Alexander sighed and wound his fingers with mine. “Were you always such a wise woman?”
I sputtered. “Certainly not. I’ve had to become wiser to better fulfill the peculiar duties associated with being the wife of Alexander Hamilton.”
A spark of familiar mischief worked its way into his visage. “Very well, wife of Alexander Hamilton.” He tugged me around to him. “I shall now call upon you to perform one of those peculiar duties.”
Scandalized, I gasped. “Not in your office!”
“Oh, but I insist.” He stood and put me into his chair. I burned with curiosity, having no earthly idea what he might intend. Then my cheeks burned hotter when he withdrew some papers from the secret compartment of his desk and confided an entirely innocent purpose. “The president has asked me to help draft a Farewell Address.”
“Is there no one else capable?” I asked, wondering if Alexander might ever be left to enjoy retirement.
“Madison made an attempt,” he replied, unable to utter the name of his old friend without scorn. “He is, after all, the one who drafted Washington’s inaugural. But, as this is Washington’s last address, the president won’t allow the Republicans to put their stamp on it.” And Madison was a founding member of the new party that stood opposed to the Federalists in all things. Our one-time friend Monroe, too. Both of them Jefferson’s protegés. All of them now aligned in favor of a weak federal government and stronger states’ rights, the very things against which we’d fought for the past fifteen years.
So I understood then. The president’s very last address was a sacred duty.
My husband explained, “The president has asked me to take his own sentiments and ideas, and remove any egotism or partisan sentiments liable to bring criticism. To put all in a plain, simple style.” Alexander threw the papers onto the desk. “You see my difficulty.”
I chuckled because I did. I could think of no man less suited than my husband to write in a plain simple style, without partisan warmth or egotism. Alexander brought the thunder of rhetorical cannons, not the soft refrains of conciliatory prose.
But since he couldn’t refuse, I tried to bolster his spirits. “You wrote for Washington as his aide-de-camp. Surely you remember how. And if you don’t, consider it a stretch of your talents . . . You say Jemmy Madison drafted the inaugural. Well, if he had the first words, I know you’ll want to have the last.”
He laughed. “You saucy wench. This brings me to your part.” Alexander leaned forward so that his hands were on both arms of the chair, seductively caging me in. “My dear Eliza, you must be what Molière’s nurse was to him.”
“Who?” I asked, a little wary that this might turn into another story of some ancient.
Instead, he said, “Never mind. The point is that I must test my words against your good sense.”
My mouth went dry, for I didn’t know whether to be flattered or terrified. Both, I decided, given what he was asking. “You cannot mean this seriously.”
“I trust no one else. I trust your understanding of people. Your goodness and impartial heart.”
“My heart is not even slightly impartial,” I said.
That made him smile. “But you’re fair-minded. How often have you argued with me over the malice I’ve ascribed to others when simpler explanations would do? I need you to argue with me now.”
He was serious. “Have you forgotten we are on our way to Pendleton’s dinner party?”
“I’ve forgotten it entirely,” he said, rising up again to find a pen. “I’ll send a clerk to Fraunces Tavern for victuals to sustain us and we’ll stay here until the candles burn out.”
There was a hint of familiar conspiratorial excitement in his voice now, but I reminded him, with a great deal of hauteur, “As delightful as that sounds, I am in a rare state.” My gauzy evening gown might have been thought scandalous in any other era, but it was the Age of Undress. The fashion was now all empire waistlines and sheer fabrics à la Grec, which would have left me feeling naked without gloves and shawl. “I am dressed to be seen in society, sir!”
With the tip of his quill pen, he flicked my flimsy shawl to the floor. “And now you are not.” He gave his most irresistible smile. “Your country needs you. I need you. You are my good genius of that kind which the ancient philosophers called a familiar.” His eyebrows nearly waggled. “And you know that I am glad to be, in every way, as familiar as possible with you.”