“We’re very grateful to you, my lord,” the foreign secretary said punctiliously. “It is a pleasure to have my views so ably confirmed, and in such a timely manner.”

Patrick inclined his head. “Will that be all?” he asked.

“No, no.” For the first time in Patrick’s recollection, Lord Breksby—the capable, pompous Breksby—looked somewhat discomfitted, almost anxious. “The other matter … the matter of the gift.”

There was a pause as Breksby rethought his plan to keep Patrick Foakes in the dark about Napoleon’s attempted sabotage. The man was so—so formidable in person.

“Yes?” Patrick asked impatiently. He ought to return to the house before Sophie went out with Braddon. Then he could be generous about the whole matter, perhaps inviting Braddon to join them for supper. That would show Sophie that he didn’t care a fig whom she spent time with.

“There has been some unpleasantness surrounding the gift we are sending to Selim’s coronation,” Breksby said, making up his mind once again to avoid a discussion of Napoleon’s substitute scepter. “In fact, it appears that there may be a plan afoot to steal the scepter. That being the case, we naturally intend to guard it very carefully. We hesitate to put you at risk, given the scepter’s vulnerability to thieves; therefore, we will transport it abroad through an alternate route. Our representative will bring the scepter to your dwelling in Constantinople a few hours before the coronation.”

“You consider theft to be a serious possibility?”

Breksby nodded. “Exactly.”

His tone did not invite questions, and Patrick asked none. “I plan to travel to Turkey in the beginning of September,” Patrick noted. “I assume that your representatives will have no difficulty contacting me in Constantinople.”

“I do not foresee any problem,” Breksby replied.

Patrick stood up.

“Mr. Foakes,” Breksby said gently. “There is still the matter of your dukedom.”

Patrick sat down again, his stomach knotting with impatience. Damn it, Sophie would certainly have left with Braddon by now.

“I have set the process in motion,” Breksby said. “I might add that, to this date, I have had nothing but favorable responses.”

Patrick nodded.

Breksby stifled a sigh. It cut him to the quick to grant a dukedom to a man who clearly considered the honor to be a trifle. “The only question that has been raised is whether the future Dukedom of Gisle will be a hereditary title.” He paused again.

Patrick simply waited.

By Jove, Breksby thought, the man’s unnatural. Anyone would make a push to ensure that his son inherited the title! “I will do my best to confirm the title as hereditary,” he said.

Patrick grinned. Breksby was a good-hearted sort, and Patrick knew well that he wasn’t playing to the secretary’s sense of proper gratitude. “I am indeed indebted to you for your efforts in this matter, Lord Breksby.”