The Lady Gets Lucky EPB

by Joanna Shupe

  His eagerness to learn was one of the many things she loved and respected about Angelo. “I wish I could go with you.”

  “Someday, lucciola,” he said, calling her “firefly” in Italian. “You will marry soon and become one of those independent women with their bicycles and pantaloons.”

  “Bloomers,” she corrected with a fond smile. “They are called bloomers.”

  He waved his hand. “I prefer dresses, but what do I know? I am an old man. Tell me, how goes the search for a husband?”

  “Fine.” She sighed. “No serious suitor, though.”

  “Some not serious suitors, perhaps?”

  She thought of Kit and her lips twitched. Definitely not serious, but she didn’t regret it; those memories were some of the best she had. “Perhaps,” she hedged.

  Though he grinned, Angelo wagged his finger at her. “You had best be careful. Your mother is a hawk.”

  “Chef Franconi!”

  The booming voice from the direction of the alley startled her. She turned as Preston Clarke strode into the kitchen. Tall and intense like a thunderstorm, Mr. Clarke could not be missed in a crowd. He also happened to be Kit’s close friend.

  She peeked around Mr. Clarke but no one else was there. Her chest contracted with what she suspected was disappointment.

  Angelo rose and the two men shook hands. “Mr. Clarke, this is a surprise. Did we have an appointment?”

  “No, so please forgive my intrusion.” Shifting toward Alice, there was something akin to amusement simmering in his gaze. He took her hand and kissed the back of it. “Miss Lusk, a pleasure to see you in Chef Franconi’s kitchen once more.”

  “Mr. Clarke.” Pushing her chair back, she started to stand. “I’ll leave you two to your meeting.”

  “No, please, stay. I’m glad you’re here. Chef, may I have a moment with Miss Lusk?”

  Angelo tilted his head in her direction. “Only if the lady agrees.”

  “Of course,” she said. “Shall we move to the dining room?”

  “No, no.” Angelo removed his plate and wineglass and set them aside. Then he brought a clean glass and poured Mr. Clarke wine. “I insist. This is the best red wine from Barolo. Enjoy.” The chef moved to the stove, where his assistants were finishing the last orders of the night.

  “Chef said you often come right before closing.” Mr. Clarke sipped the wine and his eyes widened as he examined the bottle. “That is nice. I might have to order a case. Anyway, I stopped by in the hopes of seeing you.”

  “Me?”

  “I did need to speak with Chef, but yes, I had hoped to run into you. I never had the chance to thank you for your help.”

  With the recipes. “Oh, you are welcome. I hope you find them useful.”

  “We have, although it has been difficult to sample them. But I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

  “What do you mean? I wrote the instructions clearly.”

  “Yes, you did, and we are very grateful, of course. It has been impossible to locate a chef who can execute them properly, unfortunately. But I won’t bore you with our silly problems. Had you a nice time in Newport?”

  He stared at her intently over the rim of his glass but she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Had Kit mentioned anything about the lessons? Was Mr. Clarke secretly laughing at her? “I did. How are Mr. Archer and Maddie?”

  “Still honeymooning. And you were at the opera two nights ago, I believe? My apologies for not saying hello. Did you speak to Kit?”

  “I did, but only briefly.”

  Mr. Clarke’s lips curved as if this confirmed something he already knew. “I am worried about him. He’s been uncharacteristically out of sorts since returning from the chateau. I wish I knew what happened at that house party.”

  Out of sorts? He’d seemed a bit curt at the opera, peppering her with questions and commenting snidely about the Duke of Lockwood. But she had been so distracted by the idea of his female companion that she hadn’t given it much thought. “Well, he’s Kit, so no doubt he’ll bounce back soon.”

  “Yes, he is rather like a rubber ball, our Kit. No doubt it’s our troubles in hiring a chef that has him twisted in knots. You know how much the success of the supper club means to him.” He took a long drink and rested his empty glass on the table. “I should allow you to return to your meal. Take care, Miss Lusk.”

