“Do you think we should engage more footmen?”
“Why do you ask?”
“For Thanksgiving. My father and brothers expect a certain . . . standard.”
George sighed. “You mean Eliza. If you think we need more footmen, perhaps you could borrow from your father’s house. He won’t be needing them if everyone is here. Don’t worry so much.”
Mary looked over her shoulder at her husband, who surely cared more about all of this than he let on. “I know how important this event is for you . . . I want it all to be perfect.”
“It is important to me, but I’m far more concerned about this Tea Act,” he said, flicking the newspaper his hands, “than displaying our home to your family in a way that showcases our wealth.”
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