Page 26 of The Gods Time Forgot

Twenty-Six

“Thank you,” Finn said, adding sugar to his tea.

“Good morning, my lord,” Mrs. Harrington said, waiting for Rua to greet him the same.

“Morning,” Rua grumbled. Mrs. Harrington shot her a scornful glare.

“Good morning, ladies,” he said, rising then sitting back down when she and Mrs. Harrington were seated.

He was a moth and she the flame, and he was going to get burned. There was no doubt about it. The pull was too strong, the danger too real.

Rua’s face was grave as she settled into her chair. Mrs. Harrington sat beside him. He supposed after the trauma of last night, it was to be expected. Mrs. Harrington had no doubt scolded Rua. Perhaps that’s why she was packing a bag. Could it be so bad that she’d run away?

They all sat quietly and watched as the tea was poured.

“My lord, I must thank you for coming to my daughter’s aid last night. It would seem we are indebted to you once again,” Mrs. Harrington said.

Rua’s mouth fell open, but she closed it before Mrs. Harrington noticed.

“It was the least I could do, considering my gaffe.”

“Nonetheless, we will have an early dinner this evening as thanks. That way you can still attend the Houlihans’ party. I assume you’ll be in attendance?” Mrs. Harrington asked.

Finn nodded. The Houlihans were good friends of Richard’s. Important friends. He shouldn’t miss it.

“Unfortunately, my daughter has been disinvited and will have to remain home alone for the evening. It’s terrible the way people talk.” Mrs. Harrington stroked the side of Rua’s face. If he were Mrs. Harrington, he would be removing that hand before Rua bit off her fingers. “As if my daughter could have blown out every candle in that massive ballroom. I mean, really, it’s utter nonsense.”

Rua let out an exasperated laugh, which was met by a terrible glare from Mrs. Harrington.

“Gossips are a blight on this world,” Finn said, taking a drink of his tea.

“It’s quite generous of you to be assisting Richard with his run for office.”

“I beg your pardon?” Finn gulped down the hot liquid.

“Well, a few of the ladies and I were visiting with Mrs. Fitzgerald the other day, and she told us all how her husband is going to be running for office. With your help, he’s sure to win over the Irish votes. Surely there’s enough of your kinsmen running around lower Manhattan for that to mean something.”

Finn remained tight lipped, but he was certain he’d turned a nasty shade of white. This was the first time he’d heard of Richard’s political aspirations. And the boys at Tammany Hall were a corrupt lot. What the hell was Richard doing getting involved with Tweed?

“Well, I have many things to do today. It was so nice of you to join us for breakfast,” Mrs. Harrington said, rising from her seat after being in the room only five minutes. “Your presence is quite appreciated,” she said to him before she turned to Rua, who had just put a piece of pineapple in her mouth. “Your dresses were measured to fit your figure exactly as it was. They are not designed to stretch.” And then she left.

Rua’s lips curled in disgust as she stared daggers at the back of Mrs. Harrington’s head. Then she rose from her chair, taking one final sip of her tea, and brushed any crumbs off her gown.

“Are you finished already?” he asked, hoping she’d stay.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m in the mood for chocolate, and there is none here.”

“It’s nine thirty in the morning. Certainly, there are better ways to start the day,” he said.

“Yesterday, I had one of the worst days I can remember, and do you know how I started it?”

He shook his head, hiding a smirk.

“With eggs and toast.” She leaned across the table. “So save your nutritional advice for someone that wants it—your fianc é e, perhaps?”

Finn winced. “I’d like to talk to you,” he said, rising from his chair. “Can we go somewhere more private?”

“I have to work on my sampler,” she said. “You can join me in the sunroom if you like.”

He followed her through the halls, maid in tow. Rua didn’t strike him as someone who embroidered.

She sat down on the green settee by the window and lifted her needlework off the coffee table. He sat across from her.

“Some more tea, please,” Rua said, nodding to the maid as she wove the needle into an unfathomable shape. Wove was a generous word; stabbed was more like it. Her movements were too hurried to be effective.

He looked at her face, haloed by the sunshine. There was nothing but deep concentration despite her lack of skill.

“Tell me, Finn, do you find the sight of a woman doing needlework attractive?”

“Enormously,” he said.

She grinned. “Would you care to see what I’m working on, then?”

He nodded.

“It is at Flossie’s request that I complete one sampler per week.” She turned the embroidery out to face him.

“You’re not very good,” he said, noting for the hundredth time that she referred to her mother as Flossie. She was all but confirming his suspicions.

“What is it supposed to be?”

“A sunset.” She laughed the most delightful sound.

