Page 6 of The Gods Time Forgot

Six

Rua waited all morning for Flossie to stomp into her bedroom and declare she’d ruined everything and was being sent away.

Mr. Harrington must have tattled on her after he put her into the carriage. She wouldn’t have blamed him, of course. But here she was, a whole two hours later, still watching the clock. Perhaps Mr. Harrington was waiting until Flossie had her midmorning nap to spring the news.

Rua tossed her head back on the pillow.

The man hadn’t said anything at all on the short carriage ride back from the park. He was pensive as he helped her in and out of the transport. Then they’d walked indoors and simply parted ways.

The mind games of the Harringtons were not to be outmatched. Rua glanced at the clock once more. Any minute now it would happen, she was sure of it.

She braced herself as her door opened.

“Hello,” Mara said with a smile. Two more maids filed in after her. “We’ve much to do today. The Fitzgeralds’ ball is tonight.”

“The Fitzgeralds’ ball?” Rua sat upright. “Are you sure?”

“Quite sure. I’ve just spoken to your mother. She wants you to forgo breakfast and get started setting your curls.”

“Did you happen to see Mr. Harrington this morning?”

“Your father, you mean?” Mara corrected. The other maids exchanged glances.

Rua rolled her eyes. “Obviously, that’s who I mean.”

“He had tea with your mother a short while ago. Is everything all right?”

“Yes.” Apparently, everything was just fine. Relief washed over her. A confusing sort of relief but relief nonetheless. Rua disliked Flossie tremendously, but her well-being depended on her.

Rua sat in her chair as the chambermaids began their preparations. It was only then that it sank in that she was going to a ball. An event where she’d have to interact with Emma’s peers and all the people that mattered to Flossie.

Her stomach bundled into a knot. She’d known these were the kinds of things she had to look forward to as Emma Harrington, but thinking about it and doing it were two very different things.

“Will there be many people in attendance?” she asked Mara.

“I assume so. It’s the Fitzgeralds.”

Rua nodded, accepting her fate, drowning in a sea of nausea. She wasn’t even sure she knew how to dance.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Mara met her eyes in the mirror.

Rua considered her, deciding what she should and shouldn’t share. She hadn’t had enough time to acclimate to this world, and she needed someone thoroughly on her side.

“To be honest, I’m nervous. So nervous. I don’t know if I’m up for it,” Rua admitted.

She didn’t understand the intricacies of the upper class and all their social graces. She hadn’t had any real time to even learn anything about herself yet. What was the point of all this if Flossie was just going to send her away after tonight? She supposed she should have put this kind of thought into her excursion this morning, but regardless, it wasn’t enough time.

“I know you’re not fond of social engagements, but you’ll be fine. Don’t speak unless spoken to, and even then only the most mundane answers. Demure smiles. Little movements.”

Rua groaned. “This is going to be a disaster.”

The maid putting curls in her hair snickered, and Rua thought about growling at her. Saving her the trouble, Mara sent her away.

“Out,” Mara ordered the maid, and took over. “If you do not engage with anyone, then they’ll likely not engage with you.”

Being ignored was the best Rua could hope for.

“Do you think anyone knows about what happened in Conleth Falls?”

Mara frowned, peering at her through the mirror.

Rua groaned. “I thought Mrs. Harrington wasn’t going to let the story out.”

“She fired the maid that spread the gossip. But, truthfully, they were all talking about it. Though I think the message was received loud and clear. No one else wants to be let go without recommendation. It will be all right.” Mara smiled, doing her best to reassure her. Rua gave her a small smile back.

“You’ve so much hair, you know. I’ll be at this for hours,” she said, running the comb down the length of it.

“Can’t you just stick some pins in it? I don’t understand what has to take so long if it’s going to be pinned up anyway.”

“The curls have to set,” Mara said.

“It’s already curly,” Rua argued, though she was just being difficult. Her curls were not tight, smooth ringlets but rather frizzy waves that tangled.

Mara opened her mouth and then closed it.

“What?” Rua asked.

“Well, I thought this was your favorite part of getting ready. You’ve always loved seeing the result.”

Of course Emma Harrington loved having her hair set. “I’m just experiencing a little stress today.”

“Yes,” Mara said as she untangled a curl, “but this is the part that calms you, mostly because your mother never bothers you while it’s happening.”

“Well, today it’s not enough,” Rua snapped, and immediately regretted it.

Mara pursed her lips and raised her brows as she continued rolling Rua’s hair.

Mara couldn’t know she wasn’t Emma. This conversation wasn’t some secret ploy to trick Rua into admitting the truth of who she was; she was simply remarking on why Emma didn’t want to do something she typically loved.

