by Lower, Becky
“Yes, you’re correct. I can feel my attention waning. An hour of rest might be just the ticket.” Parker glanced at Violet, who could feel his gaze even though she stared off in the other direction. If he’d hoped to make eye contact, he would be disappointed. “I’ll take the clothes Poppy has rounded up and show myself out. But I am looking forward to dinner.”
“I’ll see you later on, then,” Violet replied before she scurried to the opposite end of the greenhouse and sat at her desk again, attempting to catch her breath.
She stared at her crude calendar tacked up on the wall behind her desk. Day Three could not yet be totally marked off, because she still had to get through dinner with the man. She grimaced, aware she’d not be able to eat a thing if seated next to the American, who had been nothing so far but a pain in her backside, at least when she wasn’t staring at his large hands or his massive shoulders. However, if she could not control her wayward mouth any other way, she would indeed stuff it full of whatever was on the menu for the evening. So far, she’d nursed the stranger with her herbs, made a fool of herself time and again, and not gotten any of her own work done. She needed more manure from the barn, for one thing, a simple journey that had become fraught with danger recently, simply because she couldn’t stay immune from men with well-developed shoulders. When would she ever learn her lesson?
• • •
The room at the inn had all the comforts of home, and a quick nap gave Parker renewed energy as he prepared to meet all of Edgar Wilson’s daughters. His ministrations didn’t take long, since he had no shaving kit, but thanks to Poppy, he could at least change from the shirt he’d worn when he disembarked from the ship. None of the breeches she had found came close to fitting him, but he now possessed a couple of shirts he could use during his stay, even if he had to roll the sleeves up because they were too short to meet his wrists. The shirts were not appropriate for a formal dinner with Mr. Wilson and his daughters, but given his limited choices, they would have to do. He ran a hand over his beard stubble, picked up the clothing that he couldn’t use, and departed for the Wilson household. So far, he’d met Poppy and Violet. And had a vague memory of Iris, who’d helped him after he’d passed out and during his stay in the guest room. But now that he could succinctly process information, he needed to see them each again and decide for himself if what the livery man had said was true.
Were the daughters as pretty as the flowers they grew but prickly as a blackberry bush? He’d find out tonight at dinner, and he could check a box off his list at the end of the evening. With any luck, and a lot of perseverance, he could maybe be on his return trip in a matter of days, not weeks. If he were at home, in his own greenhouse, he could select an assortment of roses for a client in a few hours. Here, with Violet, it could take days if they dawdled over one variety after another, discussing the various merits of each shrub. He’d simply have to speed things along now that he could concentrate on the matter at hand rather than wondering if he’d survive until morning. His strong constitution had helped him once again to heal his body and clear his mind.
Thirty minutes later, Parker stood beside Mr. Wilson as one by one, his daughters entered the parlor. “My eldest daughter, Iris, who handles all the bookkeeping,” Mr. Wilson boomed, as if announcing Iris to the king. A tall woman with glasses entered, and nodded at Parker. Iris reminded him of a dahlia, with her strong, tall stem of a body, attractive blond hair that flowed around her face, and her blue eyes.
“I doubt you were aware enough to recall me from when Violet and I lurched down the hill with you between us and put you to bed.” Iris chuckled.
“I have a recollection of another person being there but had no idea who it might have been. Belatedly, I thank you for your assistance, as well as your care while I lay abed. I do remember your remarks in the guest room,” Parker replied as Iris took her position next to her father. Iris’s eyes danced in merriment as she obviously also remembered what she had said. “I see your sense of humor has returned, Mr. Sinclair. You’ll need it this evening.”
“My second daughter, Violet, with whom you’ve already had dealings.” Mr. Wilson grinned at Parker as Violet entered the parlor with her head bowed and scurried to her father’s side. Violet resembled her name—shy, even among her sisters. In Parker’s opinion, she would be the one every man would overlook when meeting all the sisters at once. Which would be a mistake, since he had already seen a different, appealing side of her.
“Yes, Violet and I spent the day touring her greenhouse as she kept my cough under control with her licorice root.” Parker smiled as Violet lifted her head and their gazes met.