“I can assure you, with the utmost confidence, that what you have created there bears no likeness to any sun that has ever set in any sky.”

She laughed again, and so did he. It was natural, just like it was in his memory of that meadow. Seeing Rua here now, he wasn’t sure how he had ever forgotten her.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” She was acting as though he hadn’t accused her of being a Morr í gan last night. Perhaps she didn’t remember, or she was simply giving it no credence.

“I had a dream of you,” he said.

She set down her sampler, glancing nervously around the room. The closest servant was waiting by the door; the other had not yet returned with the tea.

“A dream of us,” he continued. “We were together in a wild meadow. You were beautiful, and you were wearing a flower crown made of meadowsweet.”

Her breathing slowed.

“Perhaps it’s why meadowsweet is my favorite and why you wear it now? I don’t know.” He closed his eyes, remembering.

“I’d like to go somewhere else,” she said, rolling over so that her chest rested atop his.

“Where?” He picked his head off the grass so that he could reach her lips. Her kiss was rushed.

“Anywhere but here,” she sighed.

She’d been different the last few days. Distant, skittish.

Pushing off of him, she stood up to her full height. She pulled loose the ties on her dress, letting it fall to the ground in a heap at her ankles. Kicking the dress up with her foot, it landed on his face. Laughing, she ran to the lake wearing only her crown.

He sat upright, watching as the meadowsweet bushes tickled her bare skin.

“Catch me if you can,” she sang.

He lost sight of her in the sunlight, its glare deceptively warm. He knew better than to trust its light.

Struck with a sudden feeling of impending doom, he ran to find her.

“Rua?” he called, feeling the heavy beat of his heart. “Rua, where are you?”

But when the gentle wind blew, his heart stilled, for it carried on its breeze the sweetest scent.

He opened his eyes again.

He needed to know for certain if the woman he loved in his dreams was the same woman before him now. He needed to know if it was worth risking the life he had built for the one that had been taken from him.

“Have you called off your engagement?” she asked.

“I haven’t.” He’d love nothing more than to tell the entire Fitzgerald family to piss off, but he had to be sure Rua was going to be safe if he did so.

“I don’t need you to fight my battles, Finn,” she said.

“That’s unfair and you know it.”

“Is it?” Her tone was sharp. “What is to stop Annette from telling everyone my secret the moment you’re wed?”

“We made a deal,” Finn said, though his argument felt thin.

Rua laughed. “Oh, please. Don’t be so na ? ve, Finn.”

Perhaps he was too trusting. Too willing to take people at their word. But that didn’t change the fact that she was avoiding the truth.

Bit by bit it was returning to him. A profound connection coupled with the unsettling feeling that it could never be realized. Soul mates destined to be torn apart. That was the part he remembered and the part he wished he could forget.

She shook her head, refusing to look at him.

“What is it that you’re so afraid of?” He paused. “It’s because I’m right, isn’t it?”

“You are not right,” she whispered harshly, glancing around the room. “I can’t help that you have embedded me into your fantasies.”

“Embedded you into my fantasies?” He rose from the chair, feeling the sting of her words. He would not sit while she made a mockery of things he knew to be true.

“Oh, pardon me, my lord. I didn’t expect to find you here,” Mara said, coming to the entrance of the sunroom. Mara’s interruptions had grown frequent, borderline deliberate.

“I was just leaving.” Finn rose and moved toward the door.

Part of him wanted Rua to protest, but deep down he knew she wouldn’t.

He checked his watch as he stormed into the foyer.

“Donore, I’m glad I caught you.” Ned stopped him at the door. “Richard wants us at the Union Club in an hour.”

“Fine.” He didn’t like being summoned, but after last night, there were things to discuss. “I’ll meet you there.” Finn gathered his coat and left immediately, needing a walk to clear his mind.

He didn’t know why he was worrying so much about Rua when he was marrying Annette. But it seemed that the more things came to light, the further he felt from his life in Manhattan.

He stared at the footpath ahead, watching as men and women went about their day. He wondered what it would be like to be a person who hadn’t met Rua. Who didn’t understand the thrill of knowing her. How boring that must be, and yet so peaceful.

The leaves had begun their subtle change. Finn reached up and grabbed one from a low-hanging branch. He crunched it in his palm, sprinkling the debris as he walked.

He spotted the Union Club and wished to turn right around. Nothing good was going to come of it.

“Donore, right on time,” Richard said, acting as though he hadn’t coerced Finn into a relationship with his daughter.

Finn gave him a curt nod, noticing Ned hadn’t arrived yet.

