THE BIGGEST GOSSIP GOING around camp was hard to determine: two pieces of information spread at the same rate.
The first was of Charles Lee’s court-martial. He had three charges brought against him: the first of disagreeing orders and not attacking the British at the Battle of Monmouth, the second being making an “unnecessary, disorderly, and shameful” retreat, and the final being of disrespect to the commander-in-chief. Alexander and I would testify for His Excellency, and we couldn’t help but love the idea of bringing Lee down another time.
The second was about a feud between my father and a man by the name of Robert Morris. The latter was a merchant for his profession and also managed Congress' mercantile affairs as a chairman of the Commercial Committee. Father believed that he was collecting private profits behind their backs and wanted him fired immediately. Morris, though, had enough sense to defend himself, and now they were smashing each other in the press.
Everyone in camp worried there’d be a duel, and it became something like a topic of interest, some people even making bets on it. All you could hear these days were people whispering, “Who do you think will ask first?” or “When and where do you think it’ll take place?”
I found the idea of a duel dubious, especially between Father and this Robert Morris, a man I had never really heard of before all of this. My father always chided me on physical affairs of honor, telling me to shy away from them; why would he do something he told me not to do? Still, I knew there was a tiny bit of him that would accept a challenge even like that, and it made me worry for him even through all of the horrible things he’d said and done to me as a child. He was my father, after all; I wasn’t getting another one.
When Alexander heard of this, he only waved it aside as if it were some tiny thing that was easily fixed. “He’ll have enough sense to decline even if the time arrives,” he said, “and that’s dubious.”
We were sitting at our table in the office of Ross Hall, working on—well, more preparing; we knew not what the court would ask of us, just the sense of it—our testimonies for the Lee court-martial. The rest of the aides were doing similar work, but with us being eye-witnesses of multiple of the charges against him, we didn’t have to work as hard as the rest of them, thus setting us in a secluded table in the corner. I was happy it was only Alexander and I, giving us many opportunities to lightly flirt in whispers without being overheard.
Even if I half believed my lover’s words, there still was a catch to him declining the invitation of a duel. “But his honor will be slandered,” I retorted. I shivered at the mere thought of it. What would my father do then, older than the average man with his son off at war, the rest of his children in other countries, alone at Mepkin—and not even having my mother’s headstone to look at; the British destroyed it during this war—with a reputation worth nothing?
Alexander didn’t seem bothered about that in the slightest, something to be understood, considering he harbored a hatred for my father for what he had done to me over the years. “Then he can blame it on his poor health. Or that he's an old man. Or that he’s the president of Congress and the army cannot function without him. Or that he can’t shoot as well as he used to; it would be a suicide mission. Or anything else. He has a million excuses he could use.”
I snorted at the excuses my lover had listed. They were ridiculous, and besides—“Well, my father is not old, so he still can shoot well. Secondly, he isn’t in poor health, so—”
“He could always fake it,” Alexander suggested.
I smacked my hands down on the table playfully so it didn’t make any noise and distract the other aides. I was feigning anger, of course, and my lover knew that, but I still was slightly annoyed because—“For God’s sake, Alexander, I cannot get a single word in with you!”
He only smiled, twirling a curl of his russet hair around his finger. He looked off into the distance, his gaze playfully dreamy. “Oh, but you know that such a beautiful man such as yourself could never hate me. You have too much sense in you to do that, and besides, what would arguably the most beautiful man in the world do without someone to bring him pleasure and satisfy his desires?”
I crossed my arms over my chest, snorting. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Hamilton.”
Alexander stayed quiet for a moment, and I was afraid I had done something wrong, something to offend him. Then he leaned forward and whispered in my ear: “Not even to bed?”
I pushed him away from me playfully. “So this morning wasn’t enough, huh?” I asked, whispering so no one else would hear me.
My lover only smiled, resting his head on his balled hand. “Oh, I’m never satisfied when it comes to you. You’re too desirable in my eyes, John. Far too desirable for me to ever be content.”
A little chuckle escaped from my lips, and I bopped him on the nose with the feather part of my quill. His nose scrunched up and he flinched away from me, something that made me laugh. “Well, you’d better learn to tame your desires soon, Alexander, before it becomes an issue.”
Alexander raised a brow. “An issue?”
“A distraction is a better way to put it.”
He smirked, seeing my meaning, and went back to his work, not speaking to me again after that. I felt him begin to tap my foot, and I smiled, tapping his back. It reminded me that even if what we were doing was illegal—and unrightfully so—he’d always be there for me. And that was all that mattered.