Sins of a Duke by Suzanne Enoch

for every progress-minded Englishman.”
    “Hm,” Sir Henry mused, pinching his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I have to say, given the background of Costa Habichuela, purchasing bonds from you—or me, rather—certainly seems far more sound than a Europeaninvestment right now. And as you said, a great portion of South America is fighting over who governs it.” He looked up at Melbourne. “What’s your opinion on this, Your Grace?”
    Melbourne looked at the map for a long moment while Josefina held her breath. She and her father might both outrank the duke, but here in England he definitely had more power and influence.
    “Costa Habichuela might very well be a safer investment than any other foreign one I can think of at the moment,” he finally said, “but it’s also very new and very far away. I think if you intend to garner sufficient interest to support a loan of any large amount, you’ll have to offer some sort of incentive.”
    “A discounted bond perhaps?” Sir Henry continued. “That worked quite well for bolstering monetary support of Chile a few years ago.”
    The rey sat back, stroking his moustache with his fingers. “You know, gentlemen, that is a very fine idea. By offering to sell hundred-pound bonds for ninety pounds, say, we are both stating our confidence in the future and insuring a level of profit for investors.”
    “At ninety pounds to the hundred the interest rate can’t be more than three percent—say over ten years?”
    “That sounds fair and equitable.” Stephen Embry gave a rueful smile. “We do, however, have one more point to discuss.”
    “The amount of the loan,” Melbourne supplied. Josefina couldn’t read his expression; if she didn’t know better, they might well have been discussing the weather. “I assume you have a figure in mind, Your Majesty?”
    “Yes, I do. To establish import and export, and even immigration, I will need to hire ships, purchase cargo, and of course establish a permanent consulate here in London. I think one hundred thousand pounds should cover that.”
    Sir Henry choked. “One hun…hundred thousand? Good God! I thought you would ask for twenty thousand or so.”
    “Twenty thousand would hardly be enough for us to approach anyone on equal footing,” the rey replied calmly. “As His Grace said, we are very young. We need to begin from a position of strength or we will never find one.” He blinked, as if suddenly remembering something. “I’m such a fool. Orrin, the prospectus, if you please.”
    Melbourne raised an eyebrow. “You have a prospectus?”
    “I had a surveyor write one last year, as we prepared for our trip here.” The minister pulled a fat manuscript from his satchel and handed it over. “It details everything,” the rey continued, leaning forward to set it on the desk. “Agriculture, temperature, climate, trading routes, population and growth equations—and it’s illustrated.” He flipped open the leather cover to reveal a sketch of a three-masted rig sailing into a harbor, mountains behind it in the distance and a picturesque mixture of houses, huts, and paved roads flowing down to the dock at the water’s edge below.
    “San Saturus, I presume?” Melbourne drawled.
    “Yes. And a very good likeness, if I say so myself.”
    “This is most impressive,” the banker said, pulling the prospectus around to flip through several of the pages. “Rainfall, planting seasons, even figures for wood harvesting.”
    “As I said, Sir Henry, we are very serious about placing Costa Habichuela permanently on the map. I would like it to be listed there as an ally of England.”
    The banker stood and stuck out his hand. “One hundred thousand pounds.”
    The rey rocked to his feet and shook hands with Sir Henry. “My deepest and most humble thanks to you, sir.”
    “Congratulations,” Melbourne put in, his gaze movingonce more to Josefina. “You don’t happen to have another copy of that prospectus, do