Winning Violet

by Lower, Becky

  “When I got the complete story of their tragic end, my life ended, too. I might have survived with only a leg wound, but it’s as if a huge part of me got left behind, leaving a gaping hole in my heart. I haven’t been a whole person in a long time.” Parker managed a feeble smile. “But I don’t despise all the British. We’re friends. And that’s why I need to protect you. Carson and Davey are no different from the troops who pillaged my country. I couldn’t be there when my wife and child needed me, but I’m here now when you and Poppy do. Please, allow me to help you. Let’s talk to your father.”

  “If it were only me involved, I wouldn’t even consider saying anything. I can handle whatever Carson dishes out.” She glanced at Parker as he raised an eyebrow. “Even that.” She shrugged. “Carson hasn’t always been like this. He used to be such fun to be around. But when his wife left him, his personality began to transform and he started to drink more. I’ve tried to turn a blind eye to the change in him, and as I said, if his taunts were directed only to me, I’d be fine. But I do need to speak up on Poppy’s behalf since I have no doubt he’ll follow through on his taunts. I’ll talk to Father. But I will wait a day or two, though. I need to figure out what I’m going to say.” Violet rubbed her hands together.

  “All right. But we will have the talk with your father before I leave here.” He glanced at the wall with the crude calendar. “Not many days left.”

  He smiled as Violet’s gaze darted about the room, not meeting his eyes. She leapt to her feet. “Fine. But it’s not your issue, Parker. There is no ‘we’ to this discussion. I’ll talk to Father on my own. Now, let’s get the manure into the compost bin, and then I’ll show you how I care for the babies.”

  “Babies?”

  “The cuttings. They’re so small and fragile, they remind me of babies. If they aren’t fed regularly, or if they get too hot or cold, they’ll perish. Diligence is needed if they are to survive and grow. Much like a human.” She rounded the desk to Parker’s side and brushed his arm. “I am ever so sorry for your losses in the war. I now can appreciate your dislike of my country.”

  He took hold of her hand and lifted it to his lips. He kissed her fingers before he released her. “As I said, I don’t dislike all the British.”

  His lips had tingled as he’d brushed them over her rough and calloused fingers. He could feel his body coming back to life after years of not caring if he lived or died. Perhaps sharing his story about the war would finally help him come to grips with his life. And if so, he would have Violet to thank for his reemergence into society. He would see that Carson and Davey never bothered her again, even if she didn’t wish him to get involved. He owed her that much, at least, before he returned to America.

  Chapter Eleven

  Day Ten

  Progress at last! Parker and Violet, working as a team, had created an arrangement for Mr. Jefferson’s huge rose bed. However, before Parker could mark it off his checklist, he needed to be certain of the pattern. He entered the greenhouse on Day Ten filled with enthusiasm and studied the table where the various shrubs had been positioned. Something seemed off, when it had been so right, in his eyes, yesterday. This often happened with an all-important flowerbed—the layout he’d mapped in his sketchpad didn’t always render itself feasibly in reality, and it took several attempts for a good pattern to develop. Parker took a deep breath as his gaze scanned their work from the day before.

  He stood in front of the table, examining each shrub and pondering its selection. He wrapped his hand around his chin as he considered.

  The door opened behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder. Violet’s smile lit the room.

  “Is something amiss with your layout, Parker? You seem puzzled.” She stepped over to where he stood and peered at the table. “All is in order here. No elves came in during the night and switched things around.”

  He smiled at the thought of tiny leprechauns playing among his selected roses. “What’s puzzling me is why it’s taking so long for me to approve this plan. If I were home, in the greenhouses in Philadelphia, I would have this knocked out in half a day. Here, with two of us working on the project, we’ve already spent most of one day, and I’m still not happy with the result.”

  “Could it be because you have more choices here than you do in America?” Violet reminded him why he’d made this trip in the first place. She repositioned one of the roses on the table. You’re attempting to make up for lost time now that you’re feeling better. But good design can’t be rushed.”

  Parker gazed again at the table, then shifted his focus to Violet. “Do you have another idea, Miss Wilson?”

  She tapped her cheek and stared at the shrubs. “Let’s start over. Do you have this version of the layout written down?”

  “Yes, but starting over means undoing all our work from yesterday.” Parker winced at the delay in crossing off this chore.

  “Not necessarily, Parker. You’ve at least sorted through the varieties available and selected your top picks. They just need a bit of rearranging. This version is only a first attempt. Let’s try again. We may end up back here with this design, but this way you’ll be certain it’s the absolute best one.” Violet picked up one of the plants.

  He touched her arm, ceasing her motion. She dropped the plant on the table, her gaze darting to his face. Parker could feel her body tremble slightly beneath his touch. Could she possibly be considering him as a man rather than a client? He removed his hand and shrugged. “I just need to caution before you start that even though your greenhouse is orderly, you shouldn’t apply the same strict guidelines to this bed. Let’s allow our imaginations to run wild.”

  Parker peered into her deep blue eyes and caught a glimmer of excitement as she considered her choices.

  “You are right, Parker. No restraints. After all, this is for your former president, and the bed should be as presidential as he is.” She became a flurry of activity, moving plants around the table. Then, she shifted her gaze to him. “Why don’t you select some roses we didn’t enter into the mix yesterday? Let’s try a couple of different varieties in this design.”

  “A capital idea, Violet. This way, I might be able to mark a big item off my checklist today.” He wandered around the greenhouse, searching for the elusive shrub that would make the garden bed complete. Her idea did make sense, but he would have preferred to remain by her side, to observe her in motion, when she lost her edge, let down her guard, and had an easy, infectious way about her. But by narrowing down his choices for roses, he got one step closer to leaving Mulberry Hill. He’d give her the rest of the day to raise the subject of reporting Carson to her father, but if she chose to ignore the idea, he’d have to take matters into his own hands. Then, he’d be able to mark two things off his list. So why did that idea make him melancholy instead of excited?

  • • •

  Violet sucked in a deep breath once Parker left her side, and willed her limbs to stop shaking. She became such a ninny around men. Not all men, of course. Just the ones that counted. The ones with strong shoulders and chiseled features. He’d stolen a bit of her heart yesterday with his talk of the war in his country and its devastating effects on his family. Now, he’d stolen a bit more by allowing her creativity to be unbound. No, she corrected herself, he hadn’t stolen anything. She’d given of herself freely.

  She needed to focus. She had a few minutes before Parker returned with other options. If she were designing this flowerbed for King George, how would she place the plants? She closed her eyes for a moment, creating the perfect layout in her mind. Then, she started rearranging the plants on the table. Parker brought other varieties to be considered, and they discussed the layout. In a little over an hour, they stood back and viewed their creation. Pleased with the results, Violet clapped her hands together.

  “What