Creating an Industrial Empire in 19th Century Parallel World

As Poul stepped off the ship, he was greeted by the bustling activity of the port of London. The salty sea air mingled with the pungent scents of fish and coal, filling his nostrils as he gazed upon the sprawling docklands. Cranes and steam-powered machines chugged away, lifting and hauling cargo from the ships that lined the quayside. Men shouted and whistled, directing the flow of goods as carts and wagons rumbled past.

Poul walked along the cobbled streets, passing by merchants and sailors haggling over prices and loading and unloading crates and barrels. He marveled at the sheer volume and variety of goods being exchanged, from exotic spices and silks to raw materials like iron and timber. He could see the towering chimneys of factories belching out smoke in the distance, a testament to the industrial might of the city.

The cacophony of sounds filled Poul's ears as he made his way through the port. The clanging of metal against metal, the hissing of steam engines, and the incessant chatter of people from all corners of the world created a symphony of noise that seemed to pulse through the air. The sky was overcast, and a light drizzle had begun to fall, but the activity in the port showed no signs of slowing down.

"Just like the first," Poul muttered under his breath. His last visit to the British Empire was to meet Sara. He did so by pretending he had come here for business with his father, who was the Prime Minister of the country.

Now he has returned to London, to see her again, but the visit has to be discreet.

Poul knew that the Crown Prince of the British Empire, albeit for a long time, was watching his movements. The Crown believes that the reason why Penelope or Sara broke off the engagement was because of him. So he has come in disguise.

Poul's brown overcoat was well-fitted, hugging his form in a way that didn't impede his movement but also didn't draw attention to himself. The fabric was new and of high quality, its rich brown color reflecting the muted light of the overcast sky.

The wide-brimmed hat that Poul wore was also new, its shape and style in line with the latest fashion trends. It sat comfortably on his head, casting a stylish shadow over his angular features. The hatband was a simple black ribbon, unadorned but elegant in its simplicity.

With that settled, Poul made his way to one of the passenger carriages. He approached one of the coachmen who were shouting out destinations and prices to potential passengers.

"Excuse me, sir," Poul said, trying to keep his voice low and unremarkable. "Can you take me to The Royal London Hospital?"

The Royal London Hospital was a place where Sara worked before and after the war. She served there for years and was known for her great achievement in treating medical illnesses that are impossible in this era.

The coachman, a gruff-looking man with a thick Cockney accent, eyed Poul suspiciously. "Yes I can, sir,"

"How much is the fare there?"

"Two shillings, sir," the coachman replied.

Poul nodded and handed the man the fare, taking a seat in the carriage. As they made their way through the busy streets of London, Poul couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia wash over him. The sights and sounds of the city were so familiar, yet it had been so long since he had last been here.

As they approached The Royal London Hospital, Poul felt his heart rate quicken. He couldn't wait to see Sara again, to catch up on all that had happened since they last saw each other. But he also couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that had been gnawing at him since he arrived in London.

He knew that he was taking a risk by coming here, that the Crown Prince was watching his every move. But he couldn't let that stop him from seeing Sara. After all, what kind of boyfriend would let his girlfriend live in another country in a dark technological era alone and in constant danger of the Crown Prince's obsession?

As the carriage came to a stop outside the hospital, Poul stepped out and made his way inside. The smell of disinfectant and antiseptic hit him as soon as he entered, and he couldn't help but smile. It was a comforting smell, one that reminded him of Sara and the time they spent together.

"Good afternoon sir!" The receptionist asked, scanning down his appearance.

"I heard that there is a great doctor working here, I believe that she is the daughter of the Prime Minister of the British Empire. I would like to be checked up by her as I'm suffering from odd health complications."

"You are requesting specifically for Ms. Ascart sir? I'm sorry but we can't do that. Our policy here is to assign patients to doctors based on their availability and expertise. However, we have a team of highly skilled and experienced doctors who can assist you with your health concerns. Would you like me to arrange an appointment for you?" The receptionist said with a polite smile.

"No, I want her. I went here from the United States hoping that I could be checked up by her," Poul insisted.

"I'm sorry sir but that is really against our policy," the receptionist reasoned.

Poul sighed, realizing that he had hit a dead end. He knew that Sara's position as the daughter of the Prime Minister of the British Empire would make it difficult for him to see her without raising any suspicions. He had to think of another way to approach her.

"Fine, I understand," Poul said, trying to keep his disappointment in check. "Can you at least tell me when I might be able to see her here today? Is she on duty?"

The receptionist glanced at her schedule and replied, "I'm sorry, sir, but Dr. Ascart isn't on duty today. She's on personal leave for a week."

"No, I'm not," a feminine voice sounded from behind. Poul's eyes widened as she realized those voices. His nose also acted up as he whiffed the familiar scent of Penelope's perfume. He turned around to see Sara standing there, wearing a white lab coat with a stethoscope around her neck.

'Damn, my girlfriend is too beautiful!' Poul thought to himself as he looked at Sara, feeling his heart race even faster than before.

"Your grace..!" The receptionist promptly bowed her head and curtsied. "I didn't expect your arrival."

Penelope ignored her gesture and instead looked at the man in front of him. "You are looking for me?"

"Yes," Poul replied and Penelope's expression changed from confused to surprised.

"Poul?"