The Lady Gets Lucky EPB

by Joanna Shupe

  I am not the kind of man who is interested in settling down.

  She mustn’t forget it. Marriage had to remain Alice’s priority, not mind-altering kisses and unrequited infatuation. Kit was everything she wanted in a man, except he would never marry, and Alice could not allow herself anything less.

  Know your worth. Wasn’t that what Katherine had said? It was good advice, especially for unmarried girls who craved nothing more than kisses from a certain dark-haired scoundrel.

  The curtain fell for the first intermission and her gaze drifted back to Lockwood. He sat perfectly still, while the guests in his box stood and departed for drinks or a smoke. That left the duke all alone and Alice decided to pay him a visit. They hadn’t spoken since Newport, and she didn’t want him to think that she judged him for what had happened.

  Stop making excuses for going over there. Just go and talk to him.

  Rising, she glanced at her mother. “Mama, I must visit the ladies’ salon.”

  “Again?” Her mother frowned. “I told you to stop drinking so much lemonade. Do not take too long.”

  “I won’t, I promise.”

  Because her mother’s long-distance vision was poor, Alice was safe to visit Lockwood in full view of the opera house. Once in the corridor behind the boxes, she hurried through the crowd toward the duke’s box. Part of her marveled at this impetuous decision—something she never would have done a month ago—but this version of Alice was a tiny bit bolder.

  You have Kit to thank for that.

  Indeed, and she’d remain grateful for everything he taught her, even if the memories were painful at the moment. Painful because she missed him, which was odd as she’d only known him a short time. But feelings didn’t base their strength on minutes and hours, apparently.

  She slipped through the curtain at the rear of the duke’s box. He faced the stage, his jaw stiff. A brief flash of panic caused her to hesitate—and he chose that exact moment to glance over his shoulder. Blinking, he instantly came to his feet. “Miss Lusk. I hadn’t heard you enter.”

  Dropping into an elegant curtsy, she said, “Your Grace, forgive my intrusion.”

  “Nonsense. There is nothing to forgive. Might I offer you a drink?”

  “No, thank you. I just wished to say hello and inquire after your well-being.”

  “Indeed, that is kind of you.” He gestured to the seats. “Please, sit.”

  She lowered herself onto the plush seat beside him and tried to remember Kit’s advice. Meet his gaze and hold it so there can be no mistake. People like to talk about themselves.

  Angling toward the duke, she stared directly into his eyes. “Are you enjoying the production this evening?”

  “Not particularly.” The side of his mouth hitched slightly. “I’ve seen this play many times over the years. I fear it’s lost its appeal for me. You?”

  Instead of answering, she kept the focus of the conversation on him. “Do you attend the theater often?”

  “Quite a bit, yes. I mostly live in London, so I regularly attend the opera and the theater. You are from Boston, if I am not mistaken. Have you theater there?”

  “You must miss London, I would imagine. What is the city like?”

  “Dirty. There’s soot in the air, as thick as fog some days. Other than Mayfair, the streets are muddy and full of filth. It’s a shocking contrast to your city. I understand there are parts of New York that are dirty and crowded but I haven’t seen them. Still, I am anxious to return home.”

  “Just as soon as you marry?”

  His lips pressed together as if the topic was an unwelcome one. “Yes, well,” he said. “That hasn’t gone to plan thus far.”

  There was no use pretending to misunderstand. She’d been at the house party, after all. “A lifelong childhood friendship is hard to compete with, Your Grace.”

  He cocked his head, studying her. “True. That does not make it any less embarrassing, however.”

  “Perhaps, but think of the unmarried women who now wish to console you and lift your spirits. I’d say you are quite the sympathetic hero.”

  “Is that why you came over, to lift my spirits?”

  “I wouldn’t presume to possess such powers, but I did notice that you weren’t overly engaged with those around you.”

  “Oh, I hardly know them. A state politician, his wife and their friends.”

  “Then why accept the invitation?”

