“I thought you loved coming up to Strathmore Castle at Christmas.”
“Oh, I do. I just cannot spare the time this year. A major shipping contract is due to be announced early in the new year and I fully expect that it will be awarded to Saunders Shipping. Besides, I am not the only one eschewing the trip this year.”
“True. But those who are not coming are either recently wed or heavily pregnant. Or both.”
Francis couldn’t argue with that. “I will make the effort to come to the family gathering at Strathmore House in late January. But Scotland is out of the question,” replied Francis.
He would do anything to avoid the long days of travel with his parents and the inevitable conversations with his mother. He was certain that somewhere in Lady Adelaide’s writing desk was a list of potential brides for her youngest son. And that, when she did soon pack for Scotland, the list would be coming with her.
Even if he had been on the hunt for a wife, Francis couldn’t honestly name a single woman who had caught his eye. His special lady was out there, but unfortunately, she would have to wait.
After raising the brandy glass to his lips, he downed a mouthful, then offered it to Clare. She finished the rest of it in swift time, then handed it back. “Not my favorite tipple. I suppose that is one thing to look forward to during my stay at the castle. Good Scottish whisky.”
Francis chuckled. The Duke of Strathmore always had a generous supply of whisky at the castle in readiness for the annual family gathering. Ewan Radley also had a tradition of making sure that no one was ever seen without a glass of it in their hand. Scotland could be bitterly cold in December, and a dram of fire in the belly was always welcome.
The evening had now reached a crossroad for Francis. It was nice talking to Clare, but he should get back to taking his leave. It was only a matter of time before another of his well-meaning male relatives found him again. Or worse, his mother.
A sense of impotence settled uncomfortably in his liquor-addled mind.
I can’t stay here, and I don’t want to go home.
Today had been a loss when it came to getting work done. He had accomplished nothing of value. It was late, and he was more than a little drunk. So of course, the notion of going to the office and attempting to get some work done made perfect sense.
I bet the representative of the Basden Line got plenty done today.
That thought sealed things. Decision made, he glanced around the night garden. There had to be a rear entrance to the grounds of Denford House. A way for him to make a stealthy escape. He was not going back inside under any circumstances.
His gaze settled on a small gate in the far wall. With luck, it would lead out into the mews and the rear laneway.
“I shall bid you a fond farewell, Clare, and if I don’t get to see you before you head off to Scotland, have a wonderful Christmas.”
Clare Radley offered him her cheek, and Francis gifted her a quick cousinly peck. “Where are you off to now? Please tell me it is home,” she said.
“Just a few business things I need to attend to tonight. After that, I promise I shall seek the comfort of my bed.”
He might have well been inebriated, but he wasn’t about to confess to Clare that instead of going to London Docks to catch up on some paperwork, he had decided his time would be better served with checking on the barrels and rope situation.
The brandy was now talking loudly in his head, and it liked the idea of a trip across town to visit the neighbors in warehouse number fourteen.
To cause a spot of late-night mischief.
Chapter Seventeen
By the time the hack finally made it across London and through the entrance gate of the London Docks, Francis had sobered a little—but not enough. He had come up with an idea. In the morning, he would meet with his solicitor and begin the process of exploring any and all legal avenues which might still be open to him. There had to be a loophole or two which he could exploit in order to make his new neighbor think twice about setting up shop at the docks.
Who knew? Perhaps he did have a claim for adverse possession.
“It’s not personal. It’s just business.”
If he said it enough times, he might truly come to believe it. Becoming a hard-nosed businessman would take time. But if he was going to succeed, he had to grow that tough outer shell—become impervious to emotion and focus on the task of making money.
People will then see Francis Saunders as more than just another member of the Duke of Strathmore’s clan. I will be respected. Claim my place. Be an equal among my peers.
The moment the carriage slowed as it neared his warehouse, all thoughts of cold, detached behavior flew straight out the window.
His barrels and ropes were back, but this time they had been stacked hard against the front door of the Saunders Shipping Company offices.
Francis saw red. He flung open the carriage door and jumped from the hack, landing with a hard tumble on the roadway. Staggering to his feet, he rummaged in his pocket and tossed a coin up to the driver. He then walked away.
