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Chapter Text

January 1780

The fire was beginning to burn down in the empty front parlor. Hamilton rubbed his chapped hands together to regain some warmth in his fingers, casting his eyes around the mess of half-finished correspondence, broken quills, and ink bottles that littered the large oak table. Everyone else had retired for the night, but his mind was too unsettled to join them.

He’d begged the General for a command. Begged. He’d been writing letters for three years now, and he could feel his chance for glory and advancement slipping through his fingers. Washington, well aware of his merit and abilities, hadn’t denied him the opportunity outright. Instead, he’d been harangued for half of an hour about how selfishness could prove to be the undoing of their cause. The General had been ostensibly speaking about Congress, but Hamilton had heard the subtext loud and clear. Was it truly so selfish to hope he’d come out of the war with some chance of advancement in society, he’d wanted to ask. Nonetheless, he’d submitted to the tacit demand, withdrawing his request to go south.

Now, sitting alone in the growing darkness, a melancholy despair began to creep over his mind. He took up his quill once more to add another line to his letter. “In short Laurens I am disgusted with every thing in this world but yourself and very few more honest fellows and I have no other wish than as soon as possible to make a brilliant exit. ‘Tis a weakness; but I feel I am not fit for this terrestreal Country.”*

“Christ, it’s cold,” Samuel Webb’s voice exclaimed as the front door slammed shut. A blast of cold air ripped through the parlor, causing Hamilton’s whole body to shiver.  Webb hurried into the parlor to stand beside the dying fire, holding his hands close to the glowing logs. “What are you still doing up, Hammy?”

Hamilton folded the letter quickly and forced a smile to his lips. “Just some personal correspondence,” he answered lightly.

“Another letter to the delightful Miss Lott, perchance?” Webb asked with a smirk. “Will the wedding bells be ringing soon?”

Hamilton made an active effort to keep the smile on his face as he shrugged. “I don’t think so,” he said simply.

Cornelia Lott was a comely lass with a sweet disposition, and she had been besotted with him for some time. They’d met right after Hamilton had been appointed aide de camp, as General Washington had been using her father’s home as his headquarters that winter. This winter, with Laurens’ advice about finding a wife ringing in his ears, he’d made more of an effort to spend time with her. He’d taken her on a sleigh ride, danced with her exclusively at their last assembly, and even paid a visit to her home last week. He wouldn’t say he was in love with her, but he felt affection enough that he might grow to love her with time. Everything had been going well, until he’d spoken to her father.

Abraham Lott had looked at him like he was an offensive substance clinging to the bottom of a shoe.

“My daughter is young and impressionable, Colonel Hamilton,” Lott informed him. “She does not yet understand the importance of fortune and good breeding in a suitor. I’m sure a gentleman such as yourself will not use that naivety to her disadvantage.” He’d smirked over the word gentleman.

He couldn’t entirely blame the man. The Lotts had lost everything when the British invaded New York. They were trying to rebuild, but it was difficult in the midst of war. What good would marrying their daughter to a penniless orphan do? Still, he needn’t have been so cruel in the execution.

Webb was grinning at him from his stooped position over the fireplace. “Has cupid’s arrow struck again? Which girl has caught your eye this time?”

He supposed he should be grateful that most of his friends attributed his string of failed courtships to fickleness rather than constant rejection. Smirks and gossip were better than pitying looks. Still, the sting of Abraham’s Lott’s dismissal was too fresh for him to play the game properly. “I’m going to take a little break from cupid.”

Webb gave him a skeptical look as he pushed back from the table.

“If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll retire to bed now,” he added. He wished his friend a good night and retreated from the room.

He glanced back down at his letter to John as he made his way upstairs. He’d like to take a very long break from everything and everyone in this miserable world. With no chance for a command and no hope of finding a wife, he wasn’t sure what he was fighting for anymore.

Tench Tilghman and James McHenry were sound asleep when he entered his quarters. He silently changed for bed, slid the letter under his pillow, and laid down. Staring up at the ceiling from the uncomfortable pallet, his dark thoughts swirled through his mind, staving off sleep for a long time.

February 1780

 “Is this your shirt?” Tilghman asked, digging through a pile of clothes that had yet to be laundered. His jacket had been discarded, his breeches were half undone and the shirt he had on had been untucked. All in all, he looked like a disheveled mess, which was unfortunate, as the dancing assembly was to start in less than an hour’s time.

Hamilton looked over at the bright white linen in Tilghman’s hands and shook his head. Not only was the shirt too large for him, but his clothes had all been mended and washed too many times to look that white. “Must be Mac’s,” he suggested as he yanked fresh breeches over his hips.

Tilghman frowned, looking around the room with an intensely puzzled expression. “What’s happened to all my shirts?”

Hamilton tried to stifle a laugh. “Would you like to borrow one of mine?”

“Yours would make me look like a chubby giant,” Tilghman refused.

Hamilton did laugh this time. “Just wear the one you have on, then.”

“This one smells.”

“Well, I don’t know how to help you,” Hamilton said with amusement as he pulled on his uniform jacket. He ran his hand over his chin and considered shaving again.

“I want to look my best. Do you know who just arrived in town today?” Tilghman’s eyes lit up with excitement. Hamilton shook his head, and his friend continued, “General Schuyler’s daughter, Elizabeth. We met some time ago when I was negotiating with the Six Nations. She’s twenty-two, now, and still unattached. She’s supposedly visiting her aunt, Doctor Cochran’s wife, but it’s obvious she’s on the hunt for a husband.”

Elizabeth Schuyler. The name conjured the image of striking black eyes and a warm smile. He’d met the young lady some time ago when he was in Albany trying to pry troops loose from the greedy hands of General Gates. General Schuyler had invited him to dine, although most of his family was away. Elizabeth had been at home, however, and she had more than upheld the Schuyler reputation for hospitality. He didn’t remember the conversation exactly, but he remembered laughing a great deal.

“And you’re hoping to oblige her in her quest?” Hamilton asked. Tilghman had just turned thirty-five that Christmas, so there was something of an age difference, but he doubted it would prove much of an obstacle if the girl was willing.

“She’s a lovely young woman,” Tilghman replied diplomatically. Hamilton took that to be a firm yes. “She’s traveling with Catharine Livingston. Aren’t you acquainted with her family?”  

Kitty Livingston’s name hit him like a swift kick to the abdomen. He’d been utterly infatuated with the beautiful heiress when he’d boarded with her family before he’d started at King’s. He’d gone so far as to write her a love letter. She’d rejected him in no uncertain terms. He was still trying to disentangle himself from Cornelia Lott after his disastrous meeting with her father. The prospect of a night with both Cornelia and Kitty made him feel vaguely ill.

“Ham?” Tilghman prompted.

“Hm?” He hummed, pulled from his thoughts. “Oh, yes. I’m very well acquainted with the Livingstons.”

“You wouldn’t mind entertaining Miss Livingston a bit, would you? Just so I might have the chance to speak with Miss Schuyler alone?”

Hamilton met his friend’s hopeful eyes and found himself nodding. What was a bit more humiliation and misery, after all, if it might bring his friend happiness?

~*~

Lively music and a roaring fire greeted Hamilton and Tilghman as they entered the hall where the dancing assembly was held. A table was set up in the corner with what passed for a feast in these conditions: two pots of stew, assorted root vegetables, and a very meager chicken that had already been almost entirely consumed.

“Colonel Hamilton,” Cornelia’s high voice came from just behind him.

He turned and saw that she had been waiting by the door. “Miss Lott,” he replied, bending low and pressing a kiss to her outstretched hand. “You’re looking well.”

“Oh, I’m very well, Colonel.” She gave him a tiny, hopeful smile. “I hope you are, also. I’ve missed seeing you the past few weeks.”

“I’ve been…very busy,” he said vaguely.

She nodded rapidly, clinging on to the excuse like a lifeline. “I thought you must be.”

An awkward pause followed as he searched for something to say. He didn’t want to raise her hopes, and he was still too embarrassed and stung to tell her about his humiliating meeting with her father. And what good would telling her do anyway, he thought; knowing would only cause a rift between her and her father. As he was standing there staring at her, the band struck up a new song.

“Would you like to dance, Colonel?”

“I…” He hesitated. If he danced with her, she’d think there was still hope for them. The only way forward he could see was to break her heart. Being cruel now would be kinder in the end, he told himself. “No, Miss Lott.”

Her whole face fell. She blinked at him, as if waiting for him to take it back, or to explain.

“I’m sorry,” he told her. Then he turned away.

He felt like a monster.

He spotted Tilghman, McHenry, Webb, and Richard Meade standing in a group near the food and he made his way towards them. Mac slapped him on the back companionably when he stopped beside him. Tilghman shook his head. “Poor Polly. Looks as though you’ve just torn her heart out.”

He refused to look back. Plastering the same fake smile he’d been wearing more and more of late, he said, “You know how it goes.”

“Onwards to the next conquest,” Webb laughed.

“That chicken didn’t make for much of a feast,” Hamilton commented, desperate to change to subject. The conversation mercifully turned to dreams of feasts after the war.

Tilghman tugged at his sleeve a few minutes later.

“Mrs. Washington is done speaking with Miss Schuyler and Miss Livingston,” Tilghman whispered, his eyes focused somewhere to the left. Hamilton followed his gaze and saw the two young ladies were standing by the fireplace, speaking quietly to each other.

Hamilton nodded for his friend to go first, and followed a pace behind as they made their way to the girls.

“Miss Schuyler, how wonderful to see you again,” Tilghman proclaimed as they approached.

“Colonel Tilghman,” Miss Schuyler greeted him warmly. “I did not know I’d be graced with your company tonight.”

Tilghman bent low to kiss her hand.

“Might I present Colonel Hamilton? He’s a dear friend of mine,” Tilghman added, gesturing back to him without turning around.

“I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Schuyler when I dined with her family in Albany,” he stated, bowing and kissing her hand as well. When he stood, he found her dark eyes scrutinizing his face. He smiled tightly at her, sure she didn’t remember the meeting. She must have dined with the whole Continental Army by this point, with Philip Schuyler for a father.

He turned his attention to Kitty. “Miss Livingston,” he greeted, bowing to her this time. He then introduced Tilghman, who repeated the ritual.  

“Did you have a pleasant journey?” Tilghman asked, his eyes glued to Miss Schuyler.

Hamilton turned his attention to Kitty. “It’s been quite a while since we’ve last spoken.”

Kitty nodded, her eyes tracking over his uniform and lingering on his rank insignia. “You’ve done well for yourself since then, Hammy,” she noted, smiling warmly at him. “I’m very glad to see it.”

He thanked her softly. Glancing to the side, he saw Tilghman had fully engaged with Miss Schuyler in conversation about her travels from Albany. He smiled and held out a hand to Kitty. “Would you care to dance, Miss Livingston?”

“It would be my pleasure, Colonel,” she agreed. As he lead her towards the dance floor, she leaned in to him and added, “I see Colonel Tilghman has wasted no time in staking a claim for my dear Betsey.”  

They shared a smile as they positioned themselves to join the dance.

~*~

His breath created a great puff of white smoke in the frigid air as he leaned against the porch rail. The music from inside was still audible, but dulled by the closed front door. There were torches glowing along the walkway that provided fairly good light, but hardly any warmth. Still, a moment of solitude was well worth braving the bitter cold.

Miss Livingston had quickly found dancing partners, lovely and eligible as she was. Cornelia seemed to have departed the party shortly after their talk. Tilghman was happily monopolizing Miss Schuyler. Everyone inside seemed paired off and content, leaving him free to slip outside.

He missed John. He missed having a dear, loyal companion, someone with whom he could talk and laugh. Someone to drive away his darkest thoughts on these cold, lonely nights.

He may as well get used to being alone, he thought harshly. No man was ever going to consent to having him for a son-in-law. Cornelia’s broken heart would be a warning to him to never attempt to love again.

The music swelled suddenly, then dulled again with the sound of the front door closing. He turned to see Elizabeth Schuyler stepping out onto the front porch. She smiled at him.

“Are you well, Colonel? I saw you stepping outside, and I was concerned.”

He forced another smile. “Quite well, thank you. I was just a bit warm from dancing.”

She nodded, then stepped closer to him, leaning against the rail as well.

“It’s a beautiful night,” she commented mildly, her face turned up towards the sky.

He followed her gaze, looking up at the nearly full moon and the bright stars dotting the dark winter sky. “Yes, it is,” he agreed. “Though it is terribly cold.”

She laughed. “I’m from Albany. I’m quite used to the cold.”

“I wish I were,” he replied.

“I suppose you never had to deal with these kinds of conditions in the Caribbean.”

He nodded, then his brow furrowed. “Did you recognize my accent?”

“No,” she said simply. She glanced over at him and smiled again. The expression made her eyes sparkle, he noticed. “You mentioned you were from Saint Croix when you dined with my family in Albany.”

He cocked his head to the side, surprised. “I didn’t think you remembered.”

“Of course I do.”

“It’s just, I know you must have dinner with officers all the time,” he tried to explain, hoping she didn’t think he accusing her of being rude or ill-mannered.

“That is true,” she laughed. “But you made an impression.”

He laughed as well. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”

She gave him a considering look. “I suppose we’ll find out,” she said coyly.

He grinned and nodded.

A companionable silence followed, their attention turning back to the still winter night.

“Did you really come out here because you were warm from dancing?” she asked suddenly.

He looked back at her, and found he wanted to answer honestly. “No. I’ve been feeling a little low of late. And, due to some unfortunate circumstances, I had to hurt someone’s feelings tonight. I suppose I’m simply not in the merry-making spirit.”

Her expression was compassionate. She reached out a hand tentatively, laying it lightly on his upper arm. “I saw you standing out here from the window,” she told him. “You looked…lonely.”

“So you came to keep me company?” he asked.

She nodded as she removed her hand. “You can tell me if I’m intruding.”

He shook his head. “I’m enjoying your company,” he assured her.

She smiled again. A moment of silence followed, before she began to speak again, easily changing topics. “I was speaking to Mrs. Washington earlier. She was telling me about her work with the sick and wounded soldiers, and she promised to take me with her on one of her visits. I do hope I can make myself useful while I’m here.”

“I’m sure the men would appreciate your assistance,” he told her sincerely.

“Is there anything else I could do to help? Mrs. Washington told me you would know best what needed doing.”

He felt a flicker of pride at the compliment from the dear old lady. Considering a moment, he asked, “Can you knit? Sew?”

She nodded.

“We always need hats, mittens, scarfs and the like. And many of the men have clothes that need mending. That would certainly be a help.”

Her eyes dropped to his hands gripping at the railing. “Do you have any mittens, Colonel?”

He looked down at his chapped hands and shook his head. “I had a pair, but they wore out last winter. I haven’t had the chance to replace them.”

“I’ll knit you a pair first,” she said decisively. “From what I’ve heard, your pen is our country’s best hope of winning this war. Whatever would we do if you developed frost bite?”

“I’d be most obliged to you, Miss Schuyler.”

“Speaking of frost bite, I think perhaps we should go back inside,” she suggested. She chuckled as she looked at him. “Your nose has turned bright red with cold.”

He nodded. She turned and pulled open the front door, light and music pouring out. Looking back at him, she made a little motion with her head to urge him on. As he followed her inside, he felt a smile stretching his face again. A real smile.

Well, he thought, that was just…so inconvenient.

Chapter Text

February 1780

 The wooden table in the parlor was comically oversized for the room. Papers, books, ink pots and quills littered every available inch. The sound of shuffling paper and scratching quills was constant. Hamilton looked up from his paper to see Tilghman copying out orders across from him. Mac had retreated to one of the armchairs near the fire to read a thick stack of intelligence reports that had just been delivered, he noted with a hint of jealousy. The room was frightfully cold.

Hamilton flexed his fingers and rolled his shoulders as he considered what else to add to the letter he was composing to the Chevalier de la Luzerne on behalf of General Washington. He scanned the sheet, reading over the paragraphs about British recruitment efforts and the latest prisoner exchanges. Ah, yes, the latest on the Spanish-British negotiations, he remembered, sweeping up his quill and dipping it in the ink well to begin a new paragraph.

The front door opened. A biting chill blew through the parlor, unsettling the mass of papers on the table and causing each man in the room to shiver. Clacking heels and the low murmur of female voices carried into the room as well.

“Do you young men mind an interruption?” Mrs. Washington asked, appearing in the doorway still wrapped in a thick cloak. She was just pulling off her thick woolen mittens as she smiled in at them.

The three men rose from their chairs as one. Tilghman answered, “Of course not, Ma'am. How may we be of assistance?”

“Miss Schuyler accompanied me to the hospital today. I thought we might come sit with some tea by the fire to warm up a bit,” Mrs. Washington explained.

“You’re certainly welcome to try, Ma’am,” Mac laughed, surrendering his armchair. “There’s not much warmth to be had today.”

As Mrs. Washington moved into the room, Miss Schuyler appeared just behind her. She, too, was still bundled in her outerwear. Her cheeks bore an attractive blush from the cold. “Bitter cold usually stops the snow coming down, at least,” the young woman commented, paying them all a sunny smile.

 Hamilton smiled at her optimism.

Her gaze landed on him, and he thought he saw her smile widen imperceptibly. “Oh, Colonel Hamilton, I have something for you,” she said, reaching into her cloak. She pulled out a beautifully knit pair of woolen mittens and held them up. “As promised.”

His eyes widened as he looked at them, feeling curiously touched that she’d remembered the off-hand promise she’d made a few nights ago at the dance. “Thank you, Miss,” he said sincerely.

She stepped closer to him to hand him the mittens. “I made some for the men in the hospital as well,” she told him. “I do hope they fit you all right. You’re all so very thin.”

He slipped one of the mittens over his hand, reveling in the sudden warmth. He nodded to her. “It’s perfect.”

“May I?” she asked, holding her hand out close to his, seeking permission to touch.

He nodded again. Her hand ran over his mittened fingers, down the back of his hand, landing gently on his wrist, which she squeezed lightly. He felt his breath catch, the innocent gesture feeling curiously intimate.

“Yes,” she agreed, “They seem to fit.”

“Come sit by the fire, dear. You must be chilled to the bone,” Mrs. Washington said. The older woman had already settled into a seat, holding her hands close to the crackling flames.

“You must stay warm, Miss,” Tilghman added. Hamilton started a little as he realized his friend had positioned himself immediately beside him without his having noticed. “We wouldn’t want you getting ill yourself.”

“You’re very kind, Colonel,” Miss Schuyler said, her attention now on Tilghman.

Hamilton eased himself out from between the two to resume his seat. Tilghman trailed Miss Schuyler over to the fireplace, asking her about her trip to the hospital. Hamilton tried not to listen, refocusing his attention on the letter he was writing, studiously ignoring the conversation and the servant bringing the tea for the ladies.

He’d managed to lose himself in his work for a few short minutes until the sound of his name pulled him back from his thoughts. “Ham was studying medicine as well,” Mac was saying. He’d moved to stand beside Tilghman near the two ladies.

“Were you really, dear?” Mrs. Washington said thoughtfully. “I didn’t know that.”

He turned around in his seat and gave a tight smile. “I took a class in anatomy while I was at King’s,” he confirmed. “Though I didn’t have time to seriously decide on an occupation before my studies were interrupted.”

“The sacrifice of your education in service for your country is quite laudable,” Miss Schuyler commented. She was facing away from him, so he couldn’t see her face, but she sounded sincere.

“Thank you, Miss,” he said.

With that, he turned back to his work. He finished the letter and placed it in the pile to have General Washington sign later. Looking over the table, he retrieved some of the orders Tilghman had been copying. The mindless copying was less successful at distracting him than the letter had been, but he did his best to focus only on the document before him.  

“Colonel Hamilton should take you.” Mrs. Washington’s voice caught his attention this time. The ladies had both finished their tea and were standing from the armchairs. Mrs. Washington was smiling at him. “You work too hard, dear. Go take a walk in the sunshine with a lovely companion.”

Miss Schuyler looked over at him hesitantly. “I really don’t need an escort. My aunt and uncle’s house is just down the road, and Colonel Hamilton seems very busy.”

“I don’t mind,” he said quickly. Too quickly. He winced internally at the eagerness in his voice. “I mean, I’d be glad to accompany you home, Miss.”

“Wonderful.” Mrs. Washington beamed at him.

He stood, careful not to meet Tilghman’s eyes. “I just need to get my coat,” he told her. She nodded, smiling at him again. He preceded her out of the parlor into the foyer, where he shrugged into his greatcoat. He then slipped the new mittens onto his hands.

“Do you have a scarf?” Miss Schuyler asked when he turned to her.

He shook his head.

“Perhaps that should be my next project,” she told him.

“Mittens and a scarf? People will say you’re showing favoritism,” he teased as he pulled the door open for her.

“Perhaps I am,” she said lightly as she stepped outside.

His brow furrowed. Was she just teasing him?

He kept a respectful distance as he walked beside her. The sunshine was glaringly bright, reflecting off the deep snow so that it glittered in the places untouched by footsteps, sleigh tracks, and hoof prints. Despite the cold, the sun and the fresh air was refreshing after a day spent in the dim, sooty parlor.

“I wish I could do more to help those men in the hospital,” Miss Schuyler said as they stepped off the walkway onto the road. “Thank you for suggesting the hats, scarfs, and mittens. They were sorely needed by almost every man there.”

“Thank you for making them. Warm clothes, hot food, and a friendly face go a long way to helping a man recover. I think you’re helping more than you know,” he assured her.

She smiled gratefully at him. “I was glad to see some more of Morristown today, at least. I haven’t seen much outside my aunt and uncle’s home and the dance hall, unfortunately.”

“Well, apart from headquarters and the hospital, I’m afraid there isn’t much else around,” he said. “At least not that I’ve seen. A few of the local families will hold dinners or gatherings from time to time, but that’s the extent of the excitement. Of course, my work keeps me rather close to a desk during the winter months, so you may not want to take my word for it.”

“I hope I’m not pulling you away from anything dreadfully important,” she said.  

Everything he did was important. That wasn’t boastful thinking, it was the reality of working so closely with the head of the army. He didn’t want to tell her that, though. He didn’t want her to feel guilty for pulling him away.

“I appreciate the break,” he told her simply.

She nodded. He heard her take a deep breath of the cold air, and she commented, “It’s very beautiful here. Even if there isn’t much excitement.”

“I should take you on a sleigh ride through the country.” The words were out of his mouth before he considered their implications. His face immediately turned red and he tried to recover. “You and Miss Livingston, of course. We…we could make a day of it. The three of us.”

She came to a stop in front of a gate. “That sounds lovely, Colonel. I’m sure Kitty would be honored. We’ll look forward to hearing from you.”  

Then she leaned in close to him and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you for walking me home.” She pulled open the gate and made her way in to her aunt and uncle’s house without sparing him another glance.

He stood there in front of her house alone for a long, silent minute. The spot on his cheek where she’d pressed her lips tingled. Even worse, he could feel himself smiling again.

Chapter Text

February 1780

He’d taken about three steps back towards headquarters when his stomach started to churn with guilt. Tilghman was his friend, his comrade, a man he trusted with his life on a regular basis. What was he doing, asking the girl he liked out for a sleigh ride? A girl from one of the most prominent families in New York, no less. Hadn’t he had his heart stomped on enough? Had Cornelia taught him nothing?

His guilty, panicked thoughts kept him company on the short trip back. He eased the door closed behind him and stepped back into the parlor to find Tilghman and Mac still at work, joined now by Meade, who grinned at him.

“How was your walk?” Meade asked mildly.

He fixed his gaze onto Tilghman, and blurted out, “I just did something stupid.”

Mac and Meade both burst out laughing, but Tilghman’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“I…I might have…accidentally…asked Miss Schuyler for a sleigh ride.”  

Mac and Meade laughed harder. Mac actually bent double in his chair.

“How do you accidentally ask someone on a sleigh ride?” Tilghman asked.

“I don’t know,” he said helplessly. “I’ll fix it. I swear. I’ll write and say you need to come along.”

“Why would I need to come along?”

“I…” he hesitated, trying to think up a plausible reason. “I’m terrible at driving sleighs.”

“That is true,” Meade commented.

Tilghman raised a brow at him.

“I’ll fix it,” Hamilton vowed again.

“All right,” Tilghman nodded, paying him a small smile. “You can calm down, Hammy.”

Hamilton smiled back at him gratefully.

“The General came in while you were gone,” Meade said as Hamilton resumed his seat. “He’s sending Armand to Georgia. Wants you to draft the letter and his certifications. Oh, and tell him in no uncertain terms that Du Plantier isn’t getting a command.”

Hamilton nodded, already mentally drafting the letter. “When are the orders going out?” he asked.

“Uh, tomorrow, maybe,” Meade answered distractedly, his attention already back on his own work.

Considering this letter wouldn’t be sent for a day or two, he stole a moment to jot down a note to Miss Schuyler and Miss Livingston. He included some flowery language about Phaeton to try to cover up what an idiot he sounded like claiming he couldn’t drive a sleigh. He ended promising he or Tilghman would escort them, though the answer was already settled on the latter. He sighed, placed the letter in the pile to be sent out, and then began working on the letter to Armand.

~*~

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Tilghman asked. They were standing in the foyer, and Tilghman was shrugging on his overcoat. “I don’t mind. You could keep Miss Livingston company.”

Hamilton shook his head. Better to stay as far away from Miss Schuyler as possible, he’d decided. She was starting to invade his thoughts. This morning he’d woken up haunted by the images and imagined sensations of striking black eyes, rose petal lips and butterfly-light caresses.

“I have too much to do here,” he declined with a tight smile.

Tilghman stared at him for a long minute.

“Do you like her?” Tilghman asked suddenly.

“What?”

“You like her.” Tilghman amended the question to a statement.

“I won’t do anything about it,” he rushed to assure him.

Tilghman laughed softly. “Oh, Hammy,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Put your coat on.”

“What?” he repeated.

“I’ll take Miss Livingston on a walk or something. You should take Miss Schuyler on the sleigh ride. Just the two of you.”

Hamilton shook his head. “You…you said…I can’t….” His powers of speech were truly lacking today, he scoffed internally, blowing out a frustrated breath.

“I like her,” Tilghman said with a little smile. “But you’ve been walking around with that moony, lovesick expression since the dancing assembly. I bow to the superior attachment. Go forth with my blessing.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that kind of selfless friendship and generosity. He ended up staring silently for an awkwardly long time, until Tilghman clapped him on the shoulder and shoved him towards the rack of overcoats. “We’re going to be late.”

He moved at last, but not towards the coats. Pulling Tilghman into a hug, he finally managed to say, “Thank you.”

Tilghman patted him gently on the back. “Just don’t blow it.”

Hamilton pulled away and nodded.

Once Hamilton had bundled up appropriately against the winter chill, they set off shoulder to shoulder towards the stables. The walk was silent. Finally, as they began to harness the horse, Tilghman asked, “What happened between you and Miss Lott?”

Hamilton looked over at him.

“I know you, Hammy. You liked her. Why did you suddenly stop spending time with her?” Tilghman pressed.

He knew the question was coming up because of his feelings for Miss Schuyler. Given Tilghman’s sacrifice, he felt he owed him an honest answer, however much he may still burn with humiliation. He took a deep breath, patted absently at the horse, and answered.

“Her father objected to my…to me,” he said. He glanced over at Tilghman, hoping he’d understand why without him having to spell out all of his shameful past. Tilghman nodded, his face turning sympathetic. “I thought, if there was to be no future for us, I might as well end the relationship quickly.”

“Did you tell her this?” Tilghman queried.

“What would be the point? It would only sow discord between her and her father. Better she think I’m the ogre. My reputation certainly bears it out.” A hint of bitterness had crept into his voice by the end. He fought the feeling back down.

Tilghman stayed quiet for a minute, as if mulling over the information. “He was wrong about you. Any man with an ounce of sense would leap at the chance to welcome you into his family.”

Hamilton smiled a little at the sentiment, even as he doubted it’s veracity.

“I’m sorry for bringing it up,” Tilghman added.

He shook his head. “Don’t be. I should have told you all sooner.”

“Well, I didn’t need to do it just as you were going to spend time with your new girl.”

“She’s hardly my girl,” he said.

“She will be,” Tilghman grinned at him. Hamilton marveled for a moment at his friend, doubtful he’d ever be as gracious if the situation were reversed. Tilghman adjusted a strap, apparently oblivious to Hamilton’s scrutiny. “I think we’re ready,” he announced.

Hamilton clambered up into the seat, hesitantly taking the reins Tilghman offered.

“Do you actually not know how to drive a sleigh?” Tilghman asked, laughing.

“I can drive a sleigh,” he bit out, though he chuckled after, his friend’s laughter contagious. He urged the horse onward, guiding the sleigh towards Doctor Cochran’s house.

When they pulled up outside the house, he pulled the reins and the two of them disembarked. Finding neither of the girls outside, Hamilton tied to reins to the gate and they both walked up to the door.  Tilghman’s knock brought a servant to the door, who lead them into the parlor where Miss Schuyler and Miss Livingston were bundling up for the journey. Miss Schuyler smiled at him when he entered.

“Colonel Hamilton,” she greeted. “It sounded from your letter as if you wouldn’t be joining us.”

“I managed to get free,” he replied.

Tilghman stepped over to Miss Livingston, dropping a chivalrous kiss to her hand. “Would you like to take a walk with me, Miss Livingston. I’d like to take the air, but I can’t bear Colonel’s Hamilton driving.”

Kitty grinned at him. “It is rather frightful,” she teased. “I’d be glad to take a walk with you, Colonel Tilghman.”

Hamilton shook his head at the two, then looked over at Miss Schuyler. “Are you still willing to brave a sleigh ride, Miss Schuyler?”

“Very much so,” she agreed. “I’ve been looking forward to it.”

Tilghman set off down the road with Kitty as soon as they’d stepped outside. Miss Schuyler walked around the sleigh and stopped before the horse, patting him affectionately on the nose. “Is he yours?”

“No,” he replied, standing beside her. “He’s an army horse. Not much for him to do while we’re in winter encampment, though. The General lets us take them out from time to time to give them a run, keep them in shape for the summer.”

“I see. Well, he’s a very handsome fellow,” she cooed.

“Would you like help into the sleigh?” he offered.

She shook her head. “I can manage.” And she did, climbing up into the seat expertly. He smiled as he pulled himself up after her, careful to make the action look as effortless as she’d made it seem.

When he was sure she was seated comfortably, he urged the horse on, setting off for the surrounding fields where they could gather speed and give the horse some proper exercise.

“I suppose the last days have seemed rather strange to you,” he remarked after a silent moment.

She glanced at him. “Your letter was a bit odd,” she granted. “Especially as you seem perfectly capable of directing a chariot.”

He could feel his cheeks turning red, and it had nothing to do with the cold. “Yes, well…”

“I’m glad you’re here, Colonel,” she interrupted his attempted explanation. She laid a hand on his forearm, a look of perfect understanding on her face.

“I’m very glad to be here, Miss Schuyler,” he replied after a moment.

“Eliza,” she corrected.

He looked at her again, surprised.

“Eliza,” he repeated. The name felt sweet on his tongue.

They had just arrived at the empty field. He asked, “Are you feeling brave, Eliza?”

“Always, Colonel,” she replied with a saucy smile.

With that, he urged the horse to a gallop. The sleigh careened through the deep snow, the wind whipping at their faces. Eliza’s cap blew off her head, flying behind her by the straps still tied around her neck. Her dark ringlets were free and blowing around her face. She was laughing, glee plain on her face.

He wished he could keep them flying through the solitary field forever. He wished the horse would sprout wings to take them up and away to somewhere they could live for eternity in this perfect moment. Sitting beside Eliza, watching her laugh, he felt truly, wonderfully, perfectly happy.

