He smirked at my impudence. “Your simmering disapproval of my decision to leave the general is duly noted.” I started to object, but he held up a hand. “That was not a point subtly made, my love. And I intend to thoroughly punish you for it by accepting your offer.”
I felt a little thrill of excitement. When I’d thought of being his partner, I never imagined being so directly involved in his work. To be a patriot in heart and sentiment, but also in deed and ink. “Just tell me what to do.”
Before long, I had a stack of pages in front of me. While Alexander wolfed down his dinner and worked out more calculations, I copied his notes for hours, concentrating on penmanship, until my eyes glazed over from recording lengthy discussions of generating revenue, paying for the military, currency depreciation, foreign credit, and instituting a national bank. But his long complicated calculations made me think of Papa’s love of equations, and I smiled at the comparison.
When I had written my twelfth full page, I set down the quill but found that my hand had cramped in a curled position. I laughed as I rubbed at my palm and fingers. “How do you do it?”
Hamilton’s brow furrowed. “Do what?”
“Write so much. Some days the only time you’re not writing is when you’re asleep. Why, I’ve even seen you writing while saddled upon a horse. Yet, after just a few hours at the task, my hand feels as though I’ve suddenly developed rheumatism.”
He frowned and made as if to set aside his work. “I’m sorry, love. You don’t have to continue.”
“No, please,” I said, smiling. “I want to help. I only mean to convey my admiration, Alexander. You are remarkable, truly.”
Slowly, he settled back into his chair. “Remarkable? How?”
“Oh, Mr. Hamilton, what I’d known of you pales in comparison to what I’ve learned this night. Why . . . I begin to think you’re a genius. And I say this as the daughter of a man who has always delighted in calculations and equations and theory and philosophy. I may not understand all your work, but I recognize the cleverness . . . no, the brilliance behind it all the same.”
And it was true, because to my mind it appeared that Alexander was in the process of single-handedly laying out the foundations for everything the American union might yet become, of creating the better world he’d promised to create. That might have been the proud wife in me speaking, but I didn’t think so.
His brow lifted, as if in surprise, but then wariness settled into his blue eyes. “Are you still teasing me, Betsy?”
“No, my dearest, I’m trying to tell you that in spite of my simmering disapproval of your decision to leave the general, I am so very proud of you.”
Alexander ducked his chin and cleared his throat, as if embarrassed or overwhelmed by my compliment. Had no one ever said such a thing to him before? Or had no one made him believe it? I couldn’t resist the urge to make sure he knew the truth of my feelings.
I moved to him, crouched by his knees, and peered up into his handsome face. “I am so very proud to be your wife.”
He grasped my hand hard where it rested on his leg, and when he looked at me, his gaze was filled with a depth of gratitude that made me fall a little more in love with him, and it stirred a longing in my body.
Tentatively, I reached for him until I captured his mouth with mine. The soft contact was like putting a match to kindling. It unleashed something within him—in truth, within us both. He took me to our bedroom, whispering, “I need you, Betsy. How I need you.” Warmth bloomed inside me at the sentiment, and then flared hotly as my husband grasped at the material of my skirts. “I just need . . .”
We came together desperately, frantically, but I’d never felt more loved and cherished.
Afterward, he turned to me, his arm cradling my neck. “I wish I’d met you earlier. That you’d been at home that first time I visited your father in Albany. I wish I knew you even when you were a girl—”
“You wouldn’t have looked twice at me then,” I teased, though I believed it to be true.
“You’re wrong. I’d have loved you, and wished to learn everything about you. I’d have tried to be worthy of you that much sooner and been a better man for it. You ease me, Betsy. My mind races, but your touch calms me. My thoughts fly, but your presence allows me an escape. I want nothing more than to please you in return. In your eyes, I wish to be the most amiable, the most accomplished. And when I’m not, I will endeavor to make up for all I lack with love.”