“My third daughter, Lily, who assists me in the landscaping business and has deigned tonight important enough to leave her trousers behind and don a gown.” Lily strode into the room with her father’s announcement, held the sides of her skirt as she curtsied to Parker. Her strong stride had not disappeared by the mere fact of putting on a dress. Her dark hair was cut short, definitely not the fashion, but Parker could understand the logic behind it, since Lily worked in the fields, and her blue eyes were the color of the sky on a sunny day. Lily’s hands were rough from her work, her face and arms tanned from the sun, and he could easily see her in the gardens, trimming a privet hedge with large gardening shears. Not flamboyant, as lilies were prone to be, but rather a hardworking outdoorswoman.
Parker bowed in response to Lily’s curtsy. “Do you care for that large estate I passed on my way here?”
She nodded. “It’s one of the places we take care of. I am in charge of that side of the business. I believe Father has scheduled time for you to visit the estate so you can see firsthand all that’s involved.”
Edgar nodded as Poppy bounced into the room. “Here’s my youngest, Poppy, who is still being reined in by her governess.” Poppy grabbed Parker in a hug and grinned up at him. Her light brown ringlets shook as she bounced up and down on her toes, her gaze filled with laughter. She made him smile. As colorful as her name, he could easily envision how she’d put a man under her spell, similar to the opium the poppy plant produced.
“Poppy and I met earlier today, when she so graciously provided me with some clothing to wear.” Parker glanced at Edgar, then back at Poppy. “I have brought back the items which won’t fit.”
“So nice to see a handsome man in the room for a change.” She batted her eyelashes at him. “You’ve worn one of the shirts I found for you. Still not the correct attire for a dinner, but we’ll take care of that soon, when we go shopping in town.”
Parker stood quietly, attempting to absorb the awkward scene.
“As you can see, Poppy needs to be restrained at every turn.” Edgar attempted to hide his smile, but Parker noted he cast a loving glance at his youngest as she took her place at the end of the line.
Parker smiled at the man. “It appears as if you have your hands full, Mr. Wilson.”
“That I do. But they’re each in their own way such a help to me. I couldn’t keep Mulberry Hill afloat without each and every one.” He bestowed a loving glance on each of his daughters. “The older ones should be married off by now, but they’ve elected to stay and help out with the business. I hate even the thought that one or all of them will someday find a fellow they can tolerate and will marry and leave their home.” His gaze wandered over each of his daughters before returning to Parker. “Shall we dine?” Mr. Wilson led the group to the dining room table, and they took their places, two girls on either side, Mr. Wilson at the head of the table, leaving the foot of the table for Parker. Grateful that Violet occupied the chair next to him, he sat in the position of honor just as his stomach rumbled.
He brushed a hand over his abdomen to quiet it, then glanced down the table to Mr. Wilson. “Thanks to Miss Wilson’s medicinal prowess, I’m actually hungry this evening.”
“I hope you’ll enjoy what the cook has prepared for us, then. We use foodstuffs grown here at Mulberry Hill as much as possible.” Mr. Wilson had touched
on a subject Parker was eager to explore.
Parker nodded. “That’s part of my reason for making this trip. We Americans need to do a better job at growing our own food rather than relying on ships from Europe to deliver it to us. Now that the fighting is over with, I hope all of us can learn how to farm the land.” He took a breath. “At least, it’s my hope we can learn how to farm. The belief we can be self-sufficient was an idea mutually shared by Bernard McMahon and Mr. Jefferson. It’s a shame the elder Mr. McMahon passed on before he could see his vision put into action.”
Mr. Wilson waited to answer until the wine had been poured for each of them, except for Poppy. Then, he raised his glass in a toast. “Here’s to the end of the fighting, then, and to prosperity for all Americans.”
