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It was very silly, she knew, but going to bed without stimulating her mind was not something Angelica was prepared to do.
Puffing air toward the coil of hair falling into her eyes, she scowled. Her collection of essays was missing. They had been a gift from her husband upon boarding the ship to America, and they were deliciously new to her. The thinkers of Europe were oftentimes staid and dull compared to their new world counter parts -- she smirked, thinking of her lover down the hall -- but this collection was different. The world was on fire in all of the right ways. She was devouring them.
Was being the operative word.
Turning over the desk in her quarters for the umpteenth time had summoned up nothing. The parlor, the dining room, and even Alexander's office were lacking. She had exercised her finest lock picking abilities for the latter, so she was especially disappointed. The Hamilton estate was packed to the gills with books, of course. She had her pick. But Angelica rarely took well to not getting precisely what she wanted.
Nibbling her lip, she retraced her steps. She had read them before breakfast, scribbling off a letter to Mrs. Charleton in Philadelphia for her thoughts on the state of the growing American south. And then again after lunch, when Eliza had insisted on whisking the husband away to the tailor, much to his endless grumbling. And then --
Ugh. Alex.
The vision of them perched on the sitting table in the Hamilton's bedroom loomed heavy before her. She had insisted he read a particular piece from one of his particular favorites, but she had not meant at that particular moment. And yet, because he, too, took poorly to not getting what he wanted, he'd whisked it away from her after dinner.
Angelica glanced at the candles illuminating her room, their wax dripping hot as a signal of the passing hours. It was well past dark now. While she knew Alexander often stayed up to foolish times, she was sure her sister had cajoled him into bed by now.
And that was a problem.
As one of the Hamilton's most frequent and especially favored guest, Angelica had her own quarters. And, as a lady navigating a relationship she could only describe as "complicated" and "new American" (though her husband would later roll his eyes and deem it "dreadfully French"), she used them as often as possible and with gusto. In addition to Alex's office. And study. And carriage.
But she did not intrude upon her sister's marriage bed once the lights were out. That was a line she drew for herself long ago. Crossing it now made her feel...shameful.
Alas, she thought, straightening her shoulders and moving down the hall. This is Alexander's fault, anyway.
Standing before the door to the bedroom, her heart fluttered as she recalled the times she'd imagined herself here long ago. Bearing the name Angelica Schuyler Hamilton was a far away dream then, just as it was now. Grimly, she knocked.
"Angelica?" Eliza's singsong met her swiftly, assuring her she was not truly interrupting much.
"Your husband has laid false claim to my reading for the night. Does one of you want to bring it to me?"
"Oh, come collect it yourself," said Alexander. She could hear rustling and a faint giggle.
Pushing the door open slowly, Angelica peeked into the room. Just as every space that Alexander inhabited, it was at once classic and haphazard. Hamiltonian in every way. The lamp on his side was still lit, illuminating a hectic array of law papers and cases and books. Including her book at the top of the pile.
But it, too, illuminated Alex leaning back comfortably on his pillows, reading glasses in hand and a book freshly closed on his lap. In his simplest clothes, he was somehow more intimately clad than she had ever been privileged to see him. Eliza sank into shadow on the far side of him, but her sleeping braid and tightly curled posture was far more familiar.
As Alex caught her staring at them, a grin snaked onto his face.
"You're never in here," he said. His tone was bouncy with delight.
"I must let husband and wife have their matrimonial peace."
"Oh, is that what this is?" Eliza's bemused voice was muffled by her pillow. "The rustling of papers in my ears until the bird begin to sing?"
Alex's fingers strayed to his wife's arm, stroking it with fondness.
"I like having her in here," Alexander noted in a conspiratorial whisper. In the slightest movement, Eliza's fingers snaked around his, stubbornly curling tighter against him.
Angelica rolled her eyes, stepping in further to snatch her book.
"You like many things, my love, not all of which are proper for you."
"You are always proper for me."
It wasn't easy to see, but Angelica caught just the corner of Eliza's smile.
"Please, Angelica. If you can convince him to sleep, you can take up residence here, for all I care."
"Your best idea yet, dear wife. And you have a good many," Alex proclaimed.
Angelica shook her head with a laugh. "I think it best that I go back to bed. Besides, I have my own reading to keep me up."
She reached out to grab her book, but Alexander's hand was on hers in a flash. He caught her gently in his touch, his skin warm and soft.
"Really. Do stay." He was both quiet and earnest. A rarity, she mused.
"This place belongs to the Hamiltons."
"Yes." He nodded in agreement, tugging her down to his eye level. "And so do you."
Surprised by the sudden burst of feeling in her chest, Angelica averted her eyes from Alexander's, which so implored her to stay. She swallowed back a lump in her throat and peered over to her sister.
Eliza had lifted her head to gaze over her husband's shoulder, expression soft. "Please do not feel as if you must leave for my sake. This room is no more sacred than the rest of this home."
"Well, it is all I've not intruded upon."
"It is not intrusion when you are invited," Eliza said firmly, her husband gazing up in rapturous agreement. "And you are invited to all of our lives. You know that."
Angelica looked over her shoulder at the door, considering the words. Having been away for so long, she had managed to convince herself what they had, what they were, was just a wonderfully convenient way to to smooth over the things she and Alexander felt without hurting her sister. As she thought of her pulse humming against his left hand and Eliza's in his right, it dawned on her her how terribly wrong she was.
She slipped away from his touch to shut and lock the door. Alexander's grin was practically audible. By the time she turned around, he had abandoned his glasses and reading to shift and make room for her. She dimmed the lamp while he tugged back the covers.
"Thank the Lord," Eliza crowed from the dark. "It will be the best sleep I've had in years."
Angelica shimmied into the tight but sufficient space left for her. Necessity pressed her close to Alexander's side, aided by his free arm thrown over her to tug at her curls.
"Your feet are cold," he admonished.
She rolled her eyes. "I apologize."
"I will not stand for your feet to be cold in my home. I will check the chimneys tomorrow."
Eliza's long-suffering sigh matched Angelica's in unison, and the sisters burst into giggles as Alexander froze.
"Perhaps this is not a good idea, after all," he said, pouting.
"Too late now," Angelica said, curling closer to his warmth. "You'll never be rid of me now."
Her cheek pressed to Alex's chest, she could feel the hum of his contented sigh as much as she could hear it.
"That is wonderful news."
The three dozed in tandem until well into the morning.