“Not anytime soon,” Jamie said reassuringly. “Unless Uncle Hart is ailing, and I haven’t heard?”
“No, no.” Alec waved this away. “Dad’s in robust health. Obnoxiously robust, as Mum would say. But it’s more than people expecting me to be political. It’s …” Alec rubbed one hand through his hair. He’d picked up oil from the car, and a black streak now decorated the bright red. “Don’t tell anyone … but I don’t want the title. It’s brought Dad nothing but misery, and did the same to Grandad, from what I hear. He went completely mad. Not something I enjoy contemplating. I’m thinking of refusing it.”
“Are you now?” Jamie kept his voice quiet.
He sipped the whiskey, a smooth, fine malt created by his father. Alec had resumed his scowl, not about to give Jamie any more information. He was stubborn, was Alec, as stubborn as any of the Mackenzies, with an extra dose of it straight from Uncle Hart.
“Let’s talk this all the way through, lad,” Jamie said. “If you refuse the title, which you can, after going through legal machinations, many documents, and plenty of solicitors—with newspapers printing every detail—it will pass to Malcolm, your wild little brother.”
Alec’s eyes flickered. He hadn’t thought of that, Jamie saw.
While Alec had Hart’s growling strength, his younger brother, Mal, had decided to live up to the reputation of Old Malcolm Mackenzie from the ’45 Uprising, which meant being as unrestrained as possible. Mal had recently turned twenty-one, reaching his majority and coming into a large allowance. Uncle Hart rumbled with worry about him, though Aunt Eleanor had more faith in the young man. Mal has a good heart, she liked to say. He’ll turn out all right … Eventually.
“I haven’t spoken to Mal about this,” Alec admitted. “But I think he’d do the same. Refuse the title, I mean.”
“Entirely his choice.” Jamie nodded. “With the same legal documents and disapproval from the world at large, but Mackenzies have never worried much about the opinion of the world at large.”
Alec raised his cup, as though relieved Jamie understood.
“Now then,” Jamie continued. “If you and Mal both refuse the title, it will pass to Uncle Cameron, as Uncle Hart’s next younger brother. I think we all know Uncle Cam’s feelings about that.”
Alec’s certainty began to slip. Uncle Cam was fond of saying in his loud, gravelly voice, that he thanked God every day that Hart had found the brains to marry Eleanor and give her two sons to keep him—Cameron—from the dukedom forever.
“He’d never accept it,” Alec said glumly.
“Which brings us to Daniel, his oldest son. We know Daniel would take Violet and family and disappear to the ends of the earth if he thought he was in danger of becoming duke.” Jamie grinned as Alec’s face sunk into even more gloom. “As would Stuart, Uncle Cam’s younger son. Thus the title would move to Uncle Mac, who would likewise snatch up his family and race to the Continent, pretending he couldn’t sully the dukedom with his paintings and unruly ways. Robbie, as Uncle Mac’s only son, has already expressed to me that he is happy he’s a long way from the succession.”
“That leaves Uncle Ian,” Alec said. He pinned Jamie with a hopeful gaze. “And you.”
Jamie couldn’t prevent his laughter. “Dad would come up with a very complicated argument about why he couldn’t take the dukedom. He might not tell you the argument, and simply say, No, but if pressed, he’d have his reasons lined up carefully in his head. And you know what I’m going to say.”
Alec’s mouth turned down, and he gave Jamie a formidable frown worthy of his father. “What if I ordered you to take the title?”
Jamie’s amusement grew. “Lad, if you don’t become duke and head of our branch of the Mackenzies, you can’t order me to do anything. As though I’d listen, in any case. And yes, I’m refusing. I plan to do great things in my life, which I can’t if I’m sitting on my arse in the House of Lords all day, listening to lugubrious men drone on and on about all sorts.”
“You think that’s what I want?” Alec burst out. He waved the cup until precious whiskey fell in droplets across the floor. “Dad expects me to carry on the work of prying Scotland loose from England’s clutches. If he thinks that is possible in our lifetime, he’s a dreamer.”
“Uncle Hart is single-minded about that, I grant you,” Jamie agreed.
Alec let out another sigh and took a calming sip of whiskey. “I suppose we’ll have to search for more distant cousins to take up the burden, then.”
“No, we won’t. Do you not know how the dukedom of Kilmorgan was set up in days of old?”
Alec scowled. “Can’t say that I do. I have better things to occupy my time.”
“Well, I live with a father who loves old records, stories, and documents of the past. Dad has been regaling me with these tales all my life.” Jamie suppressed his glee as he led up to his point. “When Old Dan was made duke back in the fourteenth century, he demanded a stipulation that female members of the family can inherit the dukedom, with her eldest son, if she has sons, becoming duke upon his majority. This is not unprecedented for ducal families—some do not want their power diluted by the title passing to ever more distant cousins. Therefore, if all the immediate male heirs of the Duke of Kilmorgan are deceased, or in this case, if they abdicate, the dukedom can pass to the oldest female in the line.”
Jamie paused to sip while Alec watched him in growing understanding. “But that means—”
“Exactly,” Jamie said. “The title would pass to Gavina.”
Alec’s eyes rounded as the full implication of Jamie’s words hit him. “Oh.”
“Yes. Oh.”
“I wager she wouldn’t refuse it,” Alec said slowly.
“No.” Jamie let his grin emerge. “She’d embrace it.”
“Oh,” Alec said again.
They fell silent, regarding the scenario with foreboding.
Not because Gavina, Uncle Cam’s daughter, was a woman. Jamie would be happy to see a lady become the head of the Mackenzie family. He’d prefer it, in fact.
No, what made them pause was that Gavina was Gavina.
Beautiful, vivacious, unstoppable, strong-willed, uncompromising Gavina. She’d take up the mantel of power with relish and make everyone tremble before her.
Again Jamie wouldn’t mind that so much, but he would mind if he had to go pry her out of prison for whatever daft idea she took it into her head to do. If Gavina were duchess in her own right, she of course, wouldn’t go to prison—peers didn’t. But she might end up in exile or sentenced to execution, even in this day and age. Gavina Mackenzie was a whirlwind, not a person to be lightly regarded.
Alec took a long gulp of whisky. “Well, you’ve given me much to contemplate.”
“Aye. Contemplate it well, lad.”
They drank in silence for a time. Jamie wondered what had prompted Alec’s sudden need for Jamie’s advice. Perhaps the expectations thrust upon Alec had suddenly made him panic—if Alec could ever be said to panic. He glowered at problems instead of running from them, very much like his father. Well, Jamie would pry it out of him one day.