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.”
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