When the horse tired and the sun began to sink towards the tree line, he reluctantly steered the sleigh back towards Doctor Cochran’s house. Eliza allowed him to help her down, though he was sure she was as able to manage dismounting as she had been able to climb into the sleigh. They stood facing each other for a moment.

“Thank you, Colonel,” she said, breaking the silence. “That was most enjoyable.”

“Yes,” he said, nodding. “Very enjoyable.”

She smiled up at him. “Would you like to come inside? You could have a cup of tea and warm yourself by the fire.”

“No, thank you. I should be getting back.”

She nodded. She was just beginning to move away when he summoned the courage to ask, “Might I call on you, Eliza?”

“When?” she asked, brow furrowing.

“Tomorrow. And the day after that,” he answered. His smile felt like it had gone a little dopey. He hoped it didn’t look as ridiculous as it felt.

Her eyes went soft and her smile turned fond. “As often as you like, Colonel Hamilton.”

“Alexander,” he told her.

She stepped closer to him, leaning in to kiss his cheek again. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Alexander,” she whispered. Her hand ran down his sleeve as she stepped away. He watched her until she’d disappeared into the house.

Chapter Text

February 1780

Another winter storm had blown through Morristown. Nearly two feet of heavy, wet snow had accumulated atop the already covered landscape. Even with the sun coming out today and the men working all day to make the road passable, the snow was still nearly too deep to manage. The incoming supplies would likely be delayed further, Hamilton considered with some concern as he trudged through a snowbank to step onto the road.

The short walk to Doctor Cochran’s home felt much longer than his many previous trips. Though the storm had passed yesterday, a bitterly cold wind whipped through the air, carrying loose snow with it. The snow came up to his thighs in some places the men had yet to clear. Within minutes, his whole lower half was numb and his nose and cheeks were stinging. Perhaps he should have waited another day before he attempted to call on Eliza, but it had been two days since he’d last seen her already. He missed her.

He just might be in over his head, he thought wryly.

He’d only been calling on Eliza for about a week before this latest storm. Yet, even in that short time she had somehow embedded herself into his every thought. He imagined her smile while he wrote; he heard her voice when the men gathered around the piano to sing; he dreamed of her eyes every night. He’d never felt this way before.

By the time the house came into view, his body was shaking with cold so badly that his teeth were chattering. He clung to the railing to pull himself up the barely visible front steps and knocked on the door. The door opened to reveal one of the Cochran’s servants, looking very startled at the sight of him.

“Colonel Hamilton,” the young woman gasped.

“Is…Is Miss Schuyler receiving callers?” he managed through his clacking teeth.

“Yes, sir. Please, come inside,” she urged. He hurried past her and she quickly closed the door. He nearly moaned in relief as a warm rush of air engulfed him.

 “Hamilton,” Eliza gasped, stepping out of the parlor. Her eyes traveled down to his greatcoat, breeches and boots, all covered in wet snow that had begun to melt in the warm room. “Oh, you’re soaked.”

Mrs. Cochran came to stand behind her niece and looked at him with wide eyes. “Good Lord, dear, you must be frozen solid. Whatever were you thinking, coming out in this weather?”

He was at something of a loss for an answer, as he was wondering the same thing himself. Drenched and freezing as he was, he’d be lucky to avoid frostbite and a fever. He simply stood mute, staring at the two women as he shook.

“Come into the parlor,” Eliza directed firmly, leading him into the warm room by the elbow. “Sit by the fire and get warm.”

“You’ll have to change out of those wet clothes. I’ll see if we have anything to suit,” Mrs. Cochran added, bustling from the room as she spoke.

Eliza seated him in the chair nearest the fire and pulled a blanket from the sofa to wrap around his shoulders. She rubbed at his arms, trying to force warmth back into his limbs, then knelt before him to pull off his boots.

“Even your stockings are soaked,” she fretted, pulling them off as well and laying them on the hearth to dry. She looked back up at him with wide, shining eyes. “What in the world were you thinking, honey?”

The endearment caused a rush of warmth to flood through his body.

“I wanted to see you,” he answered simply. He had noticed that when he said something she found endearing, her smile would go a little crooked and her eyebrows would draw together. Sure enough, the right side of her mouth lifted slightly higher than her left, and she shook her head.

“I brought you some of Doctor Cochran’s things. They won’t fit well, but they’re dry at least,” Mrs. Cochran announced as she entered the room holding a pile of clothing. “You can change in the upstairs guest room.”

Thankfully, some of the feeling had returned to his legs, and they stayed steady under him as he rose to take the bundle from Mrs. Cochran. “Thank you very much, ma’am.” He looked around the parlor, suddenly noticing the absence of the man whose clothes he was about to borrow. “Is Doctor Cochran not at home?”

“He’s gone out to see to a patient. I have no doubt that he arrived there in the same state as you. It’s utter foolishness, going out in these conditions.” The older woman sighed, then waved him towards the stairs. “Well, go on and change. We don’t want you falling ill.”

He gladly obeyed, following the servant girl up to a spare room. He closed the door, and immediately pulled off his breeches. His shirt was wet on the bottom as well, though his uniform coat seemed to have come through all right, protected by his great coat. Doctor Cochran’s breeches were much too large for him, but he folded them over a few times and found they would stay up around his hips. The dry stockings felt heavenly on his chilled, damp feet. He glanced at the mirror and adjusted his uniform jacket to cover the rolled breeches. Not too terrible, he decided, as he made his way back downstairs in the borrowed clothes.

“A great improvement. Thank you, ma’am,” he said as he stepped back into the parlor.

“Here, let me lay those by the fire,” Eliza said, taking the sopping breeches and shirt from his hands. She laid them on the hearth by his stockings, then looked up and nodded to the armchair nearest the fire. “Sit back down with the blanket and get warm.”

He adjusted the blanket around his shoulders and sat back down as Eliza settled onto the sofa beside her aunt. “How have you all fared through the storm? Do you have enough food? Enough firewood?”

“We’re very well, thank you, Colonel. Plenty of food and enough wood to keep the house warm,” Mrs. Cochran assured. “How are the men?”

Hamilton frowned. Headquarters was as warm as it ever was, but many of the haphazard wooden huts then men were sleeping in had proven inadequate against the cold and snow. Provisions were becoming a great concern as well. “We’re…managing,” he said at last.

Both Mrs. Cochran and Eliza seemed to read the desperate situation in his hesitancy.

“Would you like anything to eat, dear?” Mrs. Cochran offered softly.

He shook his head. “No, I had some stew before I left. But thank you. You’re very kind, ma’am.”

Mrs. Cochran smiled at him. “Well, then, I think I’ll take my sewing upstairs and leave you young people to socialize,” she excused herself.

When they were alone, Eliza smiled at him and asked, “Are you warmer now, Alexander?”

He nodded.

“I’ve missed seeing you the past couple days,” she told him.  

“I missed you, too,” he assured her.

“Clearly,” she mused. “As happy as I am to see you, I don’t like you risking your health.”

“I’ll be fine,” he told her. “How is your project coming along? I imagine you’ve made quite a bit of progress, being trapped inside for two days.”

Eliza nodded to a basket piled high with hats, mittens and scarfs. “Aunt Gertrude and a few of the servants have been helping me. Do you think you could manage to take them back with you?”

“Yes, of course,” he agreed. Warm clothing would certainly boost the flagging morale of the men, and might help avoid future cases of illness and frostbite. “Are they for particular people?”

“No, they’re for anyone who needs them,” she replied.

“They are sorely needed. You’re truly an angel for your efforts,” he praised.

She flushed and looked away from him. “Have you been busy?”

“Very. Between our supply problems and trying to order troop movement, we’ve been bustling with activity night and day.”

Eliza opened her mouth, then closed it again, as though deciding against saying something.

He frowned. “You know, you can speak freely with me, Eliza.”

“I was wondering if you might be able to do me a favor,” she said. “Though I would very much understand if you cannot.”

“I’d be happy to be of service to you in way I can,” he assured her.

“The mail coaches have stopped running due to the snow. I had wanted to send a letter to my sister. I just thought, if you’re still able to send letters, would it be possible for you to get the letter to Albany?”

He smiled, gratified to find a problem to which there was an easy solution. “Easily accomplished,” he said. They had riders leaving for Albany within the next day, weather permitting, and he knew the sack of mail contained letters addressed to General Schuyler. Adding a letter to the stack would prove no inconvenience for the men.  

 “You’re sure it’s not asking too much?”

“Not at all, Miss. The men will be delivering letters to your father anyway.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Colonel.”

“Might I inquire to which of your sisters you are writing?”

“Peggy,” she told him.

“Your younger sister?” he clarified. He’d heard a great deal about Eliza’s sisters. They sounded as mischievous and lovely as the girl before him from her accounts.

She nodded. “I’m hoping she’ll accompany my father when he comes to Morristown at the end of the month.”

General Schuyler was coming to Morristown? He felt a flicker of concern at the news, memories of his last conversation with Abraham Lott suddenly coming to the forefront of his mind.

“Would you like to see a picture of her?” Eliza asked, interrupting his panicked thoughts.

“Oh. Yes,” he agreed.

“Stay there,” she said as she rose from the sofa. “I just need to fetch my book.”

He gathered the blanket closer around himself and relaxed back into the chair while he waited, relishing the warmth and comfort. Foolhardy though it may have been to make the trip, he couldn’t say he regretted it. He thought of Eliza’s father again. General Schuyler was a kind, reasonable man. They’d gotten along well when they’d met in Albany. And Eliza’s aunt and uncle didn’t seem to object to his visits. Besides, worrying about meeting Eliza’s father felt a tad premature. He’d only just started calling on her, after all. He closed his eyes and stretched his stocking-clad feet closer to the fire, forcing himself to relax. Take things one step at a time, he lectured himself.

“You look very comfortable,” Eliza remarked. He started and sat up to see her smiling fondly at him from the doorway. “I was going to have you sit beside me, but I’d hate to ask you to move when you look so content.”

“The chance to sit closer to you is one of the only reasons in the world I would move,” he replied. He noted with pride that Eliza’s cheeks flushed again.

She sat on the sofa once more, and he rose to join her, making sure to leave a proper distance between them. She opened a sketchbook on her lap, flipping pages until she landed on one of a beautiful young woman. He craned his neck to get a better view until she handed him the book.

“That’s Peggy,” she told him.

He looked back at Eliza. “Did you draw this?”

She nodded.

“It’s very good,” he said. Though he’d never met the young woman, he felt as if Eliza had done more than capture her physical likeness. He could see her playfulness and her spirit. “Very good.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly. She leaned closer to him to turn back the page to reveal a drawing of a different young woman, this one holding an infant. “That’s Angelica, and my nephew Philip.”

The detail on this drawing was extraordinary. Angelica was smiling down at a sleeping infant, love and exhaustion both evident on her face. “You have quite a gift,” he told her. “May I look at some more of your drawings?”

“If you’d like,” Eliza answered, looking a little surprised.

He flipped back to the beginning.

They spent a long time going through each page. He saw drawings of the house in Saratoga that General Burgoyne had destroyed. He recognized the Pastures, her Albany home. She’d sketched landscapes and animals, as well as more of her family and friends. Some of the drawings prompted her to tell him amusing tales from her youth, which had him laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes.

He was still chuckling when he flipped past the first picture she’d shown him of Peggy, only to find a drawing of himself. Eliza suddenly went still beside him. He glanced over to see that her cheeks had turned bright red and she seemed to be studying the floor with great interest.

He looked back down at the drawing. It was a profile, and a good likeness, though he thought she might have made him out to be a bit handsomer than he actually was. (His nose was more prominent in his reflection than it was on the page, for one example.) He wasn’t smiling in the picture. He seemed to be looking out into the distance, and he had his hands on what appeared to be the railing of a porch.

“Is this…did you draw this after the dancing assembly?” he asked.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she whispered. Her hands were fidgeting in her lap, and she still wasn’t looking at him.

“Mind?” he repeated. He paused, searching for words. “I’m…quite touched.”

“You made a very striking impression that night,” Eliza told him.

He laughed. “You keep telling me that. I still don’t know if it’s a compliment.”

Eliza laughed as well, finally looking at him again. “It’s a compliment,” she said.

“That’s gratifying to hear. I would have been pained if you’d simply been mocking for the past weeks.” He gently closed the sketchbook and handed it back to her.

The grandfather clock in the hall struck the hour, and he glanced out the window to find the light rapidly fading outside. “I should be getting back,” he said reluctantly. “It’s getting dark.”

Eliza nodded. “I don’t think your clothes are dry yet. You should just wear Uncle John’s back. He won’t mind.”

“That’s very kind of you,” he said. He didn’t take pleasure in the idea of putting his damp clothes back on. The wet boots were going to be bad enough. “I’ll try to take more care on my way back.”

“Please do,” Eliza said. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

“I’ll do my best not to, then,” he replied.

He stood, then sat back in the armchair to tug his boots back on. He bundled back up in his greatcoat and pulled his mittens from his pocket. “These survived the drenching, at least,” he said.

Eliza smiled at him, then reminded him, “Don’t forget the basket.” She pulled the basket of winter clothing from the corner.  

“Oh, and your letter,” he remembered suddenly.

“Right.” She opened the drawer of one of the side tables in the parlor and retrieved a stack of papers. “Thank you so much for sending this,” she said as she handed him the letter.

“It’s my pleasure,” he assured her, tucking the papers into his inside coat pocket.

They looked at each other for a long minute. He was about to bow and kiss her hand when she suddenly surged forward and wrapped her arms around his neck in an embrace. He tentatively returned the gesture, making sure to keep his arms high up on her back. He felt her soft lips on his cheek again before she pulled away.

“Be safe. Try to stay warm,” she wished as she stepped back from him.

“I’ll do my best,” he replied again as he reached down for the basket of supplies.

Eliza saw him out, waving to him from the doorway as he set off down the walkway towards the road. He moved with a new spring in his step, hardly feeling the bitter cold wind or the wet snow. He thought about the sketchbook as he walked.

She’d drawn a picture of him from that first night. She’d included it in her book with her family and closest friends. Of course, the book also included a drawing of a cow she’d been attached to as a young girl, he considered. Still, that she’d drawn him at all had to mean something, right? Then she’d hugged him, and kissed his cheek again.

Every time he saw her, his feelings for her seemed only to intensify. And she seemed to return those feelings. He sighed. He needed a plan, a way to ensure this didn’t turn out as disastrous as his last courtship. He cared too much for Eliza for that to happen. If General Schuyler dismissed him the way Abraham Lott had….

He smiled suddenly, his thoughts turning to letter in his pocket.

Though it truly was no hardship to send the letter, it would need to be enclosed in a letter from him to at least keep the appearance of a military connection justifying use of army channels. He’d meant to only write a line explaining he was sending the letter at Eliza’s request, but perhaps he’d write at greater length to Miss Peggy Schuyler. After all, he felt as if he knew her, with all the stories Eliza had told him. And having an ally in Eliza’s sister couldn’t hurt his cause.

When he was back in headquarters and had changed back into his own clothes, he sat down in the empty upstairs workroom with some paper and a quill. He considered for a moment, then set the quill to the paper, and began to pour his heart out to Eliza’s younger sister.

Chapter Text

February 1780

The bright sunshine of the past days helped to melt down the worst of the additional snow. Then the temperature had plummeted once more, creating a slick surface over the top of the snow. Walking was now slightly hazardous, but it made for good sleighing conditions. Hamilton had finished up the correspondence General Washington requested shortly after two o’clock and asked for leave to take a horse and sleigh over to Doctor Cochran’s.

In response, Washington had smiled at him. He wasn’t entirely sure that had ever happened before. Maybe when he’d returned from the mission to burn the flour mill in Pennsylvania, after Lee had reported that he’d drowned in the Schuylkill. Maybe. “Of course you may take the sleigh. In fact, why don’t you bring a bottle of wine with you to share with Miss Schuyler.”

“Wine, sir?” he’d repeated, baffled by this warm response from his usually stoic commander.

“There’s some in my private stores. Ask Billy to give you a bottle on your way out,” Washington invited. “And don’t worry about getting back early, my boy. Just check with the sentry for the password before you leave.”

He stared at Washington for a long moment, blinking slowly, before he remembered his manners. “Thank you, sir.”

Washington nodded and waved him off.

And so, he had set off for Doctor Cochran’s with the sleigh, a bottle of wine, and the password to get back into camp after dark. He pulled up outside of the house and bounded up the front steps, grinning.

“Good day, Colonel Hamilton,” the servant girl greeted him. She smiled broadly at him, as though lifted by his evident good mood.

“Good day. Is Miss Schuyler at home?”

“She is, sir,” the young woman replied, showing him inside. “Though she has company.”

“Oh,” he said.

“Would you like me to take the wine for you, sir?” the servant offered, heedless of the smile that had suddenly dropped off his face.  

He looked down at the bottle held loosely in his hand. “Yes, please,” he said, handing the bottle over. The girl smiled at him again and walked away towards the kitchen. 

He took a deep breath and stepped into the parlor. A circle of young women stood in the parlor, all clutching baskets of knitting. All seemed dressed for the outdoors, so he assumed that the gathering was coming to an end, at least. He spotted Eliza at the far end of the parlor, but his stomach dropped to somewhere near his feet when he saw Cornelia Lott standing beside her. Both women looked over at him as he entered the room. Eliza smiled. Cornelia’s gaze dropped to the floor.

Eliza’s attention was stolen away by Kitty Livingston, who had stepped closer to her to engage her in a quiet conversation. Cornelia moved away from the two girls, hesitating in the middle of the room, before she stepped closer to him. She was nervous, he realized with a pang.

“Miss Lott,” he greeted, bowing low. He forced a smile. “You look very well.”

“Thank you, Colonel Hamilton,” she replied softly.

An awkward silence ensued, neither of them sure how to proceed.

Cornelia looked back towards Eliza, then met his eyes.

“Miss Schuyler started a knitting circle to make winter accessories for the soldiers,” she explained.

He smiled fondly at the news, glancing over at Eliza, who was still deep in conversation with Kitty. When he turned his gaze back to Cornelia, she too was smiling, though it appeared somewhat pained.

“She’s wonderful, Colonel,” Cornelia said. She stared deep into his eyes, her face serious. “I wish you both great happiness.”

His mouth opened to reply, but he hesitated, considering how best to respond. “Thank you, Miss Lott. You are exceedingly kind. I only hope you find someone worthy of you, who will give you the life you deserve.”

Her expression turned puzzled, then more pained still. He froze, fearing he’d revealed more than he’d intended. Had she intuited the reason for his sudden change of heart?

She curtsied properly. “Good day, Colonel Hamilton,” she bade him, before she walked swiftly by him for the door. Several other ladies followed her path. A moment later, Kitty too walked passed him, smiling at him warmly as she left. At last, he was alone in the parlor with Eliza.

“You’re early,” Eliza said, skipping over any greeting. “I didn’t expect you for several more hours.”

“I finished my work, and General Washington granted me leave to spend the afternoon with you. I could come back later, though, if my presence is an inconvenience.”

She grinned at him and shook her head slowly. “Would you like to sit down?”

“Actually, I thought we might go for another sleigh ride, if that sounds agreeable to you,” he said.

Her face lit up with pleasure. “Yes, that sounds perfect. I just need to put on my cloak and mittens.” She hurried passed him into the foyer to dress for the cold.

Shortly thereafter, they were both seated in the sleigh, riding out towards the field. Eliza was sitting very close to him, so that their shoulders and thighs were pressed together. He wondered if she was cold, until she leaned her head against his shoulder. His stomach fluttered at the affectionate gesture.

“I’ve had word from my sister,” Eliza told him without moving.

“Oh?” he asked, transferring his grip on the reigns to his left hand, so as not to disturb her.

“She and Angelica will be traveling with my father to Morristown in the next week or so,” she informed him. He fought down the anxiety that always reared up at the thought of General Schuyler’s visit. “She seemed quite excited to meet you.”

After he’d written to Peggy Schuyler, he’d anxiously awaited a response, but had received none. He’d worried that he’d overstepped in writing to her. Now, he worried more about what she might have reported to her sister. He tried to keep his voice even and light as he responded, “Did she?”

“Very much so,” Eliza said. He could hear the smile in her voice even if he couldn’t see her face. When she didn’t elaborate further, he knew she was glorying in teasing him.

“Do you think your aunt and uncle would mind my staying for supper?” he asked after a beat of silence.

She sat up to look at him. “You can stay that long?”

He nodded. “As late as I wish. The General gave me the password to get back to camp after dark.”

“I’m sure Uncle John and Aunt Gertrude would be thrilled to have you for supper,” she assured him. He flattered himself that she looked fairly thrilled herself at the news. She relaxed back against him, pillowing her head on his shoulder once more.

He steered the horse into the empty field.

“Fast as possible, Colonel,” Eliza ordered him as he urged the horse from a trot to a gallop. “I want to fly.”

“As you wish,” he agreed, snapping the reigns to bring them to full speed.

The sky had taken on a purple hue by the time they turned back for Doctor Cochran’s house. Eliza leaned her head against him again on the ride back. They rode in companionable quiet, the only sounds the rush of the wind and the bells jingling on the horse’s harness.

“Allow me to help you down, Miss,” he said when they’d come to a stop outside the house. “The snow is rather slick.”

She complied, waiting patiently for him to dismount. When his feet were firmly planted on the ground, he reached out his hands to guide her down as well. She stood close to him, looking up at him with those luminous black eyes. His hand lingered on her waist.

He leaned closer, tipping his face down. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she titled her head to the side ever so slightly, inviting him to continue. He closed his eyes as well. Their lips met. The kiss was soft and achingly sweet. He fought the impulse to deepen it, lingering for a moment before pulling back to look down at her.

She opened her eyes once more. Her hand came up to caress his cheek, her thumb moving over his lips lightly. The wool of her mitten tickled, but he could feel the pressure of her fingertips inside the glove.

“You should have the servant come see to the horse,” she said.

“What?” The practical sentence felt jarring juxtaposed to the intimacy of the passed moments.

She smiled at him. “The horse,” she repeated. “You should have the servant see to it so you can come inside for supper.” She squeezed the hand still lingering on her hip. “I’ll be waiting for you inside.”

He nodded dumbly, and watched her walk up the stairs to the front door before he followed her direction to find the servant. When he finally followed Eliza inside, another servant guided him into the dining room, where the Cochran’s were sitting down for their light evening fare. Doctor Cochran immediately engaged him in a discussion about small pox inoculations. From there, the conversation turned to the myriad of maladies that could befall soldiers, which were numerous enough for the mostly one-sided discussion to carry over from supper into the parlor. Eliza caught his eye at one point during the evening. Far from a sympathetic presence, she seemed to be fighting down laughter. God Bless Mrs. Cochran, who drew her husband away for bed before he could start going into detail about the bloody flux.

Eliza was visibly trembling with suppressed laughter as he bade her aunt and uncle a good night. She finally broke down laughing when the older couple had left the room. Once the fit of laughter had passed, she told him, “Uncle John likes you.”

“Does he?” he asked skeptically. “People don’t usually show that by talking endlessly of horrible diseases. I feel rather more intimidated than liked.”

She laughed again. “Well, he might have intended that, also, but he does like you. He loves to talk about medicine. And, to ensure that you would have something to talk about, I might have mentioned that you had studied anatomy in college.”

“Thank you for that,” he said sarcastically.

“You’re welcome,” she replied sweetly.

He narrowed his eyes at her, and in return she made a comical face at him. He mimicked the expression, which brought her to giggles once more. Her laughter was contagious.

“I brought some wine,” he told her when their mirth had died down some. “I thought we might sit by the fire and talk.”

“That sounds lovely,” she agreed, sliding from her chair to sit on the rug near the roaring fire. He had the servant bring the bottle General Washington had gifted to him, along with two glasses. He poured out a generous portion into each glass and settled on the rug beside her. As they drank, Eliza began to tell him more stories of her childhood. By the time they had emptied the bottle, she’d even coaxed him to share a story about a toy soldier he hadn’t given a thought to in over a decade. He felt deeply touched by her genuine distress upon hearing the fate of his toy.

Even through the emotional conversation, he found himself constantly distracted. She looked breathtaking in the glow of the fire. Her dark curls were beginning to pull free of her hairstyle, a few tresses bobbing around her face. He ached to touch them, to run his fingers through her soft hair.

He leaned towards her, intent on kissing her again, when suddenly a hiccup rocked his frame. The wine must be affecting him more than he’d realized. His eyes widened and his face went hot with mortification. “I’m so sorry, Miss Schuyler, I--” His desperate apology was interrupted by yet another hiccup. He closed his eyes, praying that the earth would swallow him.

Eliza laughed, and then, to his amazement, leaned in to kiss him. This kiss was deeper than the first; her fingers tangled in his hair as she pressed her mouth to his. When he’d overcome his shock (which seemed to have cured his hiccups, thankfully), he indulged his earlier inclination to touch the loose strands of her hair. It was just as silky as he’d imagined.

She pulled away from him after a few heated moments. He brushed the dark curl in his fingers back behind her ear, gazing into her eyes. He vaguely heard the clock striking the hour somewhere behind them. It was getting late, now, and he knew he ought to be heading back to headquarters. Leaving her was growing harder by the day. Now that he knew what if felt like to kiss her, to hold her, to touch her hair, leaving felt nearly impossible.

As if sensing his thoughts and wanting to keep him close, she slid across the rug and leaned back against him. He tentatively placed his arms around her, drawing her still closer. Her head tipped back to rest on his shoulder, and she covered his hands with her own. They didn’t speak; they simply sat, gazing at the fire, him holding her, for a long time.

He wanted to do this forever, he realized. He wanted to hold her for the rest of his life. He wanted to marry her. Desperately. Which did nothing to ease his fear of her father’s imminent arrival.

“What’s wrong?” Eliza asked, adjusting against him so she could look up at him.

He frowned down at her. “Wrong?” he echoed.

“You sighed.”

He smiled. “Nothing’s wrong,” he assured her. “Only, I really should be getting back.”

“Oh.” She frowned in disappointment. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head to erase the expression, and felt gratified when it had the desired effect.

Reluctantly, he began to untangle from her and stood. She saw him out, leaving him with one last tender, perfect kiss. He stepped outside into the frigid cold and headed back towards the stables to reclaim the horse and sleigh. The trip back to camp had a dream-like quality to it, likely a combination of the wine and Eliza’s intoxicating presence. When he’d settled the horse back into the proper stable, he felt like dancing on the path back to headquarters. The parting smile he’d given Eliza still hadn’t left his face.

“Sir?” A young sentry stopped him just before the walkway up to the front door. “The password?”

He stared blankly at the young soldier, the smile sliding from his face at last. The password. He knew the password. He’d made sure to get it before he left. Only, the information seemed to have fled his mind, replaced by thoughts of Eliza and her soft lips. He pressed his hand to his forehead, trying desperately to recall the word. It had been something inane, he remembered. He’d laughed when he heard it.

“Sir?” The sentry repeated.

He was starting to panic. What if he couldn’t remember it? It was far too cold to sleep outside. Perhaps the sentry would agree to fetch one of the officers inside.

Judge Ford’s boy had slipped out of the house during the exchange, and watched curiously from the stoop. The boy was clutching some letters, which told Hamilton some of his fellow aides must still be at work. That was unfortunate. As the boy passed him, he leaned over to whisper,  “The password’s pigwiggle, sir.”

He laughed again. How in the world had he forgotten that? “Thank you,” he whispered back, and made a mental note to acquire some kind of treat for the young man.

“Pigwiggle,” he repeated to the sentry, who finally allowed him to pass.

He’d barely stepped through the door when he spotted Webb in the foyer, grinning. “Did you forget the password, Ham?”

He nodded, groaning internally as Webb burst out laughing.

“How did you forget pigwiggle?”

He shrugged, smiling sheepishly, sure nothing he did would save him from a night of merciless taunting.

Webb, of course, immediately repeated the story to Mac and Tilghman, who were both still working in the parlor. He sat down near the fire and endured their teasing for about a quarter of an hour. He found he couldn’t even focus properly on their jests, his head still full of Eliza and the magical night they had just shared. Finally, he excused himself, the sound of their laughter following him upstairs.

He settled into the workroom upstairs and pulled out one of their good, heavy sheets of paper. He hadn’t tried his hand at poetry in several years, but he found the words flowed readily enough. Across the top, he carefully penned the words, “Answer to the Inquiry Why I Sighed.”

Chapter Text

February 1780

A collection of officers and congressional officials were filing through the front door of Philip Schuyler’s temporary office when Hamilton turned into the walkway. He stepped aside to let the men pass, nodding to each respectfully though he knew none of them personally. Once the path was clear, he mounted the steps energetically, but hesitated before knocking on the door.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, anxiously tugging at his uniform. He’d worn his best in the hopes of making a good first impression, going so far as to wear the green sash that denoted his status as Washington’s aide, usually only trotted out for formal occasions. Webb had snickered at him on his way out, but he’d ignored him. He smoothed down his blue uniform coat and quickly ran his eyes over his bright white breaches to be sure he hadn’t stained them on the short walk from headquarters. Then, finally, he knocked.

He was escorted to a side room and left in the open entryway. General Schuyler sat facing away from him, hunched over a desk and writing rapidly. He waited until the quill paused to knock on the open door.

“Yes, yes, what is it?” Schuyler asked with the impatient air of a harried man who had already been too frequently interrupted.

“I’ve come with General Washington’s compliments, sir,” Hamilton explained to the General’s back. “He welcomes you to Morristown, and wishes you to present yourself at headquarters as soon as is convenient for you.”

Schuyler turned in his chair to look at him. “Colonel Hamilton,” he said in a flat tone.

Hamilton’s stomach flipped at the recognition, but he tried to remain calm. Though Schuyler didn’t seem exactly pleased to see him, at least he didn’t seem outwardly angry. “Yes, sir,” he confirmed. “You were kind enough to invite me to dinner at your home in Albany some time ago.”

Schuyler nodded once. “I recall the occasion.”

Hamilton didn’t know how to respond to that statement. He stood nervously in place, fighting the urge to fidget under Schuyler’s scrutiny. An uncomfortable silence followed, until at last the General beckoned him into the room, waving to one of the chairs.

“Thank you, sir,” he said. He handed Washington’s letter to Schuyler, then seated himself on the edge of the wooden chair while the General unfolded it and read the short message Hamilton had penned not an hour before.

Schuyler laid the letter atop a towering stack of papers and drew a fresh sheet to write his response. Hamilton sat quietly while he wrote, and watched him fold the paper. Rather than hand Hamilton the reply, however, Schuyler kept it in his own hand as he turned back to regard him once more.

“Your name has been mentioned to me frequently over the past weeks,” Schuyler remarked. The casualness of the statement only served to make it seem weightier, in Hamilton’s opinion.

Again, not sure how to respond, he simply queried, “Sir?”

“My daughter Margarita spoke of you often on our journey to Morristown,” Schuyler continued. Hamilton internally rued his decision to write to Peggy Schuyler once more. What in the world had she been saying about him? “And my sister has informed me you’ve been spending quite a bit of time with my other daughter, Elizabeth.”

“Yes, sir,” he acknowledged.

Another long silence reigned. He struggled to maintain eye contact. Whatever it was Schuyler was searching his features to find, he seemed to see it during that long pause, because the stern expression finally broke with a small smile. Hamilton released an audible breath, then dropped his eyes, feeling a blush creeping over his face.

“I would like you to join my family for dinner this afternoon.” The request sounded more like an order, but Hamilton nodded anyway.

“It would be an honor, sir.”

