The Lady Gets Lucky EPB

by Joanna Shupe

  Preston folded his arms across his chest. “Who was watching overnight, Al?”

  “Tom. He should be here in a few hours to relieve me. Why?”

  “Because Mr. Ripley snuck out around two o’clock and yet Tom didn’t follow him.”

  “Damn,” Al said, grimacing. “Things were quiet today, but he usually keeps to his room. We don’t hardly see him on the street.”

  “You need to find him. Get more men, if you need. I want him found, Al.”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Clarke. We’ll track him down.” Tipping his hat, he ran back to the house on the other side of the street.

  Kit pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Fuck. He could be anywhere.”

  “The Pinkertons will find him. Hopefully sooner rather than later, but they will find him.”

  “So, we do nothing?” Kit’s shoulders sank, his stomach hollow. He hated feeling powerless. Shouldn’t they be out searching, as well?

  “We stay out of their way and let the detectives work. They know their business and this is why I am paying them a damn fortune.” As usual, Preston was cool in a crisis, with no outward display of emotion of any kind. While anger burned in Kit’s blood, Preston didn’t even look perturbed. The influence of his father, no doubt, who was as cold and detached a man as Kit had ever seen.

  “I’m worried.” Kit thrust his hands in his pockets. Forrest had looked terrible. Did he even have cash? More clothes?

  Preston gripped Kit’s shoulder. “Me, too. But we can’t do anything at the moment. Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

  The ache in Kit’s stomach compounded at the idea. The last thing he needed was to go home and brood about Forrest and Alice. Nothing could be done about either situation at the moment, and Kit needed a distraction from the hopelessness burning inside his chest. “Take me back to the club.” At least there he could bury himself in work.

  The next day, Alice was too busy to be nervous. If she stopped to think about how important the evening was to Kit, then she would never finish everything that still needed to be done. He’d hardly visited the kitchen, leaving Alice, Mrs. Henry and her children alone to work. No doubt he had many tasks awaiting him, as well, but Alice would have liked a little bit of his time. A minute or two, at least. But it almost seemed as if he was avoiding her.

  Which was ridiculous. Kit wasn’t like that. He was honest to a fault, a man without guile. Perhaps he was nervous about tonight. She’d speak to him after the evening ended, just to make certain.

  In his office? Alone, just the two of you?

  She bit her lip and continued to watch over the lobsters steaming on the range. If they overcooked, the meat would turn tough and the lobster thermidor would be ruined. No more thinking about Kit.

  The kitchen was hot and noisy. Dinner service would begin in three hours. In addition to the five waiters that would serve tonight, Kit had hired two people to help plate the food. Sam was currently shucking oysters and Opal was preparing the consommé. Mrs. Henry was searing duck breasts for the ducklings à la bigarade.

  Everything was going well. Alice merely needed to keep breathing and keep moving forward, from one task to the next.

  “Buonasera, Chef!”

  Starting, she turned to the sound of the booming voice. Angelo Franconi was coming in the back door. “Chef.” She blinked at him. “What are you doing here?”

  “I cannot come north ten blocks to see how you are faring? This is your big night, no?”

  “Yes, but . . . haven’t you a dinner service to prepare?”

  “My assistants can handle it without me for a short time. I wanted to see how you were doing.” He drew closer and peered inside the lobster pot. “Come va?” he asked in Italian,

  “Va bene. Are you here to help?” she asked hopefully.

  “No, lucciola. This is your performance. I am merely a spectator. Introduce me?”

  “That is Mrs. Henry and her children, Opal and Sam. Everyone, this is Chef Franconi.”

  Angelo walked around the kitchen and talked to each of them, all the while watching what they were doing. Spectator, indeed. He didn’t fool Alice. This was his food, his recipes, and he wanted to see that Alice and her team were doing them justice.

  Mrs. Henry brought out a spoon and dipped it in the bigarade sauce. She held it out to Angelo, who tasted the sauce. His eyes widened and he nodded. The two of them then began a discussion about various ways to improve upon the taste.