“Last night was a bloody disaster, wouldn’t you say?” Richard handed him a billiards cue.

Finn took it without response. He wasn’t sure he had the capacity to keep the conversation civil. He’d worked so hard to make a name for himself, and all of it was tainted. He’d been so caught up in his admiration for Richard’s business acumen that he couldn’t see he was being manipulated the entire time.

“No matter,” Richard said, hitting his break shot, “there’ll be an announcement in Sunday’s paper. It’s all sorted. I owe a man a favor.” He winked.

Finn gripped the base of his cue, imagining breaking it over Richard’s head. So this was the agreement he’d come to with the columnist. One headline for another. He had no doubt paid a hefty sum to keep it hushed.

“I want your word that the story stays buried,” Finn said, Rua’s words fresh on his mind. He needed to make sure he wasn’t doing this all for nothing.

“You’re not really in the position to be making demands, Donore. The way I see it, I’ve got you on all sides.” Richard smiled. “Your shot,” he said smugly.

Finn set the cue down, still at a loss. “I’m not in the mood, Richard.” There was nothing he could say to change the situation. These were the consequences of his actions, the path he’d laid for himself.

“I warned you to stay away from her,” Richard said. “Look at the mess she dragged you into, hmm?”

Finn hated that he’d let Richard get the upper hand, that he’d allowed this dynamic in which Richard was the wise elder and he the wayward son.

“You’ll thank me yet.” Richard let out a laugh. “I see those articles they run of you in that weekly you’re so fond of, The Irish World . Donore saves woman from burning building. Donore donates large sum to underfunded orphanage. Donore this, Donore that. An Irish hero is what you are. They’re proud to claim you. How long do you think that would last if you ran off with Miss Harrington, a known Satanist?”

Finn knew Richard was right, especially after last night. “You should’ve had a conversation with me. We’re business partners. Instead, you sent your daughter to blackmail me.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Richard said.

Finn had nothing else to say.

When Ned finally arrived, they moved into a private room.

“We’ve much to be thankful for this day, gentlemen,” Richard said, cheerful as he motioned for them both to sit.

A servant placed a round of drinks on the table.

Giving nothing but a vacant stare, Ned nodded.

Finn wondered if perhaps Richard was going to fire Ned and that’s why they were here. He’d only given him the contract for the first two floors of the hotel. The rest of the floors were contingent upon Rua’s reputation, which had been one disaster after another, last night the worst of them all. If that were the case, Richard was a cruel bastard to bring him out here to fire him.

“I’ll get right to it. We’ve dealt with a problem that’s been troubling us all for quite some time. But the removal of said problem has opened you both up to better opportunities.”

Ned looked like he was going to be sick all over himself as he tipped his head back, letting the contents of his drink pull him further away from the room.

“Ned, I’m looking forward to working together for the totality of the project. The countersigned contracts have been sent back to your solicitor as of an hour ago.”

Ned looked at the floor. Finn didn’t understand the issue, nor what contracts could have been negotiated without his presence.

“Donore, as an early wedding present, I’ve cashed in on a favor owed, and I’ve gotten an associate from Dartmouth to agree to a residency in your new hospital, whenever it should be ready. Funded by me, of course.”

It was too generous an offer to be without a catch. “What the hell is going on?” Finn asked, but Richard ignored him.

“Ned, cheer up, will you?” Richard said. “You’ve done the right thing. The only thing you could do. You’d never get out from under your own two feet otherwise.”

Ned let out a muffled sob.

“What the blazes is going on?” Finn asked, his voice rising with irritation.

Richard laughed. “Now that I’ve got you by the balls, Donore, there’s no need to say it any differently: get me the votes I need, or your little enchantress’s neck will wind up on the chopping block. That story gets out and an asylum will seem like a holiday compared to where she’ll end up.”

Finn looked at Ned, the pathetic man, guzzling his whiskey, too cowardly to speak up for his daughter.

“You’re a bastard,” Finn said.

“I’ll see you round the house for dinner tomorrow. Seven o’clock sharp,” Richard said.

Finn stormed out of the club, swearing never to return.

Miraculously, Ned caught up to Finn just as he was about to turn the corner.

“My lord, you have to understand, she’s not our little girl anymore.” He grabbed Finn’s shoulder for balance. “Our daughter died in those woods. I’m sure of it. I don’t know who came out, but it wasn’t Emma.”

Finn’s stomach clenched. This situation was beyond comprehension. He knew for certain that Rua was not their daughter. So what had happened to the real Emma?

He pushed away his disappointment. “You’d better sober up, Ned. Your family is expecting you for dinner.”