I pressed my lips to his. “You are the most amiable.” I kissed him again. “And so very accomplished.” Again. “And even more handsome.”
How strange it was to reassure a man whom every other woman in the world seemed to desire. His smile grew as humor slid into his gaze. “How handsome?”
I feigned exasperation with a roll of my eyes, but couldn’t hide my grin. “Are you fishing for more compliments?”
“From the mouth of my angel? Always.” His touch turned hungry once more, and his lovemaking that night won me over again and again with the belief that Alexander Hamilton—this brilliant, complicated, flawed man—needed me.
And I needed him, too.
Heeding Lafayette’s words, I’d done what I could to encourage him to return to Washington’s service, but now I thought better of it. If my husband wished to resign his commission in the army, I would encourage him to do so. Because I had now glimpsed the statesman in him, and I knew he would blaze a trail of glory in whichever path he chose.
Besides, it was much safer, I thought, to be a statesman than a soldier.
How naive I was.
*
“WELL, YOU’VE FINALLY done it, Ham,” said Tench Tilghman, with a lingering cough. With the coming of summer, I’d left the door open to a breeze, and now looked up to find the colonel’s height filling the entryway of our home, an expression on his face that warred between admiration and annoyance. “You’ve forced the great man’s hand.”
“What?” Hamilton asked, rising up hastily from the table where he was composing political essays on the defects in the Articles of Confederation.
But Tilghman, perhaps vexed that he’d been forced to cross the river in a rowboat just to deliver this news, was in no hurry to satisfy my husband’s curiosity. Instead, he turned his attentions to me and grinned, tipping his hat. “I shouldn’t have been so long without seeing you, Mrs. Hamilton.” He glanced out the window at the river he’d just rowed across. “It’s only that your jealous husband put an actual gulf between us.”
I laughed, and offered to have our servant fetch him some porridge. But Alexander thumped the table impatiently, “Out with it, man. What news?”
“Washington is not about to let you resign your commission as you’ve tacitly threatened to do,” Tilghman replied, and I could see that was the part that annoyed him. “So you’re getting your command.”
My husband tensed. “Tell me.”
“A New York light infantry battalion.”
The glee that broke out on Alexander’s face defied all description. He was, thereafter, in a celebratory mood, and invited Tench to stay for a meal. The next morning, my husband was eager to meet with the generals about the long-awaited battle and left early, finally, and at long last, crossing the river back to headquarters.
And I was absolutely nauseated over the thought of him finally going off to fight. I couldn’t tolerate my breakfast, and could only nurse a cup of tea until the nausea passed. It took three days in a row of this same discomfort before I counted back to my last monthly courses and it finally dawned on me.
I was pregnant. I was going to have a baby.
I debated when to tell Alexander about my suspicions, wishing to be more certain before I raised his hopes. But my husband forced my hand, just as he’d forced Washington’s.
To take command of his troops, Hamilton needed to ride south, and this time, he couldn’t have me with him. We’d all assumed that the summer campaign would take place in New York, but new intelligence from Lafayette—which I later learned had come from a Negro spy the marquis had recruited—suggested that we might better gamble it all in Yorktown, Virginia.
Whichever choice was made, Hamilton would have to be ready to ride into battle in an instant. Which meant we had to say our good-byes.
Oh, God. What if he doesn’t come back? What if he never meets his child?
As I had this thought, my husband came immediately to my side. “Betsy, dearest angel, what is it? You’ve gone so pale. Are you still unwell?”
“No,” I said, gulping a deep, steadying breath. “Well, perhaps a little.”
Alexander frowned. “I’m calling for the doctor. But let’s get you to bed first.”
“That’s not necessary,” I said, letting myself be pulled from the chair. “Alexander—”
“I’ll row out and retrieve him right away,” he said, a tinge of panic to his words. “It won’t take long. I promise.”