Breksby smiled genially. He was too old to be overset by an impetuous young man. Instead he sat back and templed his fingers. “I would rather wait until my small party is assembled,” he remarked. “But I hasten to tell you, my lord, that I did not ask you here to request that you undertake an assignment on behalf of the English government. No indeed. We hesitate to interfere in a man’s private life, once that man has children.”

Alex rose a sardonic eyebrow. “Except when the government decides to press its citizens into the army.” He was referring to the practice of sweeping up men and shipping them off to war, willy-nilly.

“Ah,” Breksby responded gently, “but we never press our nobility into service. We rely on the goodness of their hearts and their wish to aid their country.”

Alex almost snorted, but restrained himself. Breksby was a wily old Machiavel whom it wouldn’t be prudent to antagonize.

“Your presence here is not exactly superfluous, however,” Breksby continued. “I have a proposition for your brother.”

“He may be interested,” Alex said, knowing well that Patrick would jump at the chance to travel. He had been back in England for only a year or so, and in Alex’s opinion, Patrick was nearly mad with boredom. Not to mention irritable as a cat ever since Sophie York had rejected his marriage proposal.

“So I thought, so I thought,” Breksby murmured.

“Where do you plan to send him?”

“I was hoping that he would agree to travel to the Ottoman Empire during the coming summer. We hear that Selim III intends to crown himself emperor, à la Monsieur Napoleon, and we would like an English presence at the so-called coronation. Given the inadvisability of sending any of the royal dukes”—with a mere waggle of the eyebrows, Breksby expressed his opinion of the fondly foolish and often drunk sons of King George—”I fancy that your brother would make a magnificent ambassador from England.”

Alex nodded. Patrick would undoubtedly return with a valuable cargo of exports in his ship. It seemed a reasonable exchange.

“Now, the reason I asked you to attend this little meeting,” Breksby said, “is due to the question of nobility.”

“Nobility?” Alex looked at him blankly.

“Precisely, precisely. Granted, your brother will represent England in a resplendent fashion. His personal finances allow him to dress appropriately, and the English government will, of course, send a costly gift along with our ambassador. We are contemplating a scepter ringed with rubies—very similar to the scepter used by King Edward II. I believe we shall have to add more rubies to this version, as Selim is very vulgar indeed, and he particularly values that gem.

“But the real question is: What will Selim think of Patrick Foakes? Given the delicate relations between our two countries, that is an important point.”

“Patrick appears to have met with the approval of the leaders of Albania and India,” Alex observed. “In fact, I believe that Ali Pasha begged him to take a place in his cabinet, and you know Albania is overrun with Turks. I shouldn’t think that Selim will present a problem.”