But if they became friends?
I don’t know what to do if he is nice to me.
Chapter Twenty
Francis stared at his reflection in the mirror. His jaw was set hard as he considered his next move. After leaving warehouse number fourteen in the early hours of the morning, the taste of freshly baked apple pie sitting sweetly on his lips, he had stopped by Saunders Shipping and shifted the barrels away from the front door. The note Poppy had left him, he quietly destroyed.
And while his head had been pounding from where he had smacked it against the planter box, the pain of that was nothing compared to feeling like he had his tail firmly wedged between his legs. As he slowly sobered up, his sense of disgust with himself had grown.
In all of his two and twenty years, he had never been so ashamed of himself. The brandy had played a part in his terrible behavior, but he had been wound up long before he got the first glass in his hand. His outrageous conduct was his and his alone.
Instead of rising early this morning, he had remained hidden under the bedclothes. When his valet knocked on his door and asked if he was ready to dress, Francis had sent him away. His aching head wasn’t the issue; it was more the fear that if anyone took one look at him, they would know what he had done. Poppy’s acceptance of his apology could only undo so much of the damage.
But as much as he wished he could remain hidden in his bedroom; he couldn’t stay away from the docks. He had to man up and face the consequences of last night. Of his actions.
But what was he to do?
His brash side offered up several unpleasant suggestions, all of which involved him marching into the offices of the dock authorities and demanding something be done about the mad woman who had shot at him. She was a menace to all. A danger to public order.
That thought, however tempting, was quickly rejected. His bull-in-a-china-shop approach was what had got him into trouble in the first place.
Besides, such heavy-handed tactics would no doubt result in Francis having to answer some uncomfortable questions himself. The first one being, why was he rousing the neighbors at such an ungodly hour? Followed quickly by the suggestion that he had been drunk and was therefore the one who had posed a risk to public order.
With the spice contract still in the balance, only a fool would go stirring up trouble with the port authorities. He could just imagine how him being excluded from the tender over poor behavior would go down with his family.
He pushed away from the dresser and sighed. The painful truth was that he had behaved like an entitled bully. Had frightened a vulnerable young woman. And got exactly what he deserved.
“This isn’t you,” he muttered.
The drive to succeed was one thing, but of late, he had started to do and say things that were not part of his nature. His father had warned him about losing himself in the business. Of the risk of corrupting his character.
He hadn’t understood what Charles had meant. Nor the danger becoming too invested in one’s work posed. Not until last night.
“And what I did last night was exactly that. I put everything we have worked for in peril.”
What if she had fired the pistol at him? If his parents were right this minute sitting in the family drawing room, consumed with grief?
You had a lucky escape. Another adversary might not have shot their weapon wide.
That settled the matter. There was nothing else for it. As soon as he arrived at the warehouse this morning, he would pay Captain Poppy Basden a visit and offer up his full, unreserved apology.
What he was going to do about the spice contract, he had no idea.
This morning’s attempt to speak to the occupant of the Basden Line warehouse was in stark contrast to that of the prior evening. Instead of Francis pounding his fists on the door and demanding that it be opened, he politely knocked. Then he waited.
He opened his mouth, ready to begin to apologize as the door creaked open, but the sight of his father, snapped his lips shut.
“Ah, Francis! We were just talking about you. Come in,” said Charles.
Oh, no.
The faint hope that he might be able to make amends with the neighbors while keeping the events of last night from his father disappeared in a puff of disappointment.
Charles ushered him inside. “I was just saying to Poppy that normally you are at the office much earlier in the morning.” He gave Francis a cheeky wink. “I might have let slip that you gave the brandy at your cousin’s wedding a little too much of a nudge, yesterday.”
Oh wonderful. Now she knows that I was drunk as a lord.
Words failed him. This was awkward beyond even his worst imaginings. The idea of walking straight across the road and throwing himself into the water was becoming more appealing by the minute.
