Chapter Text
April 1816
Hamilton’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together as he took in the headline: “New Tariff Puts American Manufacturing First”. Just when he thought he’d placed the country on the right footing, the Second Bank of the United States well on its way to being re-charted, the damned Demos decided to pull this nonsense. Secretary Dallas was out of his mind.
“Given your teeth look ready to crack, I assume you’re seeing the news?” Burr leaned against the open door to his law office, with his arms crossed over his chest and eyebrows raised.
“Do you agree with this?” Hamilton asked, folding the paper over to jab at bold typeface of the top line.
Burr shrugged. “I leave the financial maneuvering to your good judgment. But I had a feeling it would get a reaction from you.”
“25% tariffs on British cotton and wool? 25%?”
“A windfall for the North,” Burr said. “But you were for tariffs in your day, weren’t you? Is it so different?”
“Modest tariffs, as a source of federal revenue. This isn’t for revenue. This is protectionism, plain and simple. Deliberate economic meddling, inflating costs for the American consumer to protect a chosen few. This is—” He couldn’t even come up with an appropriate description. “This is folly. This…this is going to tear the country apart.”
“The South is surprisingly supportive, from what I heard. Calhoun came out for it, saying it was good for independence and national unity.”
“The South is too full of post-war patriotic fervor to see their own interests right now. Give them time for the bills to start coming due. I can feel the country cracking in half already.”
Burr sighed, unfolding his arms and stepping into the office fully. “I came to discuss the insurance dispute, if you can get your head off politics for a few moments?”
Hamilton’s attention was fixed back on the page. “Additional tariffs on leather, iron, paper…this is insanity.”
“So, no to discussing the insurance contract, I take it?” Burr settled himself into the seat across the desk, brushing an imaginary spec from his silk breeches.
“I’m writing to Jemmy.” Hamilton shoved the newspaper aside to reach for his inkwell. “He has to stop this.”
“He’s riding high on good will right now,” Burr pointed out.
“And I’m not?”
“You know you are. But he has no reason to stop something that has such unanimous support. Why sacrifice the political capital to put a stop to something popular on both sides of the aisle?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do.”
Burr snorted. “I’ve always admired your political naivety. It’s adorable.”
Hamilton huffed, sitting back in his chair, eyes glued to the headline. The tariff simply couldn’t stand. He was so, so tired of the bad policy choices, tired of fighting to make his voice heard. And this, this was the final straw.
The idea had been churning in the back of his mind for a long while now, ebbing and flowing as he watched the political scene be set around him. It had never been a real possibility before, not really—the scandal had dogged him in the early days before this chair, the terrible injury had held him back when his popularity first surged, but now…now, what was there to stop him?
The chance to defeat the villainous Monroe was a tantalizing opportunity. Especially now, with the Virginia Dynasty ripe to fall, the Demos tracking backwards into so many popular Federalist policies so much these days that he hardly knew what they stood for anymore.
And Burr—Hamilton had been willing to sacrifice his life to stop Burr from coming into power. But the horrors that had followed—the treason trial, the war—it had changed things. Burr had once more become a comrade in arms, a trusted ally, against all the odds. If he were to do this, who else was there to ask to join him in the mad attempt?
“What if we did it?” The words slipped out before he could second guess them.
“Did what?” Burr’s eyebrows furrowed again. “Discussed the insurance case like responsible attorneys?”
“What if we challenged him?”
“Who? Jemmy?”
“Monroe.”
“Monroe,” Burr repeated, the color draining from his face. “Are you…are you asking what I think you’re asking?”
Hamilton grinned. “If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself, as I’ve learned so painfully over the years.”
“You haven’t thought this through.”
“I’ve been thinking this through for well over a year. The alternative candidate is King, and he stands no chance against Monroe.”
“Jackson,” Burr suggested.
“Not ready. And I’m not sure I see the appeal, myself.”
Burr’s head tilted, a playful lilt entering his tone as he said, “What if I don’t want to play second fiddle?”
Hamilton waved a hand at him. “We’ve done that dance already. I certainly can’t let you run by yourself, unsupervised. Lord knows what trouble you’d cause.”
“Stop, you’ll make me blush,” Burr quipped.
“We need to do something. We can’t leave the country to the whims of Monroe. We worked too hard, sacrificed too much not to intervene.”
Burr considered him carefully. “You might still lose. The peace treaty ensured Monroe’s popularity, and the Hartford Convention still looms large over any Federalist movement. You’re popular, beloved even, but not without your own baggage. It’s not a sure victory by a long shot.”
“But we might win,” Hamilton countered. “What did Monroe do when Washington was seized by the British? He turned tail and ran. Now, when they’re defeated through our hard efforts, he tries to play hero by placing a 25% tariff on British goods. Easy to be tough on a defeated enemy, I suppose.”
“Monroe’s not the one proposing the tariff.”
“This has his stink all over it,” Hamilton grumbled.
“And I haven’t agreed to be a ‘we’, yet.”
He stared at Burr, hardly daring to breathe, letting the silence work for him.
