Unable to express the welling feelings inside me with the eloquence with which he always wrote and spoke, I managed only, “And you were always in my thoughts.” He smiled as though I’d versified a sonnet, encouraging me to go on. “But I much prefer you at my side.”
“Well, then, at your side I shall endeavor to stay. After all”—his eyes twinkled—“as you will soon learn, whatever affords you pleasure will always be most agreeable to me.” My face warmed despite the chill in the hall, but fortunately Papa’s booming voice called my intended groom to join him. And Alexander promised, “I shall see you later, my lovely girl.”
*
THE NIGHT BEFORE our wedding, the ball at our house was attended by all the best of Dutch Albany society. The Van Rensselaers and the Van Burens, the Ten Broecks and the Ten Eycks, the Van Schaicks and the Douws, and so many others. Neither snow nor ice nor howling wind seemed to deter our New Netherlander friends and neighbors from coming out to the Pastures for the celebrations.
Amidst boughs of holly and the light of countless candles, the salon on our second floor hosted festivities that included food and drink, dancing and music, and games and toasts. We danced minuets, cotillions, and Scottish reels until my feet ached and my heart soared. Alexander never seemed to tire, and I determined to keep up with him through every bar and set. I danced with Mac and my brother-in-law, Mr. Carter, a man eight years Angelica’s senior, whose business supplying the army for once permitted him time to join in the festivities. But Alexander could never wait long before declaring himself impatient and claiming me again.
My fiancé appeared more at ease than I’d ever seen him before, and perhaps that wasn’t a surprise, as these days of rest and merriment were the first break from military service he’d had in five years. Indeed, his eyes sparkled as he asked, “May I steal you away for a moment?”
“By all means.” I’d been hoping for a quiet opportunity to give him my gift. He took my hand and led me around the edge of the dance floor as we were stopped again and again by well-wishers, until we finally escaped down the stairs and into the cooler air of the dimly lit sitting room, which afforded us a modicum of peace and privacy. There, Alexander asked me to wait. And while he ducked away I seized the moment to pull my gift from its hiding place in the cabinet next to the fireplace. Alexander returned before I’d barely completed the task—and held a large sack of his own.
“Whatever is that?” I asked.
He grinned and nodded at what I held in my own hands. “I could ask the same.”
I smiled. “A wedding gift for my husband.”
He feigned a frown and stepped closer. “Your husband, madam? Do I know him?”
Playing his game, I said, “Oh, you know him very well, sir. And your gift is for?”
He came closer yet. “For my wife-to-be. And before you ask, indeed, you know her well. She has a good nature, a charming vivacity, and is most unmercifully handsome”—he arched a brow and closed the remaining space between us—“and so perverse that she has none of those affectations which are the prerogatives of beauty.”
How did he always manage to set my world a-tumble with his words? “Oh, you must be a lucky man, indeed. I hope you’ve shown her your appreciation.”
He barked a laugh. “You saucy charmer!”
I sat in the chair closest to the fire so that I could see by the greater light there, and Alexander pulled up a chair of his own so that our knees touched. With a nervous smile, he placed the heavy sack onto my lap. I untied its string and worked the coarse cloth over the solid object inside. Impatience rolled off him so forcefully that I had to tease him further by taking great pains to slide the sack evenly off, a little on this side, and then a little on that.
“And to think someone once told me you were the Finest Tempered Girl in the World,” he said with a chuckle.
I yanked the sack away then as we both laughed. Removing the wrapping revealed a fine, carved mahogany sewing box. “Oh, it’s exquisite,” I said. I carefully lifted the lid, only to find another treasure tucked inside. A small, round, pearl-encrusted pendant. The pendant alone would’ve enamored me, but combined with the inscription and personal token inside, I knew not what to say.
“General Washington mentioned that Kitty Livingston had asked for a token of his esteem,” Alexander explained. “I guessed you might like one from His Excellency, too.”
“You guessed right,” I said, in awe as I stared at the circle of General Washington’s dark blond hair under a glass covering inscribed with his name.