The sentiment was punctuated by the boom of a cannon that frightened all our little ones. Mama ushered the children back into the house while the crowd roared its approval, and the deed was done. All that was left was to celebrate.
But Angelica seemed reluctant to come out with us. Infected by the thrill of the day, and my fear of leaving Mama and Angelica alone together, I insisted. “I must show you a new invention on the streets. Artwork, painted on transparent canvas, to be illuminated behind in such a way as it brings the pictures alive.”
Angelica smiled sadly. “I saw such in France.”
“You haven’t seen the entire harbor illuminated with lamps and fireworks! Besides, Hamilton is so looking forward to your company.”
Angelica flicked a fond glance at my husband. “Well, he is the hero of the hour . . .”
My husband didn’t deny it. Instead, he said, “And the hero is entitled to the spoils. Come out with me, my beautiful brunettes, and I shall be the envy of every man in the city.”
We laughed, thinking it quite a wonderful thing to be envied. In those heady, happy days, we’d not learned yet that envy is a poison to which none are immune . . .
Chapter Nineteen
May 7, 1789
New York City
IT’S GOING TO be the most brilliant of entertainments,” I said. “The inaugural ball is a celebration of all our hard work and sacrifice.”
“Not for me. Not without my husband.” Angelica strolled to the window, staring out over the street at the passing carriages on the busy thoroughfare. “You’ll say that I’ve gone to balls without him before, but that was different. I wasn’t a castoff wife to be pitied and scorned.”
The post had come without a letter from her husband or her children. She’d taken it hard, and I was determined to cheer her. “No one will pity or scorn you,” I said, though I suspected it to be a lie. “No one will even guess that anything is amiss.”
She forced herself to smile. “Except for you, Betsy. You’ll spend your evening fretting over me and I would never wish to take away from your happiness when you’re soon to be such a grand lady.”
Looking down at my stained apron, I said, “I’m hardly a grand lady.”
Angelica also looked at my stained apron and made a face. “You’d best transform yourself into one, then, because everyone will look to you to set the style. Mrs. Washington hasn’t yet arrived in New York City to take her place at the president’s side. Mrs. Adams isn’t here yet, either. And Mrs. Knox has grown too fleshy to delight in dancing anymore.”
Still, I was scarcely in any position to replace any of those ladies. “No one will look to me. I’m just the wife of a New York assemblyman.”
At this, Angelica let out a sudden howl of laughter. “You dare not let Hamilton hear you diminish his stature in such a way! His pride couldn’t let the insult stand. You’re the wife of the mastermind who brought this presidency into being, and everyone knows it.”
That was true enough. I glowed with pride at my husband’s accomplishments, but I didn’t wish to indulge my own vanity.
“And who knows what he’ll go on to do next,” Angelica gushed.
I had an inkling that Alexander was considering a cabinet position, though he hadn’t shared more than the idea that it was a possibility. Selfishly, perhaps, some part of me hoped he could be content with his private law practice. For public life came with endless outrages. There had been, only recently, a poisonous screed in the papers imputing all manner of villainy to my husband, including infidelity to our marriage bed.
He will not be bound by even the most solemn of all obligations! Wedlock.
I thought it an absurd accusation—for even if my husband were a sinful sort of man, where would he find time to betray me? Some days, the man barely slept nor found time to sit for a meal, let alone spend time with his children.
Angelica came to sit beside me. “You know, don’t you? Well, tell me. What position is he being offered?”
“I don’t know,” I said, the words uncomfortable on my tongue. For why didn’t I know? “Only that he’s being considered for the cabinet.”
“I’m not surprised. Washington might be president, but like a king, he’ll need a . . . a prime minister! And who else would it be but Hamilton?”
Of course, she was right. But tonight, I wished to focus on the celebration, not the reality of governance and the challenges such an appointment would represent for us. “Then that’s even more reason why you must join us at the inaugural ball,” I managed. “And I won’t take no for an answer.”