You have hurt her.
Ashamed of himself and his thoughtless ways, Francis raked his fingers through his hair. “What . . . what will you do now that he has gone?” he stammered.
“Do what I always planned to do. Stay here. Work. Wait for my father,” she replied.
So, George Basden was coming to England—that was encouraging. Poppy wouldn’t be alone once he arrived. But in the meantime, who would look after her?
“And when is your father due?”
“Soon. He always comes, eventually.” Her simple answer was delivered in such a cheerful but clearly rehearsed manner that it set a frown to Francis’s lips. How much of Poppy’s life had been spent waiting for her father?
Deuce. How many years has she been on her own?
Francis had a horrible inkling that Jonathan Measy hadn’t been the villain of Poppy’s life story. Her father had.
Anger and curiosity got the better of him.
“When you say soon, what does that mean?” he pressed.
“He is due to have the house packed up by May. After that, he’ll be on board his ship by June, which puts him into London early to mid-December.”
“Next year?”
Poppy nodded. “Yes.”
It was going to be a whole year before her father arrived.
If Francis could have reached across the wide seas and found Poppy’s father, he would have punched the man in the face. He had sent his daughter to England and pressured her into making a loveless union, yet the man didn’t have the good grace to even bother setting sail for another six months.
When George Basden did finally set foot ashore in London, he was going to have to deal with Francis Saunders. It was not going to be a pleasant encounter.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
After breakfast the following morning, Francis made his way downstairs to the kitchen and sought out the family cook. The moment he entered the room, the servants stood stiffly to attention. All except the cook. She gave him a look that spoke of her disapproval of his violation of her sacred place.
“Good morning. Cook, I was wondering if I could have a word?” he said.
He was certain Cook had a real name, but he had never been privy to it. She was Cook, and that was that. This was her domain and if she chose to use that moniker, he had no authority to ask for anything more.
Cook cleared her throat, after which all the other household servants immediately made themselves scarce. It was only after everyone else had gone that she turned back to Francis. “I know Lady Adelaide and Mister Saunders are gone, but that doesn’t mean we should permit anarchy to reign,” she announced.
Translation: Don’t think you can come wandering into the kitchen when it suits you.
Francis bit back a grin. In his younger days, the Saunders family cook had been given a free hand when it came to disciplining the children as and when they crossed a line with her. More than once, he had felt the hard wood of her oval-headed spoon as it was firmly applied to his backside.
“I actually came to ask your considered professional advice. But if you are too busy, I fully understand,” he replied.
She narrowed her eyes at him. His feeble attempt at flattery wasn’t going to get him anywhere, and they both knew it.
“What do you wish to know, Master Francis?” she replied.
Two and twenty he might well be, but he would always be Master Francis in this kitchen. Age would not weary the memory of the snow-haired boy who had spent many an afternoon seated on a high chair eagerly waiting for the next batch of hot buttered bread to appear.
Charles Saunders had insisted that a proper brick oven be installed in the kitchen. He flatly refused to have his family be served the locally make bread, as he considered it to be of poor quality. As a Frenchman, he took the whole business of bread and pastries seriously.
“I was wondering what you would recommend as the best sort of kitchen implement that I should purchase for my friend who has recently moved into a new home. They have lived much of their life on board a ship and cooked their meals using a small galley stove.”
The idea of finding something that Poppy would find useful had only occurred to Francis late last night, and he found it most appealing. While he could simply buy her more flowers and pots for her rapidly growing garden, Francis was keen to ensure that his gift was one which was not only practical but added to Poppy’s comfort.
