by Becky Lower
“I’d better find both Poppy and Violet in perfect health today. Otherwise, I’ll file charges against you.” Parker took a step away from the man, eager to check on Violet.
Carson grabbed Parker’s arm, preventing him from taking another step. “As if charges from an American carry any weight in an English court of law. We can barely understand you, with your American accent.”
“Shall we settle this with fisticuffs, then?” Parker countered.
Carson eyed him up and down and nodded. “Won’t be a fair fight, but I’ll take you on. If I let you survive, you’ll leave here on the next available ship for your country.”
“And if I let you survive, what will you do? Leave England as well?” Parker countered.
Carson cackled. “Won’t happen, but sure, I’ll leave the country.”
“Deal. Shall we shake on it?” Parker stuck out his hand in a show of good sportsmanship. Their raised voices had already caused a tight group of onlookers to appear from the inn.
“Let’s get on with it instead.” Carson grabbed Parker’s hand and flipped him to the ground, causing Parker to momentarily lose his breath. He slowly climbed to his feet, his breathing ragged, as Carson’s laughter rang in his ears.
“This is too easy,” Carson crowed to the crowd. “I had hoped for a real fight.”
Parker circled Carson, fists raised as he assessed his opponent. Carson was taller than most Englishmen, but Parker still bested him by a couple of inches in height. Carson’s arms were bunched and muscled, but then so were Parker’s. He had been taken in by the man, thought Carson would at least fight fair. But a dirty fighter always had a weakness. He needed to find Carson’s. His fist landed in Carson’s midsection, and Parker could hear the breath whooshing out of him as Carson backed up, out of range. Parker closed in while the man tried to recover from the first blow, and his fist connected with Carson’s cheek.
They sparred back and forth for several minutes, neither gaining the upper hand. Carson launched several blows to Parker’s leg, to his limp. Each blow sent a sharp knife of pain through his leg, and Parker stumbled as Carson’s laughter rang out. The crowd’s breathing became labored as the fight wore on. The crowd’s noises mingled with Parker’s and Carson’s labored breathing as the fight wore on. Dust rose as they continued to circle, sweat rolling off the men as each sought an opening, a chink in the armor. Parker’s knuckles bled as he connected time and again with Carson’s face. His own blood left a metallic taste in his mouth as Carson returned the parries. One eye started to swell shut, hampering his vision, and his nose bled.
Minutes dragged by, and slowly, Parker gained the advantage as Carson ran out of energy. His blows weren’t so plentiful now, and he circled out of Parker’s grasp, wheezing for air as he eyed Parker’s hands, hoping to avoid the next blow.
Instead of using his arms, Parker launched a roundhouse kick to Carson’s midsection with his good leg, which doubled the man over. Parker followed the kick with an uppercut to Carson’s jaw, and the man finally slumped to the ground. Parker backed off, leaving an unconscious man in the street. The innkeeper ran to Parker, taking hold of his arm as Parker leaned over to catch his breath.
“So sorry, Mr. Sinclair. This is highly unusual. My establishment is normally quite safe, as is the village.” The innkeeper mopped his forehead with a handkerchief and took stock of Parker’s wounds. “May I help you inside so you can receive some medical aid?”
“No need to apologize, sir. I feared this would be the outcome once Carson lost his job at the nursery.” Parker’s words were interspersed with short gasping breaths. “I need to get to the greenhouse and make certain Carson didn’t do damage there, so although I appreciate your offer of medical aid, I’ll forgo it right now.”
“Well, I’m calling on the authorities to file charges against the man. I can’t have my inn’s reputation sullied by some hothead.” The innkeeper shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I suppose I should tie the man up before he comes around again.”
Parker latched on to the man’s shoulder and stood up straight for the first time since the fight ended. “Do what you must. I have to go check on Miss Wilson.”