  When he finally returned to the range, he said to Alice, “Mrs. Henry is very skilled. She has soaked the orange zest overnight in cognac and it gives the flavor a nice punch. I will have to try it in my next batch.”

  “I’m glad you are happy. I was worried we could never prepare your brilliant dishes half as well as you do.”

  “I had faith in you, Alice. You just needed to have faith in yourself. You don’t need my recipes. You can create your own.”

  She glanced up and met his eyes. “Oh, I could never—”

  “Watch those lobsters. We can discuss this later. I do not wish to distract you. The lobster meat will toughen if they steam too long.”

  “I know, I know. Remember in Boston when I was younger and I cried every time you put a lobster in the pot?”

  He patted her shoulder. “Always a soft heart, even then. Allora, I must go. Stop by the kitchen on your way in tonight and tell me the results of your dinner.”

  “I will, unless it’s terribly late.” Which it would be, because she planned to stay here with Kit. She kept her gaze on the lobster pot, hoping he’d attribute her blush to the steam.

  “Be safe. I am not certain your mother would approve of you here, alone.”

  Alice shot him a worried look. “You won’t tell her, will you?”

  “I never saw a thing.” He held up his hands. “Ciao, Chef Lucciola.”

  “Ciao, Chef.”

  Angelo left and Mrs. Henry came over to where Alice was removing the batch of steamed lobsters. “He is a nice man,” Mrs. Henry said. “Not as intimidating as I’d assumed, considering his reputation.”

  “He is a teddy bear,” Alice said. “Tough on his staff, but he has a good heart. He is a perfectionist about food.”

  “I think he is probably just a teddy bear with you. He asked me about Mr. Ward, you know.”

  Alice paused and nearly dropped a lobster. Mrs. Henry reached out with a towel and helped put the hot crustacean on the platter. “Thank you. I haven’t a lobster to spare. What did Angelo want to know in regards to Kit?”

  “How well we were acquainted, whether he was a good person. Was he a danger to you or would he keep you safe? Was he a masca . . . mascalzini or something. It was an Italian word.”

  “Mascalzone. It means ‘rascal.’” She returned her attention to the lobsters. “What did you say?”

  “That I have known Mr. Ward for a long time, almost half his life. That he is a good man.” She took another lobster from Alice and put it with the others. “That I have never seen him this smitten.”

  “Oh?” Had Kit been seeing someone? The woman from the opera, perhaps. “I hadn’t realized.”

  “With you, Miss Lusk. With you.”

  Alice dropped the tongs this time, and they fell into the lobster pot. Mrs. Henry retrieved them and dried them off with the towel. “He cannot stop watching you whenever you are close by. And you should have heard the way he bragged about you when begging me to come and help this week. He would have promised me the moon to gain my cooperation, if only to make you happy.”

  “You are very sweet, but Kit is not serious about me. He’s told me many times that he will never marry.”

  “Take it from me,” Mrs. Henry said, lowering her voice. “Sometimes a man’s brain needs time to catch up to his other parts.”

  A strangled half laugh, half gasp emerged from Alice’s throat. “Mrs. Henry!”

  “It’s the truth—and trust me, a man always catches up when the right woman comes along.”<
br />
  It was similar to what Nellie had said, but Alice still didn’t believe this applied to Kit. “Well, even if that were true, I cannot wait around on the possibility that a man might catch up. I have to live my life, and that includes finding a husband who actually wants me. Now, not later.”

  “I like you,” Mrs. Henry said with an approving nod. “He’d be lucky to have you.”

  A month ago Alice never would have agreed, but much had changed both during and after the house party. Kit was a large reason for the shift, yet it wasn’t just his lessons. In the last few weeks, it was like she’d woken up after a long sleep to find the world had rearranged itself. That nothing was the same.

  Only it wasn’t the world; it was her. She was no longer the same.

  She proved she could make friends, that she could defy her mother. She could cook. Excelled at it, even. And yes, she could attract a man. Had kissed one, too. A duke had asked her to go driving with him.

