by Lower, Becky
She strode past him and took him to another corner of the greenhouse. On a drying rack were an assortment of rose hips, ranging in color from bright red and orange to purple and nearly black. She picked up a few of them and held them out to him. “I began the drying process on these already, several days ago. It’s time to decide which we will use for seeds and which we will save for medicinal purposes, because rose hips make for a good tea or jam.”
“How do you determine which to use right away and which to harvest?” Parker picked up one of the rose hips from her outstretched hand, his fingers brushing her skin slightly. Her intake of breath made him aware the touch had registered with her, too. Although, an inhalation could be good or bad, depending, and he briefly wondered how to interpret her behavior. He toyed with the rose hip, rolling it between his fingers as he contemplated why, for the second time today, his concern was for Violet. His initial impression of her had changed this morning when he’d witnessed her with the bully. Perhaps she resembled a wild rose rather than a hothouse plant. Did he care to find out?
He again tugged out his memory of Sarah, tall and proud, a memory which he’d tried to avoid for years after hearing about her violent death. But here, in England, Sarah coursed through his mind in ways she never did in America. Maybe if he kept the memory of his dead wife front and center, he’d not attach hidden meanings to his ideas about Violet’s bruised feelings.
And for a third time in as many hours, he wondered why he should give a care at all. He couldn’t afford to get attached to Violet. He’d come to England only for roses, not violets. When he finally left here, he needed no encumbrances other than the plants. He’d clean up her problem with Carson to the best of his ability and then be on his way.
• • •
Poppy arrived at the greenhouse with a bag full of clothes shortly before the noon hour. Her charming presence acted as a balm to Parker, eradicating his gloomy thoughts.
“We’re to take the clothes that won’t fit you to the parish and donate them in exchange for hopefully finding you some that do fit.” Poppy dashed around the office as she spoke.
Violet grabbed on to Poppy’s arm as she raced by, stopping her frantic motion. “We won’t be going anywhere if you overturn my office or my roses. Slow down.”
“Well, let’s get on with it then. We’re to have our noon meal in town and then go to the parish. A whole blessed afternoon away from my governess. Why shouldn’t I be excited?” Poppy ceased her movements, but even standing in the same spot, she hopped from one foot to the other.
Parker grinned at her barely contained energy. “Let’s go then. We’ve put in a good morning’s work, and I’m famished.”
He took the bag from Poppy, and she led them down the hill and into the village, skipping most of the way. Violet had more restrained movements, but Parker sensed she also grew excited at the thought of an afternoon away from her usual routine. He’d only been in the village long enough to find the inn and sleep, but from what little he’d seen, the village was not unlike many of the small villages in America. Older, most definitely, and possibly more picturesque, but reminiscent of home, with its cobblestone streets, narrow alleyways, and whitewashed buildings trimmed in dark wood filled with all manner of shops. He would enjoy an afternoon of exploration as much as the ladies.
Their first stop was the local public house, where they dined on oxtail soup, warm, fresh bread slathered with butter, and hot tea. Parker enjoyed the hearty soup, which consisted of potatoes, carrots, tomatoes, and onions in addition to the beef. He could taste a bit of garlic and nutmeg in the broth as well. He didn’t even mind the ever-present tea for the ladies, although he had ordered a mug of ale for himself.
“After we explain to the vicar what we need, we’ll have to go to the tailor for what we can’t find at the church.” Poppy’s eyes danced as she focused on Parker. “I highly doubt the vicar will have the formal attire you need.”
“Since my plans only include work, not socializing, I don’t need formal attire, Poppy.” Parker tried to corral the girl’s ambitious plans. “It would be a waste of your father’s money.”
Violet covered one of Poppy’s hands with her own. “I agree with you, Poppy.” She raised her deep blue eyes to Parker. “You’ll need the proper attire for dinners with the family, and Father’s attempting to arrange for you to meet the baron who owns the estate where Lily spends most of her days.”
“Why would I need to meet him?” Parker shook his head.
