Winning Violet

by Lower, Becky

  Violet strode through the tables lined with containers of roses, brushing the various flowers with her fingers, releasing their scent. “Maiden’s Blush is a classic example of a pink, and the Charles de Mills is a very hardy crimson flower. Why don’t we start with them? I’ll clear off a table so we can place our selections as they would appear in the bed and decide what works.”

  Parker nodded and continued to study the plants while Violet freed up an area. “I’ll need a white and yellow variety as well, and ones with a heavy musk scent. And possibly something unusual.” He tugged out a White Provence and Scotch Briar, both with white flowers but different in shape and hue. He leaned over and sniffed another plant. “What variety is this? It smells of cinnamon.”

  Violet glanced over. “So your sense of smell is returning. You have a good nose for the rose business. It’s a Rosa cinnamomea, known for its stout prickles and beautiful double flowers. Take a care where you place your fingers around that one.”

  “If nasty prickles are the price to be paid for such loveliness, I’ll definitely add it into the mix.” Parker smiled across the shrubs, and Violet could feel the color rushing to her cheeks. She’d mentioned his nose, of all things, and he’d spoken of prickles and prizes. She somehow deduced he hadn’t been speaking only of the roses. Had she developed a prickly exterior? The color in her cheeks migrated to her neck, and she ran a finger around her dress neckline, which had suddenly tightened.

  The remainder of the day melted away as they narrowed their choices, selecting for color, hardiness and scent. Parker scribbled furiously, taking notes on the names of each variety and the special care needed, if any, while Violet kept track of his order with her own pencil and paper. He drew the schematic of the bed in a larger format in his sketchpad, and tentatively placed each rose in its proper location. Violet retrieved various species and placed them on the worktable, following the outline of the drawing. Then, they stood back and observed the shrubs before changing the order of the colors, varieties and locations. Violet loved the beginning part of any project, and their heads bent together over the drawing time and again. Her head filled with the musk from the roses and the earthy smell of Parker. Her banter became more lighthearted as the day rolled on and thoughts of Carson slipped into the far recesses of her mind. She only hoped Carson had slipped from Parker’s mind as well.

  Parker dragged out his departure, asking more questions about their selections, then catching his shirt on some of the thorns as he made his way to the door. Even the roses appeared to be reluctant to let him go today. When she drew an “x” through Day Eight, she did so with a heavy heart. Perhaps it had been the discussion of how he’d been wounded that had made her heart crack open ever so slightly. Maybe she’d responded to his physique, those broad shoulders. Whatever the reason, Parker Sinclair had topped her list, even over the former president of his country. She’d best be on guard for the remainder of his visit. She didn’t need her heart to leave on the ship with him as he returned home.

  Chapter Ten

  Day Nine

  Violet relived each moment of the previous day with just Parker and her, alone together. She had welcomed each brush of his fingers when they’d accidentally bumped into her, sparking her nerves. She’d tried to be clever, so she could hear his deep laugh. Her sharp tongue had lost its edge. If she closed her eyes for the briefest of moments, she could almost feel as if they were a couple and they were courting. A courtship among hundreds of roses. Her idea of delight.

  She shook her head to clear her fanciful thoughts. Parker would be appalled by the pictures her mind conjured up. Her wayward ideas had to be the result of the project they’d spent time on. Collaborated on together. He made her feel special, as if her ideas had merit. She morphed from a mere plant waterer into a knowledgeable botanist when Parker entered her greenhouse.

  Now, the morning of Day Nine, the time had come for her to get back to her own work. She’d pretty much emptied out the compost bin creating the new bed in which to grow her pruned stalks of roses, so she now had to replenish the bin and begin the composting again. That meant another couple of trips to the barn.

  Parker told her he would be spending the morning with Iris, logging in the selections they’d decided on and getting a total amount before he signed off completely on them. Even though she’d agreed to let him accompany her to the barn while he remained in England, she needed manure right now. So Violet alone faced the barn and possibly Carson. The sun shone brightly, so chances were good he’d be in the pastures and nowhere near her.

