The Great shook his head. “No, I have no interest in such things.”

“A pity,” Grayson said.

“Why?” Miranda was nearly hanging over his shoulder, and then she saw it. “Good heavens, sir, would you look at this!”

“Yes,” Grayson said. “There, I believe, is our spirit. He visited you, told you to find Major Houston.”

Miranda said, “But if Major Houston isn’t dead, then why didn’t the spirit contact him? Send him here?”

“I hope that he has,” the Great said, “since we have no idea where to find him. Imagine, Charles Houston is alive, but what happened to him?”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Wolffe Hall

Two weeks later

When Grayson and Pip came into the Great’s study, he was grinning wildly, showing his six remaining teeth, waving a letter. “It’s from Charles—Major Houston. Grayson, he found me!” And the Great read:

My dear Colonel Lord Wolffe:

How the years fall away when I write your name, when I picture your face in my mind. So many years since that fateful day at Waterloo.

Let me hasten to tell you that I never blamed you for wounding me. It was I who was at fault. Of course you would believe me an enemy the way I came up behind you. I lay there, the sword slice through my side, knocked unconscious because I evidently hit a rock when I fell. A young man from a nearby village, Jacco Hobbs, found me and pulled me to safety. I survived, but strangely, my brain was perfectly blank. Jacco nursed me back to health, but still I could remember nothing, who I was, who my family was, and poor Jacco had no idea either. So the two of us set sail to Boston, where we’ve lived for the past twenty-five years, Jacco as my valet.

I married, went into my father-in-law’s shipping business, but still, I had no memory. My poor wife and my small daughter both died in a cholera outbreak that left many dead.

The years passed, and still I had no memory until I took a fall from my horse, hit my head, and when I came awake, I remembered everything. This was about four months ago.

Then something very strange happened. I hesitate to lay it down in writing for fear you will believe me unbalanced, but here is the truth as I experienced it. I will call it a spirit for want of a better word. This spirit visited me in a dream and told me to find Colonel Wolffe. I believed it only a strange dream, but I had the same dream three more times. And then, forgive me for stretching your beliefs, sir, but a black funnel came upon me when I was alone in my countinghouse. It swirled all over the room, pulling accounting books from their shelves, and then it came into me, and I heard it clearly, yelling at me to find you.

I do not understand this, sir, but I hope that you will. I will arrive to see you as soon as I am able to leave Boston. Naturally, I will visit my family before I come to you.

All of this is very strange, and I have no notion why this happened. Incidentally, the spirit hasn’t visited me again. I hope you will be able to tell me what is the meaning of all this—

Yr. Faithful Servant,

Charles Houston

* * * * *

Grayson and Miranda walked to the portrait gallery to see Elaine staring up at Alphonse. They heard her say, “The Great now has his heir, Alphonse, and that means the Barons of Cudlow will continue into the future. But this young man who has lived so many years in the Colonies, what if he despises us? What if he makes us leave Wolffe Hall?”

Grayson and Miranda joined her. Grayson stared up at the handsome face, pale as snow, the thin pointed beard on his chin black as night. A man in his prime, probably a wicked man, given the devil-may-care look in his eyes, the arrogant tilt of his head. He fancied he could see the resemblance to the Great. Or perhaps it was his imagination, perhaps it was what he wanted to see. He took both Elaine’s and Miranda’s hands. He said, “Major Houston does not even know he is the Great’s heir. I fancy he will be surprised and very pleased to have a new family. I predict he will wear a smile on his face for a very long time to come. I’m sure Alphonse would agree.”

Elaine said, “Oh dear, Mr. Sherbrooke, I fear we are beset yet again—like the Great, Charles Houston does not have an heir. All right. It can be done, and I will do it. I will find him a sweet young girl. We will all go to London, open the house on Portman Square. Can he look higher than a baron’s daughter? Hmm, we will see. Alphonse, you and I will discuss this.”

Elaine fell silent, deep in thought. Grayson said to Alphonse’s portrait, “Alphonse de Marcy, we have read all about you, sir. You were the original owner and builder of Marcy Hall in 1587. Five of your sons survived into adulthood, and they produced many males to seed the direct line.

“But the de Marcy descendants died out and your property went to your great-granddaughter and her husband, a military man named Wolffe. And Marcy Hall became Wolffe Hall in the early eighteenth century, and the first Baron Cudlow came into the picture. And there it becomes complicated. All I know so far is that Charles Houston is related through your maternal line that goes back to the original younger sister of your great-great-granddaughter.

“Alphonse de Marcy, you must have realized Major Houston wasn’t dead on the day he regained his memory. You have done well. Your descendent is on his way here, and you will see him very soon. The Great accepts that you are a Wolffe Hall ancestor, and he wishes to learn more about you, who you were and what you did during your lifetime. He thanks you, sir.”

Grayson and Miranda left Elaine alone with Alphonse. Of course, only Elaine saw that Alphonse’s eyes twinkled.

EPILOGUE

Wolffe Hall

Tags: Catherine Coulter Sherbrooke Brides Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net