A round of “Hear! Hear!” followed, and Parker noted none of them were eager to discuss the wars further. Especially not him. A knot formed in his stomach at the mere mention, and even though he’d been the one to raise the issue, he lost his appetite. He needed to put aside his hatred for all things British while in this country. Mr. Wilson and his daughters had had nothing to do with what had happened in America, what had happened to his wife and child. Instead, the Wilsons had been nothing but kind and generous to him. Not only were they feeding him, but, as Poppy described their shopping excursion to come, they were also going to clothe him. He took another sip of wine and slowly let go of his anger, at least for the evening.
The ham was succulent, with its rosy color and its sweet glaze. The boiled potatoes were seasoned just right, and the green beans were fresh and crisp, coated with a pat of butter. All in all, not a bad way to spend the evening. If a dinner such as this had taken place on American soil, he would have considered it quite pleasant. If this had been another time, another place, he would not mind lingering, acquainting himself with the Wilson women. But, as this happened to be England, he’d apply himself better in the days ahead, complete the items on his checklist, and get on a ship bound for America as soon as possible. Thoughts of home filled his head, and nostalgia set in. But then, thoughts of home were the only way to get through the rest of the evening—and the rest of his visit.
Chapter Seven
Day Four
There could be no putting it off any longer. The compost bin needed manure. Despite having her routine broken up by Parker Sinclair’s appearance, the needs of her plants overrode the needs of the American. She forced her lips into a tight line as she picked up her buckets and opened the greenhouse door. A quick run down to the barn and back shouldn’t take her but fifteen minutes. If Mr. Sinclair arrived while she was out, he could maybe pick out a shrub or two. The sooner he started making some decisions, the sooner he’d leave.
Her head down and bent on the task at hand, she didn’t see the American until she ran directly into him, on his way up the hill to the glass building.
“Whoa.” Parker held on to her elbows, waiting for her to regain her balance. “Where are you running off to?”
She glanced up into his piercing blue eyes and stepped back a pace. Her buckets clanged together since she couldn’t keep her hands from trembling. Not when he hovered so close, invading her personal space. His commanding presence stole all the air from the surrounding area, and she had trouble catching her breath.
“I, uh, I need to go fetch some manure from the barn.” She raised the buckets for him to see.
He took two of the buckets from her. “I’ll be glad to help.”
“Oh, it’s not necessary. You didn’t come all the way from America to sling manure with me. You should be selecting the roses you need to transport back to America.” She grabbed at the buckets in his grasp.
He shifted them to the other side. “Nonsense. It’s part of what makes your roses grow so well. I consider this another opportunity to learn.”
Violet swallowed hard, swallowing her pride along with her annoyance. She’d allow him to accompany her to the barn and hope no one would be about. Mr. Sinclair didn’t need to be aware of all her problems, of the bet that had turned her world upside down. “It’s no trade secret that manure makes for good fertilizer. Surely even Americans are aware of that. But if it will make you happy, by all means come along to the manure pile.” She glanced at his worn work boots, hoping to spy a hole for the slimy manure to crawl into. It would be only fitting.
They made little sound as they circled the dwelling. The scent of hay and horses filled the air. Violet led Parker to the area where the manure had been piled high, waiting for her. She took a quick glance around the yard and let out her breath when she found no one in sight.
“It’s nice of the horses and cows to offer up some of the finest fertilizer on earth, isn’t it?” Parker grabbed a nearby shovel and started to fill a bucket.
Violet smiled as she picked up a pitchfork. “I have the same thought every time I come here.”
“About time you showed up to take some of that mess away.” The sneering face of the head groomsman, Carson, peered out from the shadow of the barn, and he closed the space between them. He glanced at Parker, then back at Violet. “What’s this? You managed to snare another fellow?”
Violet could feel the flush rising to her cheeks, but she straightened in front of this bully, despite his muscular arms and his towering frame. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Sinclair, from America. He’s come here to do business with Father and to purchase a rather large quantity of roses from us. His purchase will pay your salary for several months, so use a care in what you say in front of him. He could take his business elsewhere.” She faced Parker. “Mr. Sinclair, may I introduce our head groomsman, Carson.”
The two men eyed each other. Parker extended his hand, which Carson pumped before shifting his gaze back to Violet. “Davey worked here yesterday. He and I had a chuckle about how you make yourself scarce from the barn anymore.”
