World of de Wolfe Pack: The Wolfe Match (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Kit Morgan

  The instructor took his place at the front, looked at her, and smiled before turning to the whiteboard behind him and writing his name. “Welcome, everyone. I’m Mr. Mosgofian – the ‘Mos’ of ‘MacMos,’ as it were …”

  Tory couldn’t hide her gasp. This was the co-owner of the company! What was he doing teaching the classes? She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

  “Everyone here in this room has something in common,” he continued. “That you’re here means you’re interested in expanding your life experiences.” He turned to the desk, picked up a stack of papers and began passing them out. “Some of you are more familiar with our program than others, but I’m still going to go over the fine points. All the information you need is on these sheets. Over the next six weeks we’ll be covering a lot of material, so take plenty of notes.” He returned to the front and leaned against the desk again.

  Excitement raced up Tory’s spine. This was it! She would learn everything she needed to go abroad and teach, or at least tutor. This was like a dream come true, and she hoped and prayed the next six weeks went by fast. The sooner she got out of Stockton, the better her life would be.

  Mr. Mosgofian looked over his students, his eyes coming to rest on her. He smiled again. “So. Let’s begin.”

  Three hours later, Tory thought her brain might explode. Why on earth were they studying medieval history – this battle and that battle and who was this Wolfe family? What did any of this have to do with improving the English of immigrants in Sussex?

  She didn’t get the answer until the end of class. “I’m sure by now you’re all wondering why we’ve been studying this particular material tonight,” Mr. Mosgofian stated.

  Tory nodded. She didn’t know if the others did or not – she was too tired to turn and look.

  “It’s because you’re going to be teaching this to your students. Learning history gives them a context for learning and using English – helps it stick in their minds. There will be other topics you’ll cover with them over the course of time, but like any good teacher you have to know the material inside and out first. And yes, there will be tests – our next class will start with one. We’re going to go over everything we talked about tonight, so study well.”

  Tory’s face fell, her mouth hanging open.

  “A problem, Miss Phelps?” he asked.

  She snapped her mouth shut. “No,” she squeaked, and quickly cleared her throat. “Not at all.”

  He looked like he was suppressing a smile. “That’s a relief. Class dismissed.”

  Tory did her best not to sigh in exasperation. She closed her notebook and put everything in her bag as the others gathered up their things and prepared to leave.

  The locals were talking outside by the time she stepped out the door. How was it they knew each other and she didn’t know anyone? Mr. Mosgofian did say some of them were already familiar with the material – had they already had a few classes? No matter, she’d make a point to ask next time. With a smile she got into her car and drove home.

  “That went well,” she said with a smile as she unlocked the front door and went into the house. Naturally Benny wasn’t home, but she didn’t care. All he’d do is pester her about money, or being hungry and wanting fast food. Well, once he took over her job at the motel he could buy his own burgers.

  With a satisfied smile, Tory went to bed and had her first good night’s sleep in a very long time.

  * * *

  Tory studied hard the next couple of days to prepare for her test, but by the time her second class rolled around, she was nervous as a cat. What if she didn’t do well? What if she didn’t pass? What would she do then?

  But she did pass it with flying colors, and the next test, and the one after that. In fact, the following classes were so intense she hardly got a chance to breathe. Thank Heaven Benny was acting civilly – she was in the homestretch and didn’t have any energy left for his drama.

  She was still surprised when, after the first class of the fifth week, Mr. Mosgofian congratulated her before she left and said she nearly ready. Who would have thought memorizing a bunch of facts about medieval families, a few wars, and things that took place hundreds of years ago would help land her a job in England? But here she was, flying through her lessons and staring a brand new life in the face!

  She was so excited she could hardly sleep. One week to go, and she’d be living a dream! “You’re almost there, Phelps,” she’d tell herself every night. “You can do this.”

