Page 3 of The Gods Time Forgot

Three

No one had told him that getting into business with Americans would require so many leisurely afternoons spent at the club.

“What do you say, Donore? If I throw in my daughter to sweeten the deal, will you sell to me then?” Richard asked.

Finn leaned back in the brown leather chesterfield chair, tapping the tips of his finger against the arm. The club was crowded, full of Manhattan’s sharpest and wealthiest capitalists, trading stories, making deals.

And Finn was, for lack of a better word, happy to be a part of it. But he wasn’t one of them. He never would be.

“The lot downtown is spoken for,” Finn said with the usual amount of politeness he reserved for Richard’s questions. Though the offer of his daughter was new.

All he needed was a foot in the door, and he’d make his own way after that. And so far, Richard’s partnership was opening all the right doors.

“Whatever they’re paying you for State Street, I’ll double it.”

Richard Fitzgerald was a prick, but he was a shrewd businessman, and that’s exactly why Finn had left Ireland to go into business with him.

“They’re not paying me,” Finn said. “It’s a charitable donation for a hospital.” One that would provide free health care for the city’s poorest. Whatever funds he was out by donating, he would recoup tenfold with the hotel he was planning to build at Central Park South with Richard.

“Charitable donation,” Richard scoffed. “Those disease-ridden criminals don’t deserve it, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t.” Finn winked and took a sip of his drink. “Is Harrington on board?”

Richard shifted in his seat, not meeting Finn’s gaze. “I’ve given him the first two floors and the rest contingent on his performance.”

“Performance?” Finn sat forward. “Christ, Richard.” He shook his head. “I thought we’d chosen the subcontractor based on their expertise.”

“Don’t trouble yourself with the details, Donore. It’s why you’ve brought me on board. You can focus on your charities.” Richard said the last word with a heavy layer of condescension.

Finn took another sip of his drink in an attempt to curb his irritation. He hadn’t quite gotten over the sting of his name not appearing in the paper next to Fitzgerald’s. Harrington wasn’t even signed on for the whole project and the Daily News had written it like it was his business deal, but this was Finn’s deal.

“Back to the subject of my daughter,” Richard said, “we can have this squared away before the season starts. No trouble at all. It’ll do wonders for your reputation.”

“My reputation?” Finn leaned back in his chair, setting his near-empty glass on the side table. “What of it?”

Richard nodded toward the copy of Harper’s Weekly , which featured a simian-faced Irishman wielding a baton in one hand and a pint in the other.

Bollocks.

“If my reputation was in question, Richard, you wouldn’t be throwing your daughter at me.” And that was a fact.

Finn’s reputation was pristine. He took great care to select the company he kept. Moral failings were contagious, and he could not afford to fall ill. There was strength in his name, and he planned to keep it that way.

Richard let out a laugh and rose from his seat, wagging a finger at Finn. “I’ll see you this evening. A small affair at the house. You can formally meet her then.”

“Fine.” He would be a fool to turn down a match like this. Marrying into the Fitzgerald family would do more than open doors; it would cement his foothold in Manhattan.

Richard wandered over to the group of men sitting to their right and didn’t invite Finn to join them.

Finn was above the gossip and the petty squabbles of small men, but he glanced once more at the publication on the table, feeling his blood boil. It sickened him to see the way his countrymen were portrayed and mocked. The anti-Irish sentiment ran deep and bled out.

But he would not let it hinder his goals. He was going to establish himself in this country as he had at home.

He’d already begun his search for parcels of land stateside when he’d heard about an American man looking to purchase the Lord Riverton’s Manhattan property. It was pure happenstance and a brilliant stroke of luck, but he saw it for the opportunity it was.

Lord Riverton, the ornery bastard, had shared many a night nursing a sore head on Finn’s London doorstep. The rancorous drunk could never get the numbers to his townhome right. But one evening, in a stupor, Riverton shared a story about how an American had offered six hundred thousand dollars for his plot of land and how he’d refused to sell it to him.

It didn’t matter that Riverton had no use for the land and that it’d go to rot. Said he’d be damned if he let a bloody Patriot take it.

When Riverton sobered up, Finn brokered the deal. He bought the property off Riverton for half the price and contacted an eager Richard Fitzgerald.

And so began his life in America. The Irish were as welcome in New York as the gutter rats, but Finn, the Lord of Donore, partnered with a man like Fitzgerald, could make a place for himself among the city’s elite. They pushed back, skeptical of a man who tied his nobility not to the English monarchs but to the ancient Irish kings. The laws of tanistry.

They didn’t want him in their circles, but he didn’t care. He was wealthy in his own right and owner of the most desirable plot of land in all of Manhattan. They’d come around quick enough, and so had their daughters.

Finn wasn’t seriously considering any of them except Richard’s daughter, Annette. As much as he disliked Richard’s approach, his connections were a necessity.