Parker’s leg screamed in pain with every step and his limp became pronounced, one eye had completely closed, his lip had split open, and his nose bled. Nonetheless, he needed to haul himself to the greenhouse and make certain of Violet’s safety. He had hoped by reporting Carson’s behavior and causing his dismissal, Violet would be secure, but his plan may have backfired. If he discovered she’d been touched by Carson, Parker’s fury would truly be unleashed, and Carson would thank the heavens he’d been put behind bars and out of Parker’s range. His knuckles cried out to smash Carson’s face again.
• • •
At their dinner the previous evening, Edgar had regaled his daughters with the types of questions Parker had asked during the day. The succulent beef, carrots, and greens were passed around the table, but Violet had no interest in them. She only wished to hear how Parker had spent his day.
Her father chuckled. “Right clever young man, he is.”
Violet glanced up in surprise. Her father rarely rained praise on a person.
“Do you find that to be true as well, Violet? Is Mr. Sinclair a right clever young man?” Lily prodded with a cat’s-in-the-cream grin as she popped a carrot slice into her mouth. “What do you do all day up there in the greenhouse with him, anyway? He’s a right handsome young man as well as a clever one. Could be a combustible combination.”
Violet attempted to control the blush creeping into her cheeks. If Lily only had an inkling of what had transpired in the hothouse, there’d be no end to her taunts. She owed it to Parker, and to her own sanity, to act as if nothing untoward had happened.
“Our days are quite full, Lily. My most favorite part so far has been helping to design the expansive rose bed for Mr. Jefferson’s estate. It has to make an impression, because the rose bed will be the first plantings his guests will be able to see as they drive up to the estate. We chose a variety of different types of shrubs and had so much fun determining their arrangement. It took several days and several tries to find the right combination.” Violet hoped the infusion of excitement into her voice would be enough of a reason for her red cheeks.
“Sounds excruciatingly boring, if you ask me,” Poppy replied.
“Well, you need to begin getting those plants ready for shipment now. Mr. Sinclair will be leaving us within a few days. Lord Weymouth has invited him to a small soiree on his estate prior to Mr. Sinclair’s departure, but shortly thereafter, he’ll be headed back to America.” Her father’s statement made Violet’s world crash down upon her.
“A few days?” She could not control the tremor in her voice. “I thought another week yet.”
“As I recall, you didn’t care for the idea of him invading your terrain from the outset, Violet, so I thought you’d be pleased he wrapped up his business so quickly.” Her father glanced down the table at her. “His assistance with exposing Carson’s treatment of you may have softened your feelings a bit toward him, but won’t it be nice to get back to business as usual? I’ve fallen way behind on my work since I’ve had to play the role of tour guide for several days. The man traipsed around all day, a bundle of energy, even though his leg bothered him most of the time.”
“Yes, Father, it will be a relief to return to the day-to-day routine.” My boring routine.
She recalled their dinner conversation as she idly waited for Parker to put in an appearance that morning. How had her opinion of her work changed so dramatically in the space of two weeks?
Why had he not shown up yet? Violet wrung her hands together and nibbled on her lower lip as she created one disaster scenario after another. She should quit worrying about him and get going on her day’s chores. Violet had gotten little done since her conversation with Iris the previous morning. She’d already wasted this morning, lost in thought and the possibility of making a l
ist for the first time in her life.
“You’re a poor excuse for a woman, that’s the truth,” she muttered as she got a piece of foolscap and a pencil, laying them on the desk and then sitting in front of them, waiting for inspiration.
“Perhaps two columns would be better, as Iris mentioned. One for reasons why this would be a good relationship and the other for reasons why not.” She nodded approval of her approach. She might be on to something. Or possibly, she had just found another way to waste her time.
She poised the pencil to write and chewed on the end of it while she thought. “All right then. One for the ‘Why Not’ column to get things started.”
