Preston stubbed out his cigarette in the crystal dish on Kit’s desk. “I still cannot believe you convinced Madame Durham to sing.” He shook his head. “She is practically American operatic royalty.”

Kit was well aware. The first Black singer to headline at Carnegie Hall two years ago, Madame Durham had also performed for European princes and queens, as well as American politicians. Though she lived in Boston, she was in New York preparing for a performance at Madison Square Garden. When Kit heard this, he’d used a former lover’s connection to Andrew Carnegie to arrange a meeting with the famous soprano. Through charm, begging and offering a hefty fee, he convinced the singer to appear in the supper club for thirty minutes tomorrow night. “Yes, and I think her performance sets a tone about the egalitarian type of entertainment we intend to showcase with the club. Between Franconi’s food and her singing, I think we will sell out our memberships.”

“Here’s hoping,” Louis said. “Was there anything else, sir? Otherwise, I need to see about the wine changes we discussed.”

“That’s all. Thank you, Louis.”

“You are welcome. Things certainly seem to be shaping up. Whatever was happening in the kitchen today smelled delicious.”

“Indeed, it did.”

Mrs. Henry and her children had left already, departing just a few minutes after Alice. The group had worked all afternoon, and Alice said they were caught up and tomorrow would go as expected. He had complete faith in her and Mrs. Henry.

“I have to say,” Preston continued when they were alone. “I’ve known you for a long time and I am impressed. You’ve worked unbelievably hard on this.”

“You act as if I’ve never worked hard on anything before.”

One of Preston’s brows arched. “Getting women into bed doesn’t count.”

“Please. I’ve never worked hard on that.”

“Hmm. Speaking of working hard to get a woman into bed, how are things with the lovely Miss Lusk?”

“I am not trying to get her into bed.”

Preston had the gall to laugh. “Sure.”

“I cannot fuck her. She’s a virgin and on a desperate hunt for a husband.”

“Yes, and from what I’ve heard she may have found one.”

“What does that mean?”

“Oh, haven’t you heard the latest? You’re usually up on all the society tittle-tattle.”

There was gossip about Alice? “Tell me.”

“Your dear little virgin went on a ride in the park yesterday with the duke.”

The pencil in Kit’s hand snapped in half. “Lockwood?”

“Yes.”