Finn checked his watch. A quarter past two. Surely St. Brigid’s Home could do with a visit. Without saying a word, he left the Union League and walked downtown.

The walk was quiet, off the beaten path, away from the bustling fanfare that Broadway offered.

He approached the unique redbrick three-storied building. Established in the 1700s, it was the only building in the neighborhood with a castle turret and a garden, Gothic inspired and quite ominous on the otherwise dainty street.

“There’s great drying out,” Sister Mary called from the front steps of the orphanage, shielding her face from the sun. She walked toward him, smiling. “I must thank ye again for the books. The wee ones are delighted.”

Sister Mary was from County Mayo, and she, with a few others, ran an orphanage that assisted forsaken immigrant children. Like thousands of others, they arrived on South Street without a penny to their name or a hope for their future. The nuns took them from the streets, where they would have surely perished, and offered them a chance to thrive.

When Finn happened upon St. Brigid’s, it was underfunded and understaffed, and he had worked to remedy both. The children, who spoke mostly Irish, were taught English, given daily lessons, and were generally well cared for.

“Not at all.” He leaned on the front gate.

“Will ye stay for a cup of tea?” Sister Mary asked, but he promptly refused.

“I’ve only come to see how you’re getting on. There’s a steamship arriving at Castle Garden tomorrow. Do you have enough beds?”

“Sure, we’re grand. I’ll go down in the evening with Sister Eve.” A loud crash echoed from indoors. “I’d better go. The wee rascals run circles around Sister Kelly when I’m out.”

Finn smiled and waved her off.

He was privileged enough that he hadn’t had to pass through the overrun Castle Garden like the rest of the immigrants arriving in Manhattan. Richard had arranged everything—proof of the man’s hooks in this city and his clout with the politicians in Tammany Hall.

Finn checked his watch. He’d killed an hour, but he needed to get back to his hotel apartment to get ready for Richard’s impromptu dinner.

Finn walked back uptown, disliking the muggy August afternoon. The sun beat down on him, and the footpath offered little reprieve. The trees, few and far between, granted no shade. Gentlemen’s clothes did not suit New York’s summer weather.

He quickened his pace, desperate to get out of the heat.

Courting Richard’s daughter would be no issue at all. He was almost looking forward to it. He’d seen her in passing; she was a beautiful woman with all the airs and graces of someone born into this world. It was the logical next step. And it would grant him the assurances he needed to make this hotel a success.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” the white-gloved doorman said as he opened the door for Finn.

“Afternoon.” He continued through the lobby toward the elevator.

“Will you be needing a transport this eve?” the doorman called after him.

“Bernard, you know I prefer to walk,” Finn answered.

Finn approached the elevator, standing behind an elderly man and woman. He cast a long shadow over them. Noticing the sudden darkness, they turned around, their gaze level with his chest, slowly moving up to his face.

“Afternoon,” Finn said with a nod, and the couple turned back to the elevator attendant, who offered them an apologetic shrug.

“My lord,” the attendant said, opening the ornamental iron gate.

The attendant entered the car first, then the elderly couple, and then it was Finn’s turn. He dipped his head under the frame as he stepped inside the ornate box. The floor bounced and screeched under the weight of him.

“Lord bless us and save us,” the old woman muttered.

Finn let out a sigh. “I’ll take the stairs.”

Promptly at five, he arrived at the Fitzgeralds’ mansion on the corner of Thirty-Fourth and Fifth Avenue. Finn looked upon the impressive residence, often touted as the grandest home in Manhattan, and found it careless. What did three people need with a home that size?

“My lord, I’m so happy you could make it,” Mrs. Fitzgerald greeted him at the door. “I’ve warned Richard about inviting guests over with such short notice, but he never listens.” She glared at her husband.

“It’s quite all right, Mrs. Fitzgerald. As it turns out, I was available.” Finn was always available. He did not have friends, nor did he have any family. He was a solitary man, and he preferred it that way. But perhaps Richard’s daughter might offer a glimmer of a different future. One where he settled down and reared a handful of children with an adoring wife.

“Donore, I’d like to introduce you to my daughter, Annette,” Richard said. The young woman stepped forward, her pale-blue gown swishing at her feet.

She was half the size of him—most people were—but she greeted him with a warm smile and twinkling blue eyes.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Finn said honestly.

“Likewise, my lord,” she said.

“Dinner will be served shortly,” Mrs. Fitzgerald said, guiding them toward the drawing room. Annette stayed by Finn’s side, her movements so subtle she could almost go unnoticed.

Richard handed Finn a drink, and the four of them sat down. Finn glanced at Annette as she sat beside him and observed a rush of color flood her cheeks. He smiled, and she looked excitedly across to her mother.