“Evidently, he met your Mr. Jefferson years ago, when the statesman visited London, and when Father mentioned who you were designing a rose garden for, Lord Weymouth expressed an eagerness to reminisce with you.” Violet smiled when Parker ceased his head shaking.
“Well, in that case, I guess I will need to be appropriately clothed.” Parker tossed his napkin on the table. “What an opportunity, to meet another who is acquainted with Mr. Jefferson.” He gazed at the two women, who had their hands folded atop the table. “If you ladies are finished, let’s be off to the parish.”
“I wonder if Johnny will be about today.” Poppy played with a tendril of her hair while they made their way to the church.
Parker grinned. So the girl had another reason for getting excited about the trip to town.
Violet had to grab on to her arm again. “We’re only here to get some clothes for Mr. Sinclair, not for you to advance your relationship with Johnny Goodman. You are well aware of Father’s feelings toward young Johnny.”
“Yes, and he’s wrong. Johnny is the most handsome lad ever.” Poppy sighed deeply and shifted her gaze to Parker as she extricated her arm from Violet’s grasp. “Present company excluded, of course.”
“Of course.” Parker’s tongue was firmly placed in his cheek by the time they arrived at the parish.
“Hello, Vicar Wickersham.” Violet and Poppy both dipped into a slight curtsy when they spotted the local vicar. “Please allow me to introduce our guest, Mr. Parker Sinclair, from America.”
Parker extended his hand to the elderly man. “How do you do, sir?”
The aging vicar shook Parker’s hand, mumbled a greeting, and then slid his attention back to the Wilson girls. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company midweek?”
Violet glanced at Parker before focusing on the vicar. “Mr. Sinclair is a guest of Mulberry Hill for the next few weeks. When his ship docked in Portsmouth, his trunk and its contents disappeared, so he is without clothing. We managed to find some shirts, but none of the trousers we found fit him, so we hoped to exchange what we did find for some work clothing he might wear.”
The vicar nodded. “We may be able to help. Come along. Let’s see what we can find.”
Twenty minutes later, Parker had two pairs of workpants, another shirt, and some underthings.
Poppy lost all interest in Parker when she discovered Johnny Goodman had been placed in charge of the clothing exchange that afternoon. They kept up a steady stream of conversation between themselves as Johnny set about finding what Parker needed. Violet rummaged through the clothes as well, handing items to Parker.
“I can’t tell if I should be relieved or offended that Poppy has another interest,” Parker spoke softly to Violet.
“Trust me, relieved and thankful are the proper responses. Once the girl gets an idea in her head . . . ” Violet raised her glance from the clothes they were sorting through to Parker’s face. “We’d best get her away from Johnny, who is obviously out of his depth.” She nodded in the boy’s direction. He stumbled over his words and his cheeks grew ruddy as Poppy flirted with him. Violet’s eyes sparkled with mirth. “Come along, Poppy. We’re finished here.”
“I have the perfect shop in mind for the rest of what Mr. Sinclair needs.” Poppy skipped on ahead of Violet and Parker. “Follow me.”
They entered a tailor’s establishment, which had some clothing already sewn up and only needing minor tailoring to fit. “Hello, sir.” Poppy curtsied to the shop owner. “W
e are in need of some formal attire for Mr. Sinclair, who is visiting from America.”
The man quickly assembled clothing for Poppy to inspect. She made her decisions without hesitation.
“If you’ll step behind the screen and put these on, sir, I can make the necessary adjustments to the garments and have them delivered within a few days.” The tailor motioned toward the back of the shop.
Parker put on the clothing and stepped out from behind the privacy screen. He ran a hand down the black clawhammer coat with matching black velvet trim at the collar. The coat fit tightly around the torso and had tails ending just above the back of the knee. A white linen shirt with a cravat, tan buckskin breeches, and a fine pair of highly polished black Hessian boots completed the outfit.
“Well, ladies, how do I look?” Parker grinned at Violet and Poppy.
Poppy’s eyes grew large, and she stared at him, hand to her throat. “You are now a fine country gentleman, Mr. Sinclair. And I thought you were handsome before, when you were just wearing work clothing.”