  Her mood sank, though, when she got near the barn and picked up on the voices inside. Carson’s voice boomed, along with the blacksmith’s, Davey. Stitches and biscuits! The man she had thought cared for her, had foolishly allowed to let kiss her, and would have given so much more to if he’d asked. She had avoided coming to the barn each time Davey had been due to be here. How could she have forgotten his schedule? It must be Parker’s intrusion into her life that had caused her to overlook Davey’s weekly visits.

  Her cheeks burned with shame, but she could not let Davey and Carson best her. Perhaps if she made no sound, she could fill her buckets and leave before they even were aware of her. She squared her shoulders, kept her buckets from clanging together, and sped around the corner of the barn, where she inhaled the manure pile’s pervasive odor.

  But she could not be so lucky. Almost as if they were lying in wait, both men wandered out to her. She lifted her head, pointing her chin at them. “Carson. Davey. I’m only here to fill my buckets. I wish for no trouble.”

  Carson laughed, a harsh sound more like a bark. “You’ve got something else we can help you fill, too, Violet. Your protector isn’t with you today?”

  Violet took a step back from the danger. She’d been around livestock her whole life, so she grasped the meaning of what Carson said immediately, and the danger in his voice made her skin prickle with goose bumps. The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention as Davey came alongside Carson, his massive shoulders bunching under his shirt. Both men crowded closer. Violet took another step back.

  “Please don’t cause any trouble today, Carson. You and Davey need to get back to your work. I’ll fill my buckets quickly and leave.” She struggled to keep her voice from wavering.

  “We don’t need any trouble from you, either, so I suggest you do as we tell you,” Carson said as he took a step closer. “Once you found out about the little wager Davey and I had going about you, you quit your pursuit of him. And Davey’s feeling a bit lonely these days.”

  Violet forced her legs to work and took another step back. Davey and Carson loomed over her. She had only a few more steps to go until she got to the fence gate. Could she make it?

  “What’s going on here?” A voice loomed out of the shadows as the fence gate creaked open. An American voice. A voice she’d come to trust. Parker. Her knees went weak at the sound.

  He strode forward, his limp barely even noticeable. “Violet, are these men preventing you from doing your work? Perhaps you need to inform your father.” He stood in front of her, putting himself between her and the men.

  “Aww, she won’t say anything to her father. He’ll take my word over hers any day of the week. Besides, we’re just having a bit of fun with her.” Carson strutted in front of Parker.

  “Who are you kidding? Violet’s father will side with family over the likes of you any day of the week. Let her do her work. Why do you delight in picking on her?” Parker refused to let the man off the hook. Violet shrunk behind him.

  “Because she’s a pathetic little shrinking Violet, that’s why. Just look at her. She’s easy to get riled up.” Carson’s gaze skewered Violet, and she latched onto Parker’s arm, tugging him away from Carson. “She actually thought Davey had feelings for her, when all he had in mind was to fleece me. We had a bet going.”

  Violet noticed Parker’s breath coming out in slow, measured beats, but his hands were bunched. Her gaze darted from Par
ker to Davey as she mentally compared the two. What had she ever seen in Davey? He had a massive upper body, which most any farrier in the country did, and he had a full head of wheat-colored hair, but his brown eyes didn’t pierce her soul like Parker’s ice blue ones did. She tugged on Parker’s arm again. He didn’t need to involve himself in her problems.

  “What kind of bet did you two have?” Parker’s voice held an edge of steel.

  Carson poked a finger into Davey’s impressive chest, which puffed with pride. “Davey told me he could get a kiss from Violet in less than two days’ time. And damned if he didn’t succeed. The girl would probably have done even more with him if she hadn’t overheard us talking about the bet and seen me have to pay him off.”

