As she took up a crystal glass of rum punch, Kitty said, “You must mean Colonel Hamilton.”
My sister’s lips quirked up at the corner. “Speak of the devil and he shall appear.”
Moving with crisp military bearing, his reddish-brown hair pulled smartly back in a black ribbon, an officer I assumed must be Hamilton made straight for us, and Kitty pleaded, “My dear Schuyler sisters, rescue me.”
“Is he a rake?” I asked, wondering why she should need rescue.
“Oh, he’s naughty good fun and an excellent officer,” Kitty replied, swiftly finishing her punch as Hamilton’s heeled shoes closed the distance. “But he’s been trying to seduce me since his school days when my father let him stay with us. And he’s so relentless I fear I may foolishly give in.”
Angelica arched a mischievous brow. “Would it really be so foolish?”
“Quite,” Kitty hurriedly replied. “His soldiers call him the Little Lion, but he’s more of a ginger tomcat. He wrote me that victory will remove the obstacles in the way of matrimony, but I doubt I’m the only lady to whom he has pleaded but the war . . .”
A moment later, Hamilton was before us with a gallant bow, his eyes twinkling with mischief. And when he spoke, it was with the slightest accent—one I couldn’t place. “Ladies, unless my eyes deceive me, I find myself in the presence of unearthly creatures.” With that, he reached to kiss my sister’s hand, and she allowed it. “The Divine Mrs. Carter. You are a vision, as always. Will your husband join us this evening?”
My sister’s dark eyes flashed with regal acknowledgment, her head tilting in just the right way to make her jewels sparkle. “I’m afraid Mr. Carter is away on some business for the army.”
“I regret to hear it,” Hamilton replied in a way that made it seem he did not regret it at all. “We shall do our best to compensate for his absence.”
Hamilton then reached for Kitty’s gloved hand, and a spark seemed to pass between them. “Miss Livingston, my very own Game Goddess.”
“By what right do you claim me, sir?” Kitty asked.
“By right of long familiarity and friendship. You’ve little idea the fright I was thrown into when hearing of you and your sisters having to fend off the British at Liberty Hall with nothing but your wits.”
“You make it sound as if we were unarmed.” Kitty smirked with lips that formed a perfect cupid’s bow. “I take offense.”
He smiled, and I did, too, enjoying their banter. “I would never wish to imply such a thing, Miss Livingston. Only a fool underestimates the petticoat patriots amongst us. And who knows better than I do that your wits are extremely sharp and cutting?”
They both laughed, but I realized something was there, between them—something with an edge to it.
Finally, Hamilton turned his attention to me. “Who is this autumnal angel that completes your heavenly trio?”
Angelica made the introduction. “I present my sister, Elizabeth Schuyler.”
At hearing my name, Hamilton dramatically pressed his palm to his chest. “Be still my heart. At long last, I make the acquaintance of the Finest Tempered Girl in the World.”
I wilted, mortified, my throat bobbing under the black ribbon fastened round my neck, wondering if Colonel Tilghman had told everyone the embarrassing story.
“Your reputation precedes you, Miss Schuyler.”
“As does yours, Colonel Hamilton,” I replied.
“Oh, does it?” Hamilton leaned in, intensely curious.
There followed a painful moment of silence in which I realized that I could not very well tell him that we’d been gossiping about him. Fortunately, Kitty stepped into the breach. “Oh, you know it does, Colonel Hamilton, you vain creature. Is there anyone who doesn’t know how you covered yourself in glory in the artillery?”
“Or who doesn’t appreciate the eloquence of your pen?” Angelica chimed in. “‘The sacred rights of mankind are not to be rummaged for, among old parchments, or musty records. They are written, as with a sunbeam, in the whole volume of human nature and can never be erased or obscured by mortal power.’ ”
I wasn’t surprised Angelica could quote him; she read political pamphlets with as much eagerness as Peggy read romantic French novels. But Hamilton did seem surprised and grinned, almost modestly, at her recitation.
Meanwhile General Washington, clad in black velvet, was preparing to lead a minuet. And two bold French officers interrupted to ask Kitty and Angelica to dance. My sister gave an apologetic look before abandoning us. And as both of the beauties escaped his grasp at once, Hamilton hid his disappointment behind a veneer of politeness. Extending a hand to me that displayed a glimpse of a fine lace cuff beneath his officer’s coat, he asked, “Shall we, Miss Schuyler?”