Page 52 of All is Fair in Love
For the first time since she had arrived in London, Poppy’s new home felt less secure. When she next saw Jonathan, she would give him the news. He was no longer welcome at the warehouse.
It would cost her a pretty penny to be free of him, but it would be well worth it.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Following his visit to the Empress Catherine, Francis did his utmost best to avoid Poppy. With Charles and Adelaide shortly heading off to Scotland for Christmas, he had more than enough to concentrate his mind on.
But try as he might, as soon as he stepped down from his carriage at the docks each morning, he found himself looking for her. His routine was thus—a quick glance toward the door of number fourteen. Then a slow search of the wharf embankment, and finally, a check of the deck of Poppy’s ship, all in the secret hope of catching a glimpse of her.
He shouldn’t look for Poppy. Shouldn’t be the least interested in what she was doing. But every time his efforts didn’t result in a Poppy sighting, the same dull pain of disappointment settled heavily in his gut.
The complicated ledgers and shipping records no longer held the same fascination as they usually did. Francis worked late into the night adding and tallying figures, all in the vain hope that they would somehow concentrate his mind.
“That’s it. I am done for the day.” With a sigh, he closed up the books of account and leaned back in his chair. He had caught three of his own errors in the past hour but suspected he had made more. Tomorrow, he would need to go back over the figures and correct his own work.
After wiping the ink from the end of his pen, he set the instrument back into its box. It took several attempts to put the lid back on the ink pot. These were simple tasks that Francis had done every day since coming to work with his father, yet now, they seemed to pose him a problem. His fingers wouldn’t work in concert with his mind.
“I am hungry—that is the only cause of my muddled head. My stomach is too busy making demands for my brain to function properly.”
It was well past nine o’clock, and he was the only person left in the company warehouse. The last of the clerks had packed up and gone home several hours ago.
If he’d had any sense, he would have done the same. Instead, he had wasted the best part of the evening trying to get sales figures to reconcile to his cash balance. They hadn’t matched up.
Rising from his desk, Francis collected his coat and some papers. Hopefully his head would clear after having taken some supper at home, and then he could work on the balance again.
Time is money. You don’t have enough of either.
Charles had taken the Saunders family carriage home earlier in the evening with the offer to send it back to collect Francis, but Francis had politely declined. The nearby Ratcliffe Highway was a busy thoroughfare, so flagging down a hack at this time of the night was never a problem.
Francis undertook his usual tour of the office, making sure that all the candles and lamps had been properly extinguished. He stopped by his desk on the way out and turned down his desk lamp. The flame slowly flickered, then went out.
Standing in the darkness, he was reminded of being below deck on the Empress Catherine. Of the warm touch of Poppy’s hand on his arm.
The time they had spent alone together on board the boat was seared into his mind. She affected him like no other woman had ever done.
He wasn’t an innocent when it came to sex. His last term at Eton had put paid to both his virginity and his youthful lack of knowledge about pleasuring women.
Back then, the women he’d met were professionals. They’d demanded payment for their services. Sex was merely a business transaction. Money exchanged for a short period of indulgence. Hearts were not risked, nor offered. It kept his world neat and his emotions on ice.
In the more recent years, he had restricted his occasional bedroom encounters to the bored, experienced matrons of the ton.
The arrival of Poppy Basden had thrown Francis. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. The last two nights his sleep had been interrupted by vivid dreams of her in the copper tub. Those wicked imaginings made stronger by the knowledge that a bath had indeed been delivered to the warehouse next door. He wasn’t sure what he would do if she took him up on the offer to cart water for her tub.
“Time to go home. You can’t stand here in the dark indulging in sexual fantasies about the next-door neighbor,” he muttered.
Stepping out onto the roadway, Francis closed the door, and turned the key in the lock.
“You can’t keep doing this Jonathan, I need your help. We are meant to be partners in this venture.”
That voice was a familiar one. Francis whirled around and caught sight of Poppy and Jonathan standing face-to-face in the middle of the road. Poppy stood with her hands on her hips, while Jonathan swayed gently in the breeze. The man was clearly drunk.
“I know. I know. But we were at sea for months. Can’t a chap have a little time to enjoy himself? You won’t be happy until you have my balls firmly in your grip and you can just squeeze them whenever you want to bring me into line,” complained Jonathan.
This was a private disagreement and Francis should take his leave. He didn’t. Instead, he stood stock-still in the doorway of his warehouse, watching as the argument continued.
Poppy threw up her arms. “I just want you to take some of the weight. We agreed with Papa that you would help. If you weren’t going to do that then why did you sign up? As it is, you have started drinking your part of the proceeds of the cinnamon bale sales.”
Jonathan shrugged. “Well, all your money will be mine soon enough anyway, so I don’t see the problem.”