  “It was time. I cannot spend forever in America, and as we know, I must find a bride.”

  “Well, I have noted no fewer than four young ladies unable to tear their eyes away from you tonight, so I’d say your dance card will be filled in no time.”

  “Four? I must be slipping. Normally it’s about seven or eight.”

  A snort escaped as she laughed—and she froze. Good God, she’d just snorted in front of a duke. Casting her eyes downward, she tried not to expire from mortification.

  This was a bad idea. She never should have come over here—

  “Forgive me, but was that an actual snort I heard?”

  She winced and slammed her eyelids shut. “Is it too much to hope that we might not discuss it?”

  “I am afraid we must. I cannot think of the last time I caused someone to laugh so hard they snorted, if ever.”

  “It is a first for me. Snorting in front of a duke, that is.”

  He put a hand over his heart. “I am honored.”

  “Your Grace is kind to humor me, but I am no stranger to embarrassment.”

  “Perhaps you can offer some tips on coping with it, then. If not for inciting more gossip, I would have left already.”

  “A very wise woman recently told me that what you think of yourself matters much more than what others think.”

  “A bit naive, perhaps, but a nice goal for most people.”

  A duke was not most people, she supposed. “Then my suggestion would be to drink until you no longer care.”

  Lockwood threw his head back and laughed, showing off the strong column of his throat. “I approve of that advice, actually. How had I not realized that you possess a sense of humor, Miss Lusk?”

  Alice bit her lip and tried to suppress a smile. “I haven’t a clue, Your Grace.”

  They were laughing.

  Alice and the damn duke were laughing in his box as if they were the best of friends. Kit ground his teeth and lingered in the back of Preston’s box, cloaked in the shadows, and watched her flirt—flirt!—with Lockwood using all the tricks he had taught her. Tricks like leaning toward the duke, looking him in the eyes and asking questions instead of monopolizing the conversation.

  Then Kit saw her bite her lip and smile, and he thought he might jump out of his skin.

  Goddamn it.

  “Is something wrong?” A delicate hand swept over his knee. It belonged to Lottie, his companion this evening. She was a friend of Preston’s mistress, Arabella, who was currently sitting with Preston in front of Kit and Lottie. The outing had been Preston’s idea to force Kit “to stop moping and get out of the house,” but Kit’s heart hadn’t been in it. Even less so after seeing Alice here with her mother at the other end of the tier.

  “No,” he lied, keeping his gaze fixed on Alice. “Did you enjoy the first—?”

  Alice stood and prepared to leave Lockwood’s box. Before Kit knew what he was doing, he shot out of his chair and glanced down at Lottie. “Would you like champagne? Why don’t I fetch us all some champagne?”

  Without waiting on an answer, he darted up the aisle, through the back of the box and into the corridor. Throngs of people were milling about, so he weaved through the bodies and closed the distance to Lockwood’s box. Music began playing from the orchestra pit, a signal that the second half was about to start. He didn’t stop, just kept a brisk pace until he spotted the back of Alice’s head.

  People poured out of the smoking and retiring rooms, which made keeping up that much harder. No doubt he appeared like a man possessed as he trailed her
, but he soon caught up. She was lovely, wearing a cream silk brocade gown with full sleeves and a faint floral pattern on the skirt. Wrapping his fingers around her gloved wrist, he dragged her to the side.

  She gasped and turned, trying to pull her wrist from his grip. When she saw it was him, she gave a nervous glance around them, as if she didn’t wish to be seen with him. “Oh, Mr. Ward. Hello.”

  “Mr. Ward, is it?” He tugged her into the nearly empty salon.

  “That is your name.” She twisted her arm to free herself and he let her go. “What are we doing in here?”

  “Retrieving champagne.” He tilted his head toward the attendant pouring in the corner. “Let’s stand in line.”

  Her brows pinched but she didn’t argue. There were about ten people in line for refreshments, so he positioned himself behind her and spoke to the back of her head. “Having a nice time?”

