I never planned on falling in love with the one person I shouldn't love. Supposedly enemies, like our fathers. Family names and family grudges. There are rules and rights for who you should love, but realistically it doesn't discriminate. Grudges can be overlooked. Family ties put aside. And I guess that's how it happened. I can remember everything vividly.
Let's start in the room where it happened.
I was only fifteen but I honestly felt older. I suppose that's what happens when you grow up without a mother. The New York City streets were getting colder as winter was beginning to take its place. 1797. I'd gone with my father for a meeting about some important meeting. I was to wait outside, but I had wanted to listen.
"Please, let me stay." I begged.
"No, Theodosia. You can wait here," Father showed me to a chair a little way down the corridor.
"I want to be in the room where it happens," I protested, eager to learn more about my father's work.
"Wait for it," I knew what he was saying: I wasn't old enough yet.
I sat myself down on the chair as he went off, sorting the purple skirt of my gown out. I should be in there, I thought to myself as I looked wistfully at the door.
"Philip, wait here. I'll be back before you know I'm gone." A man who looked about the same age as my own father said before walking into the same room. The room where it happens.
The boy sat on a chair across the corridor from me. I stared at his freckled face, his intelligent eyes. He looked back up at me and smiled. That's when I knew I would never be the same. How could I?
"You strike me as someone who doesn't usually stare," His words almost surprise me when he speaks.
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," I look away defensively.
"My name is Philip, I am poet." He stands still smiling, offering me his hand.
"Theodosia," I take his hand and stand, as I do he gently kisses my hand. His eyes don't leave mine as he does.
"Pleasure to meet you,"
"Pleasure's all mine." He doesn't let my hand yet.
Two men leave the room muttering something about secrets and scandals. Philip let my hand go and we both took a step back. The men were closely followed by Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr.
"Philip,"
"Theodosia,"
Both men spoke at the same time, before glancing at each other. Philip and his father left. We closely followed. I gave Philip one last smile before leaving for our separate ways.
"How was the meeting," I ask politely.
"Very interesting - we found some new information on Alexander Hamilton that was highly unexpected," Father said mysteriously. He did this often. I knew he couldn't risk telling me any political secrets. Wait.
"Was that Alexander Hamilton then?"
"Yeah, you were sat with his son, Philip. He didn't bother you, did he?" Father gets the protective tone in his voice.
"No, not at all."
Philip. Philip Hamilton. This would surely end badly.
I didn't know how right I would be.
I received numerous letters from Philip. The first was merely addressing the situation of our fathers' disagreement and how he hopes it won't affect any matters between the two of us. In his writing I can see the resemblance to his father's articles that I read when my own father isn't looking. I have to say, the federalist papers really were impressive. I would never tell father that though. The second of Philip's letters included a poem. It was moving. I wrote back immediately about how moved I was. The letters continued and a romance was slowly established. I still remember my favourite:
Dear Theodosia,
What to say to you?
I like your eyes; I hope you feel the same. When I saw you in that room I smiled, you caught my heart. I'm gonna write everyday to you – romantic life can surely be my style. And I hope you smile, coz when you do I fall apart. And I thought I was so we come of age we'll build our nation. I'd bleed and fight for you, for now I'll write to you. And if I lay a strong enough foundation, promise that I'll be true, give the world to you, would that blow you away? Someday, someday. I am counting down the days. Someday, someday.
I reply:
Phillip,
When you smile I am undone, you've won. Look how you've won: Love is not the word I'm looking for - there is so much more inside me now. Phillip, you outshine the morning sun, I'm undone. You make me smile, I fall apart - and I thought I was so smart. Our fathers probably will frown, but I'm happy with you around - it's true. I'll wait through whatever it takes, stay strong through any mistakes, I'll give the world up if I win you.
I knew exactly what he had asked. He asked for my hand in marriage. He asked that one day when we're old enough he'll do anything to marry me. He'd fight for my hand. Surely enough, he did write to me almost everyday. Granted, most were poems. He told me in one about how he's considered himself a poet since the early age of nine, which triggered the thought of a small Philip writing out a poem at just nine years old. I couldn't help but smile. I saved every letter that Philip wrote me, and I'd read through them whenever I felt lonely. He became my closest friend and confidant
Then Philip started to attend King's College. His letters were less about poems and more bragging. He started out still writing everyday, but eventually is consistency died out. Days became weeks, weeks became months and pretty soon Philip turned into a distant memory. Until one letter when he'd graduated. He was nineteen at this point. I hadn't really been expecting it, so I was rather astonished when Father said there was a letter for me. I've kept that one along with all the others:
My name is Philip, I am a poet. I'm a little scared but I can't show it. I'm sorry, I'm a Hamilton with pride – If you talk about my father I cannot let that slide. So Theodosia, if you wonder where I've been I'm wanting you to be my next of kin. I don't own anything to give, but I hope it will mean something if I win.
Little scared, cannot let that slide, next of kin, if I live – such talk of death meant one thing only: he was going to duel. And judging from the letter he wanted me to be with him when he came back victorious. He wanted me to know he still cared. We're nineteen now, surely that's a good age for marriage. We've come of age. He's wrote to me. He's blown me away. Obviously, I wrote back accepting and looking forwards to hearing from him.
The next I heard from Philip Hamilton was in the newspaper the next day; the news of his unfair death. Pistol aimed at the sky, supposedly a sign of withdrawal from the duel and Eacker still chose to shoot. Most disputes die and no one shoots, so what are the odds the gods would put Philip as one of those few that don't turn out right. I cried continuously. Father seemed confused as to why I was so heartbroken. I think he guessed eventually but he had an election to focus on. It wasn't that he didn't care, he just didn't have the time. The Hamilton family moved uptown following Philip's death. There was no one to grief with. I reread every letter he wrote me, looked back on the time lost. Sure, Philip wasn't ideal but he was a better man than most that I'd known. Then again, death doesn't discriminate between sinners and saints. It just takes. It took my Philip away, even despite his aim. He only played just to try and get away. Still, if there's a reason I'm still alive when the only one I've loved has died then I'm willing to wait for it.
And I still wait for it.
My first Hamilfic! Sorry for all the song references in there but I couldn't resist. The reprise of Dear Theodosia is my own version, as well as the extension on the My name is Philip reprise. Any song changes are mine. Please fave/review if you've enjoyed 3