“Three o’clock,” Schuyler informed him. He nodded rapidly again. “And please return my compliments to General Washington. I will present myself personally at the soonest opportunity.”

“Yes, sir,” Hamilton repeated, taking the letter Schuyler now held out to him as he stood. “Is there anything else I can do to be of service to you, General Schuyler?”

“No, thank you, Colonel. You are dismissed.”

Although Schuyler was in Morristown as part of a congressional committee rather than in a military capacity, Hamilton executed a proper salute before he left. He was gratified to see a look of pleased approval flicker over Schuyler’s features. Hamilton bounded down the front stairs and began his walk back to headquarters with a notable lightness in his step.

~*~

 He arrived at Doctor Cochran’s at ten of three. The servant led him to the front parlor where the family had assembled to await the dinner announcement. His eyes landed immediately on Eliza; they shared a smile.

“General Schuyler,” he greeted, bowing formally. “Thank you for the invitation to dine with you and your family.”

Schuyler bowed in return, but it was Eliza who rushed forward to greet him.

“Colonel Hamilton, I’d like to introduce you to my sisters,” she said, once he had bowed to her and kissed her hand, conscious to treat her with the formal distance they had discarded over the past weeks of their courtship.

“I’d be delighted, Miss Schuyler,” he agreed, stepping forward to meet the other two women in the room. He recognized both of them from Eliza’s portraits.

“Mrs. Carter,” Eliza introduced Angelica. He bowed and kissed her hand. He’d been told by a few people that Angelica was the true belle of the Schuyler family. Standing in her presence, he could understand why one might make that superficial determination. Eliza, strong and radiant, lacked Angelica’s delicate features and frame.

Angelica raised an eyebrow at his lingering gaze. He smirked in return, which made her smile. “A pleasure, Colonel Hamilton.”

“And Miss Peggy Schuyler,” Eliza continued, tugging him along. Peggy’s coloring was lighter than her other two sisters, her eyes a striking blue in place of the black. Like Angelica, she was smaller and more delicately featured than Eliza.

She grinned openly at him. Just as he was about to bow to her, she surged forward to wrap him in an embrace. He stood perfectly still for a moment, arms slack at his sides, unsure of what to do.

“Peggy,” General Schuyler scolded lightly, though he sounded mostly amused.

“A kiss on the hand is no way to greet a confidant, Colonel,” Peggy said simply.

He laughed and patted her on the back. “I’m glad to meet you in person, Miss Schuyler,” he replied.

She eased back, still grinning. “I feel we are going to be great friends.”

“I hope you are correct, Miss.”

“Shall we go in to dinner?” General Schuyler suggested.

“Are Doctor and Mrs. Cochran not joining us?” he asked.

“They are dining elsewhere today,” Schuyler informed him.

That was unfortunate, he thought. He could have used a few more allies at the table.

As the party began to move towards the dining room, Hamilton held out his arm to Eliza. She took it easily, her hand resting lightly on his forearm as she leaned in to him. He tilted his head to see her face; she raised both her eyebrows and smiled encouragingly.  He took that as a sign that things were going well.

He pulled out Eliza’s chair for her, determined the act the part of a gentleman flawlessly. Once she was settled, he took the only remaining chair nearest to General Schuyler. Settling his napkin in his lap, he waited for the servant to come to him with the serving plate. The family was eating stew, much like the kind served at headquarters, though he noted a thickness and some welcome hunks of meat that had been missing from his own meals for quite some time. When everyone had been served, he tucked in to the good, hot food enthusiastically.

After a few bites, he reached for his wine glass and inquired, “How long will you be with us, sir?”

“This will be a brief trip, I’m afraid. I wanted to stop here to speak with the General and determine for myself the condition of our troops, but then I must rendezvous with Congress. I expect to return again by spring.”

“We appreciate your concern, and your hard work on our behalf, sir. I’m afraid our army has suffered badly at the hands of politicians. Of course, you know that better than most.”

General Schuyler’s court martial and resignation had angered him well before he had any connection to the family. He had no doubt that the glorious victory at Saratoga had been due to General Schuyler alone.  The only benefit to the whole ordeal was General Schuyler’s position in Congress as a representative of New York.

Schuyler nodded his agreement. “If you are not too busy, Colonel, I’d appreciate your thoughts on military spending. I’ve been told General Washington relies on you greatly in matters of supply and organization.”

He smiled, flattered. “I’d be happy to provide any assistance I can, sir.”

“I heard there is a dance planned for tomorrow night,” Peggy suddenly interjected. “Is that so, Colonel?”

He looked down the table and nodded. “Yes, Miss. One of our dancing assemblies. Your presence would be most welcome. And Mrs. Carter’s, of course.”

“Do many officers attend?” Peggy pressed.

“We all like to make an appearance,” he replied.

Peggy looked pleased at the news. He felt curiously protective of her despite having only just met her. He’d have to keep an eye out at the dance to ensure she didn’t fall prey to one of the more ignoble men in their ranks.

 “Will you both be staying in Morristown when General Schuyler leaves?” he asked.

“I intend to accompany my father to meet my husband, but Peggy will be staying,” Angelica answered. Hamilton noted a dark look passing over Schuyler’s features at the mention of Mr. Carter. He’d heard Angelica had eloped against her father’s wishes some years ago. Schuyler didn’t seem to have thawed to the idea in that time.

He turned his attention to Eliza, sitting at the far end of the table. He wondered if the distance was intentional. “And I do hope you’ll be remaining with us, Miss.”

Angelica laughed, but Eliza shot her a look as she leaned forward to better meet his eye. “Yes, I’ll be staying.”

“Good,” he said with a tiny smile.

“Tell me, my darling girl, how you’ve enjoyed Morristown the past few weeks,” General Schuyler prompted after a beat of silence, smiling warmly at Eliza.

 “Well, I started a knitting circle with some of the other girls in town to help make winter accessories for the soldiers. Mrs. Washington was also kind enough to bring me along to help in the hospital.” General Schuyler nodded approvingly to Eliza’s report. “And, of course, I’ve been enjoying getting to know Colonel Hamilton.”

Hamilton smiled at her. “I’ve enjoyed becoming more familiar with you as well, Miss.”

Angelica swallowed a sip of wine and added casually, “Yes, I can see that you wish to be as familiar with as possible with my sister.”

He choked badly on his wine in response, his face turning bright red as he coughed into his hand. General Schuyler slapped him hard on the back to help with the choking. Angelica was smirking wickedly at him when he glanced over at her. When he finally forced himself to look over at the General, he mercifully found the man regarding his eldest daughter with amusement. For the rest of the meal, he tried to keep his remarks to single word answers to avoid falling afoul of Angelica’s wit again, though he found himself looking forward to conversing with her at a time when her father wasn’t seated immediately next to him.

After dinner, General Schuyler invited him into his office for brandy. He gave Eliza an apologetic smile as he followed her father while she and her sisters made their way to the parlor. Schuyler poured him a generous glass of brandy and settled across from him with an easy smile, the cool distance of this morning gone. They spoke of supplies and management of the budget, and eventually about the general economic welfare of their fledgling country. Inflation was certainly the most pressing issue, and Schuyler listened with interest to his thoughts on combating the problem.

When he left that night, he felt giddy with relief that his first interaction with Eliza’s family had gone so well. General Schuyler was as honorable and respectable as he remembered, and both Eliza’s sisters were as beautiful as they were mischievous. His good mood was tempered, however, with a longing for time alone with Eliza. He’d barely spoken with her all night, and he found, somewhat ridiculously considering he was just leaving her house, that he missed her.

~*~

Another snowstorm blew through overnight, though this one was milder than the last. The temperature plummeted again as well. With March only a day away, Hamilton had hoped for a turn towards spring, but winter seemed in no hurry to loosen its grip.

He had set out for Doctor Cochran’s early that morning, and accompanied General Schuyler to his rented office after breakfast. He helped make sense of the stacks of military records Schuyler had requested, spending most of the day in the little office sorting through lists of supplies until it was time to go back for the girls and prepare for the dancing assembly.

When the party arrived back at headquarters, Hamilton followed General Schuyler out of the sleigh, then paused to lend a hand to each of his daughters. The dance wasn’t set to begin for another hour, but Schuyler voiced a desire to speak to General Washington in private one more time before he left to meet with Congress tomorrow. The group entered through the front door only to find General Washington just about to mount the stairs, likely to change into the black velvet suit he wore to the assemblies.

“Colonel Hamilton,” Washington said when he spotted him, “Is it possible you’ve resigned from my staff to join General Schuyler without informing me?”

He froze in place. “No, sir.”

Washington smiled at him again. It was happening with an odd frequency now, the smiling. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. “Good. In that case, might I avail myself of your services?”

“Of course, sir,” he said hurriedly. “I didn’t realize you had need of me. I would never have left if--”

“Think no more of it,” Washington interjected. “Would you like a word as well, General Schuyler?”

“If you have a spare moment,” Schuyler replied.

Washington nodded, then glanced back at the three women. “If you ladies wouldn’t mind stepping into the kitchen for a few minutes, I’m sure Mrs. Washington would appreciate the help. She took two of my aides with her some time ago, but from the sound of it they don’t quite have the knack for whatever project she assigned them.”

Hamilton fought down a laugh, grateful to have escaped Mrs. Washington’s napkin-folding course this time. He gave Eliza a sympathetic look as she and her sisters made their way towards the kitchen. He’d yet to see the person, male or female, who could meet Mrs. Washington’s napkin standards. Although, given how fond Mrs. Washington was of her, perhaps Eliza would be the exception.

Both he and Schuyler followed Washington to his office. Washington rifled through the papers on his desk before laying hand on a thick envelope, which he handed to Hamilton. “More news on the prisoner exchange for next month,” he explained. “Have a look. I don’t imagine it will take you long to draft a response.”

“No, sir,” he agreed. “I’ll do it now.”  

He saluted, noting with some anxiety the look Washington and Schuyler shared as he left. He had little doubt that he would be their first topic of conversation. Hopefully Washington’s unusually sunny mood meant his commander would put in a good word for him.

The parlor was empty, the other aides either assisting Mrs. Washington or preparing for the coming dance. He unfolded the thick correspondence and scanned the pages. One would think preparing a prisoner exchange would be a fairly straight-forward task, but the sheer number of frivolous requests and demands from his British counterpart were astounding. None of the newest set were particularly objectionable; for example, he couldn’t say he had any strong opinions on what wine was served with dinner, beyond a general confusion of why such a thing would need to be agreed to in advance.

He was half way through his reply when a hand suddenly touched his shoulder. He started and looked up to see Eliza standing over him.

“General Washington put you straight to work, I see,” she commented.

“I shouldn’t be much longer,” he assured her.

 “I’m going with Mrs. Washington to help set up. Don’t get too lost in your work.” She stooped down to press a kiss to his temple.

“I won’t,” he promised.

She smiled, ran her fingers through his hair once lightly, then departed. He gazed at the empty doorway for a long moment before he set back to finishing his reply as quickly as possible.

~*~

Eliza’s laugh was the most beautiful sound in the world, he decided, as he spun her around in a final flourish. Some of her dark curls came loose, bouncing tantalizingly around her glowing face. The music swelled, then cut off as each of the dancers returned to their starting positions and bowed to their partners. He was breathing rapidly from the fast steps, sweat beading on his brow.

Before the band could start the next song, Hamilton reached for Eliza’s hand to lead her from the dance floor. “Would you care for some refreshment?” he offered as they moved to the edge of the room.

She shook her head. She opened her mouth to say something just as the band struck the first note of the next song, another fast dance beginning in the middle of the room. She leaned very close to his ear to be heard. “I’d like to go for a walk.”

“It’s cold,” he replied into her ear.

“I don’t mind,” she said.

He nodded and offered his arm to lead her outside. The sun had all but disappeared, replaced by a bright moon and leaving the sky a dark blue rapidly turning the black. Several servants were at work lighting the torches along the walkway as they started down the path.

“Mind your step,” he advised when they turned onto the street. The frigid cold had turned some of the latest snow to ice that would be harder to spot in the fading light. She adjusted her grip on his arm and leaned close to him.

“I’ve missed you,” Eliza remarked.

He smiled and looked down at her. “I’ve been at your house every day.”

“I know,” she laughed. “But it’s not the same. I’d gotten quite used to having you all to myself.”

“I’ve felt the same way,” he confessed. She met his eyes and he felt something silent but significant pass between them, a communication that transcended words.

They continued along the empty street. He looked up into the darkening sky and noticed a few stars had become visible in the past minutes. He was reminded of that first dance Eliza had attended. Had that truly been a mere four weeks ago? Eliza had become such a significant part of his life in the space of a month.

He never wanted to be parted from her. He’d thought that before, but he’d tried to temper his desire with the knowledge that she might never be his. Now, though, knowing General Schuyler didn’t object to his courtship, there was no reason to keep his distance.

He stopped walking abruptly. Eliza halted a step in front of him, looking back at him curiously. He clasped both her hands in his, gazed into her arresting eyes, and took a deep breath. Then he went down on one knee.

He saw her eyes widen in surprise and smiled.

“Elizabeth Schuyler, you have brought me more joy in the last month than I’ve experienced in my whole life. You have stolen into every dream and every waking thought. I love you more every day. I love your talent and your good sense. I love your kind heart and your infectious laugh. You would make me the happiest of men if you agreed to do me the honor of becoming my wife. Will you marry me?”

The most excruciating silence followed. Eliza pulled her right hand away from him and pressed it to her lips, staring down at him with no expression he could perceive. Had he misread her affections? Was it too soon to voice such thoughts?

“Hamilton,” she whispered at last. He waited for more with bated breath. Her words came out in a breathy laugh, her voice sounding tight with emotion. “My Hamilton. Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”  

He sprang back to his feet to gather her in his arms. He kissed her deeply, and felt her arms wrapping around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair. When at last he broke away, she kept her arms around him, looking up at him with bright, damp eyes.

She laid one of her hands against his cheek, her thumb tracing lightly over his cheekbone. “Oh, my darling,” she whispered, “I don’t think you have any idea how much I love you.”

Chapter Text

March 1780

Someone threw back the bed curtain around the camp bed and sunlight pressed on Hamilton’s closed eyelids. A hand was shaking him by the shoulder. He reluctantly peeled his eyes open to see Tilghman standing over him, frowning. “You need to get up, Hammy,” Tilghman said softly, in stark contrast to his rough handling. “It’s after six.”

Hearing the time, Hamilton shot upright on his pallet and winced. His muscles felt sore all over. The dancing must have been more physically exerting than he’d realized. He rubbed his hand over his face as he kicked off his meager blanket and forced himself out of bed.

His body felt stiff and achy as he slowly pulled on his uniform in the otherwise empty room, Tilghman having gone down to join the rest of the staff at breakfast. A dull headache was also throbbing between his temples, made worse with any movement or change in elevation. Perhaps he’d overindulged in wine, he considered. He couldn’t think of why else his head would be sore this morning. Finally, he tugged his jacket into place and made his way down to breakfast.

An icy silence greeted him in the dining room as he lowered himself into an open chair. Washington tore into a piece of bread as if it had personally offended him, then fixed him with a cold stare. “Is there a reason you are so late in joining us, Colonel?”

Apparently the unusually good mood was at an end, he thought, though he knew better than to mention it or inquire into the cause. He sat up straighter in his chair, and said calmly, “I was dressing, sir.”

“I expect my staff to arrive at the breakfast table promptly at six o’clock,” Washington snapped.

“Yes, sir.”

“If you’re quite finished tending your vanity, perhaps you could draft a letter to the buffoons who think I can win a war against the greatest empire in the world with half rations and no new boots.”

He inhaled sharply, but tried to fight down any further reaction. The rumblings about low supplies had been growing all winter; something must have happened to reignite the commander’s concerns. He pushed back from the table, and said, “Yes, sir. I’ll begin the letter immediately.”

With that, he escaped the tense dining room and settled into his chair in the parlor to work. He rolled his shoulders and arched his back, trying futilely to work out the stiffness, before he pulled a fresh sheet of paper to him and picked up his quill. He’d written versions of this letter countless times, and he was grateful for the fairly simple task. The way his head was pounding, he didn’t think he’d be capable of writing anything more complicated.

He was a paragraph in to the letter when a piece of bread appeared in front of him. Looking up, he saw Tilghman standing beside him. “You didn’t have any breakfast,” Tilghman remarked lightly.

“I’m not hungry,” he replied. The thought of speaking with General Schuyler today was enough to rob him of his appetite. He nudged the bread back over to Tilghman. “You have it.”

Tilghman sighed and lowered himself into the chair next to his. “Washington sent me in to apologize for the vanity comment.”

Hamilton nodded once. That was the expected pattern with the General; he’d lose his temper, then send someone else to clean up his mess. Although he respected his commander greatly, Washington was a hard man to love.

“You shouldn’t take it so personally,” Tilghman continued. “You know how he gets.”

Hamilton nodded again.

“You certainly shouldn’t let it stop you from eating,” Tilghman finished, pushing the bread forward again.

He smiled weakly. “I’m not,” he promised. “I’m just not hungry right now. You have it. Or give it to Mac- he’s always looking for food.”

Tilghman laughed softly and picked up the bread. “If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

His friend shrugged and ripped into the bread. He chewed loudly as he picked up a letter off the towering stack on the table and began to read. The pair sat quietly for a few minutes, before Hamilton asked, “Do you know if he’s going out today?”

“Washington?” Tilghman clarified, glancing at him. He nodded. “He mentioned something about observing a drill this morning. Why?”

He kept his eyes on the paper in front of him, reaching out to dip the quill into the inkpot before he started the next paragraph. “I need to go over to General Schuyler’s office before he leaves, and I’d rather do it when Washington isn’t here to snap at me,” he explained.

“Why do you need to see Schuyler?” Tilghman pressed.

Hamilton paused in his writing and turned a little in his chair to face Tilghman. “I proposed to Eliza last night,” he said, a thrill shooting through him as he spoke the words aloud for the first time. “I wanted to ask the General’s permission in person before he left.”

“Congratulations, Hammy.” Tilghman grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “You should have told Washington that this morning. You’re little romance has been what’s keeping him in such good spirits lately.”

Hamilton scoffed.

“It’s true,” Tilghman insisted.

“What’s true?” Meade asked, entering the parlor with Mac in tow.

“Hammy’s getting married,” Tilghman reported.

“Really? When did this happen?” Mac asked as he came to a stop directly behind Hamilton and squeezed both of his shoulders.

“Last night,” Hamilton answered, fighting a wince at the pressure on his sore muscles.

“Why didn’t you tell Washington? That would drive him from his surly mood sure as anything,” Meade added.

“That’s what I said,” Tilghman replied.

“I haven’t even asked General Schuyler yet,” Hamilton interjected.

“Well, I’m happy for you,” Meade said.

Mac squeezed his shoulders again and agreed, “Me, too.”

Hamilton smiled at his friends, cheered a bit by their sincere well-wishes.

~*~

The cheer didn’t last long, giving way to his nerves over the coming meeting with Eliza’s father. Washington went out for the drill inspection at nine o’clock, and Hamilton slipped out directly behind him. His stomach churned with anxiety as he made his way down the icy road. He first went to Schuyler’s rented office and was informed that the General had already departed. He headed next for Doctor Cochran’s, and was gratified to see Schuyler’s carriage stopped in front of the house.

Two men came around from the servant’s entrance carrying a hefty trunk between them. He nodded to them as they passed by him to load the trunk onto the waiting sleigh. Schuyler and Angelica would likely be departing soon.

He needed to go inside, yet his feet remained stubbornly in place as he stared at the house. Schuyler might say no; in fact, he almost certainly would say no. As a matter of honor, Hamilton must give a full account of himself, everything from the shameful circumstances of his birth to the miserable state of his current finances. And no man wanted a poor, illegitimate orphan as a son-in-law.  

Eliza would be heartbroken. Perhaps he ought to have spoken to her father before he actually proposed, he considered, though he discarded the thought a moment later. Securing Eliza’s agreement had seemed paramount in the moment, and he didn’t regret his decision to seek her approval first.

Standing before the house, he had a clear view of the windows to the front parlor. The curtains of the downstairs rooms had been thrown wide to allow in the bright winter sun. A figure moved into the room, dark curls contrasting beautifully with a bright white dress. Eliza, he realized with a small smile. She came straight to the window, face down, her attention focused on something on the table. After fussing with whatever it was for a moment, she looked up and her eyes landed on him.

He waved weakly.

A smile lifted the corners of her rose bud lips and grew until the skin around her eyes crinkled. She waved back, then turned her hand over to beckon him inside. He nodded, his feet obeying her as they not obeyed him.

By the time he’d mounted the front steps, Eliza had already opened the front door. She rose up to her toes to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him down into a kiss. He gave in easily, tension leaking out of his shoulders as he held her, his fingers playing absently with the pink ribbon tied about her waist.

“Hello,” she whispered when she finally leaned back from him.

“Hello,” he parroted, grinning down at her. He kept his arms around her, reluctant to let her go.

“I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t get here before Papa left.” Her arms slid from around his neck so that her hands lay against his shoulders, her fingers kneading gently and her thumbs stroking over his collarbone on either side as if she intuited his achiness.

“I was waiting for the General to go out,” he explained.

“Papa’s in Uncle John’s office,” Eliza informed him. Anticipation and delight were plain on her face. He gave a queasy smile in return, desperately hoping he wouldn’t see her joy turn to disappointment and sorrow.

She tugged him inside, and he followed her gesture towards Doctor Cochran’s office. He stopped just outside of the open doorway. General Schuyler was shuffling through papers at the desk when he knocked twice on the door.

“Colonel Hamilton,” Schuyler greeted warmly. “Come in, come in. Would you like some tea? Or a brandy? It’s damn cold outside.”

He stepped over the threshold, and politely refused the offered refreshments. “I hoped to have a word with you, sir, if you have a moment?”

“Of course,” Schuyler agreed, motioning to a chair.

He eased the office door closed behind him and remained standing. “As you know, sir, Miss Schuyler and I having been spending time together this winter. Over the past weeks, I…” he hesitated, “I’ve fallen very much in love with her, sir. I’m here today to ask you for her hand in marriage.”

Schuyler’s expression turned serious as he nodded in acknowledgement. “I see.”

“Before you answer, sir, there are some things you need to know,” he added.

And then he laid himself bare, confessing every mortifying detail of his past and the dire financial state of his present. Schuyler stood and listened to the whole of it, an inscrutable expression on his weathered features. At the end, Schuyler nodded again without speaking and strolled past him to open the office door. His heart sank, expecting this to be a dismissal, until he heard Schuyler calling for Eliza to come into the office.

Eliza appeared immediately, as though waiting to be summoned. Schuyler moved back to lean against the desk as Eliza came to Hamilton’s side. Schuyler’s eyes traveled between his daughter and Hamilton for a silent beat.

Finally, Schuyler asked, “Do you know what your young man has come to see me about today, Betsey?”

“I do, Papa,” Eliza answered simply.

“And do you feel the same?”

Eliza nodded vigorously. The line of Schuyler’s mouth contorted into a subtle smile as he gazed upon his daughter.

Schuyler considered them both for another long moment, then blew out a breath and said, “I’m afraid I cannot give my consent--”

“Papa,” Eliza protested immediately.

Schuyler held up a hand and continued, “I cannot give my consent until I have consulted with your mother. However, I can tell you both that I am very much in favor of the match, and I will express as much in my letter to Mrs. Schuyler.”

Eliza surged forward to hug her father. She then kissed his cheek affectionately and said, “Thank you, Papa.”

“Thank you, sir,” Hamilton echoed, relief and gratitude sweeping over him at the answer.

Schuyler stepped away from his daughter and came to rest a hand upon Hamilton’s shoulder. “I appreciate your honesty today, son,” Schuyler told him softly. “It could not have been easy to tell me of all the adversity you have had to overcome nor of the sacrifices you have been called upon to make in service to our country. I wish you to know, truly, that I cannot think of a more worthy or deserving young man to whom I would consent to give my dear Betsey.”

“Thank you, sir,” he repeated, his throat a little tight at the kind sentiment.

“Now,” Schuyler continued in full voice, clapping his hands once, “I must finish packing if I am to reach my first stop before nightfall.”

Firmly dismissed, he and Eliza stepped out of the office and stopped in the foyer, facing each other. “Would you like to stay for tea?” she invited.

“I have to get back. There’s a lot of work, and the General has been in an ill-humor all day,” he refused.

She nodded in understanding and asked, “Will you come over tomorrow? For dinner, or later if that would be easier.”

“I’ll try,” he promised. 

“Well, I’ll likely see you regardless. I’m to help Mrs. Washington in the hospital again tomorrow, and she almost always invites me in for tea after.”

He tipped his face down close to hers and captured her lips in a chaste kiss. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow, Betsey,” he whispered, testing for the first time the name he’d heard her family and close friends use. The pet name made her smile crookedly.

“Tomorrow, my Hamilton,” she replied.

~*~

Unfortunately, the General’s mood had not improved at all. Hamilton was thankful that at least he’d arrived back at Ford’s Mansion before his commander; he shuddered to think of the man’s temper fully directed at him for a perceived dereliction of duty. As it was, he along with the rest of the family endured a long hour of Washington railing about the beleaguered state of the troops, the foul weather, the lack of supplies, and, most especially, the inept Congress that perpetuated the shortages. It was a welcome relief for Washington to bark at them to get back to their work.

When they were alone in the parlor, Meade whispered, “What’s buzzed into his bonnet?”

They all suppressed chuckles.

Tilghman sobered first, and answered, “The men are starting to feel the shortages more. If things continue, we may have a real problem on our hands.”

“Mutiny?” Mac asked, the word so soft he’d nearly mouthed it.

Tilghman shrugged. “Maybe.”

“It doesn’t help that we’ve still had no word from the marquis,” Hamilton added. The rest of the men nodded in agreement. Lafayette was in France negotiating for troops and aid, both sorely needed by the limping Continental army. He was due back by spring, before hostilities began anew, but he’d sent no word yet as to how much help the French would be sending.

With that, the four of them returned to their work in silence.

As the afternoon wore on, the pestering headache he’d been fighting all day began to increase in severity, accompanied now by a tickle in his throat that wouldn’t disappear no matter how many times he attempted to clear it. Worse, when they broke for dinner, he found his appetite still lacking, though he’d had not a morsel all day. He forced some food down anyway, then regretted it when they returned to the parlor, the bread and stew sitting heavy in his stomach. By early evening, the tickle had turned to a sore throat and a cough, and he finally admitted to himself that he just might be getting sick.

When he heard Mac coming back in from the privy, he rose to intercept him in the foyer. “Do you have anything for a headache?” he asked softly.

He could feel his friend suddenly assessing him with a doctor’s eye. “Are you feeling sick, Ham?” Mac asked.

“Just a headache and sore throat,” he answered. “I think it’s a cold. It’s just hard to focus with my brain pounding on my temples.”

Mac smiled a little and beckoned him towards the kitchen. “I’ve got a powder  that should do the trick,” Mac promised. He trailed Mac to the kitchen and drank down a tall glass of water mixed with a foul tasting powder that did little to ease his queasy gut but did help with the throbbing in his skull.

“Thanks,” he said, setting the glass aside and heading back up to work.

He was working on answering an important letter when his fellow aides began to rise to go to bed. He got up as well so that the servants might be able to douse the fire and close up the room for the night, but he parted ways from his friends at the top of the stairs.

“I’m just going to finish this,” he said to their questioning looks, holding up the letter in his hands. “It shouldn’t take much longer.”

“Don’t work too late, Ham,” Mac said with a pointed look. “You need to rest, or that cold will turn to something worse.”

“I won’t,” he assured him.

He noticed a light still burning in the General’s office as he made his way to the work room. Apparently he wasn’t the only one working late, tonight. He slipped in to the little room, lit the candle on the desk, and began to write once more.

He’d wrote half a page, then cast his eye to the top to re-read the first paragraphs. The wording was awkward in places. Worse still, the voice sounded nothing like the General’s. After three years of writing for his commander, taking on his tone was second nature. Yet it came as a struggle tonight.

He crossed out a few words and drew and arrow to indicate a new location for a sentence, then read the paragraph back to himself. Then, he simply crumpled up the paper and took a fresh sheet. His second draft hardly improved. By his third draft, his headache had reappeared with a vengeance and it felt as if someone had taken a razor blade to the inside of his throat. Not to mention he’d lost the ability to breathe through his nose. The growing congestion in his sinuses did little to aid his head.

Just as he was considering going downstairs for some hot tea, he heard Washington’s voice coming from the doorway. He jumped up to face his commander and dug out the letter he wanted, grateful when the General seemed about to leave without having lost his temper too badly. However, Washington paused in the doorway, eyes lingering over the desk. “Clean this up, Hamilton. I shouldn’t be kept waiting for you to find important documents.”

This was hardly all his mess, he thought with some annoyance. They all shared the cramped space, and he’d never lost a document. He’d hesitated too long, apparently, because Washington snapped, “Did you hear me, Colonel? I want this mess in order next time I come into this room.”

“Of course, sir. My apologies,” he said.

“Good.” With that, Washington swept out of the room once more.

Hamilton turned to the desk, exhaustion making his eyes ache. He should have just gone to bed with the others, he thought mournfully as he began to shuffled the stacks of papers. Better than dealing with Washington’s unreasonable temper in the middle of the night. He didn’t even know what he was supposed to be doing with half of the papers.

One of the stacks he was pushing aside upset another, and he watched with growing horror as his open ink bottle tipped over to pour onto his latest draft. An exhausted whimper fell from his lips as he sank onto his chair and raked his fingers through his hair. He pressed the heels of his palms against his throbbing temples hoping to ease his headache.

“Son.”

He inhaled sharply, startled, and jumped from his seat once more. “Your Excellency,” he said, praying he wasn’t about to receive another tongue lashing.

“Son, why don’t you go to bed? I didn’t realize how late it was. You can deal with this in the morning.”

The jarring re-emergence of Washington’s fatherly persona tripped his stubborn streak from some reason, and he vaguely heard himself arguing with the General. His exhaustion won out in the end, however, and he dragged himself down the hall to change for bed. He laid back on his sparse mattress and was asleep almost immediately.

His rest didn’t last for very long. A short time later, he woke shivering badly and sick to his stomach. He rolled off his camp bed to stumble to the chamber pot, where he retched miserably for some indeterminate amount of time.

“Hammy?” A voice calls through his misery. He thought it may be Mac.

“Mm?” He whimpered out a sound of acknowledgement, his face still hovering close to the chamber pot and his breathing erratic.

“Are you all right?”

“Uh huh,” he managed.

He was sick again right after. When he finished, he swallowed thickly and struggled to catch his breath. Finally, he crawled back into his bed. He pulled the meager blanket over him as the chills shook his frame and tried to fall back to sleep.

He woke up again. And again. All night long.

Chapter Text

March 1780

He woke after a miserable night’s rest to Mac standing over his bed. “Hammy?” the Irishman whispered, “Are you awake?”

“Hamilton!”

He recognized Washington’s voice coming from down the hall. He sounded impatient.

“What time is it?” he croaked.

“Almost six. He’s up early this morning,” Mac told him.

Hamilton groaned as he rolled out of bed. The room spun madly around him; he held a hand to his temple to try to make it stop. Mac collected his breeches, stockings and jacket while he sat, and laid them beside him on the bed.

“Thanks,” he managed to say, clearing his throat roughly.

He pulled the jacket on over his nightshirt, tugged his stockings over his feet, and slipped the breeches on high as he could manage without standing. “Colonel Hamilton!” Washington’s voice shouted again.