  Violet attempted to pry Parker from the enclosure by yanking on his arm again. “I don’t need manure this much. Let’s go.” She could feel the heat in her cheeks as Carson laid bare her idiocy in front of Parker.

  Parker placed his hand on her waist. “The way I’m seeing it, there’s a lot of manure being spread around here, not just by you. I’ll keep these two at bay while you fill your buckets. Only when you’ve gotten what you need will we leave.”

  Violet inhaled sharply as she eyed the men. Davey and Carson shared a glance, then took a step forward. They’d probably seen Parker’s limp and figured him for an easy target. She picked up a pitchfork. If there were to be a fight, she’d be armed. There would be two against two. She pointed her weapon at Carson. “You and Davey should return to the barn, to the work my father’s paying you for. Leave us alone.” Her voice wobbled on the last word, and the men crowded her and Parker into a corner of the paddock.

  “But you’re the reason Davey came here today, Violet. We were about to go to your greenhouse to see you, but you met us here. It’s almost as if you could tell your lover had come calling.” Carson loomed over the pitchfork, which Violet had still raised and pointed at him. He flung the tool aside and grabbed her arm. She cried out in pain and dismay.

  Parker suddenly filled the space between them and shoved Carson back so he lost his hold on Violet. Davey came forward to assist his friend. They stood shoulder to shoulder in front of Parker, dwarfing him.

  Davey’s hands bunched and his shoulders rippled under his shirt as he stared at Parker. “You should stay out of this, you bloody American. It doesn’t concern you.”

  “And allow you to abuse a woman? Is this what you do for sport?” Parker’s voice rose.

  Violet picked up the pitchfork again and stood alongside Parker. “May I remind you, Carson, Mr. Sinclair is an esteemed guest of Mulberry Hill and one of our clients. Should any trouble occur to him while he’s here, he will take his business elsewhere and we’ll need to curtail some of our staff. Father will not cut out any of his daughters, so that leaves you who will be dispensed with. And we’ll probably have to curtail your services as well, Davey.”

  The men traded glances before they backed off. “You’re right. We don’t need to be involving this American in our business. We’ll get what we need next time. If not from you, Violet, there’s always Poppy,” Carson snarled over his shoulder before they returned to the barn and the horse they’d been tending. Parker and Violet kept their eyes on the pair until they left the paddock. Only then did they shift their attention to the manure pile and filled the buckets.

  After she finished and they left the paddock area, both Violet and Parker stopped and set the buckets on the ground. Parker took her shaking hand in his, and her breathing stopped.

  “That’s what caused this? A stupid bet?” Parker shook his head but kept hold of her hand, the warmth of him spreading up her arm and into her body.

  “Please, let’s not talk about it. Let me just get back to the greenhouse.” Violet dropped his hand, picked up her buckets of manure, and rushed back to her domain. She may have been only taunting Carson with the thought of Parker taking his employer’s business elsewhere, but it was a major concern. The fate of the company fell into her lap, because she was responsible for Parker during his stay. She didn’t need to involve him in her day-to-day troubles, have him fight her battles, regardless of how his mere touch ignited her senses. Regardless of how safe he made her feel. Her heart raced as she pictured what might have happened today if he’d not been there to behave as a knight in shining armor.

  “I’m not going to let you wriggle out of this without some kind of explanation. You shouldn’t have to close yourself away in your greenhouse and devote your life to your work rather than deal with these two,” Parker replied as he picked up his buckets and followed her. Even though she had outpaced him, she still could hear his voice, hear his concern.

  • • •

  Parker stormed up the hill to the greenhouse after Violet, his anger matching his gait. Could this really be the reason she preferred to spend her days in her glass house on the hill? To avoid abuse from Davey and Carson? No woman should ever have to suffer at the hands of a man. Parker’s buckets of manure clanged together as his hands shook. He needed to clear up the situation before he left England, regardless of what Violet said.

  He had to convince her to tell her father what had happened so Edgar could fire the bastard. There were plenty of men, decent men, who could run a barn.

