Dear Mac. It was the sixth or seventh compliment he’d paid me that evening. And I was sure he did it out of a solicitousness of my feelings, to try to soothe the blows dealt by the newspapers. But he was also trying to soften the ground, because between the second and third courses, Mac revealed the true purpose of his visit—to recruit my husband back into the army. “The French have gone too far this time and it’s likely to be war.”
Offended by America’s proclamation of neutrality in the European war, the new French government had been attacking our ships and refused to speak to an American diplomatic delegation without a bribe. To make matters worse, a French ship plucked an American vessel right out of New York Harbor.
“The gall of it. Nay, the Gaul of it.” Mac guffawed, finishing his fourth glass of Madeira. “Not even Jefferson dares to defend the French for this. And we need you back in uniform, lad.”
How relieved I was when Alexander put his hand atop mine and said, without hesitation, “I’m a private man now. And considering the circumstances of—”
“Oh, damn the scandal sheets!” Mac cried.
I’d been certain that my husband was going to talk about the circumstances of our finances and growing family. But realizing that even our friends and champions were still thinking about our scandal made me rise abruptly. “Dessert?”
By the time I returned with chocolate creams in fluted crystal glasses and a silver tray of caraway comfits, McHenry was still talking about the military. “As you say, General Schuyler has not been well. Gates is a bitter old woman. Knox is too stout to ride a horse. And if you didn’t know it already, let me be the first to tell you that the great man won’t come out of retirement unless you do, Ham.”
Washington. Always, George Washington was needed at the head of our armies. But even with my husband at his side, could the old, venerable soldier truly mount up for war yet again?
Mac eyed me frankly and turned the screws. “I appeal to the inextinguishable love you bear your country. That you both bear your country.”
I dropped into a chair with a sigh, stabbing a long spoon into my chocolate cream, and digging out a giant bite, because I knew where this would end. Hamilton could never refuse military glory or a genuine call to patriotism, and this was both.
Darkly amused but wanting to break things, I said, “To think I once harbored such a fondness for you, McHenry . . .”
Both men slanted apologetic glances my way, then Alexander squinted. “What rank would I be offered?”
“Major general.” McHenry reached for a few caraway comfits.
But I snatched the tray away. “Yes, I was quite fond of you, Mac . . . now I shall go get that sawdust cake for you after all.”
Mac laughed, merriment in his eyes. “But you were born to be a general’s wife, my dear.” Then to my husband he added, “And you might wish to send a note of appreciation to President Adams. T’would be a good deal easier to make you inspector of the whole army, if he didn’t hate you quite so much.”
Adams was an honest but irascible man who paled in stature beside George Washington. Which was why my husband had supported another candidate in the presidential election instead of John Adams. But Adams had a long memory and in backing the wrong horse, Alexander had made another enemy.
An enemy who’d now be his commander in chief.
*
March 1799
New York City
“You’re a shameless woman, Eliza Hamilton.”
Standing beneath an umbrella in a drizzle of rain, Kitty Livingston tried to fend me off. After she’d come to warn me about Alexander that time, we’d come to a sort of a rapprochement, and since then, Kitty had been amongst the first New York ladies to receive me back into polite society, despite her family’s political feud with mine. But now, caught in a spring shower that was getting her shoes wet outside the Tontine, she wanted nothing more than to escape.
I stood stubbornly in her path. “Surely you can spare more for a worthy cause, Kitty. Not so long ago, you were a widow with a small child yourself . . .”
“I’ve already given you every coin in my handbag!”
I smiled sweetly. “And I promise to record that in the charity’s membership roll, which we’ll publish, as thanks and recognition.”
“As extortion,” Kitty protested. “I’ll be made to look like a miser compared to your sister.”
Kitty had the right of it. I’d learned from Hamilton, after all. Long ago, he’d arranged the order of the states in voting for the ratification of the Constitution, playing one against the other. Well, the same principle applied to raising funds for the Society for the Relief of Poor Widows with Small Children.