Groaning, he rose from the bed and fastened his breeches. He was still buttoning the jacket when he exited the aides’ quarters, only to find Washington standing in the hall waiting for him. “My apologies, your Excellency. I’m a bit slow moving today.”

Washington gave him a pitying look as he motioned him into the office. The world was still spinning around him, and he found that the General sounded strangely muffled, as though he were speaking from under water. Hamilton shook his head to try to focus.

“Funds. From Congress. I want an update,” Washington said sharply.

He tried to remember the letters he’d received over the past days. Nothing from Congress about supplies. “I could start assembling some men to go door to door,” he suggested.

Washington frowned at him and raised his hand. Was he going to strike him? Hamilton jerked away violently before he realized Washington was simply testing his temperature. The sudden movement caused pinpricks of light to appear in his already swimming vision. Everything hurt and he couldn’t focus.

“You’re ill, son,” Washington told him softly.

He was, terribly so, but he didn’t like admitting he wasn’t up to his duties. “I can work, sir,” he insisted, even though all he wanted in the world was a warm bed and Eliza at his side.

Washington responded, but the sounds didn’t make any sense.

The swarming lights in his vision grew worse, until they very suddenly disappeared into black. He felt himself falling.

~*~

“Hammy?” Mac’s voice brought him back to consciousness.

He whimpered. Every part of his body hurt.

Mac laid a cold cloth over his forehead and eyes. He shivered and tried to take it off, but he was so weak he couldn’t lift his arm. 

“Just lie still,” Mac soothed, patting at his chest gently. “You’ll be all right.”

He closed his eyes and let the darkness take him again.

~*~

He was wrenched into a sitting position. His muscles spasmed and he cried out.

“Shh,” Mac whispered over him. “I’m sorry. But you need to drink. You’ve been vomiting and sweating all day.”

A cup was pressed to his lips and tepid water filled his mouth. Swallowing with his sore, dry throat felt like torture. His belly roiled the moment the water hit it. He turned his head away from the cup. “Sick,” he muttered.

“You need to be sick?” Mac clarified.

He nodded. Mac produced a basin, which he leaned over immediately to lose the water and what was left of his stomach lining. He collapsed back onto the camp bed, breathing hard.

“It hurts,” he told Mac.

“I know,” Mac whispered. An old, calloused hand brushed the damp hair back from his forehead. “I know.”

“What time is it?” he asked suddenly.

“After dinner,” Mac answered.

“Was Eliza here?” He was supposed to see her at tea time, he remembered. What would she think if he avoided her right after proposing to her?

“I think she was, actually. Meade said she had a fall on the ice outside--”

“What?” He tried to sit up, pressing the heels of his hands into the bed to no avail.

“She’s fine, just fine. The sweet girl was more worried about you, I’m told,” Mac assured him quickly, “Just lie back and rest. You’ll see her soon as you’re well.”

He obeyed, lying back against the pillow heavily.

“There’s a good lad,” Mac praised. “Just rest.”

He closed his eyes and dreamed of Eliza.

~*~

He thinks he’s dying.

Everything is ice and flame and pain.

Was this hell?

He couldn’t be in hell.

How would he marry Eliza?

~*~

Someone was holding him. Carrying him. Strong arms, secure around his shoulders and under his knees. He wanted to open his eyes, but they felt so heavy.

He was laid on something warm and soft. Blankets tugged up over him. A woman’s voice spoke softly somewhere above him.

“Betsey?”

~*~

His fever seemed to have come down some the next time he woke. Mac looked worn and gray at his side. “Hi,” he mumbled.

“There you are, Ham,” Mac smiled. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve just crawled out of hell,” he replied in an awful, gravelly voice he didn’t recognize as his own. He cleared his throat roughly to continue, “Which is to say, marginally better than before.”

Mac laughed and squeezed his hand. “Just so you know, Doctor Cochran will be here soon to have a look at you.”

“Why?”

“You’ve got the General worried out of his head. He wants his personal physician to check you over and give his advice.”

“I’d rather have you,” he said, his eyes already falling shut again against his will.

“I’m not going anywhere, Hammy. Don’t you worry about that.”

“Mm,” he hummed, as he drifted off once more.

Doctor Cochran prodded him awake shortly after. The doctor placed a thermometer under his tongue and felt his pulse with a gentle, practiced touch. Mac and Washington stood on either side of the doctor wearing matching expressions of concern.

“How are you feeling, son?” Doctor Cochran asked softly once the thermometer had been removed.

“Ill,” he breathed out honestly, closing his eyes.  

The doctor brushed a hand over his forehead and sighed. “There’s nothing I can do for him that Doctor McHenry isn’t doing already,” Cochran whispered, addressing Washington and Mac. “He’ll fight through it on his own, God willing.”

“Perhaps, if medicine offers no further aid, a visit from his sweetheart will provide him some comfort,” Washington suggested mildly.

Hamilton’s interest piqued by the words, though he kept his eyes closed.

“Yes, of course. My niece is waiting downstairs. Would you be so good, Doctor McHenry?”

Eliza? The mere thought of her eased the pain in a way nothing else had.

A small, soft hand suddenly grasped his. He forced his eyes open again and smiled at the angelic presence beside him. She looked tense and worried, he noted. He wanted to wipe that look away, to replace it with the joyous expression she’d worn the last time he’d seen her.

He heard Washington suggesting they be left alone. Had someone else told him of their potential engagement? Perhaps Doctor Cochran?

“I hardly think Colonel Hamilton is capable of anything untoward in his condition. Don’t you agree, Doctor?”

Surprisingly, Doctor Cochran did agree. And then the room emptied of everyone but Eliza.

She still wore the pale, concerned look. He wanted to make her laugh; that contagious giggle of hers would set everything right. “Would you care to do something untoward?”

He succeeded; his reward was a watery but genuine laugh.

“I’ve been so worried about you,” she told him softly.

“I’m all right,” he tried to assure her.

She rolled her eyes at him, the saucy little charmer*.

He followed her gaze around the room, finally conscious enough to take in his surroundings. How had he ended up in the General’s bedroom? The memory of strong arms carrying him came to him suddenly, and he had to fight down a blush as he considered whose arms those might have been. No. The General would never…would he?

He was still considering this strange occurrence, distracted as Eliza asked after his health again, until she asked, “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

He met her glittering black eyes and smiled somewhat lasciviously. The idea of marrying her had turned his thoughts of late to less chaste activities, and he was glad to see a spark of desire light in her eyes in response, although she slapped him gently on the arm for the implication. “Anything that won’t make my uncle feel compelled to duel you if he were to walk in on us?” she clarified, smirking at him.

He considered for a moment. She couldn’t do much to fight his fever or take away his aches and pains. But, perhaps, “A kiss?”

Despite days of sweat and sickness and what must have been truly foul breath, she leaned over without the slightest hint of hesitation and pressed a sweet, soft kiss to his lips. The brush of her lips took the ache from his limbs as though she had drawn a poison. His eyelids began to grow heavy again, sleep pressing on him now that the worst of the pain had subsided. In his sleepy haze, he thinks he may have proposed to her again, but she was stroking his cheek and he was fast asleep before he heard her answer.

~*~

Mac snored softly in a chair at his bedside, his chin resting on his chest and his head nodding with each breath. He smiled weakly at his friend, then rolled his head to the side. The fireplace crackled merrily to his left, emanating warmth and bathing the room in soft light. To his right, he noted that the curtains had been drawn over the windows, but he could see through the cracks that it was night.

He fought to sit up in the blessedly soft bed. His limbs felt achy and weak, but he managed to push himself into a semi-seated position. Although he felt utterly drained, he was happy to note that pain had mostly subsided. His head didn’t throb, his belly was still, and he could breathe through his nose again.

His movement disturbed the man beside him. Mac’s head popped up with a great snort that made him chuckle. “Hammy,” Mac said with a smile, “You’re awake.”

“I am,” he confirmed. He glanced at his surroundings once more. “Do I want to know how I ended up in the General’s bedroom?”

“Do you have any interest in hearing a story that involves you being carried through the halls of headquarters by our intrepid commander?”

“No,” he answered, blushing furiously to hear his earlier suspicion confirmed.

“Then probably not,” Mac answered.

 Hamilton made a face at him.

In return, Mac gave him a smug smile that turned genuine after a moment. Mac reached out a hand to feel his forehead and nodded approvingly. “Your fever’s still down,” he noted. “That’s good.”

“I feel much better,” Hamilton assured him. “A little tired and weak, but much better.”

“I was getting a little worried about you there, Hammy.”

“Thank you for taking care of me,” he said sincerely. His memory of the past days was a little confused, but he knew each time he woke, he’d seen Mac nearby.

“Laurens promised severe bodily harm to us all if anything were to happen to you while he was away,” Mac dismissed the sincere gratitude airily. He then stood and filled a cup with some water, which he handed to Hamilton. Hamilton drank thirstily, parched from days of fever. When Hamilton finished the water, Mac set the cup on the side table, sat back in his chair and stretched hugely. He added, “The General and Mrs. Washington have already retired to bed in Mrs. Ford’s wing of the house, so you might as well enjoy the bed one more night.”

Hamilton relaxed back against the soft pillows. Fatigue still weighed on his eyes, but not in the abrupt and inescapable way it had before. He rested his eyes for a moment.

He heard Mac stand up. “Now that you’re through the worst of it, I think I’ll spend a night in an actual bed myself,” he announced.

Hamilton opened his eyes and glanced at the large empty space beside him. Over the years, Washington’s staff had been called upon to share sleeping space many times, so the offer gave him little pause. “Want to share?”

Mac glanced down at the bed as well.

“There’s plenty of room,” he coaxed, sliding over to make more space. “And you’ve more than earned a good night’s rest, I should say.”

“You’re sure you won’t be crowded?” Mac asked.

He looked at the large empty space beside him and chuckled. “I think we’ll manage.”

“Well, then, I suppose I should keep a careful eye on you,” Mac grinned, already stripping down to his undershirt to climb in to the bed. As he scooted under the blankets, he exclaimed, “Good Lord, but the General knows how to live.” 

“He does at that,” Hamilton agreed, tugging the blanket up around his shoulders and snuggling deeper into the mattress.

Mac twisted on to his side, wiggling into a more comfortable position. He moved closer to Hamilton, then scooted away immediately. “Whew,” he whistled.

“What?”

“First thing tomorrow, Hammy, we’re getting you a bath.”

Hamilton elbowed him in the ribs as they both laughed.

“Night, Ham,” Mac whispered once they’d settled down.

“Night, Mac” he echoed, drifting off into a peaceful sleep.

~*~

Mac did arrange for the bath first thing. A tub was brought into the General’s room and the warm water prepared by a servant while Hamilton rested in bed a bit longer. When the water was ready, he undressed and sank into the hot water with a long, satisfied moan. The stiff achiness of his back and limbs eased as he laid back against the warm metal basin.

When the water began to cool, he swiftly and vigorously scrubbed himself clean. Then he dried, shaved carefully, and donned a clean uniform that hung more loosely on him than it had before. Examining the results of his efforts in the mirror, he frowned. He was thinner than he’d ever been in his adult life, and his face was a ghastly shade of white. Still, he felt clear-headed and strong enough to be back to his duties, so he tugged his uniform jacket into place as best he could and stepped out of the room.

Washington was sitting at his upstairs desk, leaning low over the table-top as he wrote in his slow, deliberate hand. Hamilton entered and waited before the desk to be noticed. Washington finished a sentence, scanned his eyes over the words once, then finally looked up at him.

“You should be in bed,” Washington stated flatly, forgoing any greeting.

“I assure you, sir, I feel quite fit for duty.”

“You don’t look it,” Washington replied. “Does McHenry know you’re up?”

“Yes, your Excellency.”

Washington gave him a skeptical frown as he gestured to the chair across from him. “Have a seat, son.”

Hamilton obeyed, sinking into the seat in front of the desk gratefully. His legs felt a little shaky after so many days lying in bed. The effort of bathing and walking a few steps down the hall was more taxing than it ought to have been.

Washington dug through the papers on his desk and pulled out a bundle. As he handed it over, he said, “The prisoner exchange is finalized to take place in Amboy on the tenth. You’ll need to set out in a few days’ time. Will you be up for traveling?”

“Yes, sir,” he agreed, scanning over the latest developments. 

Washington gave him another appraising look, doubt clear in his expression. “I want you on light duties until then. No late nights, lots of rest, plenty of food. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Hamilton said again.

“Perhaps you could spend some more time with Miss Schuyler,” Washington suggested, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “I heard from Colonel Tilghman that congratulations are in order.”

“General and Mrs. Schuyler haven’t yet given their consent, sir,” Hamilton rushed to explain, “Or I would have told you myself.”

“Well, I have no doubt that their agreement won’t be long in coming.” With a nod, Washington turned his attention back to the document he had been writing when Hamilton entered and said, “You’re dismissed, Colonel. Light duties, lots of rest.”

Hamilton nodded to acknowledge to reiterated commander and rose.

He hesitated before the desk, and said, “Sir?”

Washington glanced up at him.

“I wanted to thank you. It was very kind of you and Mrs. Washington to give up use of your room while I was ill.”

Washington waved his hand dismissively. “It was a small matter.”

“No, sir. It wasn’t,” Hamilton contradicted. “Thank you.”

Washington’s mouth twitched again. “You are most welcome, Colonel.”

~*~

“Let’s set you up near the fire,” Meade said once Hamilton was done with a coughing fit that left him doubled over in his hard wooden chair. Meade’s hand was on his back, rubbing soothing circles to calm his aggravated lungs.

He nodded and braced himself on the table as he stood. Perhaps he ought to have stayed in bed a bit longer, he considered, as Meade guided him by the elbow towards the more comfortable armchairs. But he was up now, and retreating back to bed would likely cause more concern then his present condition merited. The lingering cough was frustrating, but not serious, and he felt more tired than truly ill.

Once he was sitting in the armchair, Meade stepped out of the parlor and returned a couple minutes later carrying a wool blanket, which he draped over Hamilton’s lap.

“Mac was upstairs,” Meade reported, “Heaving his guts up.”

An unreasonable guilt crept over him at the news. “Was he all right?”

“He said he was. He told me to tell you to take it easy,” Meade replied, patting him on the arm. “We can’t have you relapsing with our doctor indisposed.”

“I’ll be fine,” he assured Meade. “Really. I’m just tired, now.”

“Why don’t you go through the latest intelligence reports from New York? That will be less taxing than sitting up at the table and writing,” Tilghman suggested. He carried over a thick stack of papers and handed them to Hamilton.

He took the papers and said, “Thanks.”

Meade and Tilghman both retreated to the table to work, leaving the room quiet but for the rustling of papers, the crackling of the fire, and Hamilton’s intermittent cough, which he tried his best to stifle in his handkerchief. He was nearing the end of the papers when he heard the front door open.

“Come make yourself comfortable, my dear,” Mrs. Washington’s voice carried in from the foyer. “I’ll inquire about the health of your young man.”

He sat up fully, a smile blossoming over his face as he realized who Mrs. Washington’s companion must be. When Mrs. Washington poked her head into the parlor, she let out a small gasp of surprise. “Well, dear, you are a sight for sore eyes. We’ve all been very concerned for you.”

“I’m feeling much improved, ma’am. I’m sorry for putting you out of your room during my convalescence. I hope you weren’t too uncomfortable.”

Mrs. Washington waved a hand at him in much the same way as her husband. “I’m just happy to see you well.”

He craned his head as a figure moved into view behind the older woman. Mrs. Washington looked around as well, and said, “Come, come. I’m sure he’d rather speak with you than listen to me blathering on.”

Eliza appeared in the doorway, looking lovely as ever and very relieved to see him. “Hamilton,” she sighed.

“Hi,” he greeted, beckoning her over.

She hurried forward and knelt beside his chair, studying him carefully. “You still look pale. Are you sure you should be sitting up already?”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s what you said when you were half delirious,” she said, smiling weakly.

“I was not half delirious,” he argued.

“You proposed again. Twice.” Her whole face lit up as she teased him. He glanced back to see Tilghman and Meade shaking with laughter at the table behind them.

“I might have been a little confused from the fever,” he granted, laughing a little as well. “I must confess I can’t recall your answer.”  

“It will always be the same, no matter how many times you ask,” she told him.

He grinned.

She reached over to fuss with the blanket on his lap and glanced around. “Is there anything I can get you? Do you want some tea? Or soup? You’ve grown so thin,” she fretted, touching his forearm gently.

“I already had some broth. Tea might be nice, though. Would you like some, too? One of the servants can fetch it.”

“It’s getting to be tea time,” Tilghman observed. “I’ll go tell someone to bring some up for all of us.” He rose to leave, nodding to Eliza as he passed.

“Please feel free to stay awhile, Miss Schuyler,” Meade offered. “Your company is most welcome.”

“Thank you,” Eliza smiled at Meade. She leaned forward to press a kiss against Hamilton’s temple, then pushed herself up using the arm of his chair. He captured her hand before she could move away, and pressed a kiss against the back of it. She twisted her hand in his and squeezed gently before pulling away and settling into the seat across from him.

“Have you been well, Betsey?” he asked with some concern. “Major McHenry is feeling ill today. I hope I haven’t spread the sickness to anyone else.”

Her face flashed with concern at the news about Mac. “I’m very well,” she assured him. “Though I’m sorry to hear Major McHenry is not.”

“He’ll be fine,” Meade commented. “Illnesses hit Ham ten times harder than everyone else. I’m sure Mac will be up and about in a few days.” Hamilton turned back with a teasing glare. Meade shrugged. “It’s true.”

“How is your widow, Colonel Meade?” Eliza queried curiously. Hamilton raised an eyebrow, surprised that she knew about Meade’s courtship. He was pleased that she had grown so at ease among his friends.

“I had a letter from her just this week,” Meade answered. “She’s well, and hopeful that I will come see her soon. I confess I do long for a trip home to Virginia.”

“I pray nightly for a swift end to the conflict, so that we all might be reunited with our loved ones,” Eliza commented.

“May the good Lord grant your prayers, Miss.”

Tilghman came back through the doorway and announced, “Tea is on its way. I asked them to bring up some more soup for you, Ham.”

“I already ate,” he frowned. Their supplies were worryingly low; it was hard to justify extra meals.

“Eat again,” Tilghman replied firmly. “You need it. A good wind could carry you away as you are now.”

“I’ll bring some good stew for you tomorrow. Perhaps the cook can spare some more meat to add to it,” Eliza offered. “You need something hearty.”

“That’s very kind,” he said, knowing they were both right. He had grown much too thin after five days of high fever and no food.

“You’ll never make it to Amboy if you don’t put some strength back in you,” Meade added.

Hamilton winced and looked at Eliza, who furrowed her brow in confusion.

“Amboy?” she repeated, looking at him.

“We’re supposed to negotiate a cartel for a prisoner exchange,” he explained. “I’m to leave on the ninth. Only for a week or two, though, depending on how intractable the British are feeling. I meant to tell you sooner.”

She nodded in understanding. “That’s only three days hence. Will you be well enough to travel?”

“I think so,” he said. “Besides a cough and some lingering fatigue, I feel quite fit.”

A servant entered with a tray laden with tea, a few biscuits and a bowl of soup, which were all laid out in the limited empty space of the parlor table. Tilghman stood to pour out a cup and walked it over the Eliza. “Here you are, Miss.”

“Thank you, Colonel.” She smiled as she took the cup.  

“You should come over to the table to eat, Ham,” Tilghman added. He waited for Hamilton to stand, and assisted him back over to the table.

Far from the watery broth he’d had earlier, the soup was saturated with rice, vegetables, and a few good chunks of chicken. He frowned at the bowl and looked up at Tilghman. “General’s orders,” Tilghman said simply.

He sighed, the guilty feeling rearing up once more as he picked up the spoon. The hot soup soothed his throat, though, and he was pleased to find it hit his stomach with no ill effect. He heard Tilghman conversing softly with Eliza behind him as he slowly ate.

“How is Miss Peggy finding Morristown?” Tilghman asked.

“Quite to her taste, by all appearances,” Eliza answered. “She made fast friends with some of the other girls. I’ve hardly seen her since her first night here.”

Tilghman laughed. “She’s always been a bright spot.”

The conversation carried on without him as he worked steadily on the delicious soup before him. As he neared the end of the bowl, he felt a presence behind him and he looked up to see Eliza approaching. Her hand smoothed over this back and she leaned down to kiss him softly. “I should be getting home. Aunt Gertrude was expecting me an hour ago,” she said.

“I’ll try to come visit you tomorrow,” he promised, sad to see her leaving so soon.

She shook her head. “I think I’ll come to you for a little while. I don’t want you out in the cold when you haven’t been well.”

He frowned, which made her laugh. She kissed him again and ran a hand through his hair fondly. He closed his eyes, savoring her touch.

“I’m so glad you’re feeling better, sweetheart,” she whispered to him.

“I’ll see her home safe, Hammy,” Tilghman assured him. “Finish eating and have a rest.”

“Thank you,” he said to his friend. He pressed another kiss to Eliza’s hand before she departed with Tilghman at her side.  

When he finished his soup a few minutes later, Meade offered to bring the bowl down to the kitchen for him. Alone in the parlor, he sorted through the stacks of papers and selected another thick bundle of correspondence that needed to be read through. He slowly made his way back to the armchair and settled the blanket over himself as he began to read.

“Hammy.” Someone touched his shoulder and he jumped. Meade was looking down at him with a gentle smile. “Why don’t you go take a nap?”

“I’m all right,” he insisted, adjusting to sit up further in the chair.

“You fell asleep sitting upright in a chair,” Meade said. “Just go lie down for a little while. Tilghman and I can manage for the day.”

“You’re sure?” he asked, glancing back at the towering stack of work. With Mac sick, too, Tilghman and Meade would be taking on double their usual workload.

Meade nodded. “Webb should be back tonight. He’ll help with whatever we don’t get finished. Do you need a hand getting upstairs?”

Hamilton shook his head, but thanked Meade for the offer.

He slowly climbed up the stairs with the extra blanket and made his way into the aids’ quarters. Loud snores were coming from the furthest bed, where Mac was lying curled up under his thin blanket. Hamilton laid his hand against Mac’s brow to find he was running hot, but not dangerously so. Hopefully the illness wouldn’t be as hard on Mac as it had been on him. He carefully adjusted the extra blanket over his friend, gratified to see Mac uncurl slightly, the crease of pain in his brow softening. He then settled into his own bed.

He slept peacefully straight through the night.

Chapter Text

March 1780

“Mac?”

The huddled lump of blankets grunted at him.

“I brought you some water,” he continued.

He received another grunt in response.

“Come on. You need to drink,” he urged, tugging at the edge of the blanket.

The grunt turned into a growl.

He laughed and pulled back the blanket the rest of the way. “Just a few sips, then I’ll leave you be,” he promised.

“You’re the devil,” Mac croaked as Hamilton sat him up and held the cup to his lips.

“I love you, too,” he replied flatly.

When Mac had successfully swallowed half the cup, Hamilton helped ease him back down onto his pillow. He tucked the blankets around Mac tenderly and felt his forehead to be sure the fever wasn’t getting out of hand. Mac felt warm still, but not hot.

“Are you feeling all right?” Hamilton snorted at the question, the words stolen right out of his mouth.

“You’re asking me that?” he laughed lightly, patting Mac fondly on the chest.

Mac nodded. “You shouldn’t still be so pale,” he said. “I worry about you.”

“Worry about you for a little while,” Hamilton advised. “I’m fine. I just haven’t seen daylight in over a week.”

“You should take a walk, if you feel up to it,” Mac suggested. “A little sunlight and exercise to put some strength back in you. When are you leaving for Amboy?”

“Tomorrow,” he answered. “I’ll take Eliza for a stroll when she gets here. Now, get some rest. I’d like to see you better before I go.”

Mac hummed, already drifting back to sleep.

He placed the cup on the desk and knelt down by his trunk to finish packing his belongings for his trip. He counted the breeches and shirts in his travel bag and added another shirt just to be safe. His eyes roamed through his trunk to check that he hadn’t missed anything. His pay book was already packed, along with the latest finance book he’d been reading. He ran his fingers lightly over his tattered Plutarch volume, but left it be, instead reaching for a spare razor to add to his kit. That should be everything.

He stifled a cough in his fist as he closed his trunk and threw his bag atop it. The party was setting out before breakfast tomorrow, and he didn’t want to be trying to pack in the dead of night. He just hoped the talks went smoothly so he could get back in a reasonable time.

“Ham?” He looked over to see Meade standing in the doorway. “Miss Schuyler is here.”

He nodded and pushed himself up. “I’m going to take her out for a walk,” he said. He cocked his head to the side. “Make sure he keeps drinking.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Meade promised. “Have fun.”

“Thanks,” he smiled.

He moved quickly down the steps and found Eliza waiting for him in the foyer.

“I want to go for a walk,” he announced. “I’ve been informed by my physician that I’m still much too pale.”

Eliza chuckled. “How is Major McHenry?”

“Well, I brought him some water a few minutes ago. He growled at me,” he reported, prompting a laugh from Eliza. “I think he’s going to be just fine.”

Eliza hadn’t removed her heavy cloak, so she waited for him to pull his greatcoat on over his uniform. He opened the door for her and took her hand as they stepped out onto the porch. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, he turned his face up towards the sun.

 “It’s almost warm out,” he remarked as they set off hand in hand down the walkway towards the road. The frigid bite of winter had eased into the chill of early spring sometime during his confinement.

“Mm,” Eliza hummed in agreement, falling into step easily beside him. “The snow is starting to melt.”

He looked down to see that indeed, the white blanket of snow that had engulfed the town for months was starting to yield in places to reveal patches of mud. “It’ll likely be gone by the time I get back,” he realized with a pang of regret.

The white blanket over the landscape grew to possess a kind of magic for him this winter. Snow was now indelibly associated with walks to Doctor Cochran’s and sleigh rides with Eliza. Despite the hardships they had endured over the past months, he found he was sad to see it pass. With warmer weather came active fighting and a forced separation from Eliza that he hadn’t much considered until now.

“What’s wrong?” Eliza asked, bumping her shoulder against his as they walked. “You look sad.”

“I’ve grown rather fond of the snow,” he answered, quirking his lips into a smile despite his sudden melancholy.

“It comes every year,” she consoled.

“I know,” he sighed. “I’m just going to miss it.”

“We’ll be able to spend more time outside in the spring. We could have a picnic in the field,” she suggested. He loved that she seemed to intuit the true root of his gloomy mood. He took heart in her assurance that they had some time yet, and the idea of a spring picnic with his lovely girl did much to raise his spirits.  

He leaned over to press a kiss against the crown of her head. “That sounds lovely.”

“Oh, and look, I think this tree is starting to bud,” she said excitedly, releasing his hand to inspect one of the trees dotting the roadside more carefully.

He smirked mischievously and stooped down to scoop some of the wet snow into his hands. Packing it lightly into a ball, he tossed it just as she was turning back around. She let out a surprised laugh, and then narrowed her eyes at him. “Alexander,” she scolded.

“Winter is almost over, and I hadn’t thrown a single snowball this year.”

She raised an eyebrow and smirked, as though accepting a challenge, and it just occurred to him that she had an abundance of siblings, including several younger brothers, as he watched her lean down to make a snowball of her own.

He laughed and dodged around to take cover behind the tree she’d been examining, whining, “Don’t.”

“And why not?” she asked with a broad grin, holding the ball loosely in her hand.

He poked his face around the tree, forming an exaggerated pout as he pleaded, “I’m still sick.”

“You are not.” She laughed as she hurled the snowball towards him.

She hit him directly in the face.

Thankfully she hadn’t packed the snow very tight, and the ball broke easily upon impact, doing no harm. As he wiped the snow from his eyes, he heard her hurrying towards him. “Oh, sweetheart, are you all right? I didn’t mean to do that.”

He sniffled and fixed her with a baleful look.

“I’m so sorry.” 

He waited for her to come a few steps closer before he bent, scooped up a fistful of snow, and flung it at her. She stood before him with wet snow clinging to her cloak, blinking with surprise. When he grinned, she shoved him hard in the shoulder.

“I thought I hurt you,” she huffed.

They stared at each other for a long moment. Then they simultaneously took off running through the melting snow into the grove of trees, each stooping down for ammunition as they took appropriate cover behind the trunks around them. He peeked around his tree only to see Eliza take aim and fling another snowball at him. It landed harmlessly a foot from his boots. Seeing her ammunition spent, he rushed towards her position.

She positively squealed with laughter as he took aim, running towards another tree for cover. His shot went wide and hit the trunk. Abandoning snowballs altogether, he chased after her and, finally catching up with her, wrapped his arms around her waist as he dropped his weight. They both fell onto the wet snow, panting and laughing.

She adjusted on top of him, looking down at him with those sparkling eyes and that slightly crooked smile. “I love you so much,” she whispered.

“Not half as much as I love you,” he responded.

She gave him a lingering kiss. He closed his eyes, melting into it, until he felt her leg shift and her thigh brushed against him. His eyes popped open in surprise.

“Um, Eliza,” he breathed out, sure it had been an accident and searching for a delicate way to ask her to shift positions.

“Yes, darling?” A wicked little smirk formed on her face.

Shock warred with amusement as he realized she had moved her leg deliberately. “Naughty girl,” he scolded. “You shouldn’t tease like that.”

“You shouldn’t pretend to be hurt by snowballs,” she parried back.

He flipped her over onto her back, hovering over her with a grin. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss against her petal soft lips and felt her arms come up around his shoulders to hold him close. When he pulled back, he gazed down at her, trying to memorize every detail. The sun glittered off the pure white snow around them, blending in with her cap and offsetting the dark curls beneath it. Her expression was soft now, her eyes shining with love as she stared up at him.

“I wrote a letter to my mother a few days ago,” she informed him.

“Mm?” he hummed, brushing a mitten clad thumb down along her rosy cheek.

“I told her all about you, and our time together. And I told her that I intend to marry you before the campaign starts this summer.”

His expression grew serious as her words sank in. “Eliza.”

“I do,” she told him, suddenly radiating defiance. “I told her I’d be happy to have her blessing, but I’m going to marry you, Alexander. I refuse to spend our precious time together pretending that it matters whether my mother and father agree.”

“It does matter,” he said, sitting up fully.

She sat up as well. “It doesn’t.”

“It does to me.”

“Why?” she demanded. “If they say no, we can find a minister and elope. Angelica did it, and my parents got past it.”

“I’ve spent little time with your father and sister, but from what I’ve seen, I would hardly call your father ‘past it,’” he fired back. “I won’t force myself where I’m not wanted.”

“You are wanted.” Her brow wrinkled as she looked at him. “I want you.”

The sincerity she infused into the statement brought a gentle smile to his lips, and he reached for her hand. “I want you, too,” he assured her, his voice softening from the sharp tone he’d used moments before. “But I want to do things properly.”

A beat of silence followed.

“I didn’t mean to start a fight with you,” she told him softly.

“I know.”

“We’ll wait for my parents,” she promised. Before he could thank for the concession, she added, “For now.”

“Eliza,” he sighed.

She shook her head at him. “I’ll wait for my parents to give an answer, if that’s what you want. But know that I have no intention of giving you up.”

He laughed, recognizing a stubborn impulsiveness in her that he often saw in himself. The laugh agitated his recovering lungs, and he turned his head to cough into his fist again. Eliza was still holding his other hand, and he felt her squeeze it lightly.

“We should get you inside,” she fretted. “You shouldn’t be lying in the cold snow like this after being so sick.”

She pushed herself up and reached out a hand to assist him. He took her hand as he reassured her, “I’m fine. I just can’t seem to shake this cough.”