1. I’d have to abandon my work at hybridizing the Lady Banks.
There. She had made some headway already. She’d have to turn her back on her work, and the Royal Horticultural Society would never hear of her. She’d never be invited on a countrywide speaking tour. Maybe that last bit could be a plus, because the thought of speaking to a large crowd, even if it were about roses and hybridizing, frightened her silly. She’d consider it later.
Now, something for the “Why” column.
1. It’s Parker.
She didn't need to expand further. Butterflies flew with glee into her already unsettled stomach and frolicked about.
“Let’s see. A Why Not reason next.” She didn’t even need to ponder. Her stomach churned as she wrote, disturbing the butterflies.
2. I’m afraid of water.
If the water could not be contained in a bucket or a sprinkling can, she feared it. Just pondering how many buckets would be needed to empty the Atlantic Ocean made her ill. But there was no other way to get to America.
She stared at her list, fearing she’d fill up the Why Not column before she could come up with another reason for “why.”
A lightning bolt of an idea exploded in her head, and her hand quickly diverted to the Why.
2. We have a similar interest in plants and roses.
Reason number two must count for more than one tick on the list. The more she thought about it, reason number two could truly be split into four or five reasons. Maybe she needed subcategories? Iris would be so pleased with her list making efforts if she added subcategories. Parker treated her as an equal, something not many men were comfortable with, and admired her knowledge of hybridizing. She longed to see Mr. Jefferson’s estate and the huge rose bed she helped design. They could continue to work together. She could help him in America, at the McMahon nursery and make it a showcase for all kinds of roses to grace America’s gardens. Perhaps she could even convince Parker to return with her to England afterward and help with Father’s business. She appreciated Parker’s acknowledgement that she had more training and insight into roses than he did. Her father’s business would benefit from their actions once people found out where the healthy blooms had come from. And from Parker’s detailed description of Jefferson’s estate, Violet now longed to see it with her own eyes.
“Really good reasons, in my book,” she whispered. She stared at the list and pondered whether to add them all in. The sides would definitely be out of balance if she did.
Of course, once they were finished with Mr. Jefferson’s estate, Parker might think differently about her, and the sides would tilt in the other direction.
Her gaze strayed backed to the Why Not column.
3. I am British and he harbors a dislike for us.
Reason number three counted for a lot more than one tick on that side of the list, she feared. Violet closed her eyes, holding back the tears. There could be no way around her third reason why not. She might dream of him settling in England, but she had little hope of him doing so. Even though he’d become a bit more comfortable in this country, his dislike of all things British had been brewing for years.
Back to the Why side. She opened her eyes and stared at the paper.
3.
Her third reason in the why column remained empty. She couldn’t write down the one reason above all else she’d even considered making a list. Violet picked up the paper, scrunched it into a ball, and tossed it into the empty fire grate with some show of force. “Bloody hell!” She’d never uttered such an expletive before and wondered why she hadn’t, since it made her body tingle in excitement. Her heart rate sped as she stood and stared at the paper ball in the grate. Best to leave it there. Making a list might work for some people, help them clear their minds, but not her. No, her mind was still a jumbled mess. She had too much to do to waste her time on such a trifle, when all it accomplished was to make her mind run in all kinds of directions.
Violet picked up a watering can and filled it from the rain barrel. The first of many trips she’d make to the rain barrel today. Mindless work, but her mind worked overtime regardless.
Her reason number three on the Why side of things did not need to be written down. She had fallen in love with an American who had already experienced the joy of marriage and having a child. Or possibly the reason should fall into the Why Not column, since his experience with having a wife and family was far greater than hers. She could never replace what he’d already had.
“Why can’t things be easy, as they were in childhood, when I could be like Poppy and play in the dirt all day, growing whatever I pleased, without a care in the world? Being a grownup isn’t a whole lot of fun,” she griped to her tomato plants as she examined them, pinching off dead leaves. Talking to plants had a healthy effect on them, but griping to them just might cause a sour tomato. Making a list, putting her thoughts on paper, had done nothing to stop her thoughts from swirling in her brain. The sooner Parker finished up and left her greenhouse, the sooner her life could return to normal. She wondered why he hadn’t yet made an appearance, since she now eagerly awaited his presence so she could finish with him and get her usual existence back again.