  While she might not be as popular as Maddie or as rebellious as Nellie, she was finally fitting into her own skin. Growing and changing. Getting stronger. Indeed, any man would be lucky to have her.

  Mrs. Henry went back to her tasks and Alice returned her attention to the lobsters. There was no time for introspection at the moment. An elegant dinner for fifty gentlemen required all her focus for the next three hours.

  The door pushed open, but Alice was too busy cracking lobster claws to notice. “Look at you, madam chef!” a familiar female voice said.

  She looked over her shoulder and found Nellie there, her hands on her hips. Wait, Nellie was in the kitchen?

  Alice’s mouth fell open. “What are you doing here?”

  The other woman took an apron off a peg on the wall and tied it over her dress. “Helping. Put me to work.”

  “Wait. How did you know I was here?”

  “Kit told me.” She removed the small hat from her head and smoothed her red hair. Then she came over and kissed Alice’s cheek. “My father was invited tonight. He will be one of the guests eating your food.”

  “Well, it’s not my food. And I’m not the only one preparing it.” She gestured to the others and quickly introduced Nellie to Mrs. Henry and her children.

  “Nice to meet all of you.” Nellie clapped her hands together. “Now, what may I do to help?”

  Momentarily overwhelmed, Alice looked at Mrs. Henry. The older woman said, “If she finishes breaking those lobsters apart, you could start on the filling.”

  “Yes, of course. Nellie, do you know anything about lobsters?”

  “Spent a summer in Bar Harbor. You bet I do. Scoot.” She nudged Alice out of the way and started cracking claws.

  Turning, Alice went to gather the ingredients for the filling and brought them back to the counter. Standing next to Nellie again, she leaned in and lowered her voice. “I imagine you have better things to do on a Friday night. Thank you for coming.”

  “Actually, I don’t. Shockingly, a woman with my reputation is not invited to all that many events. Second, you are my friend and friends drop everything whenever one is in need. In fact, I’m hurt you didn’t ask me to come earlier in the week.”

  “Oh, forgive me. I didn’t actually think—”

  “Alice, I’m teasing. I’m not hurt. I understand why you wouldn’t ask, I do. And Kit tried to talk me out of it. He said I’d only be in your way.”

  “Nonsense. I am glad you’re here.” It was surreal, actually. Alice hadn’t even considered reaching out to Katherine or Nellie for assistance. She was so used to doing everything on her own, with no one in her corner. But now she had friends. It would take some getting used to. “Won’t your father be worried about you?”

  A lobster shell cracked as Nellie squeezed the metal tool around the claw. “I told him I was coming to help you. Honestly, he’s probably thrilled. My nighttime activities and his do not normally cross paths like this.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “And things with Kit? How goes it?”

  How could Alice begin to answer? Their circumstances were the same, but the other night had been . . . astounding. Like he’d flipped her inside out and then righted her again. And if all went according to plan tonight, she would stay late and celebrate with him. Together.

  “I see,” Nellie said. “That blush tells me all I need to know.”

  “Stop. It’s warm in here.”

  “Oh, indeed. And the Devil sells ice cream in Hell.”

  “I am serious. Kit is not interested in anything meaningful.”

  “As long as you keep that in mind and don’t fall in love with him, then enjoy it. I hope you turn those lessons back around on him and make him beg.”

  I want to give you everything, show you everything, but I know I haven’t the right.

  “In a way, yes,” she said. “That is exactly what I am planning.”

  “Good for you! I want every salacious detail after we finish the dinner service.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Everything was perfect.

  The table settings, the waiters, the food . . . the evening was moving like clockwork, with precision and efficiency. The guests were happy, laughing and drinking, raving about Alice’s food. They had been chosen carefully this evening. Fifty of New York’s most influential men were here, including Hearst and Pulitzer, newspaper magnates that would hopefully write about the club in their papers. Carnegie had come—probably just to see Madame Durham—and the Scotsman was holding court and entertaining the other gents at his table. Jack Astor and Governor Morton were laughing together at another table, while Stanford White and Teddy Roosevelt looked to be in a heated conversation near the wall. Nellie’s father, Cornelius Young, was here, sitting with Stuyvesant Fish, president of the Illinois Central Railroad.