“Having a cough means you aren’t fine,” she argued. “Are you sure you’ll be all right to travel tomorrow?”

“Of course. I don’t have fever anymore, and I’ve kept down everything I’ve eaten in the past few days,” he replied.

She stared at him. “That’s what you think ‘fine’ means?”

He shrugged and nodded.

She gave an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes at him. “Come on,” she urged, tugging him out of the grove and back onto the road towards Doctor Cochran’s house.

When they arrived at the house, Eliza opened the front door and held it for him.

Mrs. Cochran bustled out of the parlor at the sound of the door closing. Hamilton noted her gray eyes narrowed at the sight of their wet outerwear. “What on earth happened? The back of your coats are positively sodden.”

“We slipped in the snow,” Eliza answered easily, pressing a kiss against her aunt’s cheek.

Suspicion passed over Mrs. Cochran’s face, but faded quickly, as though any alternative to Eliza’s explanation was simply too ridiculous to imagine. At one time, he might have thought the same. He’d once heard Tilghman refer to Eliza as ‘the little saint.’ Was he a corrupting influence, he wondered, or did other people simply not know Eliza as he now did?

“Colonel Hamilton,” Mrs. Cochran greeted him warmly. “How lovely to see you up and about. You know, you had everyone very worried over you.”

“I thank you for your kind concern,” he said, bending slightly to kiss Mrs. Cochran’s cheek as well. He flashed his most charming smile as he straightened. “I’m feeling much recovered.”

Mrs. Cochran flushed and batted at his shoulder with a chuckle. “You’ve caught yourself quite the charmer here, my dear,” she remarked to Eliza as she lead them into the parlor.

He was surprised to see Peggy seated at the piano when they entered; the young woman had spent most of her time in Morristown staying with local friends. She looked up and grinned at them. “You look well, Colonel,” Peggy stated.

“Thank you. I feel very well, Miss Schuyler,” he replied, bowing slightly in greeting.

“It’s been an age since I’ve seen you practicing the piano,” Eliza said to her sister, sitting in a chair by the fire. Mrs. Cochran followed suit, picking up a shirt from a basket beside her and expertly threading a needle.

Peggy frowned at the instrument before her. “Patsy lent me a new piece that’s supposed to be all the fashion in Paris. I’ve been at it for an hour, though, and I still don’t think I’ve quite mastered it.”

He stepped closer to the piano and scanned his eyes over the sheet music. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to the piano bench. Peggy smiled and scooted over to make room for him.

“Do you play, Colonel?” Mrs. Cochran asked.

“Fairly,” he answered, situating the tails of his uniform coat and placing his hands on the cool keys. “We enjoy passing free time at headquarters with music and songs.” He and Mac often competed over writing ridiculous lyrics to Tilghman’s bouncy compositions.

He studied the music for a few moments, and when he felt prepared, he began to play. The song was quick and upbeat, a good dancing tune. Peggy applauded beside him after a few bars, exclaiming, “Yes, that’s it!”

When he reached the end of the piece, Peggy dug around the assorted sheet music by the piano and selected a simpler duet. They passed an enjoyable hour playing an assortment of lively tunes. He even managed to coax Eliza into singing along with him for one of his favorites, claiming he needed her to help him carry the tune due to his still hoarse voice. She’d blushed furiously the whole time, and especially so at the end when he’d told her she had the voice of an angel.

“Won’t you stay for dinner, Colonel?” Mrs. Cochran invited when he stood at last from the piano.

“Nothing would give me more pleasure, ma’am, but I’ve much to do before my journey tomorrow. I really must be getting back,” he refused politely.

“You won’t be away long, I hope,” Peggy said.

“A week, two at most,” he answered. Locking his eyes on Eliza, he added, “Pray, believe I will fly back the moment my duty allows.”

Eliza smiled weakly and nodded, though he noted a sadness in her eyes that made his chest feel tight. She walked him to the door and stood by while he pulled on his damp overcoat. “You’ll write, won’t you?” she asked.

“Of course,” he promised. “As much as I’m able. I do hope you will return the favor.”

“I will,” she vowed. The sadness was more prominent in her expression now.

He kissed her and pulled her into an embrace. “I’ll be back before you know it,” he tried to comfort her. He felt her nod against him. When he pulled back, he used his forefinger to lift her chin up. “I’ll miss you every minute.”

Eliza stared up into his eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he replied.

She went up on her toes to kiss him again. “Be safe and well.”

“I will,” he promised.

With a last lingering look, he opened the door and stepped out of the warm house towards headquarters. He found himself eager to set off on his trip. The sooner he left, the sooner he could return to enjoy the precious time still left to them before hostilities began again.

~*~

The negotiations were interminable.

The British officers had arrived without sufficient power to actually reach any sort of agreement. Yet, somehow, they still assembled for a total of four days in the style of inefficient futility he’d come to associate with the British army. When the official talks of a general cartel and exchange finally broke down, he persuaded the commission to remain to reach a more informal agreement to exchange specific prisoners. That, at least, had some promise, as he’d reported to his Excellency that morning.

His anxiousness to leave for Morristown had diminished greatly a few days prior with Webb’s arrival, however. Webb mentioned seeing Eliza when she’d been at headquarters helping Mrs. Washington, and informed him that Kitty had invited Eliza along to visit Philadelphia. She would enjoy the city, he was sure, and especially the chance to spend time with her father and sister, who were both still staying there. He couldn’t in good conscience talk her out of her trip, but the prospect of an even longer separation had thrown him into a dark mood.

“Mail,” a captain announced, dropping two letters on the side of Hamilton’s desk.

He paused in the letter he was writing to Eliza, nodded his thanks, and examined the two envelopes. One was from Meade, the other from Doctor Cochran, no doubt bearing a letter from Eliza, he thought with a smile. He opened Meade’s first. The message began with official business, but Meade continued on with news of Mac’s full recovery and some silly stories of his friends’ antics. The most welcome news of all, however, was Meade’s description of delivering Hamilton’s first letter to Eliza.

“Your young maid received your letter most enthusiastically,” Meade wrote him. “She retired with it immediately after apologizing for not lingering to entertain. I could hardly take offense when her joy was so apparent.”

He smiled as he imagined the scene. Their separation had sparked his anxiety and insecurity, he was sorry to admit. He’d laid awake the past weeks both missing Eliza and wondering if she truly missed him in return. Their courtship had been so heated and quick; perhaps given time for passions to cool, she would regret the hasty decision and turn him away. Hearing that she had been so eager for his letter calmed his concerns greatly.

He next opened Doctor Cochran’s letter. Sure enough, it was a short missive serving only as a cover for Eliza’s letter enclosed within. Quickly unfolding the thick paper, he felt his lips stretch into a grin as he read. Had Meade’s letter not quieted his anxiety, this surely would have.

She missed him. She loved him. She thought of him every second. It was simple and unembellished, her sweet sincerity making it more touching than the greatest love poem could ever hope to be. His only quibble came from her claim that he’d showered too much praise upon her in his first letter.

Taking up his quill once more, he told Eliza how pleased he was to have heard from her. “My Betseys soul speaks in every line,” he wrote, “and bids me be the happiest of mortals. I am so and will be so. You give me too many proofs of your love to allow me to doubt it and in the conviction that I possess that, I possess every thing the world can give.”*

He glanced over at the clock as he was finishing and realized he was half an hour late to his meeting. Signing the letter with care, he folded it up and handed it to the captain to be delivered back to Morristown tomorrow. He entered the meeting in such a good humor that each of the officers around the table had smiled at him.

“I apologize for my unpunctuality,” he said as he bowed to the British officers and then to his fellow Continentals. “I was caught up in a letter.”

“He’s in love,” Edward Carrington whispered by way of explanation to one of the British officers as Hamilton took his seat. The officer’s smile had widened in response. Hamilton didn’t bother trying to refute Carrington’s explanation; it was true, after all. He was in love: madly, ridiculously, helplessly in love.

Chapter Text

April 1780

Rain pattered gently on the window as Hamilton reviewed the supply report he’d received from Colonel Dunham. The supplies of meat in Morristown were, frankly, concerning. Mentally calculating the number of men currently in camp and dividing by the beef currently in stores, they hardly had enough to make it through the next month, even at half rations. And the men were already riled by prolonged shortages.

Webb entered the room behind him and deposited several soggy envelopes on the table. “Now the snow’s done, we’ve the rain to deal with. And with the rain comes the mud. At least the snow looks pretty,” Webb groused, shaking out like a dog near the fire.

Hamilton smirked and began to thumb through the latest correspondence. The last letter in the stack was addressed to him personally. When he read the name of the sender, his heart started to race, his mouth went dry, and stomach flipped. An answer, at last. With a steadying breath, he tore open the envelope.

As he unfolded the letter, an enclosed sheet fell into his lap. He frowned, anxiety giving way to confusion as he examined a list of silks for sale in Philadelphia. Why would General Schuyler send him a list of silk?

He read the first line of the letter. Then he read it again. And again.

Yes.

They’d said yes.  

A strange, strangled noise came out of his throat.

“Are you all right?” Webb asked.

“They said yes,” he whispered, hardly believing it. He read the first line again just to be sure.

“Who did?”

“Eliza’s parents. They said yes,” he explained. He turned to look at Webb, eyes wide.

“You’re getting married, Hammy,” Webb grinned, stepping forward to slap him on the back. “Congratulations!”

He wanted to smile back, but he couldn’t get his face to form an expression. He hadn’t expected this; he had been preparing himself to give Eliza up, however impossible that may have seemed. And they’d said yes. What he was feeling went beyond happiness, beyond joy. He didn’t even have a name for this emotion.

“Hammy?”

“I think I’m going to vomit,” he said.

Webb took a fast step back. “I thought you loved Eliza?”

“I do,” he assured.

Webb grinned again. “So you’re happy?”

He nodded. “Just a tad…overwhelmed.”

“The General wants us to send more letters to Congress,” Tilghman announced, strolling into the parlor. “He gave me a list of Congressmen to try…what’s going on?”

“Ham’s so happy he’s going to vomit,” Webb said with a teasing smile.

Tilghman’s nose wrinkled. “Why?”

“I’m getting married.”

“You proposed over a month ago,” Tilghman frowned.

“Eliza’s parents said yes.”

Tilghman’s eyes lit up. “They did? That’s wonderful! Let me see.” He grabbed the paper from Hamilton’s hand and frowned. “Uh, Ham, this is a list of silks available to order from Philadelphia.”

A laugh bubbled out him. “This one,” he corrected, handing over Schuyler’s letter.

“Aww, Hammy, this is so great,” Tilghman smiled.

“It is,” he agreed. A smile started to stretch his face.

He wanted to rush straight to Doctor Cochran’s, but he had too much to do to just leave. He already planned to visit Eliza around tea time, as he had each day since her return from Philadelphia. Tea time suddenly seemed an eternity from now.

Tilghman handed him the letter back, and he started to read through the rest of Schuyler’s message while Webb and Tilghman settled down at the table to start on their assignments. Apparently Mrs. Schuyler had received Eliza’s letter before she answered her husband, because Schuyler made a special point of stating an elopement would not be well received. His eyes widened as he read that he was under consideration for an appointment to France, and anger bubbled up as he read about the machinations against Washington that Schuyler reported. His mind was spinning too much to really process any of the information. He smiled again at the end, though, as he discovered the mystery if the silk list: evidently, it was meant for Mrs. Cochran.

When he’d finished, he laid the letter aside and began to read through the letters addressed to the General. Before he began, he took a deep breath, soaking in the feeling of acceptance, not only by the most wonderful woman he’d ever met, but by her entire family.

~*~

The rain passed by early afternoon. He finished up answers to all of the letters that had arrived for Washington, and happily escaped outside, forgoing his overcoat. Bright sunshine glittered in the puddles and illuminated the vibrant colors of early spring. Green buds dotted all the trees along the road, mixing with white and pink blossoms, and lush green grass had now entirely replaced the snow. The road had turned to mud, but he hardly cared, practically dancing along the street.

Daisies sprouted near the grove where he and Eliza kissed the day before he’d left for Amboy. Detouring into the little grove, he stooped down, picking one and twirling it between his thumb and forefinger. The smile was still stretching his face, nearly painful now.

He bounded up the stairs and knocked on Doctor Cochran’s door. The servant girl admitted him and showed him to the parlor. Mrs. Cochran rose as he entered and smiled at the sight of him.

“You seem to be in a good mood, dear,” she commented, kissing his cheek.

He reached into his breast pocket and handed her the information about the silk. “General Schuyler sent this in my care. He asks you to select which material you like so he can place his order before his return,” he reported.

Mrs. Cochran inhaled sharply, clapping her hands together. “He’s said yes.”

He nodded in confirmation.

“Oh, how wonderful. Oh, I’m so happy,” she cried, embracing him.

He laughed, hugging her back. “I’m not sure Eliza’s going to be happy.”

“Of course she will,” Mrs. Cochran frowned, pulling away.

“I know she’ll be happy her parents approved,” he rushed to explain, “But General Schuyler wants us to wait to marry in Albany, which means next fall at the earliest.”

“Ah, yes, well, after Angelica….” Mrs. Cochran trailed off with a sigh.

“I understand,” he assured her. “I’m just not sure Eliza will.”

Mrs. Cochran sighed, gave him a fond look, then laughed and embraced him again.

“Where is Eliza?” he asked when Mrs. Cochran released him.

“Last I saw her, she was in the kitchen.”

“I’m here, I’m here,” Eliza’s voice came from the hall, sounding harried. “Hello.”

“Hello,” he responded with a smile. She wore a beautiful light pink dress, though it was covered over with a stained apron. A smudge of flour covered her cheek. He brushed a thumb over her cheek to remove the flour and tucked the daisy he’d picked behind her ear. She touched the flower and smiled sweetly at him, then glanced down at herself.

“Oh,” she huffed, quickly pulling off the apron and tossing it on to the sofa. She smoothed down the front of her dress and looked back at him. “I have a surprise for you.”

“That’s funny, I have one for you,” he replied.

“Mine’s better,” she insisted.

“I doubt it,” he grinned.

She pouted slightly. “I want to go first.”

He laughed. “All right, my love. What’s your surprise?”

She brightened and answered, “I planned a picnic for us.”

“A picnic sounds—”

“There’s more.” She gave him a teasing look. “I was just pausing for breath, honey. People do that sometimes.”

He held up his hands in a placating gesture, though he gave her a wry look in return. Although he knew he had a reputation for rapid speech, he rarely used that talent on her.  

“I planned a picnic, and then, through general charm, calling in various favors, and promising several more even greater favors in return, I managed to collect all the ingredients to make cherry tarts.”

“Really?” He felt his mood lift impossibly further. Any more good news, and he’d find himself floating off the ground, he was sure of it.

Eliza nodded. “My mother’s recipe. You mentioned they were your favorite.”

“They are. Thank you.”

“I hope you like them,” she said. “I’m not even sure what exactly I’ve agreed to do in return. Kitty mentioned something about my first born child.”  She gave him a comically exaggerated expression of concern that made him laugh.

“I’m sure I’ll love them,” he promised.

“Now, what’s your surprise?” she asked.

He smirked. “I’ll tell you while we eat the cherry tarts.”

“You’re punishing me for going first,” she said flatly. He maintained his smirk, and she sighed. “And after I bargained away our first born to get you cherry tarts.”

It took a moment to register that she’d said ‘our first born.’ He’d hardly dared dream before, but now, when things finally seemed settled, thoughts of children, a little house, a life with Eliza by his side all began to flash through his imagination.

“Have I told you that I love you recently?” he asked.

“Yes, but I’m happy to hear it again,” she replied, laughing as he swept her into his arms for a kiss. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and he felt her fingers twirling his queue absently. She regarded him carefully and added, “You are in an exceedingly good mood.”

“I am,” he confirmed.

Mrs. Cochran made a happy little noise from her chair, prompting Eliza to look over.

“Aunt Gertrude? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” Mrs. Cochran said quickly, looking at them with a wide smile and slightly damp eyes.

“Does she know what my surprise is?”

Hamilton smirked again.

“That’s not fair,” she whined. Her lip pouted out adorably, and he pulled her against him, nuzzling his nose against her hair and pressing a kiss to her temple. Dear Lord, how he loved her.

“I’ll tell you now if you wish, my love. How can I refuse my bride to be?” he asked mildly.

She pressed her hands against his shoulders to push him back. “Did Papa...?” she asked, trailing off in her question with a squeal of delight when he nodded. She threw herself into his arms and he lifted her off her feet, spinning her in a circle, her dress fanning out around them as he spun.

“He and your Mama could do naught but approve, when you are so very much in love,” Mrs. Cochran stated. When he’d placed Eliza back on her feet, she rushed towards her aunt, stooping down to her chair and engulfing her in an excited hug.

Once she’d straightened, he inquired where she intended to have their picnic.

“Outside, of course,” she answered with a puzzled look.

He frowned at the thought of sitting in the wet grass. “It rained all morning. The ground is still quite damp.”

“We’ll bring a blanket,” she shrugged, utterly unconcerned.

It must be an effect of growing up in the country, he decided, to have such disregard for foul weather. She’d been at ease in the cold and snow, and now seemed equally so in the rain and mud. After loading him down like a mule with blankets and a hefty basket, they set out in search of a grassy spot.

“Here,” she determined after wandering through the muddy field for a time.

He obediently spread out a blanket on the grass, then added the second directly atop it in hopes of keeping their clothes somewhat dry. Eliza settled herself onto the blanket, smoothing down her dress before opening the basket and pulling out the contents within. A few pieces of bread, some hard cheese, and a plate of delectable cherry tarts were soon spread out before him. Eliza then produced two glasses and a bottle of wine, only half full with the cork wedged in the top.

Examining her efforts, she wrinkled her nose. “I wish we had some meat, or some fruit. A picnic requires fruit.” 

“It’s perfect,” he said sincerely. He worked the cork out of the wine and poured, then held his glass up for a toast.

“What are we drinking to?” Eliza asked, mimicking his position.

“To the future Mrs. Hamilton, the best and brightest of her sex.”

Eliza’s cheeks flushed as he clinked his glass against hers and took a long sip. A subtle smile played over her face as she seemed to contemplate his words. “Mrs. Hamilton,” she repeated to herself. He felt his heart swell at the delight in her voice.

They started in on the bread and cheese first. He chewed a few bites before raising the topic he knew would bring Eliza displeasure. “Your father added something else in his letter I fear you will find disagreeable.”

“He wants us to marry in Albany,” she guessed immediately.

He nodded. “I won’t be able to make the trip until fall at the earliest.”

Her face darkened considerably at the news. “Will you reconsider eloping? We could marry now, and have a celebration in the fall with my parents. They’ve approved now, and Papa is utterly enamored with you. I’m sure they wouldn’t hold it against you, as they have with John.”

He had to admit to seeing the appeal in the romantic fancy. And there was comfort in the idea of being wed before the summer campaign began in earnest, so that they might have a few weeks of marital bliss in case the worst should happen during battle. Yet…his mind turned to Schuyler’s hinted possibility of putting him forward for a post at Versailles. His feelings for Eliza had nothing to do with her family or social standing, of course, but having Schuyler’s full endorsement could help him greatly in his career, especially now when he found himself growing increasingly discontented on Washington’s staff. A delay of but a few months seemed a small price to have Eliza without sacrificing her father’s approval.

She seemed to read his thoughts without his having to speak, because the hope fell from her face and her shoulders sagged.

“Please don’t be upset,” he begged, hating to see her so deflated. “I just don’t want to jeopardize your family’s good opinion of me. Their warm welcome has meant so much.”

Her face softened a little.

He reached for her hand. “And I think you would regret it one day, if we ran off to marry.”

“I would never regret marrying you,” she insisted.

He smiled. “It will mean more, marrying in the presence of your mother, father, siblings and friends. You love your family so dearly; I think you want to share this day with them as much as they wish to share it with you.”

“I won’t insist upon it or try to force you,” Eliza sighed, squeezing his hand lightly, “But I warn you I haven’t abandoned the idea.”

He nodded, this being as much a victory as he could hope to claim. Looking down at their picnic, he changed the subject to something lighter. “I simply cannot resist these tarts any longer.” Indeed, the sight of the pastries had his mouth watering: a light, flaky crust encasing the bright red cherry preserves. He selected one from the plate and took a healthy bite, moaning as the buttery crust and sweet cherry juice danced over his tongue.

“Do you like it?” Eliza asked. “Mama’s are better, but I think they tasted adequate.”

“Adequate?” he repeated with shock, the question muffled by the hand covering his full mouth. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

She glowed at the praise as she selected a pastry for herself.

After eating far too many of the treats, he laid back, stretching out on the blanket to look up at the now clear blue sky above them. He couldn’t remember ever feeling as content as he did lying on that blanket with a full belly and his beautiful fiancée at his side. Glass and dinnerware clinked as Eliza placed them back into the basket. A small book thumped onto the blanket beside him. He looked over to see her stretching out on her stomach and flipping open the book. She’d removed the daisy from behind her ear to twirl it absently in her fingers as she looked down.

“What are you reading?” he asked, adjusting onto his side.

“Shakespeare’s sonnets,” she answered. When he made a face, she asked, “You don’t like Shakespeare?”

“I love Shakespeare,” he corrected. “At least, his plays. I find his sonnets a bit…clichéd, perhaps isn’t the right word. Too oft quoted for my taste, I suppose.”

“Well, I love them,” Eliza said, twirling the daisy still as she focused on the poems before her.

He held his head up on his palm as he gazed at her. “I could perhaps be convinced of my error if you were to read me some of your favorites,” he suggested.

She turned the pages slowly, scrutinizing the passages before her. Her finger traced down the page, landing beside Sonnet 97. “How like winter hath my absence been/ From thee,” she began. He frowned at her choice. By the end, she was looking at him and reciting from memory, “For Summer and his pleasures wait on thee,/ And, thou away, the very birds are mute;/ Or, if they sing, ‘tis with so dull a cheer,/ That leaves look pale, dreading the winter’s near.”

He considered arguing with her, attempting to convince her that one summer apart was not much in the face of a lifetime united. And, even if he relented and they did marry immediately, he didn’t like the idea of her remaining with the army, trailing behind with the rest of the women through harsh and dangerous circumstances.

Instead, he took the book from her hands and turned the page to find Sonnet 116. “Let me not to the marriage of true minds/ Admit impediments. Love is not love/ Which alters when it alteration finds,/ Or bends with the remover to remove:/ O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,/ That looks on tempests, and is never shaken,” he read aloud.

“Touché,” she said when he’d finished. “Though you must know that my feelings for you will not change in the face of separation. My love for you will not be shaken. Only you have somehow managed to turn the very seasons upside down. I will find summer as cold and forlorn as winter with you away, and winter as warm and pleasing as summer when you return.”

“You’re becoming quite the poet, my darling,” he noted. He leaned forward to kiss her and traced his finger along her cheek. “Let’s not dwell on parting, but rather enjoy the time left to us before those dark days arrive.”

She nodded.

“Then perhaps you might read me something less pointed?”

With a little laugh, her mood lifting, she asked, “Are you beginning to find Shakespeare more to your taste?”

“I’ve always enjoyed Shakespeare,” he clarified again. “But I do wish you would broaden your tastes a bit. I have some volumes I could recommend, more satirical in tone.”

“I’d like that,” she agreed, before turning her attention back to her book and selecting another sonnet. He pillowed his head on his elbow, closing his eyes to soak in the sweet sound of her voice, the song of birds, the smell of the damp grass, and the warm spring sun shining down upon them.

A loud sneeze pulled him from his near doze. “Bless you,” he said, reaching into his pocket for a clean handkerchief.

Eliza took it gratefully, sneezing again. “Excuse me.”

“You’re not getting sick, are you?” he asked, reaching over to touch the back of his hand to her forehead.

“It’s only hay fever,” she answered, wiping her nose.

“You’re sure?” he asked anxiously.

“I always get congested this time of year.”

“We should still get you back inside,” he decided, pushing himself up to his knees. “And I’d best be getting back to work.”

“Do you have to?” she sighed, sitting up reluctantly as well.

“We’re going to have little time together indeed if you get me hanged for desertion,” he teased.

She shook her head at him. He watched as she placed the daisy in her hands carefully into the middle pages of her book and pressed lightly. When she glanced up at him, she explained, “I’ll press it properly later. Then I can keep it forever.”

He felt touched that she’d wish to keep such a silly little memento.

Standing, he shook out the blankets and folded them back over his arm, Eliza carrying the now empty basket, and they set off for Doctor Cochran’s. As they strolled, he asked, “Did you make any more cherry tarts?”

Eliza patted at his stomach fondly with her free hand. “I didn’t think you could possibly fit more.”

He gave her a faux wounded look, then smiled. “I thought it might be nice to share some with Mac as a thank you for all his care while I was ill.” Considering a moment, he added honestly, “And I wouldn’t mind more myself.”

She laughed. “I’ll pack you some to bring back,” she promised.

Shortly thereafter, he set off for headquarters carrying a little box of cherry tarts, still smiling so widely his face felt sore. He could hardly believe he could be so fortunate as to spend the rest of his life with someone who made him so utterly, perfectly happy. After a lifetime of hardships, everything was going so well.

~*~

Of course, his optimistic thoughts had brought the curse of misfortune down around him. Eliza’s hay fever had turned out to be a virulent cold that kept her in bed for the next several days. Doctor Cochran had assured him it was not the same illness he’d suffered from the month before, but he still fretted constantly at the thought of Eliza being ill.

In addition, the supply problems were growing worse by the day and the news they received from the South did little to buoy anyone’s spirits. He felt constantly sick at the thought of anything happening to Laurens, stationed with the army at Charleston. Not to mention Washington’s temper had taken another turn, and he’d been shouted at roundly for failing to include in his report to the General a conversation regarding accounts that he’d had with the British officers in Amboy (although what difference it made to anything was quite beyond him).

“Colonel Hamilton,” a raspy voice called whilst he was writing another plea for supplies and ranting internally about the past several days. He turned and sprang from his seat when he saw General Schuyler standing in the doorway of the parlor.

“General,” he greeted, snapping off a salute. “Welcome back to Morristown. I hope your trip from Philadelphia was without incident.”

Schuyler nodded and smiled. “I’m here to meet with General Washington, but I wanted to deliver a message from my daughter. She says she’s feeling much recovered and wishes you to join us for dinner, if your schedule allows.”

“I’m relieved to hear that, sir. If you are agreeable, I’d be honored to join you for dinner,” he accepted. Indeed, he felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his chest at the news Eliza was feeling better.

“Quite agreeable, son,” Schuyler assured him.

After Schuyler had finished with Washington, Hamilton braved Washington’s office to request leave for the dinner, and was grateful when Washington informed him Schuyler had already made the request. It surely helped his cause that dining elsewhere meant he was eating less of their severely limited supplies. He finished up the report he was working on and set off for Doctor Cochran’s just before three.

When he was admitted inside, he found Eliza sitting up in an armchair in the parlor. She smiled at the sight of him, and he knelt down beside her to kiss her gently. “My poor darling,” he cooed sympathetically.

She sniffled and asked in a hoarse voice, “Do I really look that bad?”

“Not bad at all. You’re as lovely as an angel,” he rushed to assure her. Hesitating a moment, he added, “If that angel had a red nose and a slightly sickly complexion.”

She batted at him weakly.

He meant to assure her he was merely jesting, but was interrupted by something small charging into him. Looking down, he saw a young boy, perhaps two years old by his estimation and not yet breeched, staring up at him. “Hello,” he greeted. “What’s your name?”

The little boy continued to stare at him.

“Come now, if you’re brave enough to charge into me, surely you’re brave enough to tell me your name?”  

“Philip,” Eliza answered finally. “My nephew.”

Angelica’s son, Hamilton realized. So Mr. and Mrs. Carter must have returned with General Schuyler. “Hello, Philip.”

“Philip, can you tell Colonel Hamilton what today is?” Eliza asked.

The little boy smiled shyly. “My birthday,” he mumbled.

He grinned. “How wonderful. And how old are you?”

The child frowned, but Eliza encouraged him gently and, after adjusting the fingers of one hand with his other, he ultimately held up two fingers for Hamilton’s inspection.

“Two years old?” he asked.

Philip nodded.

“Wow. Well, a very happy birthday to you,” he wished.

The boy smiled again, and pointed to spot on the floor behind him. “I have blocks,” he announced proudly. Several wooden blocks had been stacked atop one another vaguely near where he was pointing.

“I love blocks,” he said. “May I play with you for a little while?”

Philip nodded enthusiastically. Hamilton pecked Eliza’s cheek, then crawled over to the pile of blocks, Philip trotting along beside him.

“This is a very nice tower,” he praised softly.

Philip examined the tower carefully, pushed it over violently with his little hand, and laughed riotously as the blocks tumbled to the floor.

“Down with the old, up with new,” he laughed. “What a little patriot you are.”

He raked the blocks together to start building again. Glancing back, he saw Eliza watching them from her chair with a soft smile. He winked as he placed one of the blocks atop another.

“Oh, Colonel, I’m sorry. His nurse is supposed to be watching him.”

He looked up to see Angelica standing in the doorway.

“She went to prepare Philip’s dinner,” Eliza interjected. “I said I’d watch him.”

“You’re sick,” Angelica shook her head.

“I had a cold. I’m hardly an invalid,” Eliza replied, rolling her eyes.

“I don’t mind,” he added, placing another block on top of Philip’s. “I love children.”

“Well, aren’t you a darling?” Angelica drawled with a smirk.

He shrugged and pasted on a facsimile of a bashful smile. “So I’ve been told.”

Angelica laughed.

A harried looking nurse bustled into the room a moment after, apologizing profusely. “I’m sorry, Missus. I didn’t think I’d be so long.”

“It’s fine,” Angelica dismissed. “Is his dinner ready?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the nurse confirmed.

“Take him down to eat, then. We’re about to go in ourselves.”

The nurse started to herd Philip out of the parlor. Hamilton waved good-bye, smiling when the boy tackled him with a hug. He did the same to Eliza, then finally his mother. Angelica stooped down, pressed a kiss to the little boy’s temple, and whispered, “My little birthday boy.”

Just as Philip disappeared down the hall, he heard a great belly laugh from the hallway which he presumed to be from General Schuyler receiving a hug from his grandson. The joyous sound from the man who had initially seemed so cold made him smile. He levied himself to his feet just as Schuyler poked his head in. “We’re sitting down to dinner,” Schuyler announced.

Eliza stood, the motion agitating her lungs and making her cough.

“Are you sure you’re well enough to have dinner?” he asked, stepping to her side and rubbing her back gently.

“I’m fine,” she managed.

He grinned. “Having a cough means you’re not fine,” he echoed Eliza’s earlier admonishment.

She sighed. “Perhaps not fine,” she granted. “But I think I’ll find the strength to sit at a table for an hour.”

He gave her his arm to escort her into the dining room. His mood had improved greatly since arriving, he realized. He’d recognized before that everything about his life seemed better when he had Eliza by his side, and he continued to be proven right. He looked down at Eliza, meeting her eye as she glanced back at him.

He leaned over to kiss her temple. “I love you,” he told her.

She looked surprised, but pleased. “Even when I have a red nose and a sickly complexion?”

“Especially then."

She gave him a sincere smile. “I love you, too.”

Chapter Text

May 1780

Great green leaves had sprouted on the treetops, leaving the little grove shaded and hidden from view. Hamilton retreated into the trees, stepping on the daisies lining the road without thought. He paced madly for a few minutes, until he tired and thumped to the ground with his back against a thick tree trunk. He drew his knees up to his chest, crossed his arms over his knees, and rested his forehead against them, taking deep, deliberate breaths.

