Faced with my quiet, defiant fury, he reached to tuck a tendril of hair behind my ear, but I flinched, and he dropped his hand. “Betsy. They could never have blackmailed me if it weren’t for my love for you. Your happiness is most dear to me. How could I, but with extreme pain, wish to afflict you with this confession?”
“The confession is not what afflicts me.”
He cleared his throat. “You’re the only person I dread to disappoint. If Reynolds had threatened me with death, I’d have faced it more manfully than the specter of hurting you. To prevent that, I would have paid nearly any price.”
“I don’t believe you,” I whispered, seething.
“Yes, you do,” Hamilton said. “And you must forgive me.”
“Oh, must I?” The look I gave him should’ve turned him to stone.
Somehow, it did not. “I surrendered to temptation, and I ask your forgiveness. Remember, Betsy, that you are a Christian . . .”
That he should dare throw that in my face!
Yes, God commanded forgiveness. Perhaps that should’ve been enough to soften my heart and resign me to the difficulties of this marriage that I’d undertaken in the Lord’s name. But it wasn’t. Wrapping my arms around myself, as if to guard from the chill in my own voice, I asked, “Would you forgive me if I surrendered to such temptation?”
He reeled back like a man kicked by a horse. It was a moment before he could even muster the composure to argue. “An unfaithful husband cannot be compared to an unfaithful wife, whose actions cast doubt on the legitimacy of their children. And what man would—”
He stopped, abruptly, before he said worse.
But I had a suspicion as to what he’d been thinking, and rounded on him. “If you think I’ve not had need of avoiding the affections of other men, I disabuse you of that notion now.”
“No, no, of course that is not—” His color deepening, he interrupted himself to ask, “What men? Name these men who have pressed affections on my wife and I shall call them out!”
“Call them out?” I laughed, darkly. “You, prostrate with your own crimes, shall call for a duel of honor?”
Our voices awakened the baby, who gave a stretch and halfhearted cry before settling again.
My husband was too clever a man not to realize his blunder but was too hot-tempered to retract. Instead, he took me by the arms and gave me a little shake. “Let us reach an understanding, you and I. You would never betray me, Betsy. It isn’t in you. But I would forgive you if you did. Do you understand? I’d forgive you anything, so long as you loved me. For love is the power that binds us. That, and our children, and the life we have together.”
I’d forgive you anything, so long as you loved me.
He’d turned upon me the full blaze of his extraordinary blue eyes. The heat of his body. The power of his charisma and an appeal to our love, and yet, I whispered, “I don’t believe you.”
His grip tightened. “You do believe me. I’ve caused you pain, but I love you. Deep in your heart, you know it’s true.”
What did that matter? My heart, after all, had proved to be an untrustworthy instrument. The only thing I could rely upon was my head and cold, hard reason. And so I asked, “What price did you pay? You said you paid the man. How much?”
He swallowed hard and stared a long moment. “Just over a thousand dollars.”
Nearly a third of his income in any given year. A sum so shocking that I pushed his hands away. “Please tell me, at the very least, it was your own money,” I bit out.
“God. Of course. I couldn’t bear for you to find out, Betsy. Would a man who did not love you pay so much?”
He meant this to be a branch for me to cling to while I drowned in humiliation. I grasped at it, only for my sanity. “Well, now I know. So, they have nothing more to hold over you.”
He blanched. “They do. That’s why he was at the door last night. Reynolds has been released from jail, but if I don’t get him clear of the fraud charges, he’ll tell a story to the investigators. I cannot do what he wishes, but I will meet with him this morning and persuade him to keep quiet anyway.”
Now we come to the real reason for this confession, I thought. He’s been forced to it.
For there was, indeed, something Hamilton dreaded more than my discovery of his infidelity, and that was an end to his administration. He believed that in these early years of the American experiment, faith in him was the same as faith in the government he served.