Nearly eight months along, the lack of grace I was able to manage with my belly belied the compliment. But I was too happy to see him again to care. “Marquis, welcome to our home.”
“Bah.” Lafayette winked and gave a wave of his hand. “Please let us not stand on any ceremony of noble titles.” When I nodded and smiled, he crouched down to Philip’s eye level. “Mon dieu, he is your exact likeness, Hamilton.” My husband beamed while Lafayette addressed our boy. “Bonjour, young man.”
“Bonjoo, Laffy,” Philip said in his version of the words Alexander had made him practice.
Lafayette laughed and clapped his hands, and everyone joined him. “Oh, merci! You make me feel the absence from my own little Anastasie, Georges, and Virginie even more acutely,” he said of his children, the last two of whom he’d named for our commander in chief and the state where the war had finally been won.
Meanwhile, Alexander lifted Philip, gave him a proud hug, and then handed him off to be put to bed by Jenny, who Papa had recently lent to us as a servant. And I escorted everyone into the dining room.
Our experience at the fishmonger that day became a subject of conversation at the table I’d carefully laid with frosted wine glasses and festive table mats I’d woven for the occasion.
After complimenting me on the meal—the heartiness of which wouldn’t have been possible without the shipments of produce my mother sent from Albany every week to “ensure the baby’s health”—Lafayette asked, “Is it true that New York now has roving commissioners tasked with ferreting out secret enemies?”
The question had been addressed to Alexander, and yet it was a still-disturbed Theodosia who replied. “Oh yes. And when these so-called enemies are taken to jail, their bails are set so high as to shock the senses, and their fines even higher.”
“Governor Clinton encourages these levelers,” my husband ventured.
After they’d both served as delegates to Congress the previous year, Alexander had taken a loathing to Clinton, who was both a shameless self-seeker as well as an enemy to a strong federal government. “Like a populist demagogue he will have anarchy and bloodshed in the streets.”
The baron placed heavy elbows upon the table and spoke in his thick Germanic accent. “Ja. This is why the Society of the Cincinnati is so vital. In bringing officers of the war to prominence, we can hold together the public order!”
Sipping at my wine, I thought that the baron’s sentiments were exactly the kind of talk that had made some of our countrymen suspicious of the new Society of the Cincinnati. Though my husband would hear nothing against it.
And neither would the fiery baron, who added, “Wait until you see the gold eagle badges we’re having made for all our members to wear. They’re extraordinary.” As if for confirmation, he looked to his very attentive aide sitting beside him, who profusely attested to the beauty of the pieces.
Amongst our company, only Burr seemed to have reservations. “Perhaps it’s not wise to draw such attention to the Cincinnati just yet. Not when Sam Adams is calling it a creation of American nobility and some state legislatures consider denouncing us as a military aristocracy . . .”
I worried Burr might have the right of it. The controversy had already lost Hamilton a few clients. Indeed, while Alexander could rarely hold any opinion to himself, Burr seemed always reticent to make his known, even to us, his closest friends. I’d hoped the man’s more reserved nature might influence my husband’s.
But sensing the growing tension around the table, I changed the subject. “Dear Lafayette, tell us where your travels will take you.”
“Ah, of course. By way of New Jersey, Philadelphia, and Baltimore, I am to go to Virginia, where I will be reunited with our dear Monroe and finally with our dear general at Mount Vernon. And at some point, I go into the wilds to help America negotiate a treaty with the Iroquois at Fort Stanwix. Perhaps you should come with me, madame. For I recall how valuable you were at my negotiations with that great people so many years ago. And I remember our sweet talk over rum.”
Whereupon, to my embarrassment and delight, my husband raised a brow. “Sweet talk over rum?”
Lafayette laughed. “I would reassure you it was nothing, my friend, but I see you are jealous. And you deserve to be.”
Colonel Burr smiled and winked at me, raising his glass. “To what Hamilton deserves.”
Everyone laughed. Including Alexander, who then grinned and raised his glass. “To Mrs. Hamilton,” he said nodding at me, his blue eyes full of affection and amusement. “And Mrs. Burr, too. These ladies are more than either of us deserve.” The others joined in the toast, and the kind attention warmed my cheeks and heart in equal measure.