  Bursting with pride and gratitude, Kit even allowed a tiny bit of hope to blossom in his chest. If the performance went well, then the night would be considered a smashing success.

  He strode to the side room where the performers could rest. Knocking on the door, he waited until he heard a male voice call, “Enter!”

  On the other side of the door, Madame Durham was in the middle of the room, warming up her voice, while her husband sat at the small piano, playing scales. She held up a finger toward Kit until she finished her vocal exercise, then paused.

  “Pardon the interruption, Madame Durham,” he said. “It is almost time. Is there anything else you need at the moment?”

  “No. I will be ready in ten minutes,” the opera singer said. “Will that suffice?”

  “Perfect,” Kit said. “I’ll let everyone know.”

  She nodded and went back to her exercises, and Kit smiled as he closed the door. Her voice was magnificent, even in warm-ups.

  He was tempted to peek into the kitchen to check on Alice, but he’d restrained himself all day. Hovering over her wouldn’t do either of them any good and he’d promised not to corrupt her any further. Even if it killed him.

  So yes, distance. That was his new goal. Alice would marry Lockwood and have little dukes somewhere in England, away from her family.

  Ignoring the sourness in the pit of his stomach, he leaned against the doorframe to the dining room and thrust his hands in his pockets. Preston arrived with a glass of champagne for Kit. “Quite a night. Is it time to celebrate your success yet?”

  “Our success—and not yet.” Kit sipped from the coupe and watched the crowd. “Though everyone seems happy with the food.”

  “Happy? They are raving about the lobster thermidor and the duck. Everyone is dying to know who this Chef Lucciola is.”

  Kit smiled. They would never find out. A tiny general in crinoline, Alice had done a magnificent job of overseeing all the preparation and plating. He’d overheard her giving orders in there and the confidence in her voice heated his blood, nearly giving him an erection right in the dining room. Bossiness hadn’t appealed to him in the past, but Alice was different. For some reason, when she expressed herself in
such definitive terms, he enjoyed it. Too much, it seemed.

  “Any chance we could hire Alice permanently?” Preston asked.

  The glass paused midway to Kit’s mouth as his body locked up. He hadn’t considered it. After tonight’s preview, he had planned to hire a chef, but that depended on how many memberships sold first. Call Kit superstitious, but he didn’t wish to hire permanent staff before they knew if this idea would take. “I cannot imagine she’d be willing—or that her mother would allow it.”

  “What if her husband allowed it because he owned the club?”

  Kit looked over sharply. “You know that’s not going to happen.”

  “Do I?” Amusement tugged at Preston’s lips. “I think you’ve avoided her all day for a reason, but I see your eyes drifting that way every few minutes and how you’ve hesitated by the door to listen to her.”

  “Do not ruin this night for me,” he warned. “You’re overstepping, Pres.”

  “Never seen you this touchy over a woman before, either.”

  “Goddamn it. Did you not hear me?”

  Preston raised a hand in surrender. “I’ll stop. For now.”

  Downing the rest of his champagne, Kit handed the empty coupe to Preston. “Watch it, or I’ll tell Arabella the name of the woman your father tried to force you to marry.”

  His friend’s face darkened, anger rushing in quick. “Don’t you dare.”

  Kit lifted a brow, telling Preston without words that he most definitely would, before turning to fetch Madame Durham. The singer was ready, so Kit led her and her husband to the side of the stage, then went up and made the introductions. The men clapped politely and Madame Durham took the stage. Her husband sat at the piano, ready to play accompaniment.

  From the first note of Giuseppe Verdi’s “Sempre Libera,” the crowd was riveted. Madame Durham’s soprano filled the room, which had been designed to amplify sound. No one moved. The waiters stopped working and watched from the back, and the kitchen staff all peeked out from a crack in the door. Her voice was beautiful, the kind that filled one’s chest with love and hope, like air infused with pure joy. Kit’s eyes welled, emotion overcoming him as she sang piece after piece, showing the range of her voice.