Alexander was home alone, beloved wife and children went upstate to visit his father-in-law, Angelica at their side. And here he was, stuck with his work, stuck with the worry of losing his job, his home, his political influence, all because Jefferson wouldn't just realize that Hamilton was right, and he was indeed wrong. He had just shut his notebook, resigned to defeat for tonight when he heard a soft knocking on the front door. He looked down at himself, frowning a bit when he realized what a mess he was, but he figured it was more than likely just delivery of another letter from his dear Elizabeth. When he opened the door his eyes widened slightly in surprise at the sight of a young woman, she could hardly be old enough to even be called a woman, on his stoop.
"How can I help you..?" He asked voice laced with confusion. He looked around, even more, surprised to see her completely alone
"I'm so sorry, I know it's rather late. I hope I haven't disturbed you or your missus. I- I shouldn't have come." The young lady took a step back, making to leave.
"No, no," He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "My wife isn't home, it's only me. I was working anyways. Is there something you came for..?"
She took a deep breath, mouth hanging open for a second as if she were fishing for the right words. "I know you're a powerful man, it's an honor to even stand in front of you, and I truly hate to ask but I.." She paused, a frown tugging at her lips. "I was hoping I could borrow some money, not a lot, just enough to get by.."
Alexander frowned a bit, taking a small step back into his home. "I don't know-"
"My husband," The girl continued before he could say no, voice going soft. "He's...he's not a good man. He hits me, spends all our money on alcohol and gambling. And now he's up and gone, I haven't seen him in days, sir! He's never been gone so long, I can't eat and I can't pay rent..." Her voice was strained as she begged, desperation obvious. She clasped her hands together, brows knit tightly in worry. "Please, sir. I'll repay you. I'm good for it, anyone will tell you."
He let her finish her rant, taking a few more seconds to consider. He couldn't say no to that, he couldn't turn away a battered woman, what kind of man would that make him?
"I'll be right back. Please, don't move." He sighed, going back inside. He shut the door behind himself and headed upstairs. She spent a few minutes alone on his stoop, praying he'd actually come back out and not ignore her before the door opened again. He had his coat on now, hair pulled back sloppily in a ponytail. Alexander tucked a few bills into her hand before he spoke.
"Where do you live? It's a bit late for you to be walking alone."
"Just around the block." She smiled as he stepped out, offering his arm to her. She hooked their arms together as she began leading him down the sidewalk. "My name is Maria. Maria Reynolds."
"It's nice to meet you, Maria." Alexander hummed with a small smile, actually enjoying the walk. It had been a long time since he'd been able to just talk to someone besides his wife or children. "I hate for it to be under these circumstances."
"It's for the best, I believe. James leaving, I mean.." She said softly, allowing the conversation end there.
After the reasonably short walk, they ended up on Maria's front step. She'd put the bills in her pocket in favor of opening her front door taking Alexander's hands. He noticed her looking around, up and down the street worriedly. He figured she was making sure her husband wouldn't suddenly be coming down the street until he felt her lips pressed against his suddenly/
He took a quick step back, but didn't pull his hands away. "Miss, I'm a married man. I have kids," Alexander spoke softly, and definitely didn't sound convinced. She tugged gently on his hands, pulling him inside.
And Alexander allowed it.
Maria shut the door behind them and pressed her body against his as soon as it clicked shut. "Sir, I could return your money, but I could never repay you for your kindness." She said softly, kissing him again.
He only realized he was in real trouble when he didn't stop himself from kissing her back. But as soon as he'd leaned into it, she took a step away, squeezing his hand as she led him upstairs.
His mind was screaming at him to leave, to get out while he could. But, god, she was so young and beautiful and married, dammit, but when she laid back on the bed and rucked up her skirts, spreading her legs, he couldn't say no.
Alexander couldn't do anything but kneel between her legs and make what he'd decide later to be the biggest mistake of his life.
Alexander stared at the open letter on his desk, mouth hanging open and eyes wide in shock as he shoved his glasses to the top of his head. Glazed eyes looked over the sloppy handwriting on parchment and even through all the grammatical and spelling errors that were causing a headache, he caught the point
She called on you for the loan of some money...'
'She says there is no other man that she cares for in this world...'
'You have been the cause of cooling her affections for me...'
'I would sacrifice almost my life to make her happy but now I am determined to have satisfaction. I shan't be only one that's miserable.'
'I am that man that will always have satisfaction by some means or other when treated ill.'
Alexander could read between the lines. He knew what James was insinuating.
Two years, he'd allowed himself to go back to a married woman every time his dear wife turned her back, every time his children left to school, whenever he caught a free moment to himself, he would end up in bed with her over and over.
Some days it would end and he would trudge home, feeling the shame drip down his back like a slick oil stuck to his skin that he couldn't wash away. He felt like he was drowning, but he couldn't seem to die.
He would play pretend and lay around with her as if nothing were out of the ordinary to shake off his disgust. They would smoke from his pipe, laying next to each other in comfortable silence, or chattering softly about their day. Worse yet were the days he didn't feel any guilt at all. Alexander could climb in bed next to his dear Elizabeth without a second thought, make love to her just like Maria, and then listen to her tell him about her day and how the children had missed him. Those days were somehow worse than any other.
He tucked the parchment back into its envelope and locked it in his briefcase which he tossed beneath his desk as if it would somehow aid in keeping his shameful actions as secret as possible.