The walls were covered in rich golden-yellow paper with massive paintings over top. The chairs they sat in matched the walls and the flowers on the table. He presumed it was in fashion, but it was too much for his taste.

“I passed by the Harringtons’ new residence this morning on my back from the park.” Richard raised his brows and shook his head. “Unsightly.”

“Are these the same Harringtons that we’re to go into business with?” Finn asked.

Richard nodded. “Ned and I attended Columbia together.”

“Ned Harrington is a darling man,” Mrs. Fitzgerald cut in. “But his wife and that daughter of theirs …” She shuddered. “True menaces to society.”

“That’s enough, Gloria,” Richard said halfheartedly to his wife, and Annette giggled.

“And this was our best choice?” Finn asked, not wanting anything to undermine the legitimacy of his business.

“It’s been handled. My wife is a gossip.”

Gloria pushed Richard’s arm and shook her head. “My husband doesn’t want to admit that he made a mistake. He’d already offered Ned the job before we’d learned of what happened. He has a soft spot for his old friend, you see.” She mocked her husband with a frown.

“Gloria,” Richard warned.

“A mistake? What happened?” Finn was reeling. Annette looked expectantly to her mother and then her father. He didn’t care what had transpired so long as the embarrassment did not reach his door.

“Nothing you need to be concerned with, Donore. The story has been buried, and the Harringtons have been warned.”

Finn understood now why Ned Harrington had been contracted to do only the first two floors of the building. Richard was preparing for scandal.

“When are they returning?” Annette asked.

“Tonight? Tomorrow, perhaps?” Richard answered.

“Well, let’s just hope they’ll do the right thing and lock the girl up,” Mrs. Fitzgerald quipped.

“Lock her up? For Christ’s sake, Richard.” Finn was beside himself. He couldn’t imagine what the girl could have done to earn such a reputation as that.

More concerned with his wife, Richard waved him off. “Gloria, I’ll remind you again to keep your feelings about their daughter to yourself. We’ve signed contracts. It’s in the papers. You’ll only drag our name through the mud along with theirs.”

“Don’t you think I know that already?” she snapped.

“And that goes for you too, young lady,” Richard said to Annette.

“Of course, Father,” she said.

“I’ll be polite and entertain the foul little upstarts,” Gloria said with a smile.

Richard let out a hearty laugh.

“It really makes you appreciate what you have.” Gloria reached across the high table and cupped her daughter’s cheek. “Our darling girl has a lovely voice and is quite skilled at the pianoforte.”

Finn smiled, unsure of the appropriate response.

The butler entered the room. “Dinner is served.”

“May I?” Finn offered Annette his arm.

“Thank you, my lord.” She smiled. It was shy, sweet even. He smiled back.

Yes, this would be a pleasant, no-fuss courtship.

“I’ve heard the weather is supposed to cool down a bit over the next few days,” Annette said. “I do love a crisp afternoon walk.”

“I have to agree with you there, Miss Fitzgerald. I’m not accustomed to this heat,” Finn said. His skin was prone to sunburn.

“The summers are uncomfortably hot,” she agreed. “But I’m certain it’s an improvement for you. I’ve heard the weather in Ireland is quite unfavorable.”

Finn gritted his teeth. “I prefer it, actually.”

“You haven’t been downtown in the summer, daughter,” Richard interrupted. “The stench would water your eyes. If the heat doesn’t let up soon, it’ll make its way uptown too.”

Annette grimaced. “I should hope not.”

“Perhaps if the poor weren’t shoved in on top of each other in dilapidated hot boxes, they’d fare better?” Finn suggested.

“Not likely,” Richard remarked. “And where would you have them go?”

“Your home is certainly large enough,” Finn said, disliking Richard’s flippant attitude.

“That’s enough, boys,” Gloria cut in, and Richard laughed.

Finn bristled, tilting his head to one side and then the other, hoping it might release some of his irritation.

Set for four, the dining room was luxe and well appointed. Finn found himself seated beside Annette.

“Well, isn’t this lovely,” Gloria said, smiling at them.

“Perhaps after dinner, I can play you something on the pianoforte?” Annette asked.

“I would enjoy that very much,” Finn offered politely, though he didn’t much care for the pomp and circumstance the wealthy relied upon to draw lines between them and the rest of the social classes.

Richard was nodding with a smile. “Very good, very good. Now, let’s eat.”

If all Finn’s evenings went this smoothly, he’d be a very happy man. A union with his business partner’s daughter would ensure his success. He had nothing negative to say about Annette, only that there wasn’t the hint of a spark between them. But not everything needed to burn brightly to be worthwhile. Perhaps in time, if things went well, they could learn to love each other.

For Richard, this was just a feather in his cap. If things went wrong, he’d buy another building or another plot of land. But for Finn, this deal was everything.