After a long moment, Rua sighed. “I’m sorry.” She met Mara’s eyes. “I’m anxious about what people are going to say. I don’t want anything to upset my mother. The threat of the asylum is wearing on me.”

“I understand,” Mara said, “but it won’t come to that. We’ll make sure of it.”

Rua wished she could take Mara’s word for it, but she doubted Mara held any sway when it came to Flossie’s decisions.

The process of dressing for a ball was tedious, lengthy, and invasive.

Forced to soak in a hot tub for far longer than she thought necessary, she was beyond irritable. If it had been a cool winter’s day, perhaps she might have appreciated it, but the day was muggy and the boiling-hot water an assault on her skin.

Her fingernails were clipped, her toenails too, and perfumed lotion was rubbed on her entire person.

After that came her undergarments and the powders for her face and d é colletage. She didn’t recognize herself, but she was too tired to fight it.

Hours later, Rua was dressed and ready to go. She left her bedroom, catching a glimpse of her gown in the full-length mirror. She paused in momentary shock. The bright-purple silk was a sight to behold and most definitely not her color. She’d felt the awkwardness of the bustle when it was first put on, but now, seeing how it all came together with the pinched waist and the ruffled petticoat, she disliked it even more.

She spotted Flossie and Ned from the top of the staircase.

“Finally,” Flossie called from the bottom of the stairs next to Ned. Both were dressed handsomely.

Rua wondered if Ned would choose this moment to tell Flossie about her morning jaunt. Had she suffered this day for nothing?

She offered a weak smile, and Mr. Harrington lifted a finger to his mouth in a shushing gesture and winked. Flossie didn’t notice, because she was busy scolding a servant for offering her the wrong shawl. “It’s impossible to find good help these days!”

“The carriages are waiting, my dear,” Mr. Harrington said, guiding his wife out the front door. Rua followed behind them, pleasantly surprised.

As they rolled out of their front gates, a crowd was gathering on the sidewalks along Fifth Avenue.

“Oh, look!” Flossie squealed. “Look at them all, coming to gawk! I knew it was going to happen.”

Flossie wasn’t wrong. They were bending their necks to get a look inside the carriage.

“Why are they staring?” Rua asked.

“Should the lower classes not be allowed the privilege to look upon their betters?”

Rua thought she might like to kick Flossie in the teeth.

They’d only pulled out of their drive when they were stopped.

“Hurry up!” Flossie banged on the carriage wall behind the driver’s head.

“Flossie, darling, there’s nothing he can do about the traffic,” Ned said, unaffected by his wife’s scathing look.

“Couldn’t we walk?” Rua offered. Mara had told her that all the important people lived sequestered together uptown, most not even a five-minute walk from each other.

“Do you see what I’m talking about?” Flossie looked to Ned. “Do you see now? She is going to ruin us.”

“My dear, it was only a question,” Ned soothed.

“It was an absurd one, which only further proves my point. She should not have been brought back to the city.”

Rua stared out the window. If Flossie only knew where she was this morning.

Flossie continued talking as if Rua weren’t right there, confined to the insides of the same small carriage. “We could have told everyone she was still at boarding school.”

“They all know she’s been expelled, darling,” Ned said. “Our hands are tied. Not having her here wasn’t an option.”

“Is it an option now?” Flossie asked eagerly.

For god’s sake. Rua sat back and tried to tune the two of them out. She needed to come up with a plan and fast.

Though Rua had never met Emma, she had been of the opinion that the other young woman was quiet and unassuming. Perhaps it was the subdued depiction of her in the portrait in Conleth Falls, coupled with Rua’s own experience with Flossie’s overbearing personality. Enduring a lifetime of Flossie would crush anyone’s spirit. But what could she have done to be expelled from boarding school?

And was that where Mara and the Morr í gan came in? Had Mara offered Emma solace in the form of worship? While Rua wasn’t certain what the Morr í gan was, it wasn’t a leap to assume there was some sort of religious aspect involved. Others called it devil worshipping; Mara called it the Morr í gan. Whatever it was, it must have influenced Emma, and maybe that was why she had been expelled. She’d crawled into a hellmouth, after all.

After forty-five minutes, their carriage was next to drop off the Harringtons in the Fitzgeralds’ half-moon drive.

Flossie and Ned exited first, giving Rua ample time to view the outside of the house. It was smaller than the Harringtons’, but she assumed most homes were.

Mrs. Fitzgerald welcomed them through the front doors. She looked every bit the picture of wealth in all her jewels.