  And maybe Benny really was adjusting. At the end of week, he even scrounged up some change somewhere, bought her a cheeseburger from McDonald’s and presented it to her on a plate when she got home from class. She smiled at the food as he set it on the kitchen table. “Thanks, Benny.”

  “Think nothing of it. It’s the least I can do for my sis who’s moving up in the world.” He pulled out two Big Macs and fries for himself from a bag.

  She should have known. She forced a smile regardless. “Like I said, thanks.” She picked up her pathetic little cheeseburger and bit into it.

  “So, ah, when are you leaving, sis?” Benny asked. He was clearly trying to act casual, and failing.

  Warning bells went off in her head. “Leaving?”

  “To go teach in London?”

  “Sussex,” she corrected.

  “Whatever. When are you going?”

  She eyed him. “As soon as classes are over with, if I pass. You know that.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s right.” He shoved a handful of French fries into his mouth. “You’re gonna leave the check book and all that, right?”

  And there it was. “No. You’ll be on your own.”

  He stopped chewing. “But … what am I gonna do if the power gets turned off?”

  She set down her burger. “Why would it get turned off, Benny?”

  “Well, I don’t have the money to pay the bill!”

  She stiffened, got up from the table, went to the refrigerator and took out a quart of milk. “It’s called work, Benny. It’s something you do to make money so you can pay the electric bill, among other things.” She took a glass out of the cupboard, filled it and took a good long swallow before facing him again.

  “You’re not leaving me with any money?” he asked, ignoring her last statement.

  She set her glass down. “No, Benny. I’m not.”

  He shoved back his chair and stood. “But Tory!”

  She rolled her eyes. “But Benny. Here’s the deal – I’m leaving you with enough to get you by the first two weeks you’re working. Then you start getting paid, and you’re on your own.”

  He glared at her, his jaw tightening.

  Tough. She gulped down her last bite of cheeseburger, grabbed another glass, filled it with milk and handed it to him. “Here, since you didn’t have enough cash to get sodas. Thanks for the burger.”

  He nodded as he looked away, then took the glass from her and downed it.

  She decided to go straight to bed. She was suddenly tired, real tired. She wasn’t going to make it easy on him – he had to learn. And really, all he had to do was pay the phone, gas and electric bills and feed himself. She planned to cancel the cable before she left – he was never home to watch TV anyway. Right now, she needed to concentrate on studying. One week to go, just one lousy week.

  Tory stared at the ceiling of her room. “Please don’t let anything go wrong. I have to do this.” She closed her eyes and was asleep in minutes.

  Four

  Stantham Hall, Sussex, England, two weeks later …

  “Are you sure this is going to work?”

  Lantzaro Mosgofian – Lany for short – straightened his jacket. “Wasn’t my idea, Your Grace. If it fails, it won’t be on me.”

  Duncan Sayer, Duke of Stantham, pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “But yes, I’m sure it’ll work,” Lany reassured.

  Duncan looked at him and sighed heavily. “Oh, very well. You should know, you’re the expert. I’m
just assisting in this mad scheme.”

  “Mad?” Lany said with a tiny smirk. “Be glad my co-workers aren’t here. Some of them are enough to drive anyone crazy. Or as they say in the twenty-first century, cray-cray.”

  Duncan visibly cringed at the mention of Lany’s associates. “Yes, I’ve met some of them. I must agree with you on that score.”

  Lany nodded. It wasn’t every day a nineteenth-century duke had to deal with a group of time travelers from the year 3698. He was surprised the fellow held up as well as he did when he found out who and what they were. But that was another story.

  Duncan kicked at the gravel of the drive that led to the house, pulling him from his thoughts. They were waiting for Miss Phelps to arrive. The duke looked at him and smiled. “Cray-cray, you say? Hmm. And you’re sure she hasn’t a clue?”

  Lany did his best not to grit his teeth. “As sure as I can be, and that’s very. Remember, all you have to do is make sure that after today, she doesn’t leave the estate. Trust me, she’ll be none the wiser. Everything around here looks almost the same as it did in your time.”

