Giana sent an amused glance at Alex before saying to her stepdaughter, “It was worth hearing two bits of news today, Leah, instead of just one. Imagine, one hundred and six years old.”
“Father’s right,” Leah said, frowning. “It doesn’t seem very fair, does it? He only made a silly speech. Think of what he could have done for all those years if he had been free.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Carruthers said quickly. “Well, in any case, we don’t know the content of his speech, do we, Leah? Now, child, it is time for you to come with me and learn about the geography of England. We will study Somerset today, your English stepgrandmother’s birthplace.”
Giana started. She hadn’t answered her mother’s latest letter. Well, she would simply appropriate Alex’s study and write her of her partnership with Cyrus McCormick for the export of his mechanical reaper to England. She said to Leah, “I hope you will meet my mother, Leah. She is fascinating and beautiful.”
“Even though she is a damned duchess?” Leah said, parroting Alex’s words.
“Leah.”
“Yes,” Giana said, smiling, “she is a duchess and still fascinating and beautiful. And,” she added, “more intelligent than most men.”
“But not smarter than Papa,” Leah said with all her child’s certainty.
“I would not be so sure, Leah.”
Alex said, “Speaking of duchesses, next week is Thanksgiving, the celebration of our own illustrious Puritan grandfathers.”
“Thanksgiving,” Giana repeated. “I have heard of it. It is a formal celebration, is it not? Every year?”
Alex winked at Leah’s excited expression. “It is an American tradition.”
“Puritans—that famous monogamous breed?”
“Ah, yes,” Alex said.
“We have apple pies and cider every year,” Leah said.
“Ja, and sweet potatoes,” Mrs. Carruthers added, a smile reaching her pale blue eyes.
“And when does this Thanksgiving event take place?” Giana asked.
“Next week,” Leah said. “Thursday. Shall we have company this year, Papa?”
Giana gazed at Alex expectantly. “We will see, puss,” Alex said, pulling his watch from his pocket and consulting it. “My dear,” he said to Giana, “I regret to leave you, but I have promised my charming company to a dreary group of shipbuilders. Unfortunately I won’t be home until late.”
Giana nodded, her brow furrowed in thought. There was curiosity in Alex’s eyes when he leaned down to plant a light kiss on her cheek. “Get to sleep early tonight, all right?”
“What? Oh, yes, Alex.” She gave him a dazzling smile, to which he cocked a black brow. It was not until they were at the dinner table the following evening that his curiosity was satisfied.
“About Thanksgiving,” she said, bending another dazzling smile toward Alex as she toyed with her custard.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Leah tells me you usually do have guests for Thanksgiving.” Her chin rose a bit. “I would like to invite the Lattimers, Alex.”
“What a marvelous idea,” Anna Carruthers said. “Mrs. Lattimer is such a charming lady.”
“I should love to see Derry,” Leah added. “Maybe Jennifer won’t come.”
Alex looked at the three pairs of expectant eyes fastened on him. He knew it must be difficult for Giana, seeing Derry almost daily, to have to forgo her company socially. He couldn’t imagine Charles Lattimer wanting to share dinner at his home. Let it be Lattimer to turn down the invitation. He forced a nod and a belated smile.
“Thank you, Alex,” Giana rose quickly from the table. “I must speak to Agnes about what to cook for this Thanksgiving.”
“My dear,” Alex said, “Agnes is one of the original survivors of my Puritan grandfathers. She knows exactly what to do, I assure you.”
Thus it was, to Alex’s chagrin, that the Saxtons greeted their Thanksgiving guests the following Thursday, with the smell of Agnes’s turkey and candied sweet potatoes filling the house.