Winning Violet

by Lower, Becky

  • • •

  After watering her plants, Violet calmed down and got control of her wayward thoughts as she took her buckets to the barn. Instead of spending her time wondering how Parker’s lips would feel, she focused instead on what she’d prefer to do with Carson’s sneering lips. How much force would she need to bloody them? The barn and paddock were quiet, and Violet let out her breath slowly. Maybe she’d get lucky today and not have to face him.

  She picked up a pitchfork and started to fill her buckets with manure. If she could be assured Carson had gone out into the fields for the morning, she’d make another trip back down the hill, because she needed a never-ending supply of the rich fertilizer for her many pots and beds. The barn once had been Violet’s favorite place to be, other than her greenhouse. The combined smell of hay, horse, leather, and manure had always been a tantalizing fragrance. She lifted the heavy pitchfork and grunted.

  “Well, if it isn’t the shrinking Violet herself.” Carson emerged from the shadows with a currycomb in his hands, his lips curled in a sneer. Goose bumps erupted on Violet’s arms, her shoulders rose around her ears, and her body tried to shrink, just as he’d said, but she forced herself to stand tall and straight.

  She faced him, pitchfork in hand. “Hello, Carson.” At least she had a weapon should he decide to come nearer to her.

  “Where’s your fawning escort?” He waved at the empty space beside her.

  “If you’re referring to Mr. Sinclair, he’s with Father today.” She plowed her pitchfork into the manure pile. “And he’s not my ‘fawning escort.’ Far from it. He’s a business associate. Nothing more.” She plunked manure into her bucket and grinned as Carson neared and some of the smelly wet stuff slopped onto his boots.

  “Sure appeared as if he hoped to get into your knickers yesterday. But then again, maybe he’s just another Davey.” Carson snorted and leaned up against the side of the barn.

  “Not unless you offered Mr. Sinclair money to give me a go, as you did with Davey.” Violet couldn’t control the waver creeping into her voice at the memory. She propped her pitchfork alongside Carson and picked up her buckets. “But you won’t be able to bribe Mr. Sinclair. He’s not so pliable, so dense, as Davey. Even if he is an American.”

  “I’m sure to see him later today, because your father’s evidently giving him the grand tour, so I’ll have a little talk with him. We’ll see how honorable he is.” Carson shoved himself off the wall and took a step closer. “No man in his right mind would find you attractive unless it involved money. You’re getting up there, Violet, almost a spinster.”

  Violet sputtered. “I’m only nineteen!”

  Carson grinned. “A bit too old for my tastes. I prefer my women younger, say the age of Poppy.”

  Violet’s stomach catapulted, and she gasped at the veiled threat. “Don’t you dare lay a hand on her!”

  “What will you do if I show her a good time and give her a roll in the hay? Tell your father? Like you’ve done so far?” Carson laughed.

  “What do you want, Carson?”

  He took a step closer. “Maybe I’ll reconsider your worth if you give me a kiss.”

  Her hands itched to smash Carson’s lips. Or to run away. If she fought back, she’d only be giving Carson one more reason to make fun of her. But she had to make certain Poppy would be safe from this horrible man, so she’d swallow her pride and do his bidding. Could she tantalize him enough that he’d leave Poppy alone?

  Violet inhaled slightly and willed her body to stop quivering. She brushed her hand over her apron in an attempt to calm her wild stomach. The mere thought of those sneering lips touching hers nearly made her toss up her breakfast.

  “If I kiss you, will you not bother me again? I need a lot more manure than these four buckets.” Violet canted her head in the direction of the buckets.

  Carson’s lips curled up. “That depends on how much I enjoy the kiss. I may have to spend the day teaching you the proper way to kiss a man, since you didn’t impress Davey.”