  She angled to the side ever so slightly. “I suppose. I hadn’t realized you were here. Do you have a box?”

  That she’d spotted Lockwood and not Kit grated across his nerves. “I’m with my friend Preston in his box. Fourth beyond Lockwood on this tier.”

  “Oh.” She worried her lip between her teeth. “Just the two of you, then?”

  “No.” He didn’t elaborate. There was no reason to tell her of Arabella and Lottie. “You and Lockwood looked cozy.”

  She lifted a shoulder as the line progressed a tiny bit. “I thought he seemed lonely so I went over to visit him.”

  “Lonely? That is ridiculous.”

  “It’s not.” She shot him a frown. “He’s embroiled in a scandal not of his making. And I know better than most what it’s like to suffer a public humiliation. It’s nice to be offered an unexpected kindness every now and again.”

  Dash it, why must she be such a good person? “Hard to feel sorry for Lockwood when he taunted Harrison at every turn.”

  “You men.” She shook her head as if disgusted with his entire gender. “Everything is a contest, even marriage.”

  Kit crossed his arms over his chest. “Speaking of marriage, how goes your search? Any progress since I last saw you?” Please say no.

  “No. My ankle hadn’t healed well enough to attend events until yesterday.”

  Damn, he’d forgotten about her ankle. Because you were jealous and let it cloud your thinking. This was unlike him. He should be charming that beautiful actress back in Preston’s box, yet he’d raced after Alice like a hound to a fox. And why? Because she was doing what she set out to do—finding a husband?

  Shame coated his skin like needles. “Forgive me. I hadn’t even inquired after your injury. Are you feeling better?”

  “I am, thank you. How are your supper club plans coming along?”

  “Better, now that we have those recipes. Thank you for that, by the way. I’ve sent a check to Franconi.”

  “Yes, he mentioned it.”

  “You’ve seen him, then?”

  “Once or twice. You know me, always curious.”

  The line went more quickly, with the second act now underway onstage. “We plan to credit Franconi on the menu. I think his food will be a nice draw.”

  Alice stepped up to the counter and moved aside, motioning to Kit. “How many?” she asked.

  “Four,” he told the attendant.

  As the glasses were poured, Alice asked, “Is she pretty?”

  “Who?”

  “The woman you are with tonight.”

  Not as pretty as you. “I suppose, yes. She’s an actress, a friend of Preston’s . . . friend.”

  “Ah.” She stared at the wall. “I should get back to my mother before she starts worrying.”

  “Wait.” He didn’t want her to go yet. “Just another minute.”

  “No, I should return to my seat. And you have your friends waiting for you. It was nice to see you again, Mr. Ward.” In a swirl of silk she departed, her steps measured and quick, as if she couldn’t wait to get away from him.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. That hadn’t gone well. Why hadn’t he charmed her instead of acting like a jealous fool? It was as if he’d forgotten all of his own lessons.

  This would not do. He needed to stop focusing on Alice and recalling her greedy kisses and innocent smiles. She was better off finding a husband of substance, one who would love and cherish her, give her children. Kit was a short-term winner, not a long-term investment. Besides, he’d soon be running a supper club, which was one shallow step above a dance hall in the eyes of society. No proper family would approve of him as a son-in-law.

  She deserved the wedding, the big house, a passel of doe-eyed children with chestnut hair. None of that interested Kit. So, better to purge Alice from his mind now before he ruined her chances at a good match.

  Cradling the four glasses of champagne, he returned to the other end of the tier. He edged aside the curtain at the back of Preston’s box and slipped inside the salon—then drew up short.

  Preston waited there, arms crossed, and a scowl on his face. Kit immediately asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “That is what I’d like to know,” his friend said. “You rushed out of here like the place was on fire. So, what happened?”

  “I went for champagne.” He held up both hands. “Just as I said.”

  Preston stepped closer and lowered his tone. “Do you not wish to be here? I realize I pushed you into coming and brought Lottie along, but you’re normally not this . . . remote. Usually by now I’ve scolded you once or twice about public indecency, which always prompts you to leave with your companion at intermission. Tonight, you’re actually minding your manners.”