Within minutes Alexander was storming into the Reynold's household without bothering to knock. He couldn't even find it in himself to care if her husband was home, he was livd. He trusted her, how could he be so damned stupid.
Maria raced down the stairs when she heard the door slam shut, expecting it to be James. She gave a small smile that fell quickly when she saw the look on his face. "Mr. Hamilton?"
"Maria, what the hell have you done!? Your husband knows? You told him, didn't you?" Alexander's voice rose to a shout, panic evident in his voice. "Did you ever tell me the truth? You and him, you set this up. You planned this, didn't you? You set me up!"
"Sir, I don't- I don't know about any letter!" She insisted loudly, face twisted into a look of worry. Maria couldn't stop the flood of guilt, or the tightness in her chest.
"Bullshit!" He barked back at her, running a worried hand through his hair. Maria felt tears build, blurring her vision as she fell to her knees at his feet. She grabbed his hand in both of hers as she began to cry.
"Please, sir, I didn't know. I had no idea. I need you, I- I can't live without you.." She insisted, voice breaking into sobs. "Please, you can't leave me, Mr. Hamilton, sir.."
Alexander yanked his hand away, glaring down at her as he leaned to her level. "Stop, stop your crying, god damnit, get up!" He shouted but felt himself soften as she stood and looked into his eyes. She looked so damn fragile, so defenseless, and he remembered what drew him back to her over and over; she honest to god needed him.
"Just give him whatever he asked for, please, don't leave me alone!" There were still shimmering tears stuck to her eyelashes as she grasped his shirt, clinging tightly to him and kissing him as passionately as she could muster. "You can have me. I'm yours if you'll just give him what he wants." Maria insisted softly, eyes pleading.
"I can't. I don't want you." Alexander spoke against her lips, voice soft now.
They both knew it was a lie, especially when he began to return her gentle kisses and touches, mindlessly following her up the familiar set of stairs to her bedroom. He fell into bed with her again, even after everything, and knew it wasn't over.
He wrote a check to James Reynolds before he left that night.
But of course, all couldn't be hidden forever.
It wasn't long until he was under fire, accused of speculation at the hand of James Reynolds. He knew the man purposely put him in this position, expecting that he would admit to the charge to keep the affair silent. Alexander would prove him wrong.
He would not go down for this. He would not let his good name be sullied by an untrue accusation, one that would destroy public opinion of him. Alexander would not be the man who stole from the American people, the man who committed treason.
So he sat and began to write.
Philip was the one who brought the pamphlet home to his mother.
Eliza was confused, surprised the defeated look on their son's face as he handed the pamphlet to her without a word. He trudged upstairs, slamming his bedroom door shut. She looked down at the thick booklet. 'Observations on Certain Documents Contained in no. V VI of "The History of the United States for the year 1796," in which the charge of speculation against Alexander Hamilton, late secretary of the Treasury, is fully refuted. Written by himself,' it was titled.
She knew for sure her Alexander had written it, with how much of a mouthful the title alone was.
Based on the header, she assumed he was fighting charges of treason or speculation, maybe both. She wished he'd told her, but Eliza knew it was nothing they couldn't handle. But as she began to read, she realized it wasn't at all what she thought.
'The charge against me is a connection with one James Reynolds for purposes of improper pecuniary speculation. My real crime is an amorous connection with his wife, for a considerable time with his privity and connivance, if not originally brought on by a combination between the husband and wife with the design to extort money from me.'
'After this, I had frequent meetings with her, most of them at my own house; Mrs. Hamilton with her children being absent on a visit to her father.'
Eliza felt her heart break with each word, but she couldn't force herself to put it down.
Her husband, her Alexander, had strayed. The same man who wrote her a letter or more daily during their courtship and during the war, the man who'd stolen her heart so quickly with his words, his damned words.
Did he use those same words on her? Did he build her up the way he did Eliza, with flowery words full of immeasurable love and devotion?
Eliza wanted terribly to hate her. She wanted to curse the Reynolds woman, she wanted to cause a fuss about how the girl had weaseled her way into their marriage, their bed, their life, and forced her Alexander to be unfaithful.
But she knew better. Eliza knew who she married.
An Icarus. A tomcat. Never satisfied.
Her body moved faster than her mind. She was in their bedroom, her bedroom now, pulling a chest from under the bed and digging through it until she found a stack of letters wrapped in a ribbon. All the things she'd written to Alexander from when they met to Philip's birth. She couldn't stop herself from striking a flame and heaving logs into the fireplace.
She began to pull at the ribbon and considered opening the letters, reading them over one last time.
Damn them. Damn the letters, and damn Alexander.
Eliza refused to be the doting wife tonight. She refused to let her lovestruck letters be used to excuse what he did. She wouldn't let herself be a part of this story. Before she could think, she began tossing the letters into the fire. First one by one, then two at a time, and then by the handful.
The flames blazed and licked at her wrist, ever growing as she continued to feed it with ink-stained parchment. She wouldn't let anyone know how she reacted.
It wasn't until her lap was empty of letters that she noticed the tears burning the back of her eyes. Eliza dragged herself into bed and it was only then, alone in the dark, in their soiled bed, that she allowed herself to cry. Sobs shook her body. She had lost what meant the most to her. Her Alexander. Only, she couldn't call him exclusively hers anymore.