Rua took a deep breath as they were shuffled away from the foyer to socialize with the others before the evening’s entertainment began. She hadn’t time to admire the portraits and the tapestries hanging on the walls, but she did notice the massive bouquets of summer flowers placed on every side table and open space available.

Ned took his leave of the women while Mrs. Fitzgerald guided them into the salon where the rest of the women were.

“Ladies.” Mrs. Fitzgerald addressed the room, gesturing a gloved arm in their direction. “Mrs. Flossie Harrington and her daughter, Miss Emma Harrington.”

All at once, two dozen eyes assessed Rua. The best she could do for herself was to force her gaze out of focus so she didn’t make eye contact with anyone. She was ill prepared for such concentrated scrutiny.

“Care for some lemonade?” Mrs. Fitzgerald asked Rua.

Rua shook her head. Flossie flashed her a warning look.

“So, tell me, what has prompted your return from your country estate so soon?” Mrs. Fitzgerald grinned, wasting no time wielding her social power to sway the room’s opinion. “I wasn’t sure you’d make it this evening.”

Rua ground her teeth together to keep from telling her that her devil-worshipping cult had disbanded early. Or that she’d already drunk the blood of a lamb and was free to leave the Catskills.

Fortunately for the Harringtons, Flossie answered first.

“Truly, it’s not as soon as it seems. It’s quite typical for us to return near the end of August. This was the first year that my daughter’s not been away, so we thought we’d return a few days sooner than norm.”

“I see.” Mrs. Fitzgerald’s smile never faltered.

Rua waited for her to bring up Emma’s expulsion at the boarding school to make sure she was as uncomfortable as possible, but instead she asked, “Miss Harrington, have you met my daughter, Annette?”

Rua shook her head again, words still being too tricky to come by.

Annette was attractive, her fair complexion and blonde hair accentuated by a blue gown. “I wasn’t sure I’d get to meet you at all after what happened,” she said with a grin.

Rua’s heart was in her mouth. After what happened? she wanted to scream. What were they referring to? The man she’d splashed poison water on at the hellmouth? Or the fact that she’d crawled out of a hole in the ground and was now living someone else’s life?

“You know, it’s really quite a shame they wouldn’t keep you at the Devonshire Academy. My father is well connected, if you need him to step in on your behalf. We’re always looking to help those less fortunate.” Annette’s subsequent smile cut Rua to the bone.

The air in the room was cloaked in spite as everyone waited to see how she would respond.

Rua turned to Flossie, who met her with a disapproving look.

“Now, now, darling.” Mrs. Fitzgerald rested her hand on Annette’s shoulder, no doubt proud to see that the apple didn’t fall far. “Let’s keep the conversation light. I’m sure the Harringtons don’t want to discuss their personal troubles with a roomful of strangers,” she said, wearing a smug grin.

Rua’s throat tightened as she watched the mother-daughter pair sharpen their tongues. She didn’t take kindly to being belittled, but she kept a wary eye out for Flossie, who would be quick to reprimand her if she spoke out of turn.

“I’m so looking forward to the promenade tomorrow,” Flossie said, astoundingly unbothered by Mrs. Fitzgerald’s remark. “I believe your husband has invited mine to share your marquee.”

“Has he now? The generous man.” Mrs. Fitzgerald feigned surprise as she looked around to the other women. “We might as well open it up to the public at this point.” The women all snickered.

Rua watched Flossie’s face, waiting to see if Mrs. Fitzgerald’s sting had landed, if she had the capacity to be embarrassed, but Flossie never flinched. Instead, she focused on the woman to Mrs. Fitzgerald’s right, who looked to be just as eager for her approval as Flossie was.

“Marisol, will I see you in the Fitzgeralds’ marquee tomorrow?” Flossie asked.

The room fell silent. Marisol’s tawny cheeks turned scarlet, and Mrs. Fitzgerald’s eyes narrowed as she addressed Flossie. “No, she will not.”

“Not quite so public, then,” Flossie said with a triumphant smile. Rua had to hand it to her—she was well cut out for this world.

A sudden outburst of delighted squeals and giggles broke the tension.

Rua turned to see what was causing the commotion and immediately wished she hadn’t.

It was the man who had scolded her at the construction site this morning, who had acted as witness to her not knowing her own father. More embarrassing than that, she had caressed his hand.

Looking at him now, so dashingly self-assured in his evening wear, she didn’t know where she had gotten the nerve to touch him. To hold the heavy weight of his hand in hers. Her cheeks burned at the memory. Quickly, she turned away, ready for the ground to open up and swallow her whole.

All pretenses and decorum went out the window as mothers and daughters alike shuffled forward, bumping crinoline, all so they could be the one to catch the man’s momentary attention.

