This week, I took a detour from my usual flash because while listening to Burn this morning (and yes, I am Hamilton obsessed lol), I was inspired to write a little sketch from Eliza's point of view. I call it A Woman Scorned. Don't forget to see what the other Briefers are up to. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!
“Eliza, please! It was a mere slip of the tongue, nothing
more.”
Eliza Hamilton gave her husband an icy stare. The man was
brilliant, there was no doubt about that, but sometimes he had no common sense.
The trouble with Alexander was he talked too much, and didn’t allow himself
time to think through what he was going to say.
“The tongue gives voice to what is in the mind,” she
retorted, and had the satisfaction of watching him wince at her words. Good,
let him suffer. Why should she suffer alone? She knew he had not come through
this thing unscathed, but at the moment she held no sympathy for him.
The only good thing that had come out of the whole affair,
as far as Eliza was concerned, other than the opportunity to spend time with her
sister Angelica, was that Alexander had pretty well shot his presidential
ambitions in the foot. Perhaps now he’d stay at home more, and be the father
and husband she’d always hoped he’d be.
Although there were times, such as now, when she wasn’t sure
how much she wanted to have him there.
Eliza shivered. The infernal heat of New York City in the
summer had given way to autumn’s briskness. Although she wore a shawl, the
fragile lace did little to impart warmth.
“Perhaps we should return home,” her husband suggested in
his most solicitous manner. The man could be charming when he had a mind to be.
His words almost brought a smile to her weary soul but then she remembered she
was not the only one Alexander Hamilton had charmed and her resolve stiffened.
“Or take a carriage. I fear the chill of the evening air when you are so
recently recovered from your confinement.”
“No, we must be seen,” she said, perhaps a bit more sharply
than she intended. Their last child had
been born in August; she would not allow Alexander to use his birth as an
excuse to avoid the public. “We will make an appearance this evening. And we
shall walk, as we always have.” And that ended that discussion.
As far as Eliza was concerned, the matter was a private one
between her and her husband. Never mind that he wrote the whole thing down and
published it for the world’s perusal.
Never mind he’d revealed himself to be an adulterer in order to save his
precious legacy and in so doing destroyed their lives. What would she tell the
children when they were old enough to understand? The pamphlet was out there, and
it was available, and she feared what would happen should they discover the
truth about their father.
Philip was old enough to understand now. And while he was
disturbed by his father’s actions, he steadfastly supported him because he
loved him, and would not listen to anyone denigrate Alexander in his presence.
Eliza hoped that championing Alexander in the face of his
guilt would not come back to haunt Philip in his later life. Men were often
known by the choices that they made. Wasn’t Alexander living proof of that?
But she couldn’t worry about any of that now. Now they must
present a united front, for their marriage must appear sold to the world’s
scrutiny—none were entitled to know the truth. Only Angelica, her dearest
sister and best friend and faithful companion knew the effort required to
maintain the façade of the loyal spouse. Much as she knew Angelica adored
Alexander, Eliza knew her sister was there for her and always would be.
Angelica was the only reason Eliza was going to be able to get through this—her
sister gave her strength, even in the face of adversity.
“Good evening Alexander, Miss Eliza.”
Eliza felt Alexander stiffen beside her at the first sounds
of that familiar voice. She did not share her husband’s dislike of Aaron Burr,
an animosity she suspected was prompted by more than a little jealousy as from
any other motivation.
They stopped, face to face. Alexander tightened his grip on
Eliza’s arm. She withdrew from him to free her hand.
“Good evening, Mr. Burr,” she greeted him, offering him her
hand. One thing she appreciated about Aaron Burr was that he was never less
than a complete gentleman. She remembered his late wife, Theodosia, and how
devoted the couple had been to one another.
Burr took her hand and bowed over it, his fathomless eyes
seeming to probe her very being. She suspected he knew more than he would ever
reveal about Alexander’s perfidy. But unlike her husband, he would never be so
crass as to expose such information to the world. She saw kindness there, and sympathy.
“Will you be joining us this evening?” She assumed he’d
received an invitation to the soiree. After all, they often ran in the same
circles. To paraphrase the Bard, politics did make strange bedfellows.
Burr glanced between them. Eliza had the feeling he was
assessing them before making a response. She found herself hoping he would
answer in the affirmative.
“It would be my pleasure,” he said, and his smile was most
radiant. “I’m taking the air first, but I shall see you shortly.” He nodded to
each of them in turn, continuing on his way. He was probably still in earshot
when Alexander spoke up.
“Why must you encourage him?” he asked in a petulant tone as
they resumed their stroll. “You hold no animosity toward him, although he also
had a relationship with Mar—“He caught himself just in time. “With Mrs.
Reynolds,” he hastily amended.
“As her lawyer,” she reminded him coldly. Why could he not
keep the strumpet’s name from his conversation?
“I only meant—” he began, but she shushed him quickly.
“We are here, let’s have a pleasant evening.”
Before he could voice his nightly
request, she cut him off. “You will sleep in your office until I say
otherwise.”
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
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