A Ridiculous Idea

Jeffrey Graham leads a contented life a merchant seaman, owner, in fact, of a fleet of ships. His life is comfortable indeed. He is inclined to disdain England’s landed aristocrats with their inherited wealth. He has just concluded a pleasant house party, one organized to facilitate his pursuit of the Honorable Gemma Burke, daughter of a viscount. Much of the gossip those days concerned the missing heir of the very elderly Duke of Aberlea. He’s had a surprise visitor. From An Unlikely Duke.

*****

“No. That is utter nonsense. I want nothing to do with it.” Jeff glared across his study at the man cradling Jeff’s best brandy and frowning back. Barnabas’s troubled expression didn’t help.

“I’m afraid that if it proves true, you will have no choice.” Viscount Rockford’s implacable gaze didn’t waver. The odd little man claimed Jeff had some sort of connection to the missing Aberlea heir.

His sister Delia had generously offered to stay behind to see to the last of the guests and close up the house so Jeff could pursue his business contacts—and Gemma—to London. Before he could leave, Viscount Rockford appeared and asked to speak with him urgently about information of a private nature.

Jeff had insisted Barnabas remain to hear it and was glad he did. Rockford’s speculation about the Aberlea title left Jeff alternately amused by the ludicrous idea and appalled at the thought. He disdained the inbred aristocracy.

“Who is the source of your information, Rockford?” Barnabas asked.

Rockford blinked. “My sources are confidential, Mr. Mckinney.”

Ostensibly the director of a troop of private security forces contracted to protect key foreign diplomats, royal princes, and more than a few ducal families, Rockford was reputed to have his finger in many pies and a network of agents feeding him gossip and information the length of the United Kingdom. Bristol as well, apparently.

Rockford peered at Jeff. “What do you know about your grandfather?” he asked.

“Alexander MacPherson exploited land and people on Jamaica his entire miserable life. If by some twist of irony, he turned out to be a duke’s younger son he would have shouted it from the rooftops,” Barnabas answered when Jeff did not.

Jeff met his cousin’s eyes and nodded. “Besides, his daughter, my mother, was illegitimate. That would render me ineligible.” The thought comforted it him

“I am asking about your other grandfather,” Rockford said.

“Better you than me,” Barnabas muttered under his breath.

Relief flooded Jeff. Now he was certain it was all a hum. He began to laugh and couldn’t stop. “Gus Graham was a hard drinking wharf rat with a foul mouth who ran the best ship’s chandlery in Bristol Docks, when he wasn’t toasting seaman at the Lord Admiral’s Pub. Now I know you are way off base,” he said when he finally got control.

He wiped the tears of laughter from his face with one sleeve. “The pride of his life came when his only son became a ship’s captain in his own right and began to build our fleet. Cut line on this one, Rockford.”

“Perhaps. Aberlea’s youngest brother left Yorkshire from Great Yarmouth, and was believed lost at sea. We found evidence he actually jumped ship in the Carolinas, but the trail went cold. His name was Augustus Grenville.”

“There you have it. My grandfather was Gus Graham.”

Rockford held Jeff’s eyes, waiting.

“You think Augustus and Gus are the same? Graham still isn’t Grenville,” Jeff said.

“The previous Duke of Aberlea, the fourth of the name, was named Peter Augustus Grenville. Peter is your father’s name is it not?” Rockford asked.

“Yes but—”

“The oldest son, who died before he could inherit, was name Geoffrey. With G,” Rockford went on. “Did your grandfather ever talk about brothers.”

Jeff ran a hand through his hair. “One. Called him a damned fool. He died in hunting accident of some sort. A country accident. Granda brought it up when he thought we were being careless with firearms.”

“Geoffrey Grenville, Earl of Brookford, died while hunting stag in the highlands when he was twenty.”

“You still haven’t said anything that connects me to Aberlea,” Jeff said. “Unless you find hard evidence this Augustus crawled into Bristol to wallow among the shopkeepers, traffickers, press gangs and common seamen while selling tar, rope and hard tack, I’m not interested.”

“Do you know where Gus Graham was born?” Rockford asked.

“Bristol, I always assumed,” Jeff replied.

“He certainly sounded like it,” Barnabas added.

“Perhaps,” Rockford mused, staring into his drink. “Our informant says otherwise.”

“Check the church records. Find his baptism here. That will set it to rest,” Jeff said.

“So far we’ve had no luck, but we’ll broaden that search,” Rockford rose to leave. “Sorry to trouble you. This may come to nothing, but I thought you deserved to be warned. May I assume you will not be dropping hints you are the heir all over London.”

“Good God No,” Jeff exclaimed.

Note: excerpts from works in progress may have not yet been edited, will likely undergo change, and may not even make it into the final work!