  Violet eyed Carson, who now stood between her and the gate. There had to be another way out of her current situation, because she certainly didn’t wish to do Carson’s bidding. As she pondered her choices, her heart sank. If she gave him the kiss of her lifetime, he’d ask for more. If she recoiled from his kiss, he’d take more. Either way, she was doomed. All for the needs of her roses. And to protect Poppy. Ire rose up within her, accompanied by a sudden rush of heat to her neck and cheeks. Perhaps she could deliver a kick to him in the sensitive area between his legs. That would give her enough time to escape.

  She stepped toward him.

  Raised herself onto her tiptoes and puckered her lips, never closing her eyes. She stared into his cold blue eyes for a long minute, taking hold of his arm to steady herself. With her other hand, she shifted her skirts out of the way of her foot.

  Carson leaned in for a moment and then roughly shoved her away. “Good Lord, woman. You really thought I hoped for a kiss from you? You were already raising your skirts to me? I’ll never be that desperate.”

  Violet lurched, gasping for air and attempting to regain her balance. He had found another way to torture her now. She picked up her buckets and made her way to the gate.

  “I didn’t say you could leave.” Carson grabbed her arm as she passed, and she lost hold of one of the buckets, its contents leaping into the air and covering him in manure from his face to his boots.

  “Whoops. Guess I’ll need to refill that bucket. How clumsy of me.” Violet laughed and picked up the pitchfork as Carson fumed and disappeared into the barn to clean himself up.

  She marched up the hill to her greenhouse, shaking as she deposited the contents of her buckets in the bin with the leaves, kitchen waste, and garden clippings, imagining Carson’s face in the bin as she dumped in the manure. Her heart rate slowed to its normal pace, but she had little doubt there would still be a showdown between herself and Carson. And now she had not just herself and her reputation to worry about, but Poppy’s as well. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. Poppy was just beginning to spread her wings, and she had a delightfully sunny disposition. Violet needed to give strict instructions to Poppy’s governess that she never be allowed to venture alone into the barn. Carson couldn’t be trusted. His threat had not been an idle one, and Violet couldn’t afford to ignore him. She’d never forgive herself if something happened to Poppy, if her wonderful light flickered out because of Carson. Violet could not, would not let that happen.

  • • •

  After a quick tour with Mr. Wilson of the other greenhouses on the property and the orangery, Parker spent the remainder of the morning with Iris learning about the bookkeeping system at this large operation, something Thomas McMahon had asked him to explore, but a part of the business he found distasteful. He enjoyed Iris’s company, but couldn’t stop his thoughts from wandering to Violet. He could see her in his mind, brushing her fingers lightly over the rose petals, coaxing her plants to bloom prodigiously. Those same fingers had brushed over him as well, caring for his wound and feeling his body temperature. His skin prickled as he recalled her gentle touch, and he rubbed the back of his head where the swelling had finally receded.

  After a quick, tasty meal of smoked turkey and cheese topped off with thick slices of warm bread, Parker and Mr. Wilson made their way over to the Weymouth estate where Lily spent the bulk of her time. Now, he’d get to explore the grounds he’d passed so quickly on his way to the nursery from Portsmouth. After this tour, Parker could check one more thing off his list, but the primary reason for his visit remained.

  “This is very appealing to the eye.” Parker's gaze took in the maze enclosed by an ivy-covered stonework fence. “Do the deer leave the maze alone?” He ran a hand over the stones, which stood about four feet high. “Because they could clear this fence with little effort.”

  “The deer aren’t fans of the boxwoods,” Mr. Wilson replied. “Something about the aroma puts them off,
but I find the scent lovely.” He ran his hand over the nearest hedge, releasing more of the aroma, which to Parker’s nose smelled similar to cat pee. “And wait until you see what Lily has done to delight the guests who wander into the maze.”

  Parker and Mr. Wilson strode farther in, viewing the topiaries of ducks, birds, even an elephant, as well as the other delights for the eye such as fountains, hidden benches, and ponds that made every step enjoyable. The whole place, probably an acre of ground, had been lovingly crafted and cared for by Lily, who the men encountered about halfway into the maze. She stood on a stepladder, with a pair of hedge trimmers in her hands, taming a boxwood shrub, molding it into a neat rectangle of growth.

