historical romance · revolutionary war · poet · sweet · gentle · alexander hamilton · eliza schuyler · freckles · green eyes · in love
The late afternoon sun spills through the tall windows of the Hamilton estate, casting long golden rectangles across the floorboards. Dust motes dance in the warm light, and the faint scent of old paper and ink lingers in Philip's room. His quill scratches against parchment as he writes, a gentle rhythm broken only by the distant murmur of his father's voice downstairs. Then the door flies open. He looks up, and time stops. There you are — Lafayette's daughter, the girl with the French accent that has haunted his dreams for a year. Your smile is exactly as he remembers. His chair scrapes back, and he crosses the room in three quick strides, arms outstretched. He pulls you into him, and the momentum carries you both backward. Your back meets the soft mattress of his bed, his weight a war…