  Her head was spinning with all the information Mr. Clarke had relayed in such a short amount of time. As he started to stand, she said, “Wait.” Pausing, she struggled to put her thoughts into words. “Your problems, the ones with the recipes. You said you cannot find a chef who can execute them?”

  “Indeed. That is why I am here to speak with Franconi. I had hoped to hire one of his assistants for a night or two to prepare these dishes. We’d like to host a preview of what we plan to offer as a way to generate excitement for the club.”

  “Chef will never allow that.” Angelo was currently giving his assistant instructions on how to properly trim a large cut of beef. “He’s very protective of his staff.”

  Mr. Clarke sighed loudly. “Then I haven’t a clue as to what to do. We’ve approached three top chefs in the city and they’ve all refused, saying Franconi’s techniques are too complicated.”

  “That’s rot. Even the greenest chef should be able to follow the instructions I wrote down.”

  He lifted his hands and shrugged. “I don’t really understand food. That is more Kit’s area of expertise—and yours, I suppose.”

  “Perhaps I could help.”

  “Oh?”

  “I might be able to find time.”

  “How? I understand you are heavily chaperoned here in the city.”

  Had Kit or Angelo shared that information? “I am. It would require some creative maneuvering.” Perhaps Daddy could help? Alice hadn’t asked him for anything recently, and he was aware at how grating Mama could be at times. It was one of the reasons he hardly spent any time at home anymore.

  Yes, she would call him tomorrow. All she needed was for Mama to be preoccupied for two or three days.

  “It appears that you are crafting a plan, Miss Lusk.”

  “Perhaps. May I ring you and let you know?”

  “That would be wonderful.” Reaching into his coat pocket, he withdrew a card and presented it. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

  After Preston left, Angelo slid into the chair across from her. “Well? What did you decide?”

  “You heard?”

  “Of course. Nothing happens in my kitchen that I do not know about. So, will you help them?”

  Alice tapped the vellum card against her fingers. Could she do it? She had never directed a kitchen or prepared food for so many people at once. Yes, she had watched Franconi do it over the years, but there was a big difference between observing and doing. “It’s a massive undertaking. You should lend him a sous chef or two.”

  “No. As you said, I am protective of them. They work hard in my kitchen and it is unfair to ask them for more, even if they are being paid handsomely. Furthermore, I think you should do it.”

  “I do want to help. But I’ve never cooked for that many people. And it’s more than cooking one dish—it’s timing an entire meal.”

  He shrugged. “That is a matter of planning. A dinner service is like a symphony. You are the conductor. The pieces are prepared ahead of time and you put them together at the last minute.”

  “You make it sound easy.”

  “Bella, if it were easy, everyone would be a chef. It requires skill and organization. Intuition, too. But you have all these things. You are ready.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because, lucciola, I know you. I have watched you become a smart and capable woman. And it is time for you to flap your wings a bit, before you settle down.”

  Looking at the table, she tried to hide her smile. She appreciated his confidence in her. Perhaps someday she would believe it.

  Do this and maybe you will.


  Did she dare? With Franconi’s help—and her father’s intervention—perhaps Alice could pull this off. For Kit. “Will you help me with figuring out how much food to order and what needs to be made first?”

  The side of his mouth hitched. “Shall I grab a pencil?”

  Drumming his fingers on the table, Kit tried not to interrupt the awful attempt at singing occurring onstage. It had already gone on far too long, but Preston had asked Kit to audition one of Arabella’s friends for the supper club. While pleasing to the eye, the woman was terrible, both off-key and off-tempo. Still, he waited until the blasted song was over before rising.

  “Thank you, Helena. I don’t think—”

  “I don’t think we’ve ever heard anything quite as beautiful,” Preston said loudly, drowning out Kit’s words. He strode toward the stage and helped Helena down. “I appreciate you coming. Mr. Ward and I will make decisions soon and we’ll be in touch. Paul, will you help Miss Langley to her carriage?”