Before Parker had come into her world, she’d been excited to get to the greenhouse each morning, to welcome each bloom, to sniff the musky air. What had happened? And after the man took his leave, could her attitude shift back to where it had been? Had his abundance of energy yesterday with her father had anything to do with their heated encounter in the hothouse?
Picking up the pen, she drew an “x” through Day Thirteen. Today was quickly dissolving as well, nearly half over, and she still had the greenhouse to herself. How many more days did she have left before she’d be by herself for eternity?
“Such nonsense.” Violet shook her head as she continued, “Things were perfectly wonderful before Parker Sinclair set foot in England. They will be wonderful again upon his departure.” The chorus of butterflies in her midsection begged to differ.
She picked up the watering can containing the last of the rain barrel’s offerings and spent the next hour watering her herbs, clipping off the dead stalks, and choosing some to hang up to dry. She had not yet finished giving refreshing water to all her plants, but she had run out of rain barrel water, so it was a convenient time to stop for lunch. Her stomach rumbles invaded her thoughts, reminding her the noon hour neared. Almost midday, and no sign of Parker. Had he chosen to spend one of his last days in England seeing the sights? Had he decided he’d completed his work in the greenhouse? Could he not wait to see the last of her? Had her incomplete list of whys and why nots not been enough for her to give up this folly? Or had Parker truly gotten under her skin?
She shook herself as the goose bumps formed under her clothing. Maybe Parker had gotten under her skin. Now she had to figure out how to extricate him.
• • •
Violet sat at her desk and unwrapped the sandwich she’d packed for her meal, along with a wedge of cheese and an apple. Her mouth salivated as she laid out her food. The sound of the greenhouse door opening made her salivate even more. She rose and dashed to the door, ready to give Parker a tongue-lashing for being so late. Or to kiss him as she had in the hothouse, where her tongue got used in another way as it invaded his mouth and vice versa.
Parker staggered into
the greenhouse, bent over and puffing. Violet’s heart rate escalated. Someone had hurt him.
“Parker! What happened?” She stared at his torn clothing, his wounded cheek, his bruised and bleeding knuckles, the eye already puffed up and closed.
He straightened and came to her side, placing his hands on her cheeks. “Are you all right?”
“Of course, I’m fine, but you obviously are not.” She removed his hands from her face and stared at them.
“It’s nothing, Violet. Let it go. I’m sorry I’m so late.” He tried to wink at her and winced instead.
“It’s not nothing. Were you set upon by robbers on your way here from the inn? For goodness’ sake, we’re in Salisbury, not the east end of London.” Violet took hold of his arm as he wavered on his feet. “Here, you must sit before you fall down. Again. You must stop this incessant passing out in front of me.” She led him into the office, and he dropped heavily into the chair. “I have just the thing to reduce the swelling near your eye. Let me get you some water.”
“Violet, it’s really nothing. Some gentleman thought to take advantage of me, viewed me as a soft target, but I’m a bully-trap.” Parker winced again as he tried to smile.
“What might a bully-trap be?” Violet thought she’d encountered all manner of slang from the field workers, but this must be an American manner of speech. She offered him the last of her precious glass of water and he guzzled it down.
“It’s a term for a brave man with a mild appearance by whom bullies are taken in. The man thought of me as a lightweight, but I showed him.” Parker raised his fist in the air.
“Well, bully-trap or not, you’re sore and bleeding. Your opponent got several good licks in as well. Your poor face! I wonder about of the condition of the other man, if you won the bout. I’ll go make a poultice for your eye.” She stood over him, her hand on his arm. “Don’t go anywhere, and don’t even attempt to get up.”
