My Dearest, [ Alexander Hamilton | Reader ]

• Chapter Thirteen •

[ Publishing two chapters because, why not? ]

...

Time passed since Charlotte's death, [Your Name] was still very much grieving of her death. Such a young child, taken in such a terrible way. She hadn't yet experienced the luxury in life, only experiencing the financial struggles, and abuse. She lived a life of a beggar, something someone of that age should not even know about.

It'd taken lots of persuasion but, she had managed. She had managed to keep her promise with the girl, she'd care for her son. Although there would be struggles financially, she'd do it.

With payments due every month to the hospital, they'd care for the child and go as far of employing a wet-nurse to feed the child. She was gracious, promising to check on the child everyday.

Charlotte and her held a small talk, the same day she took her to the small hospital. Charlotte talked about naming the child Philip, it was her childhood friend's name. She seemed to admire her friend, very much so. She'd go on about him. That's what he'd be named, Philip. It'd be a sense of remembrance for the girl, his mother.

There however, was a sense of worry. A panting feeling in her chest of her now 'betrothed', what would he say? There would be no doubt he'd be confused perhaps hold anger towards her. She'd have to write a letter.

During their time separated, Alexander had written an amount of three letters ( as he labeled them ). She had only gotten to one reply, he wasn't fond of waiting for her replies. That was for certain.

The letters held descriptions that she could never see herself as, he was far too kind.

"You engross my thoughts too intirely to allow me to think of any thing else—you not only employ my mind all day; but you intrude upon my sleep. I meet you in every dream—and when I wake I cannot close my eyes again for ruminating on your sweetness."

He'd go on for sentences, paragraphs would consist of compliments. They would cause her to immediately become flustered, a charming man. She was rather happy to be able to consider him her betrothed.

[Your Name] sat on the cushioned seat of the desk, her hand held the ink-covered quill. She sat still as she thought what to write to him addressing Philip. Her lips were pursed, [ Eye color ] eyes fixated on the parchment before her. It'd been quite a while since being seated in the chair, last time being while writing to the general.

She began the letter the usual, "Dear Alexander". The quill was pressed against the parchment as she thought of what else to write, her abilities were nothing compared to Alexander. She felt a sense of embarrassment while writing to him, he'd take up a page or two while she would only take up half the page. She heavily sighed, placing the quill in its usual position.

She arose from the desk, pushing the chair in it. It was rather late at night, the only thing keeping the light in the room was the dimly lit lantern she placed on the edge of the surface.

Dainty hands grasped the handle of the brass lantern, cautiously walking through the corridors of the house to the mattress. She placed the light upon the end table, gaze fixated upon the burning candle. She blew it out, turning herself the opposite way of it drifting into a state a relaxation.

...

[Your Name]'s anxiety grew as days went on, there was no word on the war. If there was, she'd be disregarded as she were a mere woman, nothing more. There were so many disturbing thoughts running through her mind of her betrothed's fate. If she hadn't been so terribly oblivious, she'd have still been there fighting alongside Alexander.

She entered the now very familiar building, greeting the woman at the desk. She walked through the long corridor, stopping at the last door. She quietly entered the rather warm room, eyes landing upon the woman, child in hand. She was the wet-nurse hired for Philip as she couldn't provide for the child.

The woman turned, a soft smile as she rocked Philip, she was suckling him. She was a kind woman, much older than her however, her elegance still remained. She could only hope to have such atmosphere around her when she aged.

The child was placed into [Your Name]'s arms after he had finished, she gazed at the infant's face. There were light freckles speckled across his tan cheeks, a beautiful boy he was. It would be no surprise if he'd end up being the talk of town.

She held the child close to her, joy etched on her expression. It seemed to spread to Philip as he now held a toothless smile. It warmed her to see him in such a happy state. Although he was not hers, she felt what she assumed would be a bond between a mother and a child.

The peaceful moment was interrupted as there were yells and cries in the streets, her head lifted her joyful expression turning confused. She walked outside the room, infant held close to her. There were cheerful faces all over, the yells consisting of:

We're free!

Or

We won!

She knew exactly what the people meant, the corners of her lips turning upwards. She knew more than anyone else.

The war was over, Alexander would arrive home...

...

[ That entry taken from Alexander's letter had me swooning, truly reliable with the ladies. ]