The Hamiltons

Part 1: I Hope That You Burn

New York City, 1800

Eliza Hamilton smoothed the skirt of her new ball gown. The latest fashion was for high waists and a straight, column like silhouette. Gone were the tight corsets and immense panniers of her girlhood. All of the fashionable ladies in London and Paris were now dressing like figures from Ancient Greek vases.

Her sister Angelica had sent her the pattern, along with a bolt of finest muslin in Eliza's favorite shade of pale blue. The pattern and the fabric had come with a rather feisty letter in which Angelica used the full vehemence of her pen to denounce Eliza's husband, Alexander. The contrast to Angelica's letters of previous years could not have been greater. No one had had a higher opinion of Alexander than Angelica before his fall from grace.
"...and if that harlot, Reynolds, ever has the misfortune to run into me," Angelica had concluded the letter, "I will claw her face up so badly that no man will ever look at her again."
Eliza's latest quarrel with Alexander had been over an invitation to a ball. In her opinion, enough time had passed for them to be able to go out into society again. Alexander had said that it was still too soon for them to show their faces in public and insisted that they decline the invitation. When business had suddenly called him to Washington, Eliza wrote back to the hosts saying "General Hamilton will not be able to attend but Mrs. Hamilton, Master Hamilton, and Miss Hamilton will be delighted to come."
To go with her new dress, Eliza's hair was arranged à la gréque and adorned with a white ribbon diadem.
Suddenly knocking was heard on the bedroom door.
"Come in," Eliza said.
The door opened, and her daughter, Ann, named for her beloved aunt, stepped in, dressed in the diaphanous white appropriate for a young lady just come into society. She was seventeen and every bit as lovely as the aunt she had been named for.
"Are you almost ready, Mamma?" Ann asked.
"Just about," Eliza answered.
They went downstairs to the parlor. A warm, cheerful fire burned in the hearth. Alexander's faithful hound, Tyson, lay snoring on the hearth rug. Ann's white cat, Bramble, stretched contentedly in the window sill and licked her dainty paws.
"The carriage is waiting outside," Philip informed them.
Nineteen-year-old Philip was a younger version of his famously handsome father. The same wavy auburn hair and violet blue eyes. The same rosy complexion with a bridge of freckles crossing a striking Roman nose.
Ann bent down to pet Tyson.
"Poor Tyson looks quite dejected," she said.
"He's always like this when Father is away," Philip responded.

The ball was held in a new building of assembly rooms which had recently opened up. Fine crystal chandeliers hung from the ceilings; the light from their expensive white tapers glittered off of the glass mirrors and their gilt frames. When the Hamiltons arrived, the band was playing Epsom Spring. Ann was quickly engaged for the opening grand march and Philip went to go join a group of his school friends.
Eliza sat in one of the chairs which lined the walls of the ballroom and watched her children enjoy themselves.
"There's the Hamilton woman," she heard a lady whisper.
"Didn't you notice that her husband isn't here with her tonight?" another female voice added.
"I wonder who he's out with this time."
"Can't keep him at home, can she?"
Eliza did her best to pretend she had not heard any of this. The conventional wisdom, though it was rarely ever proved true, was that if you ignored something, it would eventually go away.

After the La Boulangére, the guests went downstairs for refreshments such as claret punch and ices. The hot atmosphere of the ballroom had made Eliza terribly thirsty so she went straight to the table where the punch bowl was and poured herself a glass.
"Ah, Mrs. Hamilton," standing next to her was Thomas Jefferson, Angelica's old admirer and Alexander's adversary in Washington. Eliza had met him a few times before things between him and Alexander had soured and found him perfectly charming, but once the split had been made, Eliza steadfastly decided that her husband's enemies were her own.
Jefferson gave a slight bow.
"Mr. Vice-President," Eliza curtsied to him.
He took her hand and kissed it.
"General Hamilton is not here with you tonight?"
"He was called to Washington on government business and wasn't able to attend."
" It's been far too long since I've had the pleasure of seeing you, madam, or the charming Mrs. Church. Is she here this evening?"
"No, she and Mr. Church are still in London."
"Then come take a turn with me in the garden and you can give me that latest news about the enchanting Angelica."
"It would be a pleasure."