Trying to be subtle and not wanting to give him the satisfaction of her looking, Rua moved away from the commotion. The man was far more attractive than she had realized. Perhaps it was the three-piece suit, or maybe the lack of a scowl. She could certainly see what the fuss was about, though she’d never admit it.

“What are you doing over here?” Mrs. Harrington growled through her teeth. “Come and let us say hello to the Lord of Donore.”

Of course he was a lord.

“You want us to wait in that line?” Rua asked, pointing to the throng of women at his front. “Do you think perhaps he would autograph my gloves?”

“He is in business with your father. He will be expecting us to say hello. Now”—she gave Rua a push—“do not embarrass me, darling.” Flossie had a knack for keeping a beautiful smile while snarling.

Rua doubted he’d even noticed they were in the room. How could he with this fuss?

“Don’t you think it’s more embarrassing to wait in line to greet him?” Rua asked. Ned might not have told Flossie about what happened this morning, but what was to stop this man from mentioning their run-in or saying Nice to see you again ? Flossie would wonder how he could possibly know her and start her inquiry.

Flossie gave Rua another nudge. “As it turns out, I do not. Now, get over there.”

As Rua reluctantly made her way to the cluster of women clamoring for the Lord of Donore’s attention, Mrs. Fitzgerald announced that they were to make their way to the ballroom.

Flossie glared at Rua as they followed Mrs. Fitzgerald’s instructions. “Do not do that again. The next time I tell you to do something, you do it,” Flossie hissed.

Rua didn’t respond; she was relieved to have avoided one possible disaster. She trailed after Flossie as they entered the ballroom, grandiose and dazzling. Her eyes danced around the room.

The well-to-do women whispered as they passed, blocking their malicious words with their embellished fans as their eyes stayed fixed on her and Flossie.

Rua had known society would be difficult, but never had she expected the upper tens to be so up front about it. They were practically spitting.

Flossie appeared indifferent, or she was just too thickheaded to notice, but Rua was incensed. She wanted to snap every last one of those little fans in half, but she reminded herself of where that would lead her—destitution.

If she wasn’t Miss Emma Harrington, heiress to Ned and Flossie’s vast real-estate fortune, she was no one. For now.

Rua tried to focus her attention on the crystal sconces that lined the walls and the polished floors that glowed with their reflection, but Flossie wouldn’t let her. “Pick up your head. You’re embarrassing me.”

Indignant, Rua did as she was told. It was no small feat having to meet the eyes of the peers who would sooner show her the door. But Flossie didn’t care about that. She was too busy pushing her way in.

Despite the hostile expressions the women wore, they all looked glorious. It wasn’t possible to say one was more beautiful than the next.

The men were the same, in their trousers and evening coats, but far more subtle about their contempt. They would use Rua’s reputation to their advantage and assume she was desperate for a man. The rumors about her didn’t bother them, because she was fresh meat and they were above reproach. Collectively they ogled her like lamb on a rack, wondering who was going to get the best cut.

And still none approached her. They would wait until the women handed down their judgments.

She searched the room, moving from one unfriendly face to the next, wondering how she’d ended up here. What series of life choices doled out this form of punishment? The constant chatter was grating, the air thick with whispers and hearsay. She needed a repose.

Flossie stopped to speak to a woman who did everything to avoid acknowledging that Rua was there. Since Flossie had no objections to this rudeness, Rua slipped away to a satin-cushioned chair she spotted tucked in the corner.

Warding off the relentless glowers was tiresome. She wondered if everyone could see through her charade. If they knew she wasn’t who she was pretending to be.

“Don’t you even think about it.” Flossie startled her, grabbing hold of her arm midsit. “How is the Lord of Donore supposed to find you all the way over here?”

“It hadn’t crossed my mind,” Rua said honestly.

“That much is clear,” Flossie snapped as the orchestra began to play. The focus in the room shifted toward the center of the dance floor, where a few couples were dancing. “Look at what you’ve allowed to happen,” Flossie huffed as Rua spied the Lord of Donore and Annette dancing. “You’ll never measure up to Annette Fitzgerald.”

Perhaps a comment like that might have bothered Emma, but Flossie would have to do better than that if she wanted to hurt Rua. They all would. Rua cared only for her continued survival, however that looked. If it meant putting on gowns and ignoring the sycophant’s insults, so be it.

A flash of blue caught her eye. Rua looked upon the darling couple gliding across the dance floor, a match made by the heavens, and found she was bothered. More bothered than she had any right to be.

The man was quarrelsome and arrogant, born to be her adversary. But there was something else there, something warm and familiar, and it felt like hers.