  “Hello, Mr. Sinclair.” Lily smiled down from her perch before she jumped to the ground and joined the men. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here today, since Violet hates my mazes so. I thought she might have cautioned you off them.”

  “No, we haven’t talked about your mazes. And, I must say, I am intrigued by what you’ve done here.” Parker could appreciate the creativity, although he was not a fan of mazes created from shrubs. He’d much rather use the space to grow crops or at least have a bed of attractive flowers to delight the senses. A thought best kept to himself. Lily visibly preened before she returned to her work.

  He hoped to hurry Edgar Wilson along so he could spend some time with Violet yet today, so he decided a lack of interest in the maze was the best course of action.

  “I visited the barn yesterday with Violet and met your head groomsman.” Parker raised the subject in an attempt to gauge Edgar’s reaction to Carson.

  “So you met the man who holds the livestock end of the business together.” Edgar rubbed his hands together and retraced his steps toward the entrance to the maze.

  Parker’s change in topics had the hoped for effect of progressing them to other parts of the estate, but it did little to satisfy him beyond that. Did Edgar not have knowledge of Carson’s treatment of Violet? And if not, why not? What was Violet hiding from him? And why?

  “He may be very good at his job, Edgar, but he lacks greatly in his manner.” Parker attempted to tread lightly, to gauge how much the man really knew of what happened in the barn.

  Edgar laughed. “You mean his gruff attitude? Not terribly hospitable, is it? I’ve talked to him about it several times. It’s quite one thing to be coarse in front of the other workers, but something else in front of company. Since his wife ran off with a traveling salesman a few years back, his attitude has changed, become more inhospitable. But he’s an excellent groomsman. Our horse breeding program, for which he is responsible, is the finest in the county. Turned out a few champions already.”

  Parker rubbed his chin. Carson had been more than gruff and inhospitable with Violet. However, the reason for his attitude happened long before Parker set foot in the country, in Salisbury, at Mulberry Hill, and would probably continue long after. It would be best for Parker to ignore it while he was here and not stick his nose in where it didn’t belong. Could he do that? Get back on a ship and leave here with the knowledge Violet put herself in danger each time she came close to the barn? Yes, he should leave things as they were, not rock the boat. Violet had managed so far without him; she could do so once he left. He preferred to leave no traces behind. He rubbed the back of his head again, though, because the fine hairs near his wound stood on end at the thought of leaving another woman behind, defenseless in the face of adversity.

  • • •

  Parker changed into his formal attire for dinner, his cravat loosely tied. His fingers tried awkwardly to imitate Violet’s motions, but the blasted thing didn’t bend to his bidding. It would have to do, though. To ask Violet to do the honors again would be an invitation he had no wish to extend. Already, she had gotten under his skin, and he didn’t care for the manner in which his thoughts strayed. She should be no concern of his.

  He entered the main house at Mulberry Hill and followed the sound of laughter. The ladies were assembled in the parlor with their father. Parker stood at the threshold, feeling very much the outsider, the foreigner, that he was. A few more of these dinners, to be cordial, and he could cross one more thing off his list. He needed to maintain this business arrangement above all else. His employer counted on him.

  “There you are, Mr. Sinclair.” Poppy spied him first and danced across the room to take hold of his hand. “And don’t you look dashing?” She tugged on his hand, leading him into the room. “Father, do you approve of the clothing Violet and I found for Mr. Sinclair?”

  Edgar observed Parker, his eyes running from top to toe before he nodded. “Yes, darling Poppy, you’ve managed to turn Mr. Sinclair into a proper country gentleman. Nicely done. Violet, please attend to Mr. Sinclair’s cravat, as you do mine.”

