And now my siblings and I raced down the stairs to greet him, even as Prince scowled in disapproval at our lack of dignity as he opened the door.
I ought to have waited for Mama, who was pregnant again, to heave herself up from where she lay abed to come down and greet our guests. But I was far too eager. In fact, I quite nearly raced past Prince out into the blustery cold and swirling snowflakes in the open doorway, where stood two men wearing ice-crusted cloaks over blue and buff.
But only one figure gladdened my heart to bursting.
Alexander. The smile he gave me before presenting himself with a great formal bow all but erased the trepidation I’d felt moments before.
“Miss Schuyler,” he said, his satiny voice bringing back memories and making my pulse fly.
I wanted to throw my arms around the neck of my betrothed and shower him with kisses. Instead, I beamed. “Alexander.” My eyes lingered on him as long as I dared before politeness forced me to slide my gaze to his companion, who I recognized at once from Morristown. “Mac!”
At my exuberant familiarity, James McHenry grinned and doffed his cap, just as my father reached the entry hall. “Ah, Colonel Hamilton!” Papa said, coming in from the back door where he’d been making preparations in the courtyard. “You’ve joined us at last.”
“General Schuyler,” Alexander said, almost standing to attention.
Papa hung up his snow-covered coat and the large feathered hat he favored, then made his way across to us. “Welcome back to the Pastures,” he said, holding out his hand.
Alexander shook it. “Thank you, sir. General Washington sends his regards and regrets that he can’t join the celebration.” Papa’s smile broadened at being mentioned by the commander in chief. “I think you must remember my friend and colleague on General Washington’s staff, James McHenry. He’s, uh, well—he’s my guest for the wedding.”
The only one.
Tench Tilghman had sweetly and sincerely sent his best wishes and a small gift. But General Washington couldn’t spare him or any other aides-de-camp with Alexander and McHenry gone. And as for Alexander’s family, well . . .
How I loved my father for having made no issue of Alexander’s illegitimacy. And now Papa simply behaved as if all were quite normal. “Ah, McHenry, but of course. Come in. Dry off. Get warm. We’re pleased to offer every comfort during your stay.”
Thereafter Prince collected hats and cloaks, departing our merry circle, but not before instructing other servants to relieve our guests of their satchels. And having finally made her way down the stairs, Mama held her lower back and said she would see to supper.
Conversation turned to weather, war, and wine as McHenry followed Papa into his study. But Alexander quickly crossed back to me, his fierce blue eyes seeing right into the heart of me. “Betsy,” he said softly, intimately. “I want you to know that all these months, the only thing that alleviated the pain of your absence was looking forward to the moment we shall finally become each other’s forever.”
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
