Francis had come to see her without his father’s knowledge. It was likely the older Mister Saunders had no idea as to what had transpired last night.
She had just been handed a golden opportunity. One she would be wise not to fritter away. It gave her real power over Francis. If he hadn’t told his father about coming down to the docks late at night, she would bet a thousand guineas Charles had no idea what Francis had done. Nor why he might have a sore head this morning.
Her silence could be bought, but it wouldn’t come cheaply.
“Ah, yes. I am mistaken. It was the day before yesterday, and it was only a few words that we exchanged. I must confess that I am still at sea when it comes to time and days. Apart from the phases of the moon, the calendar has little relevance until you arrive in port,” she said.
She turned as the salt-and-pepper-haired Charles came to stand alongside her. Taking in the older man’s features, she noted that he and Francis shared a similar-shaped nose. They also had pale eyebrows, though only Francis had ones which matched his snow-white hair.
I wonder where in your family history he gets such fair coloring from.
“You are not the first captain who has told me that time loses meaning on the sea, though from my side of the shipping business, time means everything. A day here or there and I stand to lose money,” replied Charles.
Poppy nodded. She knew both sides of the shipping business only too well. Had spent her whole life involved in it.
“My Francis keeps a chart of when ships are due into the docks. The day they are scheduled to arrive, he starts scanning the horizon,” Charles said.
Francis Saunders appeared to live his life at the mercy of his impatient nature. He had chosen the wrong line of business if he expected ships to come and go on his command.
Speak of the devil. His father is at the docks, but I haven’t seen him.
“I don’t see Francis here this morning. Did he arrive early?” she asked.
Keeping an eye on the comings and goings next door had become her topmost priority in the past day.
This morning, as with most days, Poppy had watched the sun come up over the masts of the ships on the far eastern side of the docks. She had seen Charles and various other members of the Saunders Shipping Company personnel arrive during the morning. But there had been no sign of Francis. So, unless he had slept overnight in the warehouse, she was convinced he wasn’t here.
“My son is a little unwell this morning. Self-inflicted, if you get my meaning.”
“Oh, that is not good news. Please send him my best wishes for a speedy recovery,” replied Poppy.
Tsk, tsk, Mister Saunders. You lack the fortitude of a sailor.
Poppy was enjoying this conversation. Not only was she secretly relishing the fact that Francis did indeed have a sore head this morning, but she was gaining valuable information. Getting a clearer picture of the dynamics between the two Saunders men. And in particular, what each man was keeping from the other.
Secrets meant leverage.
“Do you like cinnamon, Mister Saunders?”
He nodded. “Please. Call me Charles. We are neighbors, so there shouldn’t be any need to stand on ceremony. And I am French, so of course I like cinnamon. We do so love our pain perdu. Cinnamon toast is our national dish.”
“Excellent. Would you like to join me for a spot of sweet toast? I have a fire going and can warm up a pan in no time,” replied Poppy.
She found herself liking Charles Saunders. He had an easy-going nature, which gave her comfort. While she couldn’t say the exact same thing for his son, Poppy could privately admit that Francis Saunders had his own unique appeal. He was frustrating, pig-headed, but there was something about him.
The memory of kneeling over him in the warehouse the previous night, of staring into those mesmerizing blues eyes as they fluttered open, smashed without warning into her mind.
You should have kissed him.
Her breath caught in her throat. And no matter how hard she tried to force the foolish notion away, to dismiss it right out of hand, she couldn’t.
This is ridiculous. The man is a rude and self-important brute. He was ready to run roughshod over me. To force me from my home. He only apologized because I pointed a gun at him.
No. Thoughts of kissing Francis were a girlish infatuation. An interest merely brought to life by pent up sexual frustration. Of wishing for things that she hadn’t experienced with a man for a very long time. For something that she could never have with a man like Francis Saunders.
Poppy was still trying to shake off the unwelcome and prickly thought of having discovered an unexpected attraction to Francis when she ushered Charles through the front door of her warehouse a few minutes later.
Ending the war over the barrels might well have been the gravest mistake she had ever made. She could dislike Francis if he was her enemy. Possibly even manage to work it up to outright hate.