  The duke didn’t look convinced, and maybe with reason. He was studying the electrical poles in the distance – she’d most certainly notice if those were missing tomorrow, wouldn’t she? “My good man, there are times I wish I had never left the estate. Though I must admit, I do like automobiles. Pity I can’t have one.”

  “Yes, it is, but you know the rules,” Lany said. “Besides, you’d have a pretty hard time explaining one back home in the 1870s.”

  “Indeed,” Duncan said on a sigh. “Tell me, Mr. Mosgofian. Do you enjoy your work?”

  Lany raised an eyebrow. “Which part? Being Lord Councilor between the human race and an entirely alien one in the far future? Or the part where I have play matchmaker for people from different centuries to make sure a family line carries on so we’re not annihilated by a madman?”

  Duncan shrugged. “Both?”

  Now it was Lany’s turn to sigh. “Sometimes I miss my assistant days, but time-traveling and saving the world now and then has its perks. My wife hates that I’m gone so much, especially to a different ficton, but other than that …”

  “Ficton?”

  Lany paused. “Sorry. It means location in both space and time. I forget you don’t know the technical terms.”

  Duncan squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “I still can’t believe I agreed to this.”

  Lany patted him on the shoulder. “You’re a good man, Your Grace. We’re thankful we found you when we did.”

  “Well, I suppose it is my turn to help you. After all, I wouldn’t be married to the most wonderful woman in the world were it not for you and your people. Especially the MacDonalds – where are they?”

  “On another assignment, but they’re supposed to check in at some point tonight. They’ll have to – they’re our only way to get you back to where you belong.”

  Duncan nodded solemnly. “When I belong.”

  “Both. Just remember, Miss Phelps and Sir Aldrich have to fall in love before the next full moon.”

  Duncan rolled his eyes. “You make this all sound like some …” He waved a hand back and forth. “…witch’s spell.”

  “Nothing of the kind and you know it. Regardless, they have to marry by the appointed time or one or both of them could die.”

  “Who are these people causing all the trouble again? Should I be watching for them?”

  “They’re bad news on burnt toast. Suffice to say they’ve searched and hunted down anyone they could find from several family bloodlines to make sure certain attributes associated with said families – namely, the ability to time-travel – would not continue. Our sources tell us that they’ll try to kill Miss Phelps and Sir Aldrich.”

  “Lovely.”

  “But don’t worry, we’re on the ring leader’s trail. If this works, they’ll be married and long gone by the time he gets here.” Lany looked at the duke, his face dead serious. “You know I can’t tell you how. Frankly, it’s best you not know. But we will get it done.”

  “This ring leader,” Duncan mused. “I’ve heard mention of him before. He’s a time traveler like yourself? And he murdered people across how many centuries?”

  “Yes, and a lot of them. We’re still working to discover all his crimes. But this one is key – both Miss Phelps and Sir Aldrich both have the attributes I spoke of, and any children they bear will have them too. But theirs will be stronger, much stronger.”

  “Do Miss Phelps and Sir Aldrich know they have these attributes, whatever they are?”

  “Not likely. They’re usually dormant without adequate training.”

  “So then it’s imperative that Miss Phelps and Sir Aldrich not only wed, but have children?”

  “Yes. And I can’t tell you more, so let’s leave it at that.”

  “So you keep saying. And the reason you’re not telling me everything is?” Duncan cocked his head, eyebrows raised.”

  “Because like you with your Queen, I am under authority,” Lany quipped. “And my authority says ‘don’t.’ Very forcefully.”

  Duncan shook his head in resignation. “I suppose I understand that. You do realize I hate being kept in the dark?”

  “You and me both, but sometimes it’s safer that way. Now, you remember the plan?”

  “Yes, of course. You leave this Miss Phelps in mine and my wife’s capable hands for a couple of weeks. She tutors my wife, meets Sir Aldrich, they fall in love and live happily ever after. How many times are you going to ask me this?”