He tugged on the cravat, which lay untied around his neck. “It’s been years since I’ve worn one of these, and I’ve quite forgotten how to properly tie it.”
Violet stood in front of him and grabbed on to the edges of the fabric. “I tie Father’s cravats for him all the time, have for years. Allow me to assist.”
Parker placed his hands over hers. “Are you certain you won’t strangle me?” He whispered his question so only she could hear.
Violet chuckled. “Not in front of witnesses, Mr. Sinclair.” She worried her lower lip while she concentrated on his neckwear. When she finished, she tucked the cravat into his claw-hammer coat and brushed her hands over his shoulders, smoothing out the fabric. “There. As Poppy said, you are a picture of a fine country gentleman. Your cravat is properly tied, your breeches are long enough, and your boots are shiny.”
“Then our work here is done. Shall I accompany you ladies back to Mulberry Hill?” Parker asked while the tailor took his final measurements and promised delivery of the items to Parker’s room at the local inn.
“No need to return to the nursery today, Mr. Sinclair.” Violet took Poppy’s hand and headed for the door. “You can go right from here to the inn. We’ll get back home well before dark. See you tomorrow.”
He stopped for a quick meal at the inn’s dining room before heading up to his room. The innkeeper had managed to find a spare shaving kit, and even though it was now evening, Parker couldn’t wait to shave and finally scraped away the itchy stubble. Immediately, his mind filled with the groomsman’s craggy face and his beard. Violet had reacted strangely to Carson in the barn that morning. The way she’d straightened her spine and squared her shoulders in front of the rude bully had impressed him. He’d witnessed a completely different side of her as she’d faced down her adversary. He wondered what had happened to make Carson pick on Violet. Perhaps before the end of his visit, he’d find out. If he cared to. Perhaps it would be best to keep thoughts of his dead wife in his head in order to deny his growing involvement with Violet.
It surprised him that he cared to find out.
It surprised him that he enjoyed her company.
It surprised him that his list of items he needed to accomplish still had only a few boxes checked off. He’d already been here nearly a week, counting travel time. He had hoped to have a lot more done by now. Instead, he hadn’t even begun to select all the necessary roses for the Monticello gardens.
“Dammit,” he muttered as he yanked the covers up over his head. He’d apply himself harder in the days to come and perhaps be able to leave before too much longer.
The quicker he left the shore of the British Isles, the better. Violet would certainly be grateful if he cut his visit short, and in that regard, their feelings matched, because he also counted the days until he could return home. He rolled over. If he got a good night’s sleep, he’d attack his list with vengeance in the morning. How long would it take, really, to select a hundred varieties of roses? If he were at home, in his Philadelphia nursery, it would only take a couple of days to pick and choose and put together a beautiful display for a rose bed. But here, among hundreds upon hundreds of unique varieties of shrubs, the selection process would be a lot longer.
He blamed his health as the reason for his snail’s pace here in England. But could there be more to it than a simple lack of energy? Did he hope to unravel the mystery of Violet before he left? To find out why she preferred to spend her days alone in her greenhouse on the hill, why she appeared so shy, even among her sisters. And why she allowed Carson to torment her. If he’d quit being distracted by thoughts of figuring out Violet, quit being distracted by her now discernable tantalizing scent of earth and musk, combined with another pleasant odor he couldn’t define but which was unique to her, he’d get his work done and be gone by the time the moon was full again. Admittedly, it had been years since he’d given a care to a woman’s well-being. Been intrigued by a woman’s scent. Had a woman knot his cravat for him. The lump in his throat told him he couldn’t leave England fast enough.
Chapter Eight
Day Five
Violet sucked in a deep breath and finished putting a big “x” through the completed Day Four on her oversized calendar just as Parker strode into the well-lit greenhouses’s corner office. He glanced at the crude calendar with a raised eyebrow but said nothing about it. Thank goodness. She could make up a story, tell him she was keeping track of some germination process or the other, but the big markings coincided with his entry into her life, and he might be an American, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have the smarts to figure things out.