  This was the problem with good friends. They knew you at your best . . . and your worst.

  “I will apologize to Lottie. My attention is hers from here on out.”

  “Good. See that it stays that way.”

  Preston plucked two of the glasses from Kit’s hands and went into the front of the box. The two women were whispering but quieted as the men approached. Kit handed a glass to Lottie and retook his seat. He allowed himself one last look at Alice, who watched the play as if memorizing it, before he turned to his companion for the evening.

  Edging closer, he put his lips near Lottie’s ear. “Forgive me. I was a bit out of sorts this evening, but that was not a good excuse for ignoring you.”

  “You are forgiven.” Lottie smirked as she placed a hand on Kit’s thigh. “But you’ll have to make it up to me during the second half.”

  He forced a smile and dropped his voice to a deep rasp. “I do love a challenge.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The best time to sneak into the Fifth Avenue Hotel’s kitchen was around ten o’clock in the evening. Supper service had dwindled by that hour and the staff generally had more free moments to spare. Besides, Alice’s mother took her laudanum at eight, so by ten Mama was sleeping like the dead.

  Angelo knew to expect Alice almost every night, unless she had a social engagement, and he usually had a plate of food waiting. Either an old favorite or something new he wanted her to try. She loved talking about the flavors and ingredients, trying to guess what he’d included in the recipe.

  It was the one place where she could relax and be herself. And in the three days since she’d run into Kit at the opera, the kitchen was the only place she found respite from her misery.

  At first, seeing him had caused her heart to swell, as if the organ had shriveled like a raisin in his absence. But he hadn’t attended alone. And once she learned where he was sitting, she hadn’t been able to stop staring as he flirted with the beautiful woman at his side. Watching had seemed like a necessary torture, one that would finally convince her heart that any feelings for him were absurd. Ridiculous. Unrequited and pathetic.

  And when he left with his companion midway through the second act, Alice felt like said heart had been ripped out of her chest and stomped on by a heavy boot.

  Forget him. Know your worth.

  It had become h
er mantra. Someday it would sink in and make her feel better.

  She pushed through the door at the back stairs and entered the kitchen.

  “Buonasera, signorina!” Angelo called when he spotted her. In his early fifties, Angelo was shorter than most men but had more energy than anyone she’d ever met. His hair had started to gray at the temples since he moved away from Boston, so she liked to tease him that New York was making him old.

  He was at the stove, shaking a pan over the flame. “Come see, come see.”

  “Hello, Angelo. I see you’ve not stopped yet tonight.”

  “This is for you and me. Look.” He pointed at the pan where vegetables and chicken livers sautéed in a brown sauce. “I visited Mon Lay Won in Chinatown and had this dish. They call it chop suey.”

  She had heard of this restaurant. It was referred to as the Chinese Delmonico’s, but her mother refused to allow her to travel to that neighborhood. Someday, Alice would find a way to go. “It smells delicious. What’s in it?”

  “Fungi, buds of the bamboo, bean sprouts, some chicken livers and pigs’ tripe, celery and onion. And the spices, of course.”

  “I cannot wait to try it.”

  “The rice is there.” He pointed to a pot on the stove. “Use those plates and dish up the rice. The chop suey is ready.” When she had rice on both plates, he brought over the skillet and poured some of the mixture out. “Now we sit,” he said.

  They took their plates to a tiny table in the corner. During the day, it was where Angelo worked, reviewing the evening’s menu. Waiting there was a bottle of red wine for him and a glass of water for her. She sat down and smelled the dish first. “Is there vinegar or wine in there?”

  “Yes, it is a Chinese wine.” He tapped his nose. “I knew you would smell it.”

  She picked up her fork and tasted it. “This is fantastic. There’s garlic and ginger root, too.”

  “Fast and simple, yet has a lot of flavor. This is not quite as good, though. I must go back and watch the chef make it once more.”