  Their doorman and security guard, Paul, came forward to collect Helena. Preston returned to where Kit was brooding over a glass of scotch. Kit frowned at his friend. “She was terrible.”

  “That is an understatement, but I cannot send her out of here in tears. I can’t believe I am the one to say this, but there are better ways to finesse these things, Kit.”

  Kit downed the rest of his drink and poured another. “More like you are terrified that Arabella will yell at you.”

  “Exactly. The point of having a mistress is to keep her happy. If she’s happy, I’m happy.”

  “Whether you are happy or not doesn’t really fucking matter to me, Preston.”

  “Clearly.”

  “I mean it. This is a business, not a place for Arabella to procure jobs for her friends.”

  “Is that what you think?” Preston’s expression darkened, his mouth flattening. “That I’d allow that to happen?”

  Kit didn’t know what to think anymore. He was floundering with this supper club. They couldn’t find a chef, and they had one reliable singer plus a handful of staff wondering when the hell they were opening.

  He dragged a hand down his face. This place could not fail. He could not fail. A supper club was the only thing he was remotely qualified to do. If he couldn’t do this, he really was pathetic.

  You’re not cut out for deep thinking, Christopher. As shallow as a saucer.

  God, would the old man’s voice never leave his head?

  This was not about Preston or Arabella, either. This was about his insecurities and mounting panic. Perhaps this had been a horrible mistake. Exhaling, he met Preston’s furious gaze. “Forgive me. I’m just . . . I don’t know if I can do this.”

  Preston’s brow furrowed. “Fellows,” he shouted to the occupants of the room. “Can you give us a minute?” Preston’s carpenters and the club workers all departed, leaving the two men alone. Preston leaned back in his chair. “Talk to me.”

  “What is there to say? It’s clear we’ve wasted our money and our time on this place.”

  Preston removed the glass from Kit’s hand, setting it and the bottle well out of Kit’s reach. “That’s enough of that, obviously. Now, I have known you a long time. In fact, some days it feels like forever. So, I can say with absolute certainty that this is the perfect venture for you to oversee. No one is more suited to this than you. Furthermore, it’s too late to quit.”

  “We could sell it off. Or give it to—”

  “No. You are going to stop moping or whatever you’ve been doing since returning from Newport and get your head right. Why don’t I ring Lottie for you?”

  “Don’t.” The word came out sharply, definitively. “Don’t do that.”

  Even though Lottie made it perfectly clear that she wanted to get Kit into bed, he hadn’t slept with her after the opera four nights ago. Instead of taking her to his house, he’d taken her home and dropped her off. Once in his bedroom, he’d tugged on his cock while thinking of Alice until he came all over his stomach. It was becoming a nightly—and daily—ritual.

  “If not Lottie, someone else,” Preston urged. “I am worried about you.”

  “And I can’t believe I am the one to say this, but not every problem can be solved with fucking.”

  “Bite your tongue.” Preston appeared horrified. “And you’re a fine one to talk. What about when you were failing economics at Harvard and you found the professor’s wife, then ‘convinced’ her to intervene on your behalf. I wonder how you persuaded her?”

  Kit pushed away from the table and stood. “May we focus on the club? Because that is what actually matters.”

  “It doesn’t. Neither of us need the money, and who cares if it fails?”

  “The people we’ve hired, for starters. Furthermore, this isn’t about money for me. I—”

  “Hello?”

  No. It couldn’t be.

  Kit’s head jerked toward the entrance. Alice Lusk was there, standing in the club. How on earth . . . ?

  “Miss Lusk,” Preston said as if he’d been expecting her. He rose and went to greet her. “Thank you for coming down. Would you like a tour?” They shook hands and Kit could only blink.

  “Unfortunately, I haven’t the time.” She walked with Preston toward Kit’s table. Kit drank in the sight of her, dressed in a lovely blue day dress with a matching hat. Her hair was pulled back, which emphasized her big eyes. “Hello, Mr. Ward.”

  “Alice.” Screw propriety. Forgoing her hand, he kissed her cheek. “What are you doing here?”

