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his new valet was faring, particularly when Cobham settled into one of his long-winded pompous speeches about upholding the good name of the department, ad nauseam. .
    “Thank you, Wantage. Oh, and we will need more tea. Best fill the large teapot.”
    When the butler announced Lord Cobham and Sir Gilbert Parsons, the head of the Foreign Department, to everyone’s surprise but Alec’s, wasted no time on small talk and got straight down to business.
    “Well, Halsey, this is a fine bloody mess! What are we going to do about it, eh?”

F OUR
    T WENTY M INUTES E ARLIER , Lord Cobham had stepped from his carriage to the cobblestoned pavement of St. James’s Place to meet a sedan chair carrying the rotund Sir Gilbert Parsons. The two Herculean-sized chairmen had transported the corpulent occupant from his coffee house around the corner, and were relieved when ordered to set down their passenger at the top of the short street. It meant they need not take him all the way to Number One St. James’s Place, and up the steps and inside the luxurious townhouse. With a dismissive wave, Lord Cobham sent the chairmen back to the chair rank on busy St. James’s Street, and turned to his departmental subordinate.
    “You do appreciate what’s at stake here, Parsons,” Cobham said without preamble, anchoring the end of his ivory-topped walking stick between two filthy cobbles and leaning forward. He took a look up and down the deserted street before continuing in an under-voice. “My reputation and your sinecure, should anything go wrong. Understand?”
    “Perfectly, my lord,” Sir Gilbert replied in a monotone, adding without emotion, “You desire me to journey to Midanich to secure the release of the Duchess of Romney-St. Neot’s granddaughter, and her nephew. Both are presently captives, as far as we can ascertain, in the Margrave’s castle fortress in the town of—”
    “I don’t need to be told what I already bloody-well know!” Lord Cobham blustered. “And I don’t want a geography lesson. I couldn’t care less if they were being held captive on the moon. Damn it! If the moon is where I need you to go, then the moon is where you’ll bloody-well go!”
    His lordship pulled his receding chin into his stock and stuck out his bottom lip. To Sir Gilbert he immediately took on the appearance of a stunned cod, albeit one with bushy red eyebrows. In Sir Gilbert’s opinion, Lord Cobham had the face and complexion not even a mother could love.
    “Fact is: The Duchess is my aunt. Can’t have relatives upset. Bad for the digestion,” his lordship continued in a more subdued voice, and sniffed. “I’m sending you abroad so you can redeem yourself after the diplomatic debacle of ’53. Need I remind you that because you were sent packing and Halsey got himself in a pickle, His Majesty lost the services of Midanich’s troops-for-hire? It was only the recent war that reinstated that service. I’m sending you for two reasons: To show that trumped-up little country it can’t trifle with England. And, more importantly, so you can keep an eye on Halsey. He’s the one they want to negotiate the release of Miss St. Neots and Mahon.” He sighed his frustration, gaze staring up at the milky gray clouds. “God knows why…” He brought his small eyes down from the clouds to stare hard at his subordinate. “Do you, Parsons?”
    “No, my lord. It is as much a mystery to me as to you. Why the Margrave would request Alec Halsey, given it was his insufferable behavior that got me expelled and him incarcerated, is, frankly, baffling.”
    “A mystery indeed…” Lord Cobham murmured, then stated, staring his subordinate in the eye, “Halsey may be the one who’s been requested, but I am putting you in charge of the legation, because I trust you to—”
    “Thank you, my lord. I will endeavor—”
    “—do as you’re told. I don’t trust Halsey! The man is a loose cannon and a law unto himself. He has— scruples .” Lord