“He has no personal reason to oppose me. None that he should be aware of anyway.” He said the last quietly, in a nearly absent fashion, then winced, as if he’d not meant to speak it aloud. My raised eyebrow must have demanded an explanation, because he sighed. “Last year, when Madison introduced his foolish ideas about the Tariff Act, I whispered in a few ears and made some obstacles for him. Perhaps he found me out.”
“Oh, Alexander.” My husband was a strategist, and the legislature was his game board. He was certainly not the only one to engage in backstage dealing, and his machinations were more honorable than most. This wasn’t the first time his secret schemes created mistrust amongst friends. But there was nothing to be done for it now. “What does the president say?”
“He urges me to compromise with Madison.”
I smiled, as so often George Washington and I saw things in the same way.
“So then do that, Alexander. I’ll host a dinner,” I suggested. It would be a great deal easier if Madison had a wife—the friendship of women being a necessary lubricant to remedy social frictions—but the Virginian was too mannerly to refuse our hospitality, and I felt certain we could win him back. “I know just the occasion. A party for the new secretary of state.”
*
LATELY ARRIVED FROM France, Thomas Jefferson appeared worldly and elegant in a fashionable dove gray satin coat and fine French lace cravat as he presented himself at my threshold. His tall frame filled the doorway, making Madison seem even shorter by comparison.
“Secretary Jefferson, what a pleasure it is to see you again,” I said, welcoming the men in from the October chill. “And Mr. Madison, it’s been too long.”
“Your invitation was most welcome, Mrs. Hamilton,” Jefferson said with a little bow. Wisps of silver shot through the Virginian’s ginger hair, but otherwise he looked much the same as he had all those years before in Philadelphia.
Madison bowed, too, and spoke with even more formal reserve than normal, a thing that concerned me. “Mrs. Hamilton. Thank you, as always, for your hospitality.”
“Of course,” I said, showing them into the dining room, where I’d worried over every detail. Angelica had told me that Jefferson was a connoisseur of fine wine, so I had Papa come and bring his best Madeira. I knew, too, that the new secretary of state ate little meat, so I planned a menu with an abundance of peas, greens, and vegetables of every variety. I had Jenny set the table with my finest dishes, and everything was so perfect that Angelica would’ve been proud of me. “Mr. Jefferson, how is your lovely daughter Patsy?”
Jefferson’s smile revealed great fatherly pride. “Patsy has recently married. She’s Mrs. Randolph now.”
“Well, then we shall add that happy occasion to our list of things to toast this evening,” I said.
“A happy occasion indeed, madam,” said Jefferson just as Alexander entered the room and greeted our guests. Though Jefferson accepted the seat of honor at the table when my husband made a show of offering it, he said, “Please, there’s no need for formality among old friends, which I feel us all to be, given our past acquaintance and all your sister-in-law has told me of you. In fact, Mrs. Church sent as a gift to me a copy of The Federalist that your amiable wife inscribed for her.”
Perhaps it was my own vanity in remembering my part in the publication of those essays that made me ask, “Have you had the opportunity to read them?”
“Indeed,” Jefferson said with a smile. “I found it to be the best commentary on the principles of government ever written.” The praise should have made Alexander smile, but neither Madison nor my husband seemed at ease.
Fortunately, Jefferson’s good social graces smoothed things over quickly, and he and Alexander fell into such deep discussion and swift agreement about coins and the mint that they did indeed seem like old friends.
I was glad for that, but the true aim of the occasion was to mend fences with Jemmy Madison, who hung on Jefferson’s every word. When Madison’s eyes lifted to the ceiling at a particularly loud shriek from the children’s nursery, I moved in to say, “My apologies. I believe that’s my daughter. I’m told that little girls are soft and manageable creatures, but mine has a war cry that would make an Iroquois chief proud.”
Madison chuckled at that, but no more. The man had accepted my invitation, as I knew he would. Yet, again and again, I found it difficult to draw Jemmy into conversation. How had a political disagreement about economic policy so chilled our friendship? Perhaps Alexander was right, and Madison had learned about my husband’s machinations against his tariff.