  “Because she is going to ask questions.” Lany said.

  Duncan tossed his hands in the air. “My good man, she’s going to retire tonight in the twenty-first century and wake up in the nineteenth! Of course she’ll ask questions! What am I supposed to tell her, that my wife and I are eccentric loons and enjoy living without electricity, automobiles, telephones … oh, the list can go on! Do you really expect her to believe that?”

  “She’ll have to.”

  Duncan pinched his nose again. “This is never going to work.”

  “Living stars, pull yourself together, Your Grace,” Lany chastised. “It’s going to work. We’ll make it work.”

  Duncan pinched his nose harder. “Give me one of those things you call a Tylenol. Once I return to my own time, I’ll never be able to get my hands on any.”

  “Oh, all right,” Lany said, reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small white plastic bottle. He popped the top, shook two out and handed them to the duke. “Here. But after this, no more – you’ll have to make do with what you have in your own time. Willow bark, or rum, or a mallet to the head or something.” He took two himself, replaced the cap and shoved the bottle back into his pocket.

  “Pity you don’t have those pills where you’re from,” Duncan remarked. “When, I mean.”

  “Don’t need them. We have better medicine in the future.”

  “I wish you had better matchmaking services.”

  “Your Grace, you have my full agreement on that.”

  Duncan rolled his eyes, tossed the pills into his mouth and swallowed hard just as a car pulled into the drive.

  * * *

  Tory could hardly contain herself. “Omigosh, I can’t believe I’m here!” she squealed, clapping her hands together. Then she spied the two men waiting to greet her and quickly composed herself.

  The driver glanced at her, smiled, and got out of the car. She was about to get out herself, but noticed he’d come around the car to her door. She wasn’t used to such manners. She waited for him to open it, hoping she didn’t trip and fall flat on her face when she got out, then realized he was offering her a hand to prevent just that. For a moment she felt like a princess.

  “Miss Phelps – how lovely to see you again!” a familiar voice called.

  “Mr. Mosgofian! Good to see you too.” She looked at the handsome stranger next to him. “Hi.”

  “Hello.” The
man was tall, with dark hair and dark eyes, and impeccably dressed. With his hair bleached, he could pass for the guy who played Thor – what was his name …

  “Miss Phelps,” Mr. Mosgofian said. “May I introduce His Grace, the Duke of Stantham?”

  Tory gasped in panic. “Duke? You didn’t say I’d meet a duke!”

  Mr. Mosgofian winced. “I’m sure I did, actually.”

  She stared at the handsome man before her as Mr. Mosgofian’s words registered. Didn’t he tell her she’d be tutoring someone’s wife? Was it this man’s? Rats – and he looked to be in his early thirties, too. All of the good ones were taken …

  “Miss Phelps?”

  “Oh, sorry.” She turned back to Mr. Mosgofian. “Jet lag.”

  “I can imagine,” he said dryly. He turned to the duke. “Your Grace, perhaps we should go inside?”

  “Oh yes, of course,” he said in a wonderful British accent.

  Tory bit her bottom lip. Oh, why did he have to be married? she silently whined. Well, that’s the breaks.

  Mr. Mosgofian motioned toward the front door of the huge English manor then took her bags from the driver. “After you.”

  Tory looked up at the house, three stories of beautiful stone and glass. “How old is this place?”

  “Old,” commented the duke dryly, then added under his breath, “for now, anyway.”

  “Your Grace,” Mr. Mosgofian whispered behind him in what sounded like a warning. She didn’t care, she was too excited.

  The duke opened the front doors and ushered them inside.

  “Oh, wow!” Tory exclaimed, hoping she didn’t sound like some white trash chick that hadn’t seen anything more exciting than the local 7-Eleven. The grand hall was beautiful, with tapestries and huge paintings decorating the walls. A wide staircase stood like a centerpiece on one side of the hall, surrounded by brightly-colored rugs and beautiful antique furniture. “It’s like something out of a movie.”