  She flicked a glance at Preston. “I am here to help.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Surprise,” Preston said to Kit. “I approached Alice about our little problem. You know, with finding a chef? She has agreed to help.”

  “What?” He shook his head as if trying to clear it. “Help, how?”

  Preston slapped Kit on the back. “She’ll explain. I have to go. I have a meeting with a concrete supplier. Miss Lusk, always a pleasure.” His long legs carried him out of the room in a few steps and then Kit was alone with Alice.

  “Shall we sit?” He pulled out a chair for her.

  She lowered herself down, and Kit got a whiff of her familiar scent, vanilla and a hint of orange. Heat shot through him, a jolt of longing that echoed in every part of him, like his body was flooded with the want of her. He dragged in a breath and tried to remember that she was a virgin and a debutante and not his willing pupil any longer.

  When he sat, she said, “I apologize. I thought Mr. Clarke informed you of my offer.”

  “He did not. What he said was the chef issue was handled and I should stop searching. Did you have someone in mind?”

  “Yes.” She folded her hands atop the table. “Me.”

  “You? You are going to act as the chef for our preview dinner.”

  “Again, yes.”

  This was madness. He gave her a bland look. “Will your mother be a waiter? Because I know she will not let you out of her sight.”

  Her lips twisted into a devious smile he’d never seen before. “I called my father and asked for a favor. He is prepared to call my mother home to Boston for three days at my request.”

  “How did you sneak out this afternoon?” He couldn’t believe Mrs. Lusk would ever allow it.

  “She went shopping and I claimed a headache. I am supposed to be at the hotel. She made me promise and will be checking in with the staff to ensure I am there.”

  “Then how will you get away with it?”

  “My mother is not the only person with friends inside the hotel.”

  He chuckled. “I see. So you will sneak out during those three days and come here. What if you’re caught?”

  “I won’t be.”

  He appreciated her confidence, but she could suffer real consequences if anything went wrong. Young girls had been shipped off to convents for less. Not to mention that just two weeks ago she had proclaimed sneaking out too risky. “Thank you, but no. We
’ll find someone else.”

  She cocked her head. “I don’t understand. Mr. Clarke said you were desperate.”

  “Not desperate enough to land you in trouble with your parents. They would not approve, Alice.”

  “I don’t care. A friend recently told me to live each day like it’s my last. So here I am.”

  “While I appreciate your newly adopted carpe diem attitude, this is a bit more than visiting the hotel kitchen or baking bread. This is many hours of work here at the club. Never mind that your mother might refuse to go to Boston. Worse, what if she insists on taking you with her?”

  “She won’t refuse Daddy, not if he tells her to return. And she’s left me for days at a time before. Usually I stay in the hotel room with my maid and no one ever knows.”

  “This is madness,” he repeated, this time aloud.

  “No, this is a solution to your dilemma. I can prepare Angelo’s food. You’d be hard-pressed to find anyone who could do it better. And I’m able to ask him for advice, if necessary.”

  Was he seriously considering this? He didn’t wish to see her reputation ruined, but she knew the risks, perhaps better than he. So if she was willing to help, then who was he to stop her? And they were desperate. No chef seemed capable of the undertaking on such short notice, and Kit had seen Alice in the kitchen firsthand. She loved cooking and knew food, and he trusted her.

  Those big eyes watched him carefully, her chest rising and falling quickly. Nerves? Or excitement? Was she experiencing the same giddy exuberance he currently felt in her presence?

  He couldn’t turn her down. Hadn’t a hope of it, actually. Perhaps it was the scoundrel in him but he liked encouraging both her independence and interest in cooking. But if she was going to do this, he had to keep her safe.

  And that included from him.

  “If you are certain,” he said, “then we would be grateful for your help. I will, however, be hiring a driver to ferry you to and from the hotel.”

  “If you feel it’s necessary.”

  “I do. As far as the menu, do you feel comfortable setting the evening’s courses? Or would you like my input?”