“You’re to spend today with Father.” She could not hold back a smile as she relayed the information. She would be by herself the entire day, and she needed to have the time, because she had been neglecting her normal duties. And because she’d been unsettled after tying Mr. Sinclair’s cravat.
“Your father has told me you’re the fount of information when it comes to roses, and considering my illness when I arrived has made for a late start, I was hoping to put off a discussion with your father on the way your business operates until much later and focus on the roses first.” He placed his ever-present satchel with its drawings on the chair and faced her. Her gaze met his, and she once again became mesmerized by his clear blue eyes. She found his blue eyes much more interesting than the boring brown ones belonging to the other man she’d met who had large shoulders. Her gaze dipped to his mouth, with its generous bottom lip, and she wondered how he’d react if she were to run her finger over it. Her fingers itched at the thought, and she blew out a breath. Yes, she really needed a day apart from this man.
She shook herself. “But your employer specifically asked for Father to share with you how we run our operation. He thought you could apply some of the same techniques to your nursery in America.”
Parker dropped his gaze and brushed his hand over his leather satchel. “I had hoped we’d begin to select the roses for Mr. Jefferson’s gardens today. I do need to get started on the real purpose for my visit. I’ve been set back by a couple of days due to my illness and my lack of proper clothing. I’d much rather stay here in this sweet-smelling greenhouse than learn the ins and outs of running a business as large as this one.”
“We can begin with the roses tomorrow, have no fear. In fact, I’ll put together a list of my recommendations for you while you’re gone. But today is Father’s day with you. He’s going to give you a tour of our other greenhouses, show you the landscaping side of the business, and explain how we keep track of all the different parts. It’ll be a fun day for you now that your health has returned. I’ll start setting aside some roses for you to consider upon your return here tomorrow.” She slipped by him and made her way to the door. “Father’s waiting for you in the next greenhouse over, so you’d best not delay.”
Parker collected his satchel, strapping it across his body again. She noticed the play of his
muscular shoulders as they strained against his new shirt, and her heart beat faster. His shoulders and his bottom lip could be her downfall. She should have started setting aside roses for his consideration as soon as she glimpsed his sketches for the first time. Why hadn’t she done so already? That way, he’d be able to make his decisions quickly and be on his way before she gave his shoulders another thought. The sooner Parker Sinclair finished up his business here and left the country the better.
“Will you be joining us at any point during the day?” He shuffled his feet but made no effort to head toward the door.
He stared at her, and she caught her own bottom lip with her teeth. “I have no plans to. My chores here have been piling up. You’ll be over at the Weymouth estate where Lily is working at the noon hour, so I assume you’ll have a meal there. By the time you return, I’ll be closed up for the evening. But I will see you at dinner tonight.”
“Well, I’ll miss you then. But you can gleefully cross off Day Five on your calendar, since you’re done with me for the day.” She inhaled deeply and he grinned. He’d figured it out so quickly! She stared at him. He might be brighter than she’d originally assumed. She’d have to take care with what she said now.
“Technically, it’s Day Seven, since it took me two days to get here from the ship’s docking point in Portsmouth, so you can cross off more.” His grin widened. “You’re not the only one with a calendar.”
“I’ll do that now, thank you.” She ducked her head and darted back into her office, leaving Parker to find his way to her father. The door quietly shut and she took a deep breath, blissfully alone for the first time in days. Instead of relishing the solitude, she suddenly wished for the comforting presence of Parker Sinclair. And the realization made her sit back in her chair with her black pen in her hand. She’d only known the man a handful of days, yet she’d been more intimate with him than she’d ever been with Davey. She’d been Mr. Sinclair’s nursemaid, assisted in getting him into bed, and helped Iris remove his clothing, all while he was covered up, of course. Then, she’d accompanied him shopping and had helped him tie his cravat, a most personal act. She placed her hand on her ricocheting heart. There could be no doubt about it. She was hopeless. She needed to recollect how Davey had hurt her, how she’d vowed never to get involved with a man again. Especially one with an impressive physique. To get her feelings tangled up with an American was tantamount to disaster.