An overwhelming anger had been boiling inside him for the past day, mixing with his already heightened anxiety for Laurens and Lafayette, leaving him tense and on edge. Just minutes ago he’d shouted at a young corporal with the bad luck of standing in his path on his way out of headquarters. He’s fairly certain he’d seen tears form in the boy’s eyes. He’d have to apologize when he got back, he decided with a sigh.

“Alexander?” Eliza’s voice called from some distance, back near the road.

He looked up from his knees to answer. “Over here.” Her footsteps came closer, following the path of crushed plant life to the tree where he’d plopped himself down. When she was in sight of him, she stopped, concern clear on her face.

“I received your note,” she told him.

Obviously, he stopped himself from snapping. He didn’t trust himself to say anything without unjustly losing his temper, so he nodded vaguely instead.

“I think if you had set your mind to it, you could have been a little more cryptic,” she teased gently.

He didn’t so much as crack a smile.

She sighed and came to sit beside him. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

His throat went tight as she placed one of her hands over his, the other resting lightly on his back. He nodded again. She rubbed his back gently.

“Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart,” she assured him.

They sat quietly in the peaceful, shady grove, little sun spots breaking through the leaves to dance on the green grass, and nothing but the chirrup of a bird overhead to break the silence. He tipped his head back down to his knees again, soaking in the quiet and the feeling of Eliza’s comforting hand on his back. After a few minutes, he felt ready to explain and started speaking into his knees.

“There’s this rumor,” he began. “They say I’m trying to rouse the people to oust Congress and insert General Washington as a dictator. That my ambition and my foreign birth mean I have no love of this country.”

Eliza’s hand froze on his back. He chanced a glance at her, and found her face pale and her jaw clenched.

He quickly said, “It’s not true.”

She shook her head at him, face crumpling slightly, “Oh, honey. Of course it’s not true.”

 He sighed, relieved that she hadn’t doubted him.

“Who would say that about you?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“When did this happen?”

“I found out about it initially some time ago,” he answered. Confusion wrinkled her brow, so he continued, “I received a letter from a Colonel Brooks who said he’d heard the story from Congressmen Dana, in a coffeehouse in Philadelphia. Mr. Dana heard it from Reverend Gordon. The good Reverend refused to disclose his source to me, despite great pressure. Things seemed to have calmed down for a while, but then, yesterday, General Washington forwarded me a letter from Mr. Gordon dated from back in March, where he informed the General about his concerns regarding my fitness for the post entrusted to me.”

 “General Washington couldn’t possibly believe the story,” she insisted.

“I pray he does not. I wrote him an answer immediately, strictly denying the accusations. That’s why I didn’t come for dinner yesterday. I’m sorry I didn’t write you to explain. I was just so upset.”  

She waved away the apology. “What did the General say after you explained?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“He hasn’t spoken to me since.”

Eliza’s jaw clenched again.

“And we still haven’t heard from Laurens. The news of the siege in Charleston grows more worrying by the day. And Lafayette should be back by now. If something’s happened to either of them…I just…everything is so….”

She hushed him and embraced him as much as she was able in his hunched position. “We’ll fix it,” she promised.

“How?” he asked, voice strangled.

“We could talk to Papa—”

“Please don’t,” he interjected desperately. “Please don’t tell anyone else. Especially not your father. It’s mortifying enough that General Washington is involved now. I couldn’t bear for anyone else to hear.”

“You told me.”

“You’re different.”

She smiled softly and kissed his temple.

“We’ll work it out,” she promised again, leaning her head against his shoulder. “You’ll speak with the General. I’m sure he’ll believe you over some moldy old rumor. Everything will be just fine. You’ll see.”

He nodded, still not sure how, but deciding to take comfort in her certainty. He uncurled so he could hold her more properly, squeezing her to him. Burying his face in her hair, he inhaled. “You smell like flowers.”

She laughed. “Are you sure that you’re not smelling the actual flowers around us?”

He nodded against her. “It’s you.”

“I took a bath this morning. I have rose soap. That must be what you’re smelling,” she told him, petting  a hand down his back.

“It’s good,” he told her.

“I’m glad you approve.” He ignored the sarcasm in her voice.

He held her for another quiet minute, then said, “Thank you for coming despite my cryptic message.”

“It’s a good thing you have distinctive handwriting. As a rule, when I get anonymous demands to meet in an isolated, wooded area, I disregard them, especially when the unknown person requests I tell no one where I’m going.”

He laughed for the first time since receiving Washington’s note yesterday. “That seems like good rule.”

“It’s worked well for me thus far,” she parried back.

He considered the note he had written her in a new light and frowned. “I really didn’t sign it?”

“You did not,” she confirmed flatly.

“And you still came? Did you at least tell someone where you were going?”

“Yes I did. Angelica knows to come looking for me if I’m not back in an hour.”

“Good girl.”

“I know how to take care of myself.” She bopped him twice on the shoulder playfully as if to demonstrate her point. He laughed again and felt himself relaxing, even though nothing had changed in the past minutes.

~*~

“Colonel Hamilton,” Washington’s deep voice came from the doorway to the parlor a few hours later. Hamilton turned around in his seat. “Come with me.”

With a fearful last glance at Mac, Meade and Tilghman, he rose to follow Washington. The General was silent as they mounted the stairs to his private office, and he ushered Hamilton into the room with nothing more than a glance. When Washington nodded to a chair, he sat obediently, his mind spinning with thoughts and his stomach flipping nervously.

Was Washington going to fire him? What career could he build if he’d been dishonorably discharged from service? And for treason, no less? Schuyler would surely revoke his permission for the wedding. Eliza might even reconsider her offer to elope with him. Who could love a man so disgraced? All this was assuming Washington didn’t simply have him hanged.

“I read your answer to my inquiry,” Washington began.

He nodded and began speaking rapidly. “Again, sir, I’m so sorry you’ve been involved in this. It’s utter nonsense, all of it. I hope you—”

Washington held up a hand. He fell silent.

“I must ask you, at any point did you make any statement that could be construed as that which has been reported to me?”

“No, sir,” he answered firmly. “I would never suggest such a treasonous, underhanded, unrepublican plot.”

“You can be quite forceful in your criticism of Congress,” Washington noted.

“I have worked and suffered, starved and spilled blood for this country. I would gladly sacrifice my life to see America free. To hear it implied to that I can hold no love for her due solely to an accident of birthplace is very painful for me. And though I believe Congress is full of incompetent fools who are leaving us to starve in service to nothing more than petty politics, I have never suggested they be violently removed from power.”

“I don’t believe you did, son. I’m certainly not questioning your merit or commitment to our cause. I’m just asking if someone might have misinterpreted a statement made after a long day, in a tavern….”

“No. I never said anything like that, sir. Never.”

Washington nodded once.

“How long has this whole affair been going on?”

“I heard it myself sometime last July, sir.”

“And you’ve kept it to yourself for the past ten months?”

He frowned. Was he still to be punished? Would others be drawn in to his punishment? That hardly seemed like his commander. Still, what choice did he have but to answer honestly? “No, sir.”

“Colonel Laurens, I assume, was privy to the information?”

He nodded. It was pointless to deny; Washington well knew that Laurens was privy to his every thought, whim, and ambition.

Washington sighed. “You two are peas in a pod,” he remarked. Hamilton felt the corner of his mouth twitch up at the comparison, but it fell immediately when Washington gave him a sharp look. “That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You haven’t set up any kind of affair of honor, have you?”

“Not officially, sir,” he answered quietly.

“Not at all, Colonel. Do you understand me? I’ll have none of that, especially from officer’s on my staff. Laurens’ little stunt was bad enough.”

“Yes, sir.”

Washington’s shoulders sagged and he shook his head. He looked tired, Hamilton noted. “Why didn’t you come to me?”

“Sir?”

“You must know I will do everything in my power to protect you. But I need to know what it is I am protecting you from. I need you to come to me when things like this happen.”

“I didn’t want to bother you, sir,” he answered. It had never occurred to him to go to Washington with this problem. In fact, he’d done everything he could think to keep it from his commander.

Washington scoffed. “It bothers me that this has been going on for nearly a year, and I knew nothing of it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Washington fixed him with a considering look. “We’ll take care of this, son. I won’t allow you to be slandered in any kind of public inquiry. But it would have been easier to contain the situation if you came to me when this first happened.”

“Yes, sir.” He cast his eyes down, feeling a curious combination of chastened and touched. With his eyes down, he noticed a letter on Washington’s desk addressed from South Carolina. His eyes shot back up to his commander. “Is that from Laurens?”

Washington sighed. “No. And it’s dated from so long ago as to be utterly useless now.”

Hamilton deflated again.

“I assure you, when I have word from either Laurens or Lafayette, you will be the first one I inform.” Washington patted his shoulder lightly before pacing over to his desk to sit.

“Thank you, sir.”

Washington nodded, turning his attention to the paperwork on his desk and waving a hand to the door. “You’re dismissed, Colonel.”

“Thank you, sir.”

With a proper salute, Hamilton saw himself out.

~*~

Three days later, Hamilton felt a hand land on his shoulder as he was finishing a letter to the Marquis de Barbé-Marbois about his scheme to wrangle newspapers from New York City. Turning in his seat, he found Washington standing behind him with moist eyes. His heart leaped into his throat as the letter in his commander’s hand was passed to him. As he scanned his eyes over the letter, however, his concern melted away, replaced with sheer joy as he looked up at Washington once more.

“Thank God,” he sighed.

“Amen,” Washington responded with a little smile.

“What is it?” Mac asked.

“Fayette’s on his way,” he reported. “He landed in Boston at the end of April. Apparently he has news that can only be reported to the General in person.”

He and Mac shared a smile over their friend’s predictable theatrics. “Do you think he brought back supplies?”

“Anything he brought back will be most welcome,” the General said seriously. The discussion of supplies seemed to serve as a reminder to Washington, because he asked Hamilton, “Are you still going down to Jockey Hollow with the committee today?”

“We’re meeting at General Schuyler’s office in about an hour,” Hamilton replied.

“Good,” Washington nodded.

“Any chance this committee’s going to actually do anything?” Mac asked mildly.

“I trust General Schuyler. I must confess I’m not particularly well acquainted with the other members. Mr. John Mathews of South Carolina and Mr. Nathaniel Peabody of New Hampshire?”

Mac shrugged at the names.

Washington was shaking his head as well. “Just try to keep the Baron in line while you’re there,” he recommended with a final pat to Hamilton’s shoulder. Hamilton snorted in response as the General exited the parlor.

He set off for General Schuyler’s an hour later, strolling down the road at a leisurely pace to enjoy the warm spring day. The work had been piling up at headquarters, so he hadn’t had the chance to visit Eliza in the past few days: not since the stolen hour in the little grove. He had hopes that this inspection tour would end quickly so that he might return with General Schuyler for an hour or two.

When he entered Schuyler’s office, the three committee members were already assembled. Schuyler rose from his seat and clasped his hand warmly in greeting. “Colonel Hamilton. I hope you’re feeling better?” Hamilton gave him a puzzled expression, prompting Schuyler to continue, with one raised bushy eyebrow, “Eliza said you wrote to tell her you missed dinner with us the other night because you were feeling unwell?”

“Oh, yes,” he confirmed, catching on to the story Eliza must have told to excuse his absence. “Yes, I’m much better now. I apologize for not sending word that I’d be unable to attend.”

“It was no matter. I’m just glad you’re well,” Schuyler smiled, clapping his shoulder lightly. “May I introduce you to Mr. Mathews, the representative from South Carolina?”

Mathews bowed to him respectfully. “A pleasure, Colonel. Colonel Laurens has spoken very highly of you, sir.”

“You’re acquainted with Colonel Laurens?”

“Very well acquainted,” Mathews smiled.

“I don’t suppose you’ve had any word recently from Charleston regarding him?” he asked hopefully.  

“Unfortunately, I have not. If I do hear anything, I shall forward it to your attention. And of course, any word of our army will be immediately reported to General Washington.”

“Thank you, sir,” Hamilton nodded.

Schuyler gestured towards the other gentleman in the room. “And Mr. Peabody, the representative from New Hampshire.”

“Colonel Hamilton,” Peabody said coolly, giving him a stiff nod.

Hamilton bowed in return. Was it just the famous New England hospitality at work in the gentleman, or had Dana been spreading the rumor to his New England brethren? The story was utter rubbish at any rate. He’d just have to try to win the man to his side. “A pleasure, sir.”

“The coach is waiting to take us over. Will the men be drilling at this time of morning?”

“Those who are well enough,” he confirmed. “The others will be in their quarters, or the hospital.”

“We should inspect both those areas in addition to watching the drill,” Mathews commented as they began to make their way outside.

“If you wish, sir. I’d be happy to show you around anywhere you’d like to see,” Hamilton assured him. Mathews nodded agreeably.

The fastest road to Jockey Hollow, Henry Wick’s sprawling estate where the men had constructed their winter quarters, was designed more for horse travel than carriage travel, making the journey rather a rough one. Though it was a short trip, both Mathews and Peabody stepped out of the carriage looking ruffled. When they had satisfactorily adjusted their fine suits, Hamilton followed the sound of drums to lead them over to where the men were drilling. 

Steuben paced at the front of the drill as they approached, swearing colorfully in his signature mix of German, French, and English. Hamilton could sense shock at the sight before them in the two Congressmen; from General Schuyler, who was by far the most experienced military man in the group, he sensed a more resigned sadness. The men were all painfully thin and wearing little better than rags. They drilled with armaments, but less than half had bayonets to affix to their guns. Shabby and bedraggled, these were the premier men of their army. As it stood, nearly three thousand of their eight thousand men were unfit for duty, either from illness or simply from lack of clothing and shoes. Even were they at full strength, they were sorely lacking in numbers, as many of their recruits has simply gone home at the end of the year with their enlistment period was up.

“Ah, mein Alex.” Steuben grinned as he came over, wrapping him in a great bear hug. Hamilton patted the man’s back affectionately. “Wie bist du? Êtes-vous bien? You are noch sehr…thin.”

“I’m well, Baron,” he assured the man. Though he had not yet returned to his pre-fever weight, despite Eliza and the General’s best efforts, he was a right sight better than the men training before him. He leaned in, ostensibly to give the Baron a kiss on the cheek, and whispered, “Be good.”

As he leaned back, the Baron gave him a wink in return.

In full voice, he continued, “Might I introduce General Schuyler, Mr. Mathews, and Mr. Peabody? They are here from Congress on an inspection.”

Steuben nodded to General Schuyler, but frowned deeply at the men behind him.

“An inspection?” he repeated skeptically. “What is there to inspect? An army requires food, weapons, boots. We have none of these things. Send them, and then you can inspect.”

Neither of the Congressmen seemed to have a response, but it would have been cut off at any rate as Steuben glanced to the side to see many of the men had stopped drilling when he’d turned away. “Encore! Again! Schnell, you Schweinehunde!”

Hamilton supposed it would be politic to apologize on the Baron’s behalf for his blunt remarks, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do so. Nothing he’d said had been untrue, after all. Their troops were in a rough condition, and without Congress’s assistance, they would be incapable of fighting in the coming months.

So instead, he smiled at the Congressmen and inquired, “Is there anything else you gentlemen would care to see? The men are quartered up that way, and the hospital is just over the hill to your left.”

“Perhaps the men’s quarters, first,” Peabody suggested, eyes still scanning over the ragged troops.

“After you, gentlemen,” he invited. The group began to walk towards the crudely constructed wooden cabins, but he paused behind Steuben and kissed his cheek again.

“Was that not good?” Steuben inquired mischievously, craning his neck around to look at him.

He shrugged. “I’ll take care of it,” he promised.

Steuben chuckled, then asked seriously, “Did you see my request for bayonets?”

“I’m working on it.”

Steuben nodded, then shouted, “Faster! Buffoons!”

For the rest of the morning and into the early afternoon, the group toured around Henry Wick’s vast estate witnessing the terrible conditions the men had been forced to endure for months: hardly any food, not enough blankets, not enough clothing. Many men were barefoot, or wearing boots that had more holes than material left. They heard the stories of men eating their beloved pets to avoid starvation, or cooking a worn out shoe on the fire just to have something to put in their bellies. Nearly everyone was, or had been, ill. The hospital had run out of space, leaving many men coughing and miserable in their cots with no one to assist them during the day when their fellow soldiers were at their tasks.

“We must do better,” Peabody said solemnly as they rode back into town.

The comment was met on all sides by nods of agreement.

The two Congressmen parted from them at headquarters, setting off with sober, determined airs. Hamilton could only pray that the experience would stay with them enough to spur them to real action. Better supplies and more men were their only hope of surviving the summer.

“Well, my boy,” Schuyler began when they were alone, “Must you hurry back immediately, or might you come over for some brandy and conversation?”

“I’d be happy to join you, General,” he agreed.

They began the walk to Doctor Cochran’s, falling easily into step with each other.

“Eliza’s missed you,” Schuyler remarked. “I suppose things at headquarters are becoming more hectic as the start of the summer campaign approaches.”

He nodded. “I’ve missed her as well. We have been busy, though. We’re still waiting on word from the South, and wondering what aid the French are going to offer. Meanwhile, we must prepare for the worst. We really are grateful for your hard work in trying to get us adequate supplies.”

“I’m happy to do what I can,” Schuyler said. “You did very well today; you were polite, reasonable, and impactful. I believe you left quite a favorable impression on my colleagues.”

“The men did most of the work,” he replied.

“You knew who to speak with, and how to put their experiences into greater context. You did very well, indeed,” Schuyler insisted. A note of pride had entered his tone, making Hamilton’s cheeks flush slightly.

Eliza was outside tending to a little flower box near the window. She turned as they came closer and smiled brightly at the sight of him. “Hamilton,” she called, hurrying over to greet him. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

He embraced her warmly. “I have some free time before I need to get back to headquarters. Your father graciously invited me for brandy.”

“I knew you wouldn’t forgive me if I let him slip away,” Schuyler said, smiling at them.

“And are you…all right?” Eliza asked vaguely, glancing quickly at her father.

“Feeling much recovered,” he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek. He gave her a little nod as well, hoping she’d catch the double meaning. She nodded back and smiled again.

Mrs. Cochran fussed over him as soon as he stepped inside. “You’re making me prematurely old with worry,” she scolded. “Getting ill again, when you’re still skin and bones from the last time.”

“I’m quite well now,” he assured her.

“Well, come inside and sit down,” she insisted, beckoning him into the parlor.

“I’ll pour us the brandy,” Schuyler offered, heading, Hamilton presumed, for the office.

“I’ll get you something to eat,” Mrs. Cochran added, bustling out of the room before he had a chance to refuse.

Eliza laughed as she sat beside him on the sofa.

“Is everything all right now?” she asked, bumping shoulders with him gently.

“Things seem under control. General Washington was very understanding and supportive.”

“I told you everything would work out,” she said, smiling.

He nodded. “So you did. Thank you for making an excuse for me to your family, by the way.”

She pecked him on the lips in response.

“What have you been up to the past few days?” he inquired.

“My sewing circle has fully taken up mending clothes now that the cold weather has passed. That’s kept me quite busy. Otherwise just gardening, playing with Philip, missing you.”

He grinned at the last item.

“I opened my best bottle,” General Schuyler announced, coming back in holding two brandy glasses with two fingers of liquor in each.

“Thank you, sir,” he said sincerely, taking the glass.

Schuyler settled in one of the arm chairs and they both took a slow sip of the brandy. It was an excellent quality, smooth and flavorful. He held the sip in his mouth for an extra moment, savoring the taste.

“Have you given much thought to what career you will pursue when the war is over?” Schuyler asked conversationally just as he swallowed. “Given your performance today, I dare say a career in politics might suit very well.”

He blinked in surprise. “Thank you, sir,” he repeated. “I must admit I haven’t fully settled on a career. I studied anatomy a little in college with the thought of going into medicine, but lately my interests have pointed me more towards the law.”

“Both very respectable professions,” Schuyler nodded with approval. “And, of course, a career in law would be very useful for any future leadership positions in our new republic.”

Mrs. Cochran bustled back in with a tea tray of assorted treats before he could answer. “Oh, Philip, don’t bother the poor boy with planning out his whole life. He’s enough on his plate as it is,” she tutted. “Help yourself, dear. I insist. We must put some weight back on you.”

He smiled and reached for a biscuit.

“Has Eliza told you about the mending group she’s organized?” Mrs. Cochran asked.

“She has,” he replied, smiling down at Eliza. “Though I can hardly claim surprise. I’m quite aware already that she’s an angel in disguise, and a poor disguise at that.”

Eliza blushed beautifully and rolled her eyes. “Flatterer,” she said. “I’m just doing my part to help.”

“You do a great deal more than that,” he insisted. “I wish everyone in this country were as patriotically and charitably inclined.” If people in the surrounding countryside donated food, supplies, or their time even a fraction as much as Eliza and her family, their army wouldn’t be ragged, starving, and dependent on Congress to save them. That their soldiers were starving in the fertile American countryside was a source of great pain to them all.

“How did your tour go?” she asked, turning her attention to her father.

Schuyler nodded thoughtfully. “I believe it went very well. I have great hopes that Congress might be convinced to do a bit more to aid our troops.”

“With the assistance of Congress, and whatever aid the Marquis de Lafayette has obtained, we may be able to mount a successful campaign this summer after all,” he added.

“Is the Marquis returning?” Schuyler asked.

“We received word this morning. He landed in Boston on the 27^th of April, and expects to arrive in Morristown shortly. He said he bears news for the General, but refused to reveal his prizes until he arrives.”

Eliza squeezed his hand beside him, looking overjoyed on his behalf. He leaned over to kiss her temple. When he looked back, Schuyler and Mrs. Cochran were both smiling at them.

The time with Eliza and her family flew by, and shortly he was forced to head back to the Ford Mansion. “I’ll call again as soon as I can,” he promised Eliza as he left. She nodded her understanding, but a hint of melancholy remained in her eyes even after he’d given her a soft kiss.

As soon as he set foot in the parlor back at headquarters, Tilghman’s head popped up from his correspondence. “He wants to see you.”

Hamilton sighed and mounted the stairs to Washington’s office. He knocked once on the open door, and the General beckoned him inside. “Report, Colonel,” he demanded.

He recounted the trip through Jockey Hollow for Washington, dancing delicately over Steuben’s blunt remarks. “The Congressmen seemed quite moved by the soldiers’ plight. I can only hope that will translate into true determination to secure more food and supplies.”

Washington nodded, seeming pleased by the news, though he fixed Hamilton with a stare a moment after. “I had a report before you returned that Steuben made his usual impression.”

Hamilton did his best to twist his features into an expression of innocent confusion. “What do you mean, sir?”

“What did he say, Colonel,” Washington pressed.

“I don’t speak German, sir,” Hamilton replied.

“Was he speaking German?”

“When, sir?”

Washington gave him an exasperated sigh that turned into a closed-mouth chuckle. “You’re exhausting,” he said.

Hamilton grinned at him. “I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

“Go on with you. There’s a stack of correspondence waiting,” Washington dismissed him. Hamilton saluted and stepped out, sauntering back down the stairs with a smile still fixed on his face.

Chapter Text

May 1780

A cacophony of voices emanated from the dining room as Hamilton reached the landing of the stairs, adjusting his uniform jacket over the fresh shirt he’d just donned. The day had been unseasonably warm and humid for early May, leaving him sweating and uncomfortable after running around helping to prepare for the dinner in Lafayette’s honor. Washington had used his own funds to purchase the meat and flour for the occasion, or so Tilghman had confided to him this morning.

Nearly everyone of consequence in town had been invited, including: the Baron; General Knox and his wife, Lucy; General Greene and his wife, Catharine; the Lotts; the Schuylers; the Cochrans; the newly arrived congressmen; and on and on. (He and Cornelia had exchanged tentative smiles when he’d come in to change, before Abraham Lott had given him a look so withering he’d wished he could sink into the floorboards to escape. He’d taken his time washing up after that.) He listened for a moment at the bottom of the stairs, straining to hear a heavy French accent mingled in with the rest of the many voices. A messenger had arrived earlier announcing Lafayette expected to arrive today, but he’d not yet seen his friend.

He went to take a step towards the dining room when someone gripped his shoulders from behind and tugged him backwards into the nook under the stairs. Spinning around, he grinned. Eliza smirked at him, elegantly dressed in one of her finest gowns with her hair powdered and piled high in the French fashion.

Before he could utter a word in greeting, she pulled him close and pressed a long, lingering kiss to his lips. He kissed her back enthusiastically, catching her around the waist, his fingers slipping eagerly over the silky material of her dress. She pressed forward against him, forcing him to step back. His back hit the wall.

When they finally broke apart for air, he grinned down at her. “Miss me?”

She nodded. “My whole family is here. I wanted to steal a moment alone with you while I had the chance. What took you so long to come down?”

“I needed to wash up and change,” he explained. “I’ve been outside almost all day.”

She leaned in to embrace him and nuzzled against his neck. “Mm,” she sighed, in a heavily exaggerated tone, “You smell so good.”

He let out a breathy laugh. “I know when I’m being mocked.” He’d known from the sarcasm in her tone back in the little grove days ago that he would pay for his remark about her rose scented soap.

She wore a mischievous smirk as she looked up at from under her long eyelashes. “Maybe I just like the way you smell. Not as nice as flowers, of course, but…”

“I smell like army soap and sweat,” he said flatly. He reached out a finger to tap her on her sweet little button nose.

She laughed, stretching up to kiss him again. He stayed leaning back against the wall, kissing her lazily for a few minutes more, before he inquired, “Had the Marquis arrived before you slipped out of the dining room?”

She shook her head.

He frowned, wondering what was keeping Fayette, when he heard the front door open and his friend’s distinctive voice carried through headquarters. “At last, I have arrived!”

He laughed at the theatrical announcement and took Eliza’s hand, stepping out from their hiding place to greet the Marquis. Washington was embracing his dear friend when they stepped into the foyer. Hamilton fancied the General’s eyes were a bit moist as Lafayette kissed his cheeks.

Lafayette’s eyes roamed over the collected group and landed on him. “My dearest Hamilton, how I have missed you!” the Frenchman declared as he folded him into an uncomfortably tight embrace. He returned the hug, squeezing back equally tight. When they released each other, Lafayette looked him over and frowned. “Have you been well?”

“I am now,” he assured. Lafayette’s frown deepened at the answer. Wanting to change the subject to something more uplifting than the horrible conditions and shaky health of everyone in their army, he added, “I hear you’re a proud Papa once more.”

Lafayette’s whole face brightened. “Oui, yes, I have a son. The most beautiful baby boy in the world. Georges Washington Louis Gilbert de Lafayette.”

Hamilton glanced to the side as blessings and congratulations poured forth from the surrounding crowd and saw Washington’s eyes glittering with pride. Several more hugs and greetings followed. Once the rest of the family had been reunited, Hamilton beckoned Eliza over.

“Fayette, I want you to meet Miss Elizabeth Schuyler,” he introduced.

Lafayette bowed low, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “A pleasure, mademoiselle.”

He leaned in to his friend to whisper, “We’re getting married.”

Lafayette jaw slackened slightly. “You?” he asked. “To Miss Schuyler?”

“Yes. You don’t have to sound so shocked,” he replied, slightly affronted.

Lafayette laughed. “Oh, but that is wonderful. And my apologies, Miss Schuyler. That was no way to greet my future sister,” he said, scooping Eliza into the same rib-crushing hug he’d given Hamilton. Perhaps he should have warned her about his friend’s ebullient personality, he considered. Eliza released a little breath of surprise, but seemed to give in easily to the abrupt intimacy, patting Lafayette’s back fondly.

“My sincerest congratulations to you both,” Lafayette wished as he eased his hold.

“Thank you,” she replied. She looked over at Hamilton with a soft smile. “I love him very much.” Lafayette’s eyes brightened at the declaration and he pulled his arms around both Eliza and Hamilton this time.

Once Lafayette turned to greet the Baron, Hamilton leaned close to Eliza, his arm looped around her waist. “That went well.”

“He’s very…friendly,” Eliza said diplomatically, smiling up at him.

“Your sister did the same thing to me,” he reminded her.

She nodded in agreement. “I just didn’t realize you two were so close.”

“It’s not hard to be close with Lafayette,” he remarked. “As you just witnessed.”

She chuckled.

“We met not long after he first arrived in America,” he went on to explain. “He didn’t speak very much English, and most of the men didn’t speak very much French. We started spending time together, as I was fluent in French and could act as translator. We bonded quickly.”

Eliza nodded, then glanced to the side and broke down in a fit of giggles. Lafayette was embracing General Schuyler, now, and kissing him on both cheeks. General Schuyler looked taken aback by the warm, enthusiastic greeting, but he seemed to be taking it in stride. Mr. and Mrs. Cochran, Angelica, John Carter, and Peggy were all treated to similar welcomes.

“Should we all go in for dinner?” Mrs. Washington suggested at last.

A murmur of agreement ran through the assembled group as they moved en masse towards the dining room. Lafayette escorted Mrs. Washington in on his arm, Hamilton noticed. Hamilton pulled out the chair for Eliza, then settled in to his own seat a ways down the table.

He nodded to a servant who poured his wine. When everyone’s glass had been filled, General Washington rose from his seat. The loud scraping of chairs echoed through the room as everyone followed the General’s example.

“To our dear Marquis, returned to us safely from France, and to the firm friendship between our two nations.”

They all raised their glasses.

“To freedom,” Hamilton added, meeting eyes with his friend.

“To freedom,” Lafayette echoed, a general murmur following as they all resumed their seats.

Hamilton laid his napkin across his lap and took a sip of his wine.

“You must tell us all the news from Paris,” Mrs. Washington demanded of Lafayette from the far end of the table as the servants came around with the first course.

Lafayette agreed easily, happily describing his beloved city, his home, and his time at Versailles with King Louis XVI to a captive audience. By the time the second course arrived, smaller conversations broke out along the table, and the conversation nearer to Washington and Lafayette began to shift back to America and the war effort. General Schuyler spoke about the troubling inflation the Continental currency was undergoing, and the difficulty Congress had raising funds from the States to support their army.

“How have the men fared this winter?” Lafayette asked curiously.

“We’re short on supplies, and the troops have suffered much from illness,” Washington sighed.

“You’ve only to look at the young man across from you,” Doctor Cochran added, nodding towards Hamilton. “He lost more than a stone during his fever, and he’s yet to gain it back.”

Lafayette’s eyes lingered on him, appraising and concerned.

Hamilton frowned at being singled out as an example of the men’s suffering. Not only was he quite recovered, but he’d been benefiting from a great deal of effort to fatten him up over the past weeks. He couldn’t name a single man in camp who’d been given the same treatment.

“No food, no clothing, no arms. How are we meant to fight a war?” Von Steuben interjected, voice rising in passion.

Hamilton chanced a glance at the two congressmen. Both men had their eyes trained on their meals, as though concerned they would be singled out in Baron’s gathering tirade. Von Steuben abandoned English after less than  a minute, switching into some combination of Prussian and French.

Lafayette’s eyes flickered over to meet Hamilton’s, and the two shared an amused look. Though the substance of Von Steuben’s statements was heart rending, nothing quite compared to a good Von Steuben rant. Hamilton, Lafayette, and Laurens used to listen to his outbursts gleefully back at Valley Forge, comparing notes on new profanities they’d learned. Lafayette proceeded to goad Von Steuben on in French, looking delighted with his success.

Washington leaned past Tilghman to whisper to Hamilton, “What is he saying?”

Hamilton listened another moment, smirked, and whispered back, “I wouldn’t like to dirty my mouth with the translation, sir.”

 “My dear Baron,” Washington broke in finally, “Perhaps we could continue this conversation a little more calmly?”

