Poppy Basden slipped her hat from her head and leaned over the side of the ship. The wind whipped her fair hair in all directions, but instead of being annoyed, she simply smiled. The intensity of the breeze this far up the River Thames was much tamer than the gales out at sea, and she was prepared to risk getting a few tangles. Nothing was going to ruin this day.
Bliss. I can almost imagine that the air tastes sweet.
From her previous journeys to the English capital, she held no illusions about London. It was a dirty city with grey skies. The atmosphere around the docks was heavy with the almost heady stench of oils, animal skins, and rum.
But it was dry land, solid. And it held the promise of something which Poppy had long craved—the chance of a real home.
For much of her five and twenty years, coming into port had been her favorite delight. Leaving port, her second. The lure of the salty sea had long held her heart.
But the footsteps of time had slowly changed her perspective—altered her view on life and what she wanted for herself. The woman Poppy had grown into had different needs to those of a windswept, adventurous child. The one thing which did, however, remain constant was the deep-seated longing to belong somewhere—and to someone.
Poppy was determined to build a life here in England. To create a future that was truly hers. The moment she set foot ashore this morning, her sailing days would officially be over.
With a keen captain’s eye, she tracked the ship’s progress into the docks. It glided gracefully through the water, weaving its way past the other boats which sat moored either side of the east and western quays. As the Empress Catherine slowed, Poppy raised her arm.
“Ready to let go the anchor!” she cried.
The ship slid silently into its allotted space at the dockside, giving the nearest vessel a respectable wide berth. Poppy dropped her arm and called. “Let go!”
“Aye, aye, captain!” came the reply from the deckhands.
Poppy glanced at her hands as she rested them on the ship’s side railing. Her fingers shook as the chain cable rattled through the hawsehole. The moment the anchor hit the bottom; the chain pulled taut. A low groan reverberated through the ship’s deck, and everything came to an abrupt halt.
She lifted her hand, her fingers seeking the silver medallion which hung from a chain around her neck. Poppy whispered, “Thank you, Saint Brendan. I shall take it from here.”
After eight tiring months at sea and five ports of call, she had finally made it to her destination. London. Her new home.
“How do you feel?”
She turned as Jonathan, the ship’s chief mate, came to stand alongside her. The note of weariness in his voice was unmistakable—whether it was from the long sea voyage or the fact that he, too, was about to give up the life of a sailor, she couldn’t quite discern.
He must give it time. As will I. Only then will the lure of the sea release its hold.
“I must be honest—my heart is a mixture of sadness and excitement. It will take some getting used to, living permanently on land, but I am so looking forward to having a home. A place that is mine. I mean, ours,” she replied.
“I wouldn’t go so far as to call living in a shipping warehouse a home.” Jonathan snorted.
Her gaze focused on the face of the man her father had chosen as her future husband, searching yet again for any sign of welcome regard. Anything that might spark some affection for him.
Nothing. I feel absolutely nothing for this man.
Why her father had settled on Jonathan was a mystery Poppy was yet to solve. The more time she spent with him, the greater her concern grew.
Relocating the headquarters of the Basden Line Shipping Company to England was a carrot her father had dangled in front of her for several years. But his last-minute declaration—that in order for the move to go ahead, Poppy must agree to marry one of her senior crewmembers—had come as a complete surprise to Poppy.
And while Jonathan hadn’t exactly appeared all that enamored with the plan either, he had still agreed to it and sailed with her from Ceylon. Poppy didn’t dare to imagine how much money her father must have paid to be rid of her. She had always been made to feel unwelcome in his life. Having his daughter married off and living on the other side of the world would no doubt be most convenient for George Basden.
Get through the next few days. Things will sort themselves out. Everyone is just tired.
She was nothing if not an optimist—a positive trait which at times had cost her dearly. But Poppy still clung to the hope that she and Jonathan would find a way to be partners and possibly more.
The gods of happiness surely had to smile on her at least once in her life, because the prospect of being wed to a man who cared little for Poppy, or her dreams was beyond even her wide boundaries of acceptance.
Turning away, she settled her gaze on the North Quay warehouses, a long, elegant row of sandstone buildings that were a part of the impressively constructed London Docks. Each warehouse was four stories high—plenty of storage space for the precious cargo of cinnamon bales which currently sat below the Empress Catherine’s deck.
Once the various contracts for the sale of the cinnamon had been filled, Poppy would have the money to properly set up the family company in England.
After I am able to grow the business and show him, I am a success, Papa will have to say he is proud of me. Surely, he will, especially when he sees that I did as he asked and married Jonathan.