“’Tis neither here nor there, Carson. Now, if you’ll leave me alone, I’ll fill my buckets and let you get back to your work. Don’t you have a horse to groom or something?” Violet squared her shoulders, even as her insides shrank against the torment. She glanced quickly at Parker, who stared at her quizzically. She shook her head and bent to her task, grateful Parker did the same as Carson melted back into the building. The sooner they were done, the sooner they could leave the barn, which Violet had come to hate. But she supposed Parker would ask her about the encounter before they made it up the hill to the greenhouse. What could she tell him? Certainly not the truth.
• • •
Something was off with the groomsman, Carson, but Parker couldn’t quite put his finger on what bothered him. His skin had crawled when the burly man had shaken his hand. The lack of respect he’d shown to Violet, his employer’s daughter, had been appalling. Parker needed to figure out why Carson had been so rude to Violet and why she’d let him be, but he feared he already had the answer. He’d seen it all before. Bile rose in the back of his throat as he thought about the British soldiers who had been too long in America, torturing decent men and women and getting away with mayhem and murder simply because they carried guns and wore uniforms.
Violet didn’t speak as they made their way to the greenhouse, but Parker caught the shine of unspent tears in her eyes. She blinked to keep them at bay. Good for her. On the surface, and especially when confronted by the bully, she might appear as her namesake, a shrinking violet, but Parker had seen a flash of her inner strength when she’d stood up to Carson. Her thorny side disappeared way too fast, though. He hoped Carson would soon feel a prick of pain for messing with her.
They dumped the manure into the compost bin, along with some dry leaves Violet had swept up near the door to the greenhouse. She still hadn't made a sound, except for a small grunt as she lifted one of her pails. She rushed to her office, leaving Parker alone with the many tables of roses surrounding him in their various stages of growth. He wandered the aisles for a few minutes, sensing that Violet needed some time alone.
Finally, he made his way to th
e corner office. Violet sat behind the desk, moving papers around aimlessly. She glanced up as he approached. “I must apologize, Mr. Sinclair, for the behavior of our groomsman.”
He shrugged. “There’s no need to apologize for someone else’s rudeness.” He gazed at her bowed head. “I sense this isn’t the first time you’ve had trouble with him. Will you talk to me about it?”
She raised her gaze and stared at him, her eyes now cold and hard. Her nostrils flared as she answered. “I would prefer not to, if you don’t mind.”
He took a seat in front of the desk. “Well then, today might be a good day to begin my lessons. Thanks to you I feel much better physically. I haven’t coughed in hours, and my sense of smell is returning.”
An elusive smile emerged on her face. “You do have a remarkable ability to recover from illness quickly. All right then. I have to harvest the seeds from rose hips in order to grow more plants. I’m sure it’s not much different from the way you do it in America, so you can spend the morning selecting your roses. But this afternoon, Poppy and I have to take you shopping. I’m afraid Poppy won’t be put off any longer.”
“Well, I certainly have no intention of getting on Poppy’s bad side. Perhaps tomorrow, then, after I’ve made some initial selections and we have me fashionably attired, we can begin to create the rose garden for Mr. Jefferson.” Parker studied Violet as the elusive smile became a real one, and he mentally patted himself on the back. The woman might be English, but she’d been hurt and he couldn’t stand silently by without doing something. He’d attempt to replace the bad time at the barn with a good memory today. He stood and fumbled in his satchel, wondering why he cared about her feelings. “I’m in agreement, though. We should get started on my business. Let me get my sketchpad so I can take notes.”
She stood quietly for a minute, as if gathering her thoughts or marshaling her strength. Then, her deep blue eyes met his. “Let’s review the basics first. I’m sure you’re aware there are two ways to grow more rose plants. One is to take cuttings and plant them directly.” Her eyes sparkled as she warmed up to her subject. “But my favorite way is to harvest the rose hips and start from the seed. The process takes longer, but the purity and hardiness of the product is well worth the effort. It’s also the preferred method of reproduction by the Royal Horticultural Society.”
