“She and her husband would like a dinner plate,” Kit said. “So if you’ll fix those up, I’ll take you back.”

Soon, they carried plates and a fresh teapot to Madame Durham and her husband. Alice chatted with the couple about Boston, then moved over to Kit’s side while Mrs. Henry continued to talk to the Durhams. Alice bumped his shoulder with her own. “How did the food go over?”

He leaned in and kept his voice low. “You were a smash. I cannot ever thank you enough.”

“Nonsense. You organized all of this, so you get the glory. I hope you’re quite proud.”

“I called in some favors.” He shrugged. “It was hardly saving lives.”

“Do not diminish your talents, Christopher Ward. You are remarkable. Enjoy this moment of satisfaction because you’ve earned it.”

His father’s voice still echoed in his brain.

You’re as shallow as a saucer, Christopher.

Don’t worry your pretty head over such important things, Kit.

You’re just like your old man, son.

It was hard to drown out the doubts and insecurities that lingered from childhood, but perhaps Alice was right. Perhaps it was time for him to stop diminishing his talents—or at least try to stop. “Thank you,” he told her honestly. “I am really going to miss you.”

She cocked her head and studied his eyes. “Where am I going?”

“Your mother returns tomorrow.”

“Oh, right.”

Nothing more needed to be said. Alice would continue her parties and balls, the drives in the park. There was no room for lessons, cooking or Kit. “I suppose your mother will faint dead away with happiness when she hears of your outing with Lockwood.”

Alice gave a tiny gasp of breath. “How did you—?” She shook her head and straightened her shoulders a touch. “It doesn’t mean anything. It was one drive.”

“In full view of New York society. He might as well have pissed on you.”

“Christopher!”

“Come on, Alice. You know how these things work. Besides, I’m happy for you.”

Biting her lip, she stared up at him through her lashes. “Are you?”

No, he wanted to say. I hate the idea of you with another man. I hate the idea that someone else will have the right to touch you whenever he wishes. But he couldn’t say any of that. Instead, he said, “Of course. He’s everything you want in a husband—boring, decent looking and lives far away.”

“Lockwood is not boring. Furthermore, he’s exceedingly handsome.”

A dark bitterness twisted in Kit’s belly, something poisonous and rotten. He hadn’t encountered it before, this feeling, and he didn’t like it one bit. “Bully for you, then. I wish you luck.” He pushed off the wall. “If you’ll excuse me, I should see to Madame Durham’s carriage.”