  Violet came forward and, with a flurry of motion, correctly tied his neckwear. Parker had only a minute to glance at Violet before they were called to dinner. She appeared unsettled. Had she made another trip to the barn? He shrugged in his new coat jacket. It should be of no concern to him.

  She took her seat beside him, and he noticed a slight tremor in her hands as she opened her napkin. Maybe her reaction was the result of seeing him again after a day apart? He glanced at her, but she refused to make eye contact. He grinned at his foolish, egotistical notions, highly doubting his absence was the reason for her shakiness. Perhaps she had forgotten to eat during the day and craved the food now being passed around the table.

  “Did you enjoy your day by yourself, Miss Wilson?” Parker passed her the pork loin, hoping to entice her into conversation. She plucked only one slice of pork from the plate. Lack of food evidently had not been the cause of her tremors.

  “I did manage to get nearly caught up with my chores. Did you and Father have a good day together?” She helped herself to the boiled potatoes seasoned with parsley.

  “It was interesting, especially the work Lily’s doing at the Weymouth estate.” Parker took two rolls before he passed the plate to Violet.

  Violet finally glanced in his direction. He caught the mild panic in her eyes. “Did you go into the maze?”

  “Your father and I did wander in for a few minutes, but it’s not to my taste.” He almost grinned as Violet took a measured breath. “I much prefer roses to boxwoods.”

  “Yes, I’m not a fan of mazes, either.” Violet ate with some vigor now.

  Surely, there must be a simple reason for her unease. Had Carson taunted her again? That must be why she behaved so. Not because she had suddenly developed feelings for him beyond loathing. They’d only known each other for a few days. Did he wish her to cultivate feelings for him? Would dinner never end? He might now look the part of the proper English gentleman, but his mind didn’t play along with the ruse. He longed to head for home, but he also hoped to prolong his visit for another week or so. For the first time in years, he hoped to see where a relationship would lead. All because she’d tied his cravat and tangled up his feelings.

  Chapter Nine

  Day Eight

  Parker let himself into the greenhouse the next morning. He followed the sounds and found Violet up to her elbows in fresh soil, spreading the sweet-smelling earth into one of the raised boxes. She had on a serviceable faded purple dress, with an apron over it, and her dark brown hair fell over her face in riotous curls from her hastily swept-up bun. From his conversation with Edgar yesterday, Parker now assumed her father had no knowledge of how she suffered at Carson’s hands. Today would turn the tide, if he had anything to say about the subject, because her unease last night must have been because of Carson. From the course of their conversation, he figured out she’d made at least one trip to the barn yesterday. He only had another week or so to set things to rights. A night of waging war with himself led him to admit his involvement would be the only possible outcome.

  “Oh, hello, Mr. Sinclair. I didn’t hear you come in.” Her breath expelled in a tiny huff as she lifted a bucket of composted material and added it to
the large wooden box she was preparing to plant. Parker had admired the raised boxes when he took his first tour of the space. He’d definitely take the idea with him to his own greenhouse in Philadelphia. He brushed a hand over the wood and let his mind drift back to America.

  Violet’s most unladylike grunt redirected his thoughts back to this greenhouse. Her greenhouse. “Here, allow me to help.” He picked up another bucket full of compost and dumped it into the mix of soil and fertilizer for her. She used a hand rake to mix it all together.

  “There. Now, I’ll let that sit for a day or two. Give the soil time to calm down before I begin planting. Thank you for your assistance.” She brushed her hands together, which only got rid of the loose dirt on her fingers and not what was already clinging to the rest of her. She stroked the loose hair back from her face and left a smudge on her cheek.

  They were standing close together, so Parker raised his hand and gently rubbed her cheek with a touch of his fingers. “You’ve got some dirt on your face.” He smiled as her dark blue eyes widened and her cheek flamed under his fingers. Taking pity on her, he dropped his hand and stepped back. “There. I got it. Forgive me if I overstepped.”