Von Steuben deflated some under Washington’s glare. “Oui, mon Général.”

“And in English, preferably,” Washington added with a sigh.

“Yes, sir,” Lafayette agreed, paying the General a sunny smile. His face grew more serious as he inquired softly, “Have you had news from the Southward?”

Washington shook his head slowly.

Lafayette’s eyes met Hamilton’s again. “Laurens?”

Hamilton shrugged slightly.

Fear passed over Lafayette’s face, but he seemed to fight it down as he remarked lightly, “I am surprised, then, that you have not tied Hammy down to his chair to keep him from running to Charleston.”

Washington gave Lafayette a small smile. “Thankfully, our dear Miss Schuyler has made than unnecessary.”

Hamilton felt his face grow hot as his commander and his friend looked at him. A peculiar feeling of guilt began to gnaw at him as the words sunk in. It was true, he realized. He never would have stopped demanding to be sent to Charleston this spring, to find Laurens and fight by his side, had he not had a reason to stay in Morristown.

“Are you all right?” Tilghman whispered sometime later.  

He gave Tilghman a weak smile. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You just refused sweetmeats,” Tilghman noted, nodding to the tray of treats he’d just declined.

“I’m fine,” he assured him.

“Things were at a standstill in Charleston last we heard,” Tilghman reminded him gently.

“I know,” he replied.

“Good.” Tilghman slid a small chocolate cake onto his plate. “Then eat, and be merry. Your silent fretting aids no one.”

“More wine, sir?” A servant inquired behind him.

Tilghman raised his brows encouragingly.

“Yes, please,” he accepted.

Tilghman looked on as he took a healthy bite of the chocolate cake, and nodded approvingly as he took a sip from his refilled glass. “Good lad.”

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Colonel?” he asked, forcing his good humor to return by raising the pitch of his voice slightly to give it a coquettish sound.

Tilghman let out a snort of laughter. “Yes, that’s it exactly. All these years, I’ve just been trying to get you under the surface, Hammy.”

“I knew it,” he declared, sipping at his wine again.

Tilghman gave him a firm pat on the back in response.

The party soon began to filter out into one of the parlors not overflowing with wartime correspondence. He could hear violins tuning up in the room nearby. He stood to follow Eliza when she rose from the table, but General Washington caught his attention before he could step out.

“I’d like to hear General Lafayette’s news,” Washington said. “If you would be so good as to accompany us to my office General Knox, General Greene, Colonel Tilghman and Colonel Hamilton?”

“Yes, sir,” they all assented.

He shot Eliza an apologetic glance, then caught General Schuyler’s eye as they group exited the dining room. He smiled, and Schuyler returned the gesture, a definite note of pride on his face. He felt a pleasing sort of fluttering in his stomach when he realized the expression was directed at him.

They all assembled in Washington’s office and listened eagerly as Lafayette reported the fruits of his journey. Warships loaded with supplies, arms, and soldiers, some six thousand in number, were on their way to America as they spoke, with Comte de Rochambeau at their head. The General’s eyes were wide as Lafayette reported the news. He met Washington’s eyes and felt sure he knew what the General was thinking.

New York.

That was enough men to take back New York. He’d dreamed of marching back to the city to unseat the British almost from the moment the army had begun its final retreat. He knew the General felt the same way. They all did. Taking back that city was a point of pride for them all.

“That is welcome news, indeed, my boy,” Washington stated when Lafayette had finished his report. “I want revised attack plans to present to the comte when he arrives. Hamilton, work with Lafayette on how we will greet the French when they land. And perhaps you two could give some thought to a plan for an attack on New York while you work.”

“Yes, sir,” they both agreed. Lafayette grinned at him.

“Very well. You’re all dismissed.”

He filed out first, eager to get back downstairs. A bouncy tune echoed through from the parlor as he took the stairs two at a time. Eliza’s face glowed in the brightly lit parlor when he entered. She was dancing with Meade, her dress spinning out as she turned in step with the other ladies. When she turned back to face her partner, her eyes locked with Hamilton’s. He waved, and his heart fluttered in his chest when she smiled at him.

Lafayette was staring at him when he looked back.

“What?” he asked quietly.

His friend shook his head. “You are…” he hesitated, searching for a word, “Lovesick, non? Your smile has gone silly and sideways.”

“Hush,” he retorted with a soft laugh.

 Lafayette laughed as well. “It is wonderful that you are so much in love,” he insisted. “You seem very happy.”

“I am,” he agreed.

“What did Laurens say? He must be very happy for you, also.”

He frowned, anxiety and concern imposing on his lightened mood once more. “I haven’t told him yet.”

Lafayette’s eyes widened. “Why not?”

“I—”

A hand landed on his sleeve. He turned to see Eliza standing beside him. “Am I interrupting?”

He forced a smile. “Of course not,” he assured her. “The Marquis was simply offering his congratulations again.”

Lafayette gave him a significant look, then brightened as he turned to Eliza. “Might I have the honor of a dance, Miss Schuyler?”

Eliza glanced at over at him.

“But I haven’t had a dance with her yet,” Hamilton interjected.

Lafayette waved him away. “You have your whole life to dance with her.”

Eliza laughed and took Lafayette’s outstretched hand. Patting Hamilton’s arm once with her free hand, she promised, “I’ll dance with you next.”

He cast his eye around the room, and noticed Angelica standing by the far wall with a glass of wine in her hand, watching the dancers assembling on the floor. Making his way around the room, he stopped beside her and inquired, “Would you care for a dance, Mrs. Carter?”

“Have you lost your fiancée?” Angelica asked with a teasing smile.

“Have you lost your husband?” he parried back.

Angelica’s eye landed on John Carter, huddled in a corner with some of the higher ranking officers. “John doesn’t care much for dancing,” she explained.

He followed her gaze, trying to puzzle out her relationship with her husband. She didn’t seem troubled by his disinterest in dancing, but it seemed odd to him that someone as bright and cheerful as Angelica should be married to someone so focused on business. He supposed there must passion in their relationship; they had run off to marry despite her father’s disapproval, after all. Avoiding the question altogether, he simply held out a hand.

She took it, placing her wine down on a side table.

The dance was fast, and didn’t allow for much conversation. When it ended, he glanced hopefully towards Eliza only to see General Greene asking her for a dance. He sighed.

“Would I suit as a partner for the next dance?” Angelica asked, her eyes landing on Eliza as well. She glanced back at him wearing a fond expression.

“You suit very well for as many dances as you request, ma’am,” he assured her. They remained in place waiting for the music to begin again. “How is little Philip?”

“My darling little trouble maker?” she asked. He laughed at the description. “He’s well.”

“You have enough supplies to keep him healthy?” he pressed. He’d hate for the shortages in town to start effecting the little boy.

“He’s round cheeked and full of life,” she assured him, just as the music started.

Tilghman intervened before he could claim Eliza for the next dance. Peggy requested him as a partner, changing places with Angelica who returned to her wine. He glanced over at Eliza’s elder sister during the dance to see she was speaking with Lafayette and Von Steuben, both of whom looked positively beguiled.

Before the next dance, he found his path to Eliza blocked by none other than General Washington. He felt a hand on his arm again and looked over to see Mrs. Washington standing beside him. She leaned in close to whisper, “I told him you were clearly waiting for a dance with your sweetheart. That seemed only to spur him into asking her.”

He chuckled. “In that case, you must dance with me, Lady Washington.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, dear. I’m much too old for dancing,” she demurred.

“I insist, ma’am. Your husband’s stolen my sweetheart. Turnabout is fair play.” He raised his voice slightly at the end, gratified to see General Washington look over with a slight smile. Mrs. Washington looked hesitant still, so he held out a hand and widened his eyes. “Please?”

She gave him an exasperated sigh and relented, taking his hand. Far from too old, Mrs. Washington proved an adept dancer, more than keeping pace with him. When the dance ended, he felt slightly out of breath, but Mrs. Washington looked only exhilarated. Once the music stopped, he bowed respectfully to Mrs. Washington before sliding through the crowd to stand directly in front of Eliza. He held out his hand.

“I think I’d like sit out this next dance,” Eliza stated.

His face fell, prompting Eliza to burst into a fit of giggles.

She leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m just feeling a bit warm. Will you take me for a walk?”

“Yes, of course,” he agreed with a put upon sigh, escorting her out of the crowded room.

When they stepped outside, the air had cooled slightly from warm afternoon, and the bright blue sky was starting to turn purple with dusk. Cricket song quickly over took the violins from inside as they set off for the gardens. Eliza settled onto a bench just inside the garden and tugged him down to sit beside her.

“Are you feeling cooler, my darling?” he asked.

She rested her head on his shoulder. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Anything.”

“I wasn’t really feeling warm,” she admitted. She looked up at him, her dark eyes sparkling. “I just wanted you alone.”

He tipped his face closer to hers. His voice went slightly hoarse as he asked, “For any particular reason?”

She smirked, leaned over, and kissed him again. Her arms wrapped around his torso, hugging him close to her. He placed his hands on her waist, one slipping down low on her back to glide along the silky material gathered over her bustle.

“Mm,” she sighed as she pulled away after several long moments. Her hands glided over his back soothingly. “I think I could happily spend the rest of my life doing nothing but kissing you.”

Not bothering to voice his agreement, he leaned in to kiss her again.

“I did want to dance with you, though,” he complained lightly when they’d pulled apart again.

“I’m sorry.” With her pupils blown wide and lips slightly swollen, she hardly looked it.

He stood abruptly, pulling her to her feet as well.

“Alexander!” she gasped. “What are you doing?”

“Dancing with you,” he said simply.

She looked around the garden. “There’s no music.”

He jutted out his lip just a bit. “Dance with me?”

She laughed, but nodded. “Always, my love. Where ever and whenever you like.”

He began the steps to a slow dance he loved, Eliza following easily. Watching Eliza spin in his arms in the blooming garden under a purple sky was, perhaps, the most beautiful sight he’d ever witnessed. When the dance ended, Eliza kissed him deeply once more and settled into his embrace, still swaying slightly with him.

Soft clapping caused both of them to jump apart. Lafayette was standing a few feet away, grinning at them, with a small bag clutched in his elbow so that he could applaud. “I see you have continued the dance outside. A much more romantic setting, I must admit.”

“The parlor was a little warm,” Eliza said quickly.

 “Oui, very warm,” Lafayette inclined his head in agreement. “I believe your father was looking for you, though, Miss Schuyler. He was readying to leave when I stepped out.”

Eliza sighed as she turned back to him. “Will I see you soon?”

“Tomorrow, if I can,” he promised.

Before he could begin to escort her back inside, Lafayette added, “There was a small matter with which I would like your assistance, Colonel, if you would be so good?”

He sighed this time, and Eliza pecked him on the cheek as she let go of his hand.

“I hope to see you again, soon, Miss Schuyler,” Lafayette wished as she approached. They exchanged kisses on the cheek before she passed. Hamilton smiled at the fast and easy affection between the two.

“What did you need my help with?” Hamilton asked, once Eliza’s silhouette had disappeared back inside.

Lafayette held up a little bag in his hand, tugged open the drawstrings, and pulled out a bottle of amber liquid. “Cognac,” he said. “I purchased it in France to share with you.”

Hamilton grinned. “That is a matter with which I am very happy to assist.”

He trailed Lafayette out of the garden to a secluded grassy area, where the Frenchman plopped down unceremoniously. He lowered himself down beside his friend while Lafayette worked the cork out of the bottle. Looking at the flat bag beside the bottle, he asked, “Did you bring glasses?”

“You’ve grown so cultured,” Lafayette laughed.

Freeing the cork from the bottle at last, he took a long sip and passed it over. He copied his friends actions, settling back contently onto the grass when he’d finished his sip. The sky had turned from purple to dark blue, and the first stars were just beginning to appear.

“You do not write enough when I am gone,” Lafayette scolded mildly beside him.

“I wrote you,” he argued, smiling up at the sky.

“Not enough,” Lafayette insisted. “I worried you had forgotten me.”

“My dear Monsieur, no one could easily forget you,” he assured him.

Lafayette huffed. “I did not even know that you had been ill.”

“It was just a fever. Mac took very good care of me, and I was better before a letter possibly could have reached you in France,” he assured.

Lafayette gave a displeased sounding grunt.

“Adrienne was well when you left? And the children?” he inquired lightly, eager to change the subject.

“Oui. All happy and healthy,” Lafayette confirmed.

“You must be happy to have a son,” he speculated.

“I am happy to have all my little angels,” Lafayette replied.

He heard Lafayette shift in the grass beside him and looked over. Lafayette had propped himself up on his elbow to look at him. “Miss Schuyler is very kind, and very beautiful. I like her very much.”

“I’m glad,” he replied. “I like her very much, too.”

Lafayette chuckled. “So I have seen.” His friend sobered as he continued, “So why have you not told John about your engagement?”

He stayed quiet a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. “Fayette, I haven’t had word from Laurens in months.”

“It is likely difficult to get word out of Charleston.”

“I don’t even know if he’s still alive,” he admitted, throat tight as he forced out the words. “I’m so happy with Eliza. I wish I could have told Laurens the moment I proposed. I wish I could have told him about her the moment I met her.”

Lafayette nodded, waiting patiently.

“He’s fighting for his life in South Carolina. How can I tell him about my romance, when he could be suffering, injured….” He trailed off.

“Laurens would be happy to know you were in love,” Lafayette said softly, “No matter what hardships he is enduring.”

He took a breath. “If something has happened, if he’s…I…I don’t want to live my life knowing that letter was the one he never read.”

Lafayette sighed, but didn’t bother trying to give him an empty assurance that Laurens was all right. They both knew their friend well enough to know that Laurens would position himself in the most dangerous position possible. They lapsed into silence for a stretch, drinking steadily as the sky slowly turned to black.

“Lafayette! Ham!” Mac’s Irish lilt carried down to them.

“Do you mind sharing?” Hamilton asked.

“Do you?” Lafayette asked.

“We’re going to be very sick in the morning if we finish the whole bottle ourselves,” he pointed out practically.

“True. I suppose we should share, then,” Lafayette replied.

Hamilton raised his voice, “We’re over here!”

He heard footsteps in the dark as Mac, Meade and Tilghman approached.

“What are you two doing?” Tilghman asked, squinting down at them in the moonlight.

“Lafayette brought Cognac from France,” he explained. “Would you like some?”

Mac lunged for the bottle, taking a long sip.

“Leave some for the rest of us,” Meade demanded, reaching for it.

Hamilton smiled in the dark as his three friends settled around them. Everything was going so well. If only he knew Laurens was all right, he could be well and truly happy. Please, John, he prayed, gazing up into the star studded sky, please be all right.

Chapter Text

May 1780

Hurricane.

The word screamed through his mind loud as a fire bell. He was on his way back inside from visiting the privy, taking his time to enjoy the fresh air after spending the morning in the stuffy parlor, when the light changed. The sky suddenly turned a sickly yellow. Animals bleated in their pens and men’s voices sounded distantly, panicked and harried.

He stopped on the spot, staring upwards.

Destruction. Misery. Death.

Eliza.

“I think we’d best get inside, dear. Looks as though we’re in for quite a storm.” He recognized the nearby voice as belonging to Mrs. Washington, and his gaze snapped down to see her hurrying along the road with Eliza in tail. The overwhelming dread eased just slightly.

“Eliza,” he called out to her, crossing the grass to meet her on the road.

“Hurry inside,” she ordered when he’d intercepted the pair. Her hand wrapped firmly around his as she tugged him along. “We’re in for a downpour.”

The three rushed into the mansion. He pushed the door shut firmly behind him as Eliza swung around to look out the window, untying her cap with a grin. She glanced back at him and waved him over to stand beside her.

“We made it just in time, I think. Look how dark it’s getting,” Eliza commented.

Mrs. Washington unfastened her hat and hung it on the stand near the door. “I’m glad we visited the hospital early today. I wouldn’t have liked being out in the storm. The way the sky looked last night, so red, with the moon going pink, it seems as though we’re in for quite the show. I think I’ll have the servants check that the windows are all secure before the rain starts.”

Hamilton wrapped his arms around Eliza’s waist as Mrs. Washington exited the foyer. His palms rested against her soft middle, calm washing over him as he felt the subtle rise and fall of her breath. She leaned back against him, still smiling as she looked out at the darkening sky. He buried his face into her hair and closed his eyes.

“I love storms,” she said softly. “Well, watching them from inside, I suppose. They can be very beautiful from a distance.”

“I’ve never much cared for them,” he commented, voice slightly muffled.

Eliza adjusted to look at him, twisting around in his arms. “Are you all right, sweetheart?” she asked quietly. “You look a little pale.”

He forced a smile and a casual tone. “I’m fine. It must just be the change in light.”

She frowned, studying him for a silent moment. When she leaned in to embrace him, she whispered, “I’m sure it will pass quickly. It’s only a storm.”

“I know,” he said, though he cast his gaze outside once more, monitoring the ominous sky carefully. He waited with bated breath for the wind to begin swaying tree branches, for thunder to crack through the air, for the heavens to open and pour water down upon the earth.

It never happened.

No wind. No rain. No storm.

Just ever growing darkness. Within minutes, the sky had grown dark as night. Darker even, with no stars or moon to light the black. Servants hurried around them to light the grand chandelier and place lamps about the rooms.

Eliza began to grow tense in his arms as they waited for a storm that never came. “What’s happening?” she asked, looking up at him again.

“I don’t know.”

No one seemed to know. People began to flood in to headquarters, wild theories flying about with each new arrival. Some said an eclipse of the sun, others that the sun had burned out, still others that Judgment Day was upon them.

“Be about your duties,” General Washington’s firm voice commanded from the next room soon after. “If this be a mere natural phenomenon, we have no reason for laxity; if it be the day of judgment, I would have the good Lord find me attending my duties.”*

“I need to get to work,” he said reluctantly, giving Eliza a final squeeze before releasing his hold on her. “You should stay, though. I don’t want you outside until we know more about what’s happening.”

“I will,” she promised, smiling bravely in the dim candlelight. “I’m going to find Mrs. Washington. I’m sure she’ll need help, with all these extra people at headquarters.”

He took heart in her courage and calmness. He kissed her tenderly before departing for the parlor. Of course, he considered with a slight smile, Eliza had little to fear even if it the day of judgement were upon them. If anyone was bound directly for heaven, it was his darling girl.

The day was not particularly productive. Reading and writing was difficult in the dim light. He did finish a letter to Lafayette on Washington’s behalf, requesting he send proclamations to Canada to confuse the British, and another to the Captain of the French ship Hermione, in compliance with a request from Lafayette before he left for Philadelphia. Other than that, work seemed impossible. All the aides were constantly interrupted by panicky men and officers looking for an explanation for the sudden darkness.

One thin teenager had stopped him in the front hall to ask what was happening. The boy was nearly quaking, the pail of fresh water in his hands sloshing audibly in the bucket. Hamilton paid the boy a wry smile, and quipped, “I assure you, we’re all in the dark on the matter, Private.”**

The boy let out a startled laugh in response. Hamilton patted his shoulder and nodded him on towards the kitchens before continuing upstairs to speak with the General. All in all, it was a strange, surreal day.

At last, in the late afternoon, the sun reappeared, peeking out from behind thick, dark clouds overhead. The whole town seemed to give a collective sigh of relief at the reappearance of the light. With the General’s permission, he found Eliza and offered to walk her home.

“Thank you for all your help, my dear,” Mrs. Washington said, giving Eliza a kiss on the cheek. “I would have been lost without you.”

“It was a pleasure, Mrs. Washington,” Eliza replied.

Hamilton led her outside, taking one of the lamps on his way out just to be safe. Eliza wrapped her arm around his as they set off down the road for Doctor Cochran’s. They walked in silence for some minutes, until Eliza gave his arm a firm squeeze and asked, “Did the General ever find out what caused the darkness?”

Hamilton shook his head, “I’m sure it was just some astrological phenomenon.”

Her brow furrowed light in consideration. “That was a bit long for a mere eclipse,” she noted.

He nodded in agreement. “I suppose.”

“You don’t think it was a sign from heaven to cease the bloodshed?” She had a small smile on her lips as she suggested this, though he wondered whether she sincerely believed that was the explanation.

“I don’t,” he admitted. “Though, I can’t say I’d mind if the British were to interpret it as such and surrender.”

She laughed.

The door to Doctor Cochran’s opened as they approached. General Schuyler must have been watching from the window. He stepped out onto the porch looking very relieved to see his daughter safe.

A little form charged past him. Hamilton heard Angelica call for her son from inside, but little Philip paid his mother no heed as he raced towards his aunt. Eliza caught the little boy easily, hoisting him onto her hip and pressing a kiss to his face.

“It was dark,” Philip reported.

“I know,” Eliza smiled. “Were you scared?”

“No,” the boy declared. He turned in Eliza’s arms to give Hamilton a broad smile.

“How very brave you are,” Hamilton praised, patting the boy on the back.

“Thank you for seeing her home, Colonel,” General Schuyler said, having followed the course of his grandson to stand beside them. He gave Eliza a kiss. “We were worried.”

“I went back to headquarters with Mrs. Washington,” Eliza explained.

Schuyler nodded his understanding. “Will you be all right to get back, son? I’m sure we could find room for you to stay the night.”

“I’ll be fine, sir. Thank you. Whatever it was seems to have passed.”

Schuyler gave him a firm clap on the back. “Be safe,” he commanded.

“I will,” he promised. “Good night, sir. Good night, Betsey,” he added.

“Good night, sweetheart,” she wished as her father ushered her into the house. 

He set off back towards headquarters as the sun disappeared behind one of the dark, thick clouds in the sky. Though it was hardly the impenetrable darkness of earlier, the sudden dimness gave him a slight chill. It had been some kind of astrological event, he argued to himself.

Certainly not an ill omen of things to come.

~*~

“Mutiny!”

The cry brought Hamilton to his feet immediately, his chair scraping loudly on the wooden floor as he scrambled for the door, Tilghman close on his heels. He saw officers running towards the path to Jockey Hollow in the twilight as soon as he stepped outside. Tilghman made to follow them, but he clasped his arm, jerking his head towards the barn.

“Horses will be faster,” he said, trying to keep calm despite his heart racing in his chest.

Tilghman nodded his agreement, and they both ran towards the barn, saddling horses as fast as they could. They tore out of the barn at a full gallop. Hamilton spurred his horse on, pulling past Tilghman by a head.

He knew this was going to happen. Men could only be pushed so far before they reacted, and these men had endured hell for months. He could only pray that it could be quelled with no bloodshed. If word reached the British that the army was in mutiny, they’d march on Morristown immediately.

A large mass of men were huddled in the middle of the parade field when they arrived. No one seemed to be out of order or rioting. Most were craning their heads to look at something off to the left. Hamilton swung his horse towards the activity, though in the fading light it was difficult to see the cause.

“Make way!” one of the soldiers shouted nearby.

He could make out a medic with a black bag trying to maneuver through the mass of men. Bringing his horse closer, he joined the call. “Move aside! Let the medic through!”

“Make space!” Tilghman added, riding up behind him.

As the men made a path, Hamilton saw a form lying on the ground up ahead. Someone raised a torch, revealing the man was wearing an officer’s uniform. Hamilton dismounted and heard Tilghman do the same.

“What’s happened here?” Tilghman demanded.

Hamilton knelt down beside the man on the ground, and shrugged out of his jacket to use as a pillow. The officer winced as he was adjusted, his hands grabbing at his side. Looking up, Hamilton saw the medic still pushing through the crowds.

Clenching his jaw in sympathy, he reached over the man and pressed his hands down over the wound. The officer groaned pitifully, writhing under him, but he kept up the pressure.

“What’s your name?” Hamilton asked softly.

“Meigs,” he answered, panting slightly. “Colonel Return Meigs. Sixth Connecticut Regiment.”

“You did well tonight, Colonel,” he assured him, though he had no idea what Meigs had done to be wounded. Explanations and blame could be apportioned later.

Meigs squinted at him in the quickening darkness. “Colonel Hamilton?”

“Yes, sir,” he answered.

“Wasn’t their fault,” Meigs managed with difficulty. “This winter, with the shortages and illnesses. It wasn’t….” he trailed off, coughing weakly.

“Easy,” he urged. “Be still.”

“What’s happened?” the medic demanded, kneeling down beside them.

“He’s been wounded in the side,” Hamilton reported, easing his hands away so the medic could examine the wound.

“Took a bayonet trying to stop the rest of the men getting their arms,” a soldier standing behind them reported.

Meigs grabbed at Hamilton’s arm. “Tell the General. Wasn’t…wasn’t their fault.”

“I will,” he promised. “Just lie still, Colonel.”

Having received Hamilton’s word, Meigs relaxed back onto his jacket and went quiet.

“How is the wound?” Hamilton asked softly.

“Deep, but it doesn’t appear to have hit anything vital,” the medic reported distractedly.

Meigs appeared to be unconscious. Hamilton rose, leaving the medic to his work. He looked down at himself in the torch light to see his breeches and shirt stained with blood. Wiping his hands off on his ruined shirt, he stepped over to Tilghman.

“Things seem settled for the moment, at least,” a Colonel was finishing just as Hamilton joined the group.

“Colonel Stewart just came from the Connecticut barracks,” Tilghman explained. “Most of the mutinous men have dispersed of their own accord. They settled down in their quarters after Colonel Stewart agreed to bring their concerns to the attention of his fellow officers.”

“What line are you with?” Hamilton queried.

“The Pennsylvania line, sir,” Stewart answered. “I tried marching some of my men out when the Connecticut line first began its parade, but there was some concern my men would join them in sympathy. Even I sympathize with their grievances, although not in the manner they’ve chosen to air them.”

“I commend your bravery in going in to speak with them,” Hamilton praised. “Do you know if anyone else was wounded?”

Stewart looked at Hamilton’s bloodstained clothing as he shook his head. “Not to my knowledge. Even poor Colonel Meigs seemed to be wounded accidentally, so far as I can tell. The men claim he is a well loved and respected officer.”

Hamilton glanced back to see Meigs being lifted on to a stretcher.

“You should go keep an eye on the Colonel, Ham,” Tilghman directed with a deep sigh. “Heaven help us if he dies. All we need is for the British to hear we’ve turned on each other. I’ll go take some more accounts to make a full report to the General.”

He nodded, following the stretcher towards the hospital to keep watch over Meigs.

Roughly an hour later, Meigs had been treated and seemed to be resting comfortably. Hamilton reclaimed his uniform jacket now that Meigs had a real pillow. He pulled it on, tugging at it and brushing his hand over the sides in a futile attempt to remove the wrinkles and dirt. At least it mostly hid the bloodstains all down his front. Heading back out into the night, he assisted Tilghman in finishing taking the reports, and the two finally made their way back to headquarters. Hamilton dreaded making the report to Washington. The General wasn’t above shooting the messenger when it came to distressing news.

Headquarters was abuzz with activity despite the late hour. He and Tilghman mounted the stairs side by side. Tilghman knocked once on the General’s office door and entered, Hamilton following a step behind.

General Greene and General Schuyler were both present, and both looked up when Tilghman and Hamilton entered.

“Did you two go down to Jockey Hollow?” Washington asked.

“Yes, sir. We’re prepared to give you a full report,” Tilghman replied.

“Were there any fatalities?” Greene demanded.

“Good Lord,” Schuyler interrupted, surging up from his seat. “Son, you’re bleeding.”

Hamilton opened his mouth, only to feel Washington very suddenly at his side, pushing him into a seat and pawing at his middle. “I’m fine, sir,” he managed finally, pushing his commander’s hands away. “It’s not my blood.”

Washington let out an audible breath.

“Only one injury occurred, so far as we can tell,” Tilghman added to answer Greene. “Colonel Meigs, of the Connecticut line.”

“He was resting comfortably in the hospital when I left him,” Hamilton reported. “He wished me to report that the men should not be blamed for their actions tonight, sir. They’ve been pushed beyond their endurance by their current circumstance.”

Tilghman reported his conversation with Colonel Stewart and Washington listened intently. Hamilton looked up at Washington. His commander remained standing beside him and squeezing his shoulder. He remained still, accepting the affectionate gesture.

“Something must be done,” Washington stated as he pointed a significant look at General Schuyler. “This can’t go on.”

“I propose a circular letter from Congress to each State,” Schuyler replied. “We must look to the States to send men and adequate supplies. Congress simply does not have the authority to demand they comply.”

A flash of anger shot through him, though this was hardly new information. That Congress, their national government, should have so little authority that it must beg for the States to help, while each State squabbled with the others, simply defied all reason. There had to be another way, a better system of government. A question for when they won, he supposed.

“Send a draft as soon as you're able,” Washington sighed.

“As there did not appear to be particular leaders, I don’t see punishment being necessary, sir,” Greene added.

Washington nodded, finally releasing his grip on Hamilton’s shoulder as he went around his desk to sit down. The group was dismissed. Hamilton felt Schuyler take hold of his shoulders as they stopped beside the stairs.

“I think you took a decade off my life, son, coming in all bloody,” Schuyler told him, shaking his head. “Thank the Lord you’re not truly injured.”

“My apologies, sir. Colonel Meigs required assistance when I arrived on the scene. I didn’t think it appropriate to change my clothes before making my report.”

“No, of course,” Schuyler agreed, clutching at his shoulders again. “I think that you should change before coming downstairs, however. Eliza came along with me. You’ll send her into a faint as you are.”

“You let her come in the midst of a mutiny?” Hamilton asked, shocked. He was horrified at the idea of Eliza walking around when armed men were protesting their miserable conditions.

“I hardly had a say in the matter. She heard there was an emergency and that people might be hurt. My daughters are all very strong willed, as you’ll come to find if you have not already.”

He smiled. “Yes, sir. I have noticed.”

Breaking away from the group, he slipped into his quarters and stripped off the bloodstained clothing. He tossed the clothes into the laundry pile, though he had little hope of the stains coming out of his white shirt. He’d more than likely need to replace it.

Once he’d changed, he went downstairs to find Eliza handing out tea in the parlor to the officers still about. He caught her eye and smiled when he saw her shoulders sag in relief. She hurried over to him, her arms wrapping around him in an embrace.

“I heard someone was injured,” she sighed into his fresh shirt. “I was so worried.”

“Everything seems to be under control,” he told her, rubbing her back firmly.

“I love you,” she said simply, voice soft, audible only to him.

He squeezed her tighter. “I love you, too, my angel.”

June 1780

He woke to the General swearing in his office. He rubbed at his eyes, sitting up to find the room still dark and his fellow aides sleeping soundly. Sighing, he tugged on his banyan and shuffled quietly from the room towards the light at the end of the hall.

“Sir?” he asked, poking his head into the office. He crossed his arms against the early morning chill as he watched Washington pacing the floor.

The General halted, turning to look at him with pale features. A letter was crumpled in his fist. He stepped over, holding out the paper for Hamilton to read.

He smoothed out the paper against the wall and cast his eyes over the latest news.

His heart leaped into his throat.

Charleston had fallen.

“Laurens?” he demanded, looking at his commander with wide eyes.

“Captured,” Washington reported. “Along with three thousand other men. Poor Lincoln was humiliated.”

A combination of horror and relief surged through him. At least his friend was alive, but being captured by the enemy was hardly good news. He looked back at the report, anger bubbling within him.

“They refused to let them march out under their colors?” he read, hardly believing his eyes. Traditionally, a surrendering force could march out with their flag unfurled to their own music as a sign of respect by the conquering army. The British had denied the Americans even that basic respect, it seemed.

Washington’s jaw clenched tightly as he confirmed the report.

“I know its early, but as you’re up, I’d like you to get to work now,” Washington said.

