Chapter Text
If she stared long enough, perhaps Eliza would see the moment the ashes flickered in the fireplace. Turned humiliation into something else, something palatable, or at least something poetic. Something worth writing about, worth feeling, worth saying because lately, it seemed every word he wrote was stolen from her chest. Maybe those dying embers could turn her silence into something other than gut rot and ache.
After all, things had been turning all around her. Angelica’s ship when she’d heard the news, her own stomach when she saw the book, the pretense of her marriage turned into the shambles of an unbenign honesty.
Honestly, she was exhausted, and yet she couldn’t sleep. No place in her home safe from another woman’s scent, from the ghost of her own feelings. She couldn’t lie in her bed any longer wondering if this was where they’d done it, couldn’t sleep in his office, couldn’t sleep in the parlor where he must have whisked her inside.
So instead, she stared at the dying fireplace, trying to ignore the body hovering in the doorway.
Decided that he, too, was a ghost.
As if that could have excused his deathbed confessionals uttered years too soon.
“Betsey-” If she had her words, she might have yowled like a cat at the familiarity he no longer deserved, it’s barbs pressing into her already fragile skin- “You must understand, I was given no choice.”
Did he mean the woman, the lies, or the public truth?
Did it even matter?
Alexander, her foolish, cruel Alexander, took another step closer so that he was blocking her view of the fireplace. Funny, how the flickering light around him only added to the feeling of haunting that consumed her.
“Elizabeth-” Better that, better he not further soil the little fond memories she had left- “There is something more I must tell you.”
What did he expect her to say? Was he waiting for some sign that she was listening? That she cared? Foolish, naive, and cruel.
Without a response, he barreled onward. “They were after my scent, I could not with good conscience let them know there was another. Better to fall on this sword than set a whole town aflame.”
Another. For the first time that night, she opened her mouth. Closed it again when the words twisted themselves in her throat. Physical manifestations of an emotional pain. Perhaps she would go see a doctor soon, perhaps they would be so kind as to predict a sudden end.
Except she could not leave her children behind.
No matter. She would endure.
But she had to know what she needed to survive. “What was her name?”
Silence. Soft fabric twisted beneath her fingers as she contemplating moving forward. So far she had burned every copy of that blasted pamphlet that showed up at her door, burned the letters, the apologies. Maybe next the linens, or the entire bed. Open the windows for the smoke and the ghosts to escape.
“There was no other woman-” But he had just said- the implication struck her and Eliza rose. Walked as quickly as she could past that ghost of a man so that she could retch, but he only followed- “You must understand why I could not let this information get out.”
There had been rumors. There had been teasing and lightness, jokes about the boys during the war. But that could be forgiven, desperate young men terrified for their lives, giving the ultimate sacrifice. Who could deny them such primal comforts?
But after? With a wife in his bed- and she had been. She had been a good wife, always receptive, always open. Or at least she’d tried.
“It was not my intention, my dearest, sweetest Eliza-” Again with the familiarity that he had forsaken, but Eliza refused to sob, refused to show her defeat- “It was only a few times. Late nights at the office when wills were weak and we’d had perhaps too much to drink. Before he betrayed his ideals and switched sides.”
Office. Before. Surely not- “Burr?”
Eliza closed her eyes. Pushed herself back to her feet, passed the ghost and headed back to her bedroom. The ghost could put out the fire when he made his bed there, far from her. Unwilling to light a candle, she walked slowly down the hallway, one hand to the side to feel her way there. Laid down on top of the covers.
In the morning, he was gone. She could have laid back down, pretended that the conversation never happened. But she couldn’t. So instead she set out on a mission to set things as right as she could.
It took all of her strength not to dress in the rituals of mourning. To ignore the stares as she climbed out of the carriage. There were matters to attend to and as there was no point in denying that they knew what they knew there was no point in giving them anything else to titter about. Let not one of them call her weak.
A few minutes walk finally brought her to her destination, an almost modest home considering it’s occupants. She took a moment to gather herself, allowing the cool air to soothe her before walking up the steps and knocking at the door.
When it opened a girl greeted her, pulling her inside and away from prying eyes. “I am afraid if you were hoping to catch Dad, he is at the office, ma’am.”
“Thank you, sweet Theo, I was actually hoping you could direct me to your mother?”
Theo nodded, braids bobbing as she did. Quietly Eliza followed behind her guide to the drawing room. Theodosia looked up from her sewing, smiling sadly when she noticed who her guest was. “My dear Eliza, is there anything I can do for you during this time of need? A drink perhaps?”
Eliza shook her head, and Theodosia dismissed her daughter before referencing for Eliza to take a seat in front of her. “Lighten your heavy heart with the knowledge that whatever is said will go no further than this room.”
Would she be so kind when she understood why Eliza had come knocking on her door? Could Eliza in all good conscious take advantage of her hospitality before sharing what she knew? “I am afraid I did not come on a social call, in the midst of my husband’s public shame he made a further confession that I could not allow to pass without comment.”
If it ever came to light, Theodosia deserved to know before the press did. The woman in question sat her sewing aside, folding her hands atop her knee instead. “Yes?”
In for a penny, in for a pound, there was no use skirting around the subject. No delicate way that she could put it. “Maria Reynolds was not my husband’s only affair.”
Theodosia frowned. “Surely you do not think that I-”
It wasn’t until Eliza shook her head that the other implication seemed to hit. One hand flew to Theodosia’s mouth, and Eliza stared there at her wedding ring. Wondered if she would continue to wear it, the way Eliza was, with the metal burning into her skin, a reminder, a brand.
“I had suspected-” Theodosia started and then stopped, shook her head as if to gather herself- “But never with-”
Unable to help herself, Eliza continued, “Will you confront him?”
Would Theodosia do what she could not? Would she leave him? Divorce was frowned upon, but it was not impossible. Especially not for a woman with Theodosia’s means.
“I do not think I could,” Theodosia smiled bitterly. “There are those who suspected that ours was not a love-match but a political move. Perhaps if so it would not hurt so much.”
It was a feeling that Eliza knew all too well. Part of her wished to stay, to comfort this woman with her grief so familiar, but she also knew the truth. It was entirely likely that Theodosia would consider her honesty unkind, just as she had considered Alexander’s.
With that in mind, Eliza tugged at her skirt. “Would you like me to leave?”
Theodosia nodded slowly. “I think that would be for the best. But please, hold me to the same courtesy that I offered you.”
“No one will know,” Eliza promised as she stood. “Be well, Theodosia.”