“This is madness,” Burr said, a soft chuckle in his voice.
“Probably,” Hamilton agreed.
“It’ll never wok.”
“Likely true,” he agreed again.
“We’re going to lose spectacularly to the Virginia tyrants.”
“But at least we’ll have tried.”
Burr closed his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose. “I cannot believe I’m letting you talk me into this.”
“I cannot believe I have to work this hard to do so. Not so long ago, you’d have been the one in here trying to convince me.”
“I learned my lesson—you’ve yet to do so, apparently.”
Hamilton felt the corners of his mouth curling upwards as he saw the answering sparkle of mischief growing in Burr’s eyes.
Burr sighed and stuck out his hand. Hamilton returned the gesture, their hands clasping warmly.
“Once more unto the breach, dear friend,” Burr said.
A fond smile touched Hamilton’s lips as he replied, “The game’s afoot.”
The warm glow of a decision made lasted Hamilton almost until it was time to pack up his briefcase to head for home. He had no illusions that this fight would be easy, no delusion that he was likely to win, but that itch that had urged him to return to public life had been satisfyingly scratched by the agreement with Burr. What was there to stop him now?
Not until the clock struck the hour for him to head to his coach did the realization occur—like a bucket of cold water, the reality of what he hadn’t yet done crashed over him. The one person who had seen him through all his trials was also the one person with whom he’d avoided sharing any hint of this notion in the past months.
Because Eliza was going to murder him.
**
“You’re not eating much,” Eliza noted beside him at the dinner table.
He’d agonized over how to do this for the full ninety minutes it took to get from his downtown Manhattan office back to the Grange. Should he say it first thing? Wait until dinner? Maybe at night, when they were curled up in bed?
“I’m a bit—distracted.”
“Difficult case?” she asked, carefully slicing her potatoes as she spoke.
“No, nothing out of the ordinary in my caseload right now.”
Her lips pulled into a thin line as her mind worked, sorting through what else might be bothering him. Thinking for a long moment, she asked, “Was it that tariff business in the papers? Are you opposed to it?”
“Yes—well, partly that, anyway.”
She looked over at him fondly, with her fork raised to her lips. “Are you going to make me keep guessing, honey?”
He stared at the untouched mutton on his plate and took a deep breath. “I have something to tell you. And I am very sure you’re not going to like it.”
He could feel her stiffen beside him even without touching her.
“The tariff business, it’s the latest in a long line of policy decisions that I oppose. Reading about it today, it clarified some things for me. Helped me make a decision about something I’ve been considering for a long while.”
“Dear Lord,” she muttered to herself, fork going down so she could pinch the bridge of her nose.
Though he knew she already knew, he stated it plainly: “I want to run for the presidency.”
“You want to beat Monroe,” she countered. “That’s what this is really about.”
“I don’t deny that does lend the attempt a certain appeal.”
“Alexander,” she sighed.
“I know. I know what this is asking of you. And I know I’ve asked too much of you already. But I think I could do this. I think I could be good at this.”
He could see jaw tighten as she took in the news. After a long, deep breath, she asked, “Who would you run with? Mr. King?”
“King holds very little appeal outside core party loyalists. He wouldn’t benefit a ticket.”
“Then who?”
“Burr.”
Her eyes widened until he could see the whites all the way round. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am. He’s popular from the war. And it has the added benefit of novelty. People are still fascinated to see us working together.”
“Because he tried to kill you,” she said slowly.
“All in the past, now.”
“In the past?” she repeated, voice high.
“Eliza, I can’t do this without you,” he said softly. “Do I have your support?”
She narrowed her gaze at him. “Do I have a real choice?”
“Of course you do.”
She huffed, staring down at her plate.
“Betsey,” he reached for her hand, “If you say no, that’ll put an end to it. You have my word.”
He meant it, every word. If she said no, he’d honor her wishes, put this foolish notion behind him. He’d not drag her into the political fray without her consent.
He could see moisture gathering on her lashes. “You’d never forgive me.”
“There would be nothing to forgive. One of us needs to have some sense in this relationship, and we both know that’s not something the good Lord gifted to me in any discernible measurement.”
A shaky smile touched her lips. “No social occasions with just the three of us? And I’ll never need to be alone with him?” The same bargain they’d struck when he’d suggested Burr as head of the Northern army, he recognized.
He squeezed her hand, heart-rate quickening as he understood this as her begrudging agreement. “Are you sure? Truly sure?”
“No,” she laughed. “But I believe in you, Alexander. I’d follow you anywhere.”
He stared at her with wonder, reaching out with his free hand to brush her hair from her face. His angel. Whatever would he do without her? “I adore you,” he whispered.
“Lucky for you the feeling is mutual,” she said, leaning in close to him. “The things I do for you.”
He captured her lips with his, kissing her firmly.
Her agreement confirmed, there truly was nothing to stop him now. A smile played at the corners of his mouth. This was really happening; he was truly, finally putting his hat in the ring for that most glorious and thankless prize—the presidency.