  Violet got back to the greenhouse first, dropped her buckets by the door, and ran to her little office area. He followed her. She stood up against her desk with her back to him, giving him time to notice her straight spine, her wisp of a waist, and her rounded hips.

  Why had he only now acknowledged his interest in her? Why had he been suddenly drawn to her shape? Because now he gauged her through the eyes of Carson and Davey? His mouth became dry as a neglected plant as fear for her safety mounted.

  He waited.

  She finally twisted around and raised her gaze, her eyes shooting darts at him. “This is none of your concern, Parker. Please don’t say anything to my father. As far as he is concerned, the sun rises and sets with Carson.”

  “Violet, be sensible. Those men could easily have overpowered you, even if you could manage to throw buckets of shit in their faces. They could beat you to within an inch of your life. Or worse.” Parker tried to control the rage in his voice, but he had an urge to grab her shoulders and shake some sense into her.

  Or to kiss her until she lost her senses.

  Whoa! Where had that come from? He tried to calm his rampant thoughts as he stared at her.

  She may wish to put the incident behind her and not talk about what had just happened, but he couldn’t let her continue to suffer such abuse. He needed to clear up the situation before he left the country. Otherwise, he wouldn’t feel right about things. He sighed heavily. One more thing to add to his list.

  A ghost of a smile appeared on her lips. “What could possibly be worse than being beaten to within an inch of my life?” The light dawned finally, and her eyes widened, her bow mouth forming a silent “O.”

  “Yes. That. I can’t possibly leave here with the knowledge you put yourself in danger each time you visit the barn. If Carson and Davey are tormenting you now, consider what they’ll do to Poppy in a year or so. They’ve already threatened as much.” Parker’s voice lowered to almost a whisper.

  “Why should you give a care what happens to me? To Poppy? To all of us?” Her whisper matched his, and she brushed a hand over her heart.

  “Because this time I can.” His shoulders heaved.

  “You’re not making sense, Parker.” She hurried around the desk and fell into her chair, inhaling a few shallow breaths.

  Parker flipped around the chair on the opposite side of the desk and straddled it, the chair legs protesting the movement across the wood floor. “Then let me explain.” He took a deep breath and rubbed his hand over his eyes. “I had been married when the war started in America and I got called to service, so I had to leave behind my Sarah and my infant son, Benjamin, only a few months old. While I fought up near the Canadian border, British troops invaded my hometown.
Fearing for their safety, Sarah sent my twelve-year-old niece, Rachel, into the woods with our son.”

  Violet didn’t speak. Her gaze never wavered from him, and at the anguish evident in Parker’s voice, her jaw clenched and she stared at him mutely. He inhaled another deep breath before he continued. “Forgive me if this comes out jumbled, but I’ve never told anyone in all the years since the assault happened how my townspeople suffered at the hands of the British.”

  He blinked back the sudden moisture in his eyes. He hadn’t wept in years and his reaction surprised him. But he’d never told the tale before, either. Still, he’d been emasculated several times in front of Violet already, passing out at her feet and then needing to be nursed back to health. Now he might add crying to the mix. He took yet another deep breath and picked up his story. “My wife suffered, violated multiple times by your fine British soldiers before she died and they set fire to the house. Not satisfied yet, they then scoured the woods, searching for those who’d tried to escape. They found my niece and took her with them, forcing her to leave my son alone in the woods.” Parker raised his gaze to Violet as his voice broke, tears clogging his eyes and blurring his vision. “Rachel managed to survive, but she blames herself for leaving my son behind. Benjamin died in the woods. She returned to where she’d left him and found his remains. He died from hunger or exposure before the wolves found him.”

  He wiped the moisture from his eyes and glanced across. Violet’s hands were bunched on top of the desk and she also had damp cheeks.

  “I’m so sorry. I had no idea what our troops did in America. No wonder you despise the British and you’ve been so uncomfortable here.” She picked up a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes.