While they laughed at his expense, Clay thought about what Anna had said. He could leave the club, of course. He just preferred to remain here unless absolutely necessary. It was safer that way. Hell, one of Clay’s former associates had been gunned down in broad daylight three years ago in Washington Square Park. And that man had merely operated a low-level racket of policy shops.

Yet, the long evenings without Florence stretched out ahead of him like a thick gray fog. Lifeless and prosaic. An endless cycle of tedium. She’d brought light and joy to his world, even when he didn’t deserve it—light and joy that would be permanently taken away when she discovered his plans for her grandmother’s home.

That didn’t leave him much time.

There had to be a way to see her outside of the club and keep both of them safe. He couldn’t very well promenade with her in Central Park, but plenty of discreet locations existed for this sort of thing.

And wasn’t tomorrow her birthday?

He glanced at his pocket watch. Actually, today was her birthday.

Surely he could think of a way to surprise her.

Birthdays were usually fun, Florence thought as she finished the champagne in her glass. Tonight they dined in a private dining salon at Sherry’s, her favorite restaurant. She’d worn her favorite dress. And she’d ordered all her favorite dishes.

So why did this year’s celebration feel as though a dark cloud loomed on the horizon?

No one was particularly cheerful. Her father, with his tight jaw and distracted demeanor, was strangely subdued throughout dinner. Mamie also seemed preoccupied, lost in her thoughts and uncommunicative. For her part, Florence spent the meal worried about Clay and wondering when she’d see him again. Which left Justine and their mother to shoulder the burden of the dinner conversation.

It was clear by dessert that no one wished to prolong the evening. The plates were barely cleared when her father stood to call an end to the service. “Darling Florence, happy birthday. Now, if you all don’t mind I have an early meeting. It’s best if we head home.”

“Daddy, you and Mama go on,” Mamie said. “We’ll stay here and finish the champagne.”

“Are you certain?” Mama asked, her brows lowered in concern. “I don’t like the idea of you three unescorted in a hansom at night.”

Florence dug her nails into her palms to keep from laughing like a loon. If only her mother knew how often the two eldest Greene siblings were in hansoms, unescorted, late at night. She’d likely faint from the shock.

“We’ll be fine,” Mamie assured her. “I’ll have the staff fetch a carriage for us in a few moments.”

Mama glanced at their father. “What do you think, Duncan?”