“Of course, sir. What do you need?”

He could see his commander strategizing in the ensuing silence. “Write to General Robert Howe, first,” he decided after a moment. “Tell him what’s happened. I want him prepared in case the British try to press their advantage by seizing West Point. Find someone nearby who can resupply him.”

“Yes, sir,” he agreed.  

He was turning to depart when Washington called him back. “Laurens won’t be hurt,” the General assured him.

“Yes, sir.”

“His father is too valuable a figure to alienate,” Washington added. “He’ll be well treated, and likely paroled.”

“I pray it will be so, sir,” he nodded.

He’d heard what the British did to prisoners in New York. Bodies washed to shore from the ghastly prison ships on a regular basis. The British had shown a vengeful cruelty in Charleston by forcing the Americans to surrender in disgrace; he could hardly trust them to act honorably towards his friend.

Stepping into his room, he quietly dressed in the dark. He wiped his hand over his eyes to brush away the tears gathering on his eyelashes, took a deep breath, and went to the little upstairs office to begin working. He’d been dreading the start of the summer campaign, fearful of leaving Eliza. Now, though, his anger began to drown out the worry. He hungered to engage the enemy.

~*~

One week later, the road outside headquarters was a veritable river of blue and buff uniforms, and Hamilton found himself fighting against the current to get to Eliza’s house. The whole army was stirring despite the early hour. When he finally turned into the walkway, he took the steps two at a time and knocked rapidly on the door. He brushed past the bleary-eyed servant girl, spotting Eliza standing in the doorway to the parlor. She wore a light dressing gown over her nightdress, her hair braided loosely down her back. She must have been very recently disturbed from her sleep.  

“Betsey.”

She flung herself into his arms.

“What’s happening?” she asked, holding him tightly.

“The British are advancing from Staten Island. They’re burning Elizabethtown as we speak. We’re marching out to meet them,” he explained, squeezing her against him.

“Now?”

He nodded. “Quickly as possible.”

“What’s their object?” General Schuyler’s voice came from the stairs. He was dressed in his nightshirt and a banyan. All the commotion outside at such an early hour must have woken the whole household.

“Morristown,” Hamilton answered honestly.

“Good Lord,” the General breathed.

“You should all leave, quickly. Go south a ways before you turn towards Philadelphia or Albany,” he advised.

“No,” Eliza shook her head against him. “We can’t leave. I don’t want to leave you.”

“You have to go,” he said firmly.

“Let’s get married.” She tugged at the lapels of his uniform as though trying to pull him somewhere. “Right now. Let’s find a reverend and get married.”

“I’m a little busy right now.” He smiled softly at her.

She stubbornly refused to return the expression, instead clinging onto him with renewed purpose. He rubbed her back, and felt his heart break when a stifled sob met his ears.

“None of that, now,” he sighed, easing away from her again. He tilted her chin up to force her to meet his eye. “I’m going to marry you, Eliza. I promise. But you need to go now. I need to know you’re safe.”

Her lip was quivering as she sucked in a deep breath to calm herself. With decision, she demanded, “You come home to me, Alexander. Swear to me. Swear you’ll come home.”

He looked her in the eye and nodded once, determined. “I swear, I will come home to you.”

Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck as she kissed him passionately. “I love you,” she whispered into his ear before she released him. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” he said. He held her delicate hands in his, and he lifted them to press a kiss against the back of each of them. He started to back out of the room, keeping eye contact with her as long as possible.

Before he turned away, he repeated the promise. “I will always come home to you.”

Chapter Text

August 1780

The hum of cicadas and chirping of crickets sounded loud through the open window, but the hint of a breeze was enough to keep him from getting up to close it. Tilghman snored in the bunk next to his. He adjusted on his cot, staring up at the canopy with heavy eyes. Despite his eyes aching for sleep, his mind was spinning.

Sometimes he imagined Morristown had been nothing but a dream. The longer he went without hearing from Eliza, the more he convinced himself their romance couldn’t have been as perfect as it seemed in his memory. She’d been so kind the Tilghman when he was pursuing her. Perhaps she’d simply been too polite to say no to his advances? Had he invented her love for him? He closed his eyes and tried to remember how she’d looked lying in the snow in that little grove, how her eyes had been alight with love for him. The magic of the winter seemed ethereal, now, slipping from his mind like smoke through his hands.

June had been all right. He hadn’t received any letters from her, but he knew she was traveling back to Albany by a fairly circuitous route. Frankly, he hadn’t had any time to write either. The initial attack had been routed by the advance force before he arrived near Springfield, but the British had attacked again two weeks later. July was upon them before he’d had a moment to breathe and reflect on his bride to be.

By then she’d sent him a letter through Doctor Cochran. He recalled taking the thick envelope from Cochran’s hands and running his fingers along the edges of the papers, imaging her sealing the letter for him. She’d sent her love, pressed him to stay safe and well, and assured him that her trip thus far had been fine. Her father was seeing her and her sisters safely home before he set out to join Washington’s forces again. Hamilton had sent back a letter saying much the same that very day.

Then, a few days later, Washington established headquarters at Colonel Theunis Dey’s home, and his thoughts began to warp. Dey’s daughter was lovely. Very lovely. Dark hair, bright eyes, and a perfect figure. Just the type of girl he might have pursued before Eliza. He’d resisted temptation, opting to spend free time with the lads as much as possible, but the thought crept into his mind. What if Eliza met someone else? Someone better? Someone who could offer her more than pretty words and the wisp of a hope for a prosperous future?

General Schuyler arrived soon after they’d settled in to headquarters.

“Son. Good to see you,” the General had greeted him warmly.

“And you, sir,” he’d replied, happily accepting an embrace in lieu of a formal bow or handshake. “Was Betsey well? And the rest of the family?”

“All well and safe at home,” Schuyler assured him.

He waited a beat, and when Schuyler offered nothing further he inquired, “Did Eliza send anything for me? A letter?”

Schuyler had given him a sympathetic look. “I’m afraid not. We hadn’t been back long when I left again. I’m sure she’ll be sending you something shortly.”

His heart sank at the news. Why hadn’t she written him anything? A short note, even just a piece of paper bearing her love would have been sufficient. Had she stopped thinking about him now that they were no longer in close proximity?

The letter he’d written her that day began with a mention of the beautiful girl at headquarters. If she would leave him to wonder about her affections, he may as well return the favor. Only after he’d dropped it into the carrier’s bag had he regretted the cruel opening line.

He’d fretted endlessly the entire month. Why was she not writing? He’d spend days sick with concern that she was ill or ailing, others moody and short tempered as he wondered whether she had simply stopped loving him. Perhaps she’d never loved him. The female heart was mysterious, after all. But then, finally, on the thirty-first of July, he’d received three letters and two fine neck stocks from his sweet, beloved girl.

And so the summer went.

Heaving a sigh, he rolled off his cot and sat up. Awake as he was, he may as well make himself of use. Lying in bed worrying about his relationship did no one any good.

Was he testing her on purpose, he wondered to himself as he padded downstairs. Surely showing her this side of him, this obsessive, dark, insecure side, was doing little to win her good opinion. If she hadn’t had doubts before, his letters scolding her and telling her about other women would have implanted them now.

“Hammy?”

He spun around to see Mac standing in the servants hall that led down the kitchens.

“What are you doing here?” he asked with a surprised smile.

“I arrived about an hour ago. The Marquis is wanted by the General to prepare for the meeting with the French in Hartford. We decided to push on rather than make camp another night,” Mac explained.

Hamilton smirked at the bread in his hands. “I see you’ve your priorities straight.”

Mac laughed. “Never one to pass up a snack.”

He stepped forward and folded his friend in an embrace. “I’ve missed you.”

Mac squeezed him once and patted his back. “I’ve only joined Lafayette’s staff. It’s not as though I’ve sailed off for distant shores.”

“It’s still not the same,” he insisted.

“What is not?” The heavy French accent gave Lafayette away even before he’d emerged from the shadows. Hamilton laughed when he observed the Frenchmen carrying not only bread, but also a chunk of cheese and a glass of wine.

“You stole Mac away,” he explained, though he infused his voice with a hint of a whine to let his displeasure be known once more.

Lafayette chuckled. “Ah, yes. Believe me, I would have stolen you away as well, but that was too much even for me to ask of our dear General. The explosion of temper for such a suggestion would catapult me straight back to Paris, I think.”

He laughed before remarking, “I see you’ve both helped yourselves to our stores.”

Lafayette leaned in to kiss him on both cheeks before he continued, “Oui. The food along the way was terrible. Thankfully the General has nicely replenished his wine collection.”

“The increased number of dignitaries visiting us made it a necessity,” he explained.

“Come, let us sit down,” Lafayette declared, waving towards the parlor. They moved as a group into the adjourning room. Hamilton lit the lamp on the worktable and they settled onto the armchairs and the sofa around the fireplace, dark in the oppressive heat of the night.

“Why are you up so late, Hammy?” Mac asked around a mouthful of bread.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he explained vaguely. Both Mac and Lafayette frowned at him, silently pressing for him to continue. He rolled his eyes and admitted, “I was worrying about Eliza.” 

“Why? Is she ill?” Mac asked.

“No. Not that I know of, at least,” he amended. It had been a little while since her last letter again.

“Then what have you to worry over?” Lafayette asked.

He ran his hand through his hair as mentally reviewed his list of anxieties. “Everything,” he answered finally. “What if she finds someone else over the summer? A man of independent fortune who could provide for her? Then I think that would be better, really, for her to find someone else. What do I have to offer someone like her, who comes from wealth and good breeding? And then, when I start worrying, I write her these letters….”

Lafayette shook his head, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as though seeking divine aid. “You are a very smart man, my dear Hamilton, but you can also be very…how do you say? Obtuse?”

He gave his friend a wounded look, only for Mac to add, “Those may be the dullest remarks I’ve ever heard you utter.”

“She deserves someone—”

“Whatever she may deserve, it’s you she loves,” Mac interjected. “You’d have to be blind, deaf and mute not to have noticed.” He felt something ease within him at having that fact confirmed by an outside party, although his doubts continued to spiral through his mind.

“Are you having doubts, mon ami?” Lafayette asked, voice perceptibly softer. “Is there another young woman, perhaps?”

He shook his head quickly. “No. I still love Eliza. I still want to marry her. I’ve just been…” he trailed off again, hardly able to articulate the feelings he’d been subject to these past months.  

Lafayette’s mouth quirked into a smile. “You’ve just been in love,” his friend finished for him.

He smiled weakly. “Yes. I suppose that’s it. I’ve been in love. It’s terrible.”

“The very worst of afflictions,” Lafayette confirmed.

Mac reached over from his chair to pat his arm. “Look, Hammy, the summer campaign won’t be much longer. Two months from now you’ll be free to go to Albany and marry the sweetest girl I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. All you need to do is not make her hate you before then. All right?”

He breathed out a laugh. “All right.”

“Good. Now, no more talk of giving her up, altruistically motivated or otherwise. I’ll be dragging you up to Albany by the ear if I must.”

“You’re coming to Albany?” His face split into a delighted grin at the news.

“Well, someone has to. We can’t leave you alone for a minute, apparently.” Mac gave him an exasperated sigh before tearing off another mouthful of bread.

“I shall come also, if I can get away,” Lafayette added. “Perhaps John will be free to leave Pennsylvania by then? How nice it would be, for us to all be together.”

“Yes,” he agreed, hardly daring to hope. To marry Eliza, with his friends, his family, by his side, he’d count himself the luckiest of men. “Very nice, indeed.”

November 1780

“Are we close?” Mac asked, his voice muffled by the thick scarf he’d wrapped around the lower half of his face. They were both huddled in thick overcoats, and this morning Hamilton had dug out the mittens Eliza knitted him last winter.

“I think so,” he called back, his breath visible in the evening cold. He strained his eyes to see the signpost up ahead. He supposed the sun had started to set, though it could hardly be seen through the thick cloud cover. He’d been reluctant to stop at the last inn they’d past, though, sure they were mere miles from their destination. Spurring his horse on, he was gratified to see the sign confirmed his mental calculation. “About a mile to go.”

Something cold and wet touched his cheek. He touched his mittened fingers to his cheek and looked up at the rapidly darkening sky.

“It’s snowing,” he announced, a note of glee in his voice. The first snow of the year, on the night he was due to arrive in Albany. Surely a good omen if ever there was one.

“I noticed,” Mac replied. He sounded much less sanguine about the information.

The snow gathered intensity as they rode, a subtle dusting covering the ground within minutes. He glanced back at Mac to see he’d pulled down his hat and pushed up his scarf, leaving only his eyes visible. He felt immeasurably grateful to have his friend by his side for this trip, especially as Lafayette had been too occupied to make the journey, and Laurens was not yet at liberty to leave Pennsylvania under the terms of his parole from the British.

Lafayette had managed to sneak away for a few days to come with him to Philadelphia at the beginning of the month, though. Hamilton’s spirits had soared walking into that little tavern and seeing his dear Laurens waving to him from a table near the back. He’d practically jumped on him, squeezing and squeezing for several long minutes. Laurens squeezed him back, and the stone of anxiety weighing on his chest lifted at last.

 “I can’t wait for you to meet her,” Hamilton had told him, once they’d all settled down with a pint each between them. “I’ve been telling her all about you. You’re going to love each other.”

“I have no doubt, Hammy. Any woman who can catch you is a woman I’d like to know,” Laurens had replied with a wide grin. “She must have the beauty of Aphrodite, the will of Cleopatra and the patience of a saint.”

“She does,” he’d answered with a grin.

“I am glad to see you restored to your senses at last,” Lafayette added.

Laurens laughed and teased, “My dear Marquis, why would you suggest such a thing? I hope never to see Hammy restored to his senses. I like him just as he is.”

The night had been filled with loud music, laughter, and much more alcohol than was strictly prudent. By the end of the evening, Laurens had slung him over his back and half carried him to a room. With limited space in the tiny Philadelphia Inn, all three men had been forced to squeeze into a single bed. Lafayette hit the pillow snoring, his limbs splaying out. Hamilton adjusted around him and ended up using Laurens as a pillow.

“I wish you could come with me to Albany,” he remembered admitting before sleep claimed him.

“I know. I do, too. But I’ll be there in spirit, Hammy. I always am,” Laurens had whispered back. “Now get some sleep.”

The memory of that night was well worth the sore head he’d nursed the next day. Riding back to camp to pick up Mac, he’d felt for the first time genuine excitement about his wedding, his worries and cares he’d carried all summer finally easing. Now he felt so happy he was in danger of floating away.

Glancing back, he saw Mac’s horse beginning to fall back from his. “Hurry up,” he called back. “We’re nearly there.”

Mac grumbled something under his breath, but spurred his horse to catch up.

Laughing, he looked forward once more, feeling invigorated by the cold and snow. He’d missed it, longed for it, all through that interminable, miserable, sweltering summer. Almost as much as he’d longed for Eliza. Winter, love, and happiness all seemed somehow to have become entangled in his mind.

They’d been apart since Morristown, although he’d seen General Schuyler several times over the past months, and Doctor Cochran. He’d even seen Peggy in Hartford, though she’d paid him very little attention, infatuated as she was with her latest conquest. Briefly during the summer he’d been sure the younger Schuyler daughter would beat he and Eliza to the alter, so serious had been her relationship with the French nobleman François de Fleury. But then in Hartford, Peggy had been glued to the side of an American gentlemen more than twice the girls age. He smiled fondly, shaking his head at his soon to be little sister.

But now, today, in less than an hour, he’d see Eliza again. His stomach fluttered with nervous anticipation. Would she be happy to see him? Or angry for his rapidly changing moods with every letter he’d sent her? He could hardly fault her for the latter, as much as he’d tried to explain his strange behavior.

“[T]he truth is I am too much in love to be either reasonable or witty; I feel in the extreme; and when I attempt to speak of my feelings I rave,” he’d written to her. “Love is a sort of insanity and every thing I write savors strongly of it; that you return it is the best proof of your madness also.”*

The imposing estate came into view almost abruptly. The Pastures stood high up on elevated ground overlooking the Hudson. Every window glowed with light, a beacon shining bright to guide the way. He flicked the reigns, bringing his horse from a canter to a full gallop, heedless of Mac’s call behind him.

Two servants hurried over to him as he rode up to the front of the estate. The front door opened, light spilling out of the doorway as General Schuyler stepped outside to greet him. He surrendered the reigns to one of the servants and stepped over to the door, bowing low in greeting.

“I thought that was you riding up,” General Schuyler grinned at him and pulled him into a hug. “Wasn’t someone traveling with you?”

Hamilton eased away from Schuyler and looked back down the road to see the vague form of his friend in the distance, nearly invisible in the growing darkness. “He’s…coming,” he said, pointing towards the figure. “I was a little eager to arrive, I suppose.”

Schuyler laughed gaily and led him inside, leaving orders with the servants to show Mac inside directly when he arrived. Inside, a heavily pregnant woman stood in the foyer looking at him with a severe expression. Her dark eyes scrutinized him keenly.

“Kitty, darling, this is Colonel Hamilton,” Schuyler introduced behind him as he quickly pulled off his mittens and removed his hat. “Colonel Hamilton, I don’t believe you’ve had the pleasure of meeting my wife.”

He bowed low, formally, reaching for her hand. She gave it, allowing him to kiss the back. “Colonel Hamilton,” she said. “How nice to finally meet you.”

“A pleasure, ma’am. I wish we could have become acquainted sooner.”

Footsteps pounding down the staircase interrupted the introductions, and he looked up to see Eliza flying towards him. Without pause, she leaped into his arms, kissing him firmly. He jolted back a step in surprise, then sank into the kiss, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace. He’d forgotten the blissful sensation of touching the silky ribbon she liked to wear tied about her waist. Her body felt warm and comforting pressed close to him. Holding her, touching her, kissing her: this was all he wanted in the world.

“I missed you,” she sighed when she finally eased back from him.

He’d nodded, throat too tight to properly form words.

“Why don’t you come in, Colonel,” Mrs. Schuyler offered. He glanced up nervously, unsure of her reaction to seeing him kissing her daughter, but her expression appeared to have soften since he’d first come in. “There’s a fire in the parlor, and refreshments. You must be frozen and starved from your journey.” 

“That sounds lovely. Thank you, ma’am,” he said, smiling tentatively.

“Oh, my,” Eliza said, craning her neck to look out the front window. “It’s snowing. When did that start?”

He grinned at her. “Not long ago. And it’s freezing. Feel.” He laid his hands on her cheeks, provoking a playful squeal. “That was with mittens.”

“You should have stopped for the night,” Eliza admonished lightly, pulling his hands from her face and warming them gently between her own.

A burst of cold air blew in when the front door opened, admitting Mac at last. “You could have waited for me, Hammy,” he complained, stamping the dusting of powder from his boots in the doorway. “I could have been abducted by brigands for all you knew.”

“I’m glad you made it the last few feet without incident,” he laughed.

“No thanks to you.”

“Sorry,” he said sincerely. “I was excited.”

 Mac shook his head, but gave him a fond smile as a servant took away the snow dusted greatcoat.

Turning towards Mrs. Schuyler, Hamilton said, “Might I present Major McHenry?”

“A pleasure,” Mac nodded to Eliza’s mother. “General Schuyler, good to see you. And Miss Schuyler, of course. We’ve missed you at camp.”

“Have you?” Eliza asked.

“Ham’s a right mess without you,” Mac said.

She laughed, gazing up at him with a tender expression. He felt a blush creeping over his cheeks, which seemed only to increase her amusement. A true statement by all measures, he supposed.

“Come inside, all of you,” Mrs. Schuyler invited again, leading the way to the welcoming parlor. “You both need hot food and a warm fire after such a long journey.”

Eliza took his hand to lead him towards the bright, warm room. He stopped her, tugging at her hand as Mac surged ahead with General Schuyler. “Betsey.”

She looked at him expectantly.

“About those letters. Some of those letters,” he amended.

Holding up a hand, she glanced back at the retreating forms of Mac and her parents. “Come in here,” she said, leading him into a little alcove.

Once in the relative privacy of the nook, he continued, “I meant it when I said I love you too much. I was out of my mind when I wrote some of those things. You mustn’t take them to heart. I never strayed. And I never wished to break our engagement.”

“I know,” she said.

“You know?” he repeated, taken aback.

Her expression was impossibly soft and compassionate. “I know.”

“You’re not upset with me?”

“I love you,” she said simply. “Sometimes I don’t know what goes on in that head of yours, though. Did you truly think me so fickle that a few weeks away from you would change my affections?”

“No,” he said quickly. “It was me I doubted. Half the time I thought I’d simply dreamed you up in my mind. How could someone so wonderful ever want me?”  

She gave him another soft kiss. “I love you,” she repeated, as though that were all the answer required. Perhaps it was, he considered.

“And you still want to marry me?” he asked, just to be sure.

“What did I tell you, sweetheart? No matter how many times you ask, my answer will always be the same.”

She made everything seem so simple. So manageable. How did she do that? he marveled. The world seemed such a brighter, happier place by her side.

“Summer felt as though it would never end. I don’t like being apart from you,” he told her.

She smiled weakly, but eyes turned serious. “I didn’t much care for it, either. You frightened me this summer. It felt like you were pushing me away.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, bringing her into his arms once more. He nuzzled his nose into her hair and pressed his lips to the crown of her head. “I’m such a fool.”

“You’re my fool,” she teased lightly, squeezing him around the torso.

“I’m all yours, Betsey,” he confirmed. “And I mean to keep the promise I made you in Morristown. Whatever temporary madness may grip me, whatever harm or despair the world may throw at me, I’ll always come back to you.”

Her eyes sparkled when she pulled back to look at him. She nodded slightly, exhaled a shaky breath, kissed him gently, and then cocked her head towards the hall. “Shall we go back, then?”

He followed her towards the parlor and the start of their new life together, his fingers tangled in the spaces between hers, and felt all was right with the world.

Chapter Text

Epilogue

The soft white blanket of snow had returned to cover the earth. He woke the morning after arriving and looked out the window, grinning at the overcast sky and the big flakes still falling lazily from above. Dressing quickly, he hurried downstairs to find Eliza already sitting at the table, buttering a slice of bread for little Philip.

“Come,” he said, gripping her hand and pulling her from the seat as soon as the bread had been placed on the little boy’s plate.

“Where?”

“Outside.” He tugged her towards the foyer.

Her brow wrinkled as they came to a stop in the front hall, her gaze turning to the window beside the door. “It’s snowing.”

“I know,” he grinned.

She laughed that sweet, melodious laugh he adored. “You’re as bad as my little brothers when they were children.”

He widened his eyes a bit and pouted his lower lip, pleading silently.

She rolled her eyes, letting out a sigh that conveyed fond exasperation, and kissed him softly. “All right, sweetheart,” she agreed. “Let’s go outside.”

They bundled up appropriately and set out into the snow.

Eliza wrapped her arm around his, her head tilting to rest against his shoulder. “Do you have any particular destination in mind, my love?”

He cast his gaze about the white landscape, considering. Spotting the tree line just ahead, he pointed and said, “That way.”

He felt her shake her head against his shoulder, but she chuckled and walked alongside him towards the grove. They threaded their way through the bare, thick trees and some wide evergreens with boughs full of snow, until he found a concealed spot to collapse, pulling Eliza down with him. She giggled, adjusting above him and placing another kiss on his lips.

“I’ve missed kissing you,” she declared.

He felt his smile stretch impossibly wider. “That makes two of us.”

She glanced around. “Should I be worried that I always seem to end up in an isolated wooded area with you?”

“What would you be worried about?”

She smiled. “My life and my virtue.”

“Ah,” he laughed. “Well, at least one of those is safe.”

Her smile turned to a grin, so wide he could see some of her back teeth.

“I just like being alone with you. And it reminded me of Morristown,” he explained more seriously.

Her striking black eyes glimmered with a sudden hint of mischief. “Hmm,” she hummed thoughtfully. “How else might I remind of you Morristown?”

He looked at her warily.

Then, suddenly, he had a face full of white powder. She laughed as he pushed the snow from his eyes with his mittened hands. He glared, through with no real heat. She shrugged in response, paying him a flirtatious little smirk.

“That was like Morristown,” she said sweetly.

He growled playfully, reaching beside him to gather up a snowball. She scrambled off of him, disappearing behind one of the fat evergreens, her laugh still echoing around him. He caught sight of her dark cloak, but before he could throw the snowball, he was struck with another. It hit him in high in his side, between his ribs. The snowball fell from his hand.

It hurt. It really, really hurt.

Is he lying down?

Everything goes dark, the world fading away to black.

“General?”

Heavy breathing meets his ears. A moment passes before he recognizes that the struggling pants are coming from him. The black behind his eyelids turns to a burnt orange as he adjusts his head, the result of a blazing summer sun beating down on his closed eyes. Blinking his eyes open, he sees a bright blue, cloudless sky above him.

An intense pressure is weighing on his chest, like a great animal is sitting atop him.

“General? Are you with us?”

He turns his head a little again. Doctor Hosack comes into view above him. His eye moves from Hosack’s face down the man’s arms. He lifts his head a little to see the doctor’s hands, slick with blood, pressing forcefully on his side.

He releases a pained groan as he collapses back against the bottom of the rowboat. Someone had laid their coat under his head while he’d rested. He appreciates the gesture, glad to have something soft underneath him.

“We’re almost there now, sir. Just hold on,” Hosack assures him.

He wishes the good doctor had left him to his dreams. He closes his eyes again, desperate to escape back into the past, but the pain keeps him too alert for him to slip away properly. The pressure eases, then intensifies as Hosack adjusts over him.

His mind drifts to thoughts of his old comrades. Perhaps he should have written to Meade, Mac, or Lafayette in the past few weeks. He hadn’t spoken to Mac in almost two years, now, and Meade had been even longer. Even he and Lafayette had fallen somewhat out of touch over time. Tilghman, he imagines, he will see soon enough, along with his great General and his dearest Laurens. Soon, but not quite yet. Not until he sees Eliza.

The pressure eases again, and he feels fingers holding his wrist lightly.

“How is my pulse?” he asks, his voice thready and weak.

He opens his eyes slightly and sees the doctor looking down at him with concern. “Better,” Hosack says after a moment’s hesitation.

He tries to keep his eyes open after that. He can’t slip away to the darkness again. That promise he’d made, before he’d left for Springfield that June day, had nearly fled his mind. He’s made so many vows since then; he’s broken almost as many. He’s given his wife little more than a life of disappointment, debt, and grief. But he can keep this one promise.

He can go home to her, one last time.

The boat rocks with movement as the rowers ready to dock. Pain flares up his spine, like a red hot poker being twisted inside him, stealing his breath as black presses in on his vision. “Keep her steady, men,” a voice commands. Pendleton, he recognizes as the pain fades to a more manageable level.

The boat is made fast to the dock. He hears Pendleton calling for a cot. Hands slide underneath his upper back, and likely his lower body as well, though he still has no sensation in his lower half.

“No, no, don’t lift me,” he pleads. He’ll lose consciousness. He can’t lose consciousness.

The hands ease away, but Hosack leans back into his field of vision. “We have to lift you, sir. We need to get you inside.”

“Not yet,” he amends. He takes a steadying breath as he formulates his request. “Let Mrs. Hamilton be immediately sent for. Let the event be gradually broken to her, but give her hopes.”

“Of course, sir,” Hosack assures him.

The boat rocks again with the weight of a new passenger. William Bayard comes into view when his vision clears from another blinding flash of pain. “I’ll go for her myself. She’ll be here before you know it,” his friend promises.

He consents to be lifted.

The darkness takes him.

He tries to be brave: for Eliza and for everyone else who has come to call on him as his life slowly seeps out of him. It’s difficult. He’s in pain and afraid, and all he really wants to do is curl up with his wife and block out the world.

“Mr. Wolcott to see you, sir,” Bayard announces from the open doorway.

He shakes his head.

“Not right now,” he refuses in a breathy, strained voice he barely recognizes. “I’d like a few minutes alone with my wife, please.”

Bayard nods, and Hosack fusses with the bandage for a moment before exiting the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

His gaze falls on Eliza, seated beside him, fanning his face gently to fight the unbearable summer heat. Hosack drew the curtains when they’d first settled into the guest room, but a crack of light shined through the window behind him, lighting Eliza’s face. She looks so beautiful, practically unchanged from her youth, but for some laugh lines and a few stray strands of gray in her dark hair. Staring up at her, he feels he can see her soul, bright and perfect, unblemished by the cruel, dark world around them. His angel.

She smiles bravely at him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers.

Her smile widens slightly, although she scolds him, “Hush, sweetheart. Save your strength.”

“For what?” he wonders aloud, then regrets it as he watches her face crumple.

She fusses with the sheet covering him, and then resumes fanning him. “The doctors are coming, from the French battleship in the harbor. Doctor Hosack told me they sent word an hour ago. You just need to hold on for me.”

He takes her free hand in his and tries to squeeze, though his grip lacks strength.

“Betsey,” he says, giving her a significant look. He knows she knows, even if she won’t admit it to herself.

She shakes her head stubbornly at him.

A beat of silence passes.

“Do you know what I’ve been thinking about all day?” he asks.

“What?”

“Morristown. That first winter we spent together. Do you remember?”

Her breath hitches, but she manages a shaky smile. “Of course I remember. It was magical.”

“It was awful,” he contradicts with a breathy laugh. “We all nearly starved, and almost everyone got sick. Even you. But I wouldn’t change a thing about it. It brought me to you.”

She makes a noise. He isn’t sure if it’s a laugh or a whimper.

“You’ve made me the happiest man, Eliza. My life was dark and terrible before you. I thank God every day for sending you to me.”

“Sweetheart,” she whispers.

“I wish we’d gone back there, to Morristown. Lied in that little grove again, or gone for a sleigh ride, or had a picnic in the field. Do you remember that picnic we took? You made cherry tarts, and admonished me through Shakespeare. How like winter hath my absence been/ From thee,” he quoted.

“Sweetheart, please,” she urges. The fan is transferred into her left hand so she can lay a delicate finger over his lips, her thumb stroking absently at his jawline. “You need to rest.”

He puckers his lips to kiss the pad of her finger. A tear slips free of her eye, rushing down her face. He wants to reach out and wipe it away, but the combination of the pain and the laudanum in his system keep him from raising his arm that much.

 “It’ll just be a long summer, Betsey.” He forces himself to smile up at her, even though the idea of being away from her terrifies him. He’s never done well in summer.

Her black eyes are shining with moisture, another tear falling down her face. “Please, honey. Please stop.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. This is hard for him, too. But these are things he needs to say before the end.

He gives her a moment.

“You’re going to live a long and happy life. You’ll look after our babies, and you’ll watch them grow. You’ll see them fall in love, and have babies of their own. You’re going to keep doing all those amazing things you do: helping widows, and orphans, any everyone in need who is fortunate enough to cross your path. I’m so proud of you, Eliza. Do you know that? So very proud.”

Her tears are coming faster now, and she drops the fan into her lap as she closes her eyes. Tears pool in his own eyes, but he forces himself on.

“I’ll be looking after our boy,” he promises her, throat constricting at the thought of his precious son, already with the angels. “And when the summer’s done, and winter comes again at last, one day when you’re old and gray and warm in your bed, we’ll be together again.”

Her hand is pressed against her mouth. Her voice sounds strangled. “You promise?”

He nods. “I promise. I’ll always come back to you.”

She leans over, careful not to put any of her weight on his torso as she presses a kiss to his lips. Her tears fall onto his face, leaving his cheeks wet when she pulls away. She cups his face in her hand, running her thumb along his cheekbone to dry the tear tracks.

“I’ll be waiting.”