The waft of warm cinnamon and milky eggs filled his senses. His stomach growled its eager appreciation. It seemed that everything this woman did made his body react. If he didn’t take care, he too would soon be at her mercy. Accepting the offered food, Francis took a hearty bite. “Hmmm.”
He was powerless to stop the hum of appreciation. Pain perdu was nothing new to his experience, but this was hot, crispy, chewy heaven. Better than anything the Saunders family cook had ever made.
Charles laughed. “Now you can understand why I have eaten three of Poppy’s cinnamon creations already. It’s a good thing that I am retiring in the next month. I wouldn’t fit any of my clothes if I remained working nearby.”
“Could I possibly tempt you with a fourth piece, Mister Saunders?” asked Poppy.
His father waved her generous offer away. “No, thank you. I actually have an appointment with one of the traders over in the tobacco warehouse in a few minutes, so I must be going. But I am sure Francis will be happy to stay and sample some more of your delicious toast.”
“Another time, perhaps. Now that I have managed to get the fireplace set up, I will bring some more baking trays over from the Empress Catherine. And once I get the time to purchase a good pot, I might attempt to roast a piece of beef as a practice run for Christmas. I hear that is what people in England serve on Christmas Eve,” she replied.
Charles nodded. “The English do so love their roast meat.”
Poppy escorted Charles to the door, leaving Francis alone for a moment. As soon as he had swallowed the last mouthful of food, his gaze went to the fireside, straight to the tray where the remaining cinnamon toast sat.
I am surprised Papa stopped at three.
Given half a chance, Francis would polish off a good half a loaf, then go back for the crumbs.
“Would you like another slice?”
He turned as Poppy reappeared. The welcoming smile on her face had his guilt quickly returning.
“I don’t deserve your good grace. Not after the way I have behaved,” he replied.
She had obviously kept silent over the incident of the previous evening. Charles Saunders was an even-tempered man, rarely to rage, but even he would have torn strips off Francis if he knew what his son had done.
Poppy shrugged. “From the way you slunk out of here, I guessed you had learned your lesson. I noticed that the barrels had been moved inside your warehouse, so I took that as you having decided to keep to your word. Besides, when you spend a long time at sea on a crowded boat, you learn to let bygones be bygones.”
She paused for a moment, and Francis sensed she was waiting for his response. For him to confirm that the battle was indeed over.
“I am sorry. I truly am. When I arrived here this morning, it was with the express intention of apologizing to you. I wasn’t looking for my father.”
“I expect your heart was in your mouth when he answered the door,” she replied.
He caught the hint of a teasing grin on her lips. It was similar to the one she had offered him last night.
I expect you have a very good idea as to how terrified I was when I discovered my father was already here. And from the look on your face, you think it highly amusing.
“How is your head this morning? You gave it a decent whack when you fell,” said Poppy.
Francis managed a tentative nod. “Sore, but nothing more than what I deserve. Brandy and bad tempers never go down well together. And thank you for not saying anything to my father.”
She waved his words away. “What sort of a friend would I be if I didn’t allow you to get away with lying to your parents?”
It was odd but hearing her claim their friendship had Francis breaking into a smile. Before last night, he had been determined that the people of Basden Line were going to be his enemies. Poppy had clearly decided otherwise. Her choice held sway. And he was more than content with that outcome.
The door of the warehouse opened with a bang, startling them both. Heavy footsteps and much swearing proceeded the arrival of a disheveled male. “Poppy. I’ve changed my mind about working on the ship this morning; I am going back to the tavern. I want more coins. Now.”
The instant the stranger met Francis’s gaze; the fuming man narrowed his eyes. “What do you want? Don’t tell me it’s about your bloody barrels.”
What a pleasant chap. I must ask Mama to have him over for supper.
“Poppy and I were having a chat, and she was feeding me some of her delicious cinnamon toast,” replied Francis.
Francis had spied the stranger lurking around the wharf side over the past few days, and from what he had seen, it was clear the man was part of the crew of the Empress Catherine. And if the way in which he spoke to Poppy was any indication, she and this man were somehow personally connected too.
He shuddered at the thought.
