My Hands Are Not Clean

She had been twenty-five the first time she had kissed him. Or he had kissed her. She could not remember anymore. She did not even really know if she had wanted to. Not after this. Not now. Not with his wife standing in front of her, a grief impossible to explain on her face, her tears heavy with it. She had never seen her like that. But she had never before been the reason for her grief. Her heartbreak.

"It was you," she said, her features distorted and turned in, her tears catching in the lines around her mouth, changing course. "All along, it was you. The late nights at work. The–the pretending not to hear me when I asked about his day, the lies, the half-truths." She gasped, sudden realization. "Leaving for London."

"Eliza, I am so—,"

"I do not want to hear it." She closed her eyes, pushing out her hands and spreading her fingers wide like they were a shield, "I do not need your apologies, Angelica."

There it was, cold and laid out bare in front of her.

And there was nothing, now, that she could do to change it.

——

November, 1781

"Angelica," Alexander said to her politely, inclining his head. She knew what every single gesture he gave meant‍. At least she thought she did, she had no way to know otherwise. He opened his mouth to say something, but was whisked away suddenly by someone that Angelica didn't know.

She frowned. He was her closest friend besides her sisters, she wrote to him constantly, and she had been looking forward to speaking with him. She was unhappy with her husband— John was aloof and vapid and somewhat egotistical, though he never showed it in public. Looking back now, she didn't know why on earth she had married him. Perhaps it was to distract herself. Perhaps it was the flute melody of infatuation masquerading as young love. Or perhaps it was just pure stupidity. Rebellion, too, was one of the possibilities.

She couldn't lie about what she thought of Alexander. At first she had swept it aside, ignoring and denying it altogether. Then, somewhere through letters and conversations and quick dances, she had accepted it. And then let it overwhelm her.

She almost didn't know who she was anymore.

Her sister appeared in her view, and she brightened at the sight of her. Eliza was several months along in her pregnancy, and the word 'glowing' had never fit anyone better. She looked elegant, and carried herself with grace still.

Angelica embraced her sister, kissing her cheek softly and grabbing onto her hands once she had pulled away from the hug. "Look at you," she said, smiling as she looked her sister up and down, confirming that she was doing well, "you look so beautiful. Are you nervous? Excited? Tell me."

Eliza smiled at her in that way that only Eliza could. "I am both excited and nervous, as one could expect to be," she said, rubbing a hand over her stomach. "Alexander and I both think that I am to have a boy."

"I agree with you both," Angelica said, and let one of her hands join her sister's. A small kick startled her, and she almost pulled her hand back, but then reminded herself that that was how babies behaved. "A very sweet and very handsome boy."

"I shall hope," Eliza told her, looking back up at her sister. Her cheeks were rosy. "If he is anything like his father, then he shall go on to do great things."

"That he will," Angelica agreed, laughing softly. Alexander showed up suddenly, resting a hand lightly on Eliza's back. Eliza smiled up at him, pure love on her face.

"Who?" He asked, a teasing smile on his face. Alexander had a strong sense of humour, and he could well make anyone laugh.

"Your future son," Eliza said, just as much teasing in her voice. "Angelica and I were just talking, and I was telling her about the baby."