Page 9 of The Marquess' Disguised Heiress
It had only been five days since he had arrived in London, during which he had hired a private investigator to look into the matter along with buying the Blackwood Manor and moving here.
From what he had found out through the servants, what once had been the Grafton Estate was now known as the Russel Estate, the Russel family making religious use of the place. Infact, the place had not been occupied by any member of the Gordon family for years now, and no one was even aware what had become of them.
How was it even possible?
“My Lord?” George called out to him, and Alexander looked up, still rather confused about the whole thing.
“Yes?”
“Mr Striker is here to see you.”
Alexander stood up at once, eager to see the private investigator he had hired to look into the matter.
It was true he had come to London on his mother’s request and guilt over not knowing what had become of her best friend’s daughter, but a part of him missed Eliza just as much. He had been thirteen while she had been seven, but she had been much older for her age, and far too mature.
The two of them had bonded over their mutual love for adventure, and he had taught her things that girls were never interested in learning.
He had been the one to teach her horse riding and to shoot arrows, and she had even learned to fish with him as they used to go fishing in the little stream between their estates in the countryside.
Those were beautiful times, until they had to move away, and then Eliza disappeared from his life.
But I will find her. I have to.
“Mr Striker,” Alexander greeted the young man right after entering the drawing room where he was seated.
From what people had told Alexander, John Striker was the best investigator in the business, able to find intimate and covert details about people at the drop of a hat.
He had his ways of doing things, and Alexander had found him rather interesting. He dressed peculiarly, wearing a long trench coat no matter what time of the day it was, and he never took off his hat either. His moustache was rather huge but suited his face, and he always held a cigar between his lips.
He was both handsome and classy, and Alexander had found himself trusting the man almost immediately.
“My Lord,” he greeted Alexander, after which they both sat down and faced one another.
“So what do you have for me?”
The man sighed dramatically, leaning forward on the sofa. “From what I have come to see, Eliza Gordon does not exist.”
“What do you mean?”
“Before that, must I address you as Marquess Lennox or Earl Eastwood?”
Alexander was surprised: his title as the Earl of Eastwood was one of his lesser-known titles, and not everyone was familiar with it. Although John Striker had clearly done his research on Alexander as well, knowing him quite closely already.
“You can call me Alexander.”
“In that case, My Lord, the country estate neighbouring the Blackwood Estate, which once belonged to the Gordon family, now belongs to the Russells, and so does the London estate. From what I have found out, after the duke and duchess died mysteriously, the Russel family settled into the house, Edgar Russel being the cousin of the duke and uncle to their daughter Eliza Gordon.”
“Yes, yes.” Alexander nodded. “We still lived in the country when the Russel family settled in the house. Although, Eliza still lived with them.”
“She must have, but since you moved, Lady Eliza disappeared.”
“Disappeared how?”
“She has never been seen in society, and her name has never even been heard by anyone in the nobility. She is simply a ghost of someone who might have existed but no longer does. The family could have moved her to France because that is one of the rumours I heard, or she could have died.”
Died? Alexander’s heartbeat stopped for a second.
“She is not in France.” He shook his head, “And she certainly cannot be dead. Be reasonable, Mr Striker.”
