“You miss my point, dear sir. Selim is fascinated by titles: Emperor Selim!” Breksby snorted.

Alex, who had been staring meditatively at Breksby’s oak desk, raised his head and looked the foreign secretary straight in the face.

“You mean to give Patrick a title.” It was a statement, not a question. Then a smile spread across his face. “How splendid.”

“There will, of course, be difficulties.” Lord Breksby implied that these were a matter of little consequence to him. “I think they can be overcome.”

Alex smiled. “He can have half of my estates and that half of my title.” Alexander Foakes was the Earl of Sheffield and Downes, meaning that he ruled (nominally speaking) over two portions of English land.

“My dear sir!” Breksby was shocked by that suggestion. “We could never do such a thing. Breaking up a hereditary title: oh no, no, no. However …” A cunning look passed over his face. “We could petition to liberate one of your other titles.”

Alex nodded thoughtfully. He was in fact not only the Earl of Sheffield and Downes. He was also Viscount Spencer.

“I was thinking of the Scottish title,” Breksby said.

For a moment Alex was at sea. “Scottish title?”

“When your great-grandmother married your great-grandfather, her father’s title—Duke of Gisle—lapsed, since she was an only child.”

“Oh, of course.” Alex knew of his Scottish great-grandmother but had never given a second thought to her father’s lapsed title.

“I’d like to petition to have that title resurrected,” Breksby said briskly. “I think I can present a reasonable case, given the importance of winning Selim III over to the English cause. If Selim is not sufficiently impressed by our ambassador, I would guess that the Turkish empires will declare war on England in the near future, following the lead of our dear Napoleon, naturally. I expect that the fact that you and your brother are twins will also please the Parliament. Patrick Foakes is, after all, only the lesser brother with regard to a moment or two.”

Alex nodded. Given that Breksby never presented an idea until he was convinced it would be successful, Alex thought that Patrick would be declared the Duke of Gisle within a few months.

“I’m not sure—” he said, but the door opened.

Lord Breksby’s servant announced, “Mr. Patrick Foakes; the Earl of Slaslow; Lord Reginald Petersham; Mr. Peter Dewland.”

Lord Breksby immediately took charge. “Gentlemen, I asked you to visit me today because you each own a clipper ship.”

“Goodness me,” Braddon Chatwin, the Earl of Slaslow, said confusedly. “I don’t think so, sir. Unless my man of business has bought one behind my back.”

Lord Breksby gave him a hard look. Apparently the reports he had received about Slaslow’s mental capabilities were not exaggerated. “You won this clipper while playing écarté with—” He paused for a moment and raised his glasses to read a piece of a paper on his desk. “Oh yes, while playing écarté with a Mr. Sheridan Jameson. A merchant, I believe.”