“Oh, my sweet, generous Betsy,” Angelica said, kissing my nose, as if she still thought of me as her baby sister. “No doubt you’d give up your bed to make room for me, but where would the servants sleep?”
In London, she was accustomed to a great many servants and a great many rooms. No doubt our narrow little abode with five children underfoot and chickens in the yard would scarcely suit. “I suppose we would have trouble stowing your luggage . . .”
“I brought only eight trunks,” Angelica said, laughing. “How else was I to carry gifts for your cherubs?”
At the prospect of gifts, my children danced around their aunt Angelica excitedly. I was only sorry that their cousins—safely stashed in the best European schools—hadn’t made the journey with their mother. But we consoled ourselves with Angelica’s undivided attention, and already my head was full of plans for her visit. What’s more, my husband seemed to bask in my happiness.
Eyeing the mountain of my sister’s luggage, Alexander teased, “Given how little you’ve carried from Europe, sister, I worry you’ll have nothing to wear.”
Angelica laughed. “Well, I must tell you, brother, that in some parts of Europe, it’s very much the fashion to go out in the state of nature!” This comment made me gasp, which only encouraged her. “Mr. Jefferson told me that when we were in Paris together. He heard it from Mrs. John Adams. Oh, you have no idea the exalted and interesting people I met across the sea, but none could make up for your company. How I’ve missed you both! My dearest beloved sister and the great man she lured into our family.”
Preening at her praise, my husband fiddled with what appeared to be a broken latch on one of her apartment doors and promised to have someone out to repair it in the morning. Then, with regret, he said, “Ladies, I console myself to know you can find ways to amuse yourselves while I’m gone. Alas, I must rush to an appointment . . .”
“So soon?” I asked, not wishing to lose him again to his books and papers. “You’ve worked so hard. Too hard . . .”
“You both work too hard,” Angelica said, grasping my hand in her soft, manicured, bejeweled fingers, as if horrified to find mine rough, dry, and reddened from scrubbing linens, sewing clothes, and keeping house alongside Jenny. “My dear Hamilton, my servants will prepare dinner for all of us. I’m going to take care of you, my darlings. You shall have a holiday when home. I insist that you dine with me tonight.”
“Oh, please, Alexander.” I wanted nothing more than to be around the same table with the two people whose company I loved best in the world.
But my husband sighed with regret. “I’m afraid I’m to dine with some gentlemen at Fraunces Tavern.”
“Invite them here,” Angelica said, and a look of panic flittered over the faces of the servants who’d just emerged, half seasick, from the bowels of an oceangoing ship, and were not even settled into a new home in a new city. I couldn’t think how they might be ready to entertain on a moment’s notice. But that didn’t stop my sister from making the offer.
Nor did it discourage Alexander. “How can I resist my two brunette charmers?” With that, he kissed me, then grabbed his coat and embraced the children, making the older ones promise to behave while he was gone.
“Invite whoever you like!” Angelica called after him when he made for the door. “The poor baron and his dog are always in need of a good meal. And what about the Burrs? They’re wonderfully droll.”
“Not Burr,” Alexander said sharply, just before bounding out.
As we watched him disappear with the crowd on the street, I explained, “He’s vexed with Colonel Burr for throwing in with the antifederalists and accepting a job from Governor Clinton.” Clinton, the man whose minions called my husband Tom Shit.
Angelica leaned closer, keen for gossip. “And that’s cause enough to prevent him from dining with the man?”
Only someone who hadn’t lived through the recent hostilities could be surprised by this. “Not always. Sometimes I persuade him to turn the other cheek for the sake of my friendship with Theodosia, but I fear it a lost cause . . .”
“Well, even so, you’re recompensed to have a husband so handsome and of such merit and abilities. A husband who—” Her voice caught, and she bit her lip. “A husband who plainly loves you.”
Tears sprung to her eyes. Tears. And my heart nearly stopped in my chest because I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen Angelica cry before. Not even when we were children, lest rivals for leadership over our troop of Blues think they had the advantage.