeated the charge more loudly, so all would hear it.”
“Why on earth would he do such a thing?” I asked, shocked.
“He has taken offense from the eulogy that I offered for General Greene last Fourth of July,” he said. “You heard it, Betsey. Do you recall any untruths?”
“Not at all,” I said. “I remember it as a beautiful tribute to the general’s memory.”
“Exactly!” he exclaimed, flinging his hands out for emphasis. “But Burke now claims that by praising a northern general, I somehow insulted the militiamen of South Carolina and questioned their bravery. That is his empty reasoning for calling me a liar, Betsey, and such an insult to my honor is not to be borne.”
“If you can’t recall the slander, then I doubt anyone else will, either,” I said quickly. “Please don’t take it to the papers, Alexander, I beg you. If you draw attention to his foolish words, then you’ll only make more people aware of them.”
“I’ve no intention of making this public,” he said. “This is between Burke and me, and will be settled between us as well. I will explain to him the consequences of his words, and what will occur if he does not offer an apology.”
“What consequences?” I demanded, although I could already guess. “Alexander, please. What consequences?”
But he turned on his heel without answering, and no matter how much I pleaded with him that evening, he refused to explain further. As he bid me good-bye the next morning, he was much more agreeable, and with relief I guessed a night’s sleep had brought him peace.
I’d guessed wrongly.
“I’ve written a short letter of explanation to Burke,” he said pleasantly over our midday dinner. “If he fails to reply in an acceptable manner, then he now knows what conduct I shall expect from him, and an interview will be unavoidable.”
I set my teacup down on its saucer with a clatter. Even I knew what gentlemen meant when they spoke of “an interview.”
“You cannot be serious, Alexander,” I said with disbelief. “You would challenge Mr. Burke to a duel over this? You would risk your life and the happiness of your family for this?”
My husband’s smile was maddening. “It will not come to that if he does what he should, and apologizes.”
But Mr. Burke didn’t do what he should. Instead he wrote to my husband reiterating what he’d said before, but even more forcefully—a letter that Alexander showed me only because I demanded to see it.
I couldn’t stand by any longer. I went immediately to my father’s house to ask him to intervene.
“He cannot do this, Papa,” I said with despair. “He won’t listen to me. To fight a duel, to risk his life for something as foolish as this!”
My father lowered his chin and looked very grave.
“It’s a serious insult, Eliza, and a clear insult to Hamilton’s honor,” he said. “Because Burke spoke as part of the debate, it’s also now included in the public record.”
“But if it isn’t true, why does it matter?” I cried with mingled frustration and fear. “Mr. Burke is the liar, not Alexander, yet now he would risk not only his life, but the happiness and security of his family. He speaks of defending his honor, but who will defend our poor children if they are left fatherless? Oh, Papa, I cannot lose him!”
“Pray don’t distress yourself, Eliza,” Father said, patting my arm. “I’ll speak to him.”
The next evening, a group of grim-faced congressmen including my father and several of Alexander’s closest friends called at our house, and closeted themselves with my husband in our parlor for a good hour. I do not know what was said, or whether they called upon Mr. Burke as well, for this was all kept from me, being a mere woman. The following day, however, Alexander received another letter from Mr. Burke. The letter conceded that he’d misheard Alexander’s speech, that the so-called lie had been only words taken out of their original context, and that the entire affair was no more than a misunderstanding.
Suddenly agreeable and full of good fellowship, Alexander wrote back to accept the apology. Just like that, the whole affair was done.
“You see, Betsey, no harm was done to anyone,” Alexander said to me that night, his reassurance tainted by a certain unbecoming smugness. “Burke admitted his error, his accusation was withdrawn, and my honor preserved.”
“No harm, no, if you discount the fearful anxiety you caused me,” I said, unwilling to be so easily mollified. “What if you’d been killed, shot dead for no reason?”
“But I wasn’t,” he said, trying to pull me into his arms.
“But you could have been,” I insisted, pushing back. “Please, Alexander, for my sake and for the sake of our children, promise me that you’ll never again let yourself be drawn into such insanity.”
“My own dear Betsey,” he said, his voice low and seductive, and this time I let him pull me close. “You must know I’d never willingly leave you, or our children.”
In that moment, my steely resolve abandoned me, and I thought only of how much I’d miss him, his love, and strength if he were gone. I held him close, burrowing my face against his shoulder so I wouldn’t weep.
It wasn’t until the following morning that I realized how, lawyer that he was, he hadn’t promised me a thing.