Reincarnated as Napoleon II-Chapter 89: The British Foreign Secretary’s Proposal

As they waited for the Foreign Secretary of the British Empire to arrive, Napoleon II had ordered Beaumont to prepare confectioneries that would appeal to the taste of a British person.

If the British insisted on seeing themselves as refined arbiters of taste, then France would meet them on that ground as easily as any other.

A small service table was rolled into the office not long after. Porcelain plates rested on a silver tray, carrying butter biscuits, sponge cakes, and sugared almonds. Last but not least, the most important one, is tea.

Napoleon II gave the arrangement a brief look and nodded once.

"That will do," he said.

Charles stepped back beside the desk just as a knock sounded against the door.

Beaumont’s voice followed.

"Your Imperial Majesty, the Foreign Secretary of the British Empire, Lord Henry Palmerston."

Napoleon II straightened. "Send him in."

The door opened.

Lord Henry Palmerston entered. His gaze moved across the room in a quick assessment before settling on the Emperor. He offered a respectful bow.

"Your Imperial Majesty," Palmerston said.

"Lord Palmerston," Napoleon II replied, stepping forward. He extended his hand.

Palmerston accepted the handshake without hesitation.

Napoleon II gestured slightly. "My secretary and cousin, Charles-Louis."

Charles inclined his head. Palmerston mirrored the gesture before accepting Charles’s hand in a brief shake.

"An honor," Palmerston said evenly.

Napoleon II motioned toward the seating area and the prepared table.

"Please. Sit. We prepared refreshments. I am told tea is... non-negotiable when hosting a British official."

A faint, restrained smile touched Palmerston’s expression.

"You have been informed correctly, Your Imperial Majesty."

They took their seats. Beaumont stepped forward, pouring tea before withdrawing silently out of the room.

"So," he said calmly, meeting Palmerston’s gaze, "shall we discuss why Britain was so eager to meet me?"

Palmerston set his cup down with care.

"Yes," he said. "I believe we should."

"I’ll be direct, Your Imperial Majesty," he said. "London believes the moment is... appropriate to revisit economic cooperation between our nations."

Napoleon II lifted his cup but didn’t drink yet.

"Economic cooperation," he repeated. "That’s a polite phrase. Go on."

Palmerston gave a small nod.

"The British government wishes to propose a customs union between our states. Reduced tariffs. Standardized duties. Easier movement of goods between French and British markets."

Charles didn’t move, but his eyes flicked briefly toward Napoleon.

The Emperor set his cup down.

"A customs union," Napoleon II said. "That’s a large request to present over tea."

Palmerston allowed himself a thin smile.

"It is a practical one. Our industries are expanding. So are yours. A unified tariff structure would benefit merchants on both sides."

Napoleon leaned back slightly.

"And who writes these ’unified’ tariffs?" he asked.

"A joint commission," Palmerston replied smoothly. "Equal representation."

Napoleon’s eyebrow lifted just a fraction.

"Equal," he echoed. "In theory."

Palmerston didn’t take the bait.

"In practice," he continued, "it would stabilize pricing, shipping insurance, and port access. British and French goods moving under the same framework. Predictable rules. Predictable profit."

Napoleon let a quiet breath out through his nose.

"Predictable," he said. "For whom?"

"For both," Palmerston answered. "Trade thrives on certainty. You know this as well as we do. France has industrial capacity. Britain has maritime infrastructure. Together—"

"—we bind our economies," Napoleon finished. "And every dispute becomes a negotiation instead of a decision."

Palmerston met his gaze without flinching.

"That is diplomacy, Your Imperial Majesty."

Charles spoke for the first time.

"And what of colonial markets?" he asked evenly. "Would French goods enjoy the same access to British-controlled ports?"

Palmerston nodded once.

"That would be the intention."

Palmerston didn’t respond immediately. He simply reached for his tea, took a sip, then set the cup down again.

"Your Majesty. Britain is not asking France to surrender sovereignty. We are asking to formalize cooperation that already exists in fragments. Merchants on both sides are doing this anyway. We are offering structure."

Napoleon tapped a finger lightly against the arm of his chair.

"And what does Britain gain most from this structure?" he asked.

Palmerston answered with three words.

"Scale. Efficiency. Stability."

Napoleon nodded slowly.

"And leverage," he added.

Palmerston’s expression didn’t change, but the pause was there.

"In any partnership," the British foreign secretary said, "both sides possess leverage."

Napoleon smiled faintly.

"That’s the most honest thing you’ve said since entering this room."

Napoleon reached for his cup now, finally taking a sip.

"Tell me something, Lord Palmerston," he said casually. "If this union is so mutually beneficial... why is Britain proposing it now?"

Palmerston held his gaze.

"Because," he said plainly, "France is no longer a recovering power. You are an industrial one. It is better to align early than compete blindly later."

"Compete? Last time I checked most of our goods are superior to what your factories produce. We have the best steels, machineries, equipment, locomotives, electronics, appliances. We did not industrialize to hand our pricing power to a joint committee."

Palmerston did not react outwardly, but his shoulders stiffened just a fraction.

Napoleon set the cup down.

"Let me be clear," he continued. "France has spent the last decade restructuring its industries from the ground up. We standardized manufacturing. We integrated supply chains. We invested in infrastructure before profit. Every tariff we impose is calculated to protect sectors still scaling."

He gestured lightly toward the window.

"A customs union freezes that flexibility. The moment we bind our tariff policy to another power, we lose the ability to respond independently."

"And don’t misunderstand me," Napoleon said. "This is not fear of competition. France competes just fine. The issue is asymmetry."

Charles glanced toward Palmerston, watching closely.

"Britain’s strength," Napoleon continued, "is maritime dominance and insurance networks. Your merchants operate under the protection of global routes you control. Your shipping dictates pricing before goods even reach port."

He leaned forward slightly.

"If tariffs are harmonized while logistics remain British-controlled, then the playing field is not level. It is tilted."

"You assume bad faith," Lord Palmerston.

"Britain has always had a bad faith in France. Remember the wars you financed to take us down so badly? Why would we trust an enemy that is so determined to destroy us? Now that we are doing great compared to your country you now want now you want integration," he finished. "You’ll forgive me if I question the timing."

Palmerston’s jaw tightened slightly. "Britain acts in her interests, as does France. That is hardly a crime between states."

"No," Napoleon agreed. "But trust is built on behavior, not words."

He rested his forearms lightly on his knees.

"If Britain truly wants to be a trading partner," he continued, "there is a simpler place to begin than a customs union."

Palmerston said nothing, inviting him to continue.

"Lower your tariffs on French goods," Napoleon said plainly. "They are high. Deliberately so. Our machinery, finished steel, and manufactured wares enter British ports burdened with duties that make them artificially expensive."

Charles added quietly, "Higher than what British goods face entering France."

Palmerston exhaled through his nose. "Tariffs are a sovereign tool—"

"As are ours," Napoleon replied. "Yet we are not the ones proposing to dissolve them under a shared framework."

He let the point sit for a moment.

"I have also heard," Napoleon went on, tone calm, "persistent reports that French goods shipped into British colonial markets are being rebranded. Sold as British manufacture."

Palmerston’s eyes sharpened.

"I’m sure London would call it... distribution efficiency," Napoleon said. "But the effect is simple. Our products build your reputation while our name disappears at the dock."

"That is an accusation," Palmerston said evenly.

"It is an observation," Napoleon replied. "One repeated often enough by merchants that I would be foolish to ignore it."

Silence stretched between them.

Napoleon leaned back.

"If Britain lowers tariffs and allows French goods to compete openly in your markets and colonies," he said, "then we have a foundation for real trade cooperation."

Palmerston’s fingers tapped once against his cup.

"And you believe British industry would simply... absorb that?" he asked.

"Those are my proposals. If you don’t want it, then there’s really nothing for us to talk about going forward."

"I apologize, Your Imperial Majesty, but I can’t do that."

"As expected," Napoleon II tutted his tongue. "There’s going to be a trade war between our countries, as you can expect."

"I expected more from the successor of the previous Emperor. I was under the impression that the son is wise that the son is wise enough to recognize opportunity," he finished.

"Careful," Napoleon said evenly. "You’re drifting from diplomacy into theater."

Palmerston held his gaze. "I mean no insult. Britain is extending a hand. Refusing it carries consequences."

Napoleon gave a small nod, as if acknowledging a predictable clause in a contract.

"Consequences," he repeated. "You mean tariffs. Insurance pressure. Colonial restrictions. The usual instruments."

Palmerston doesn’t need to reply, Napoleon II already knew the answer.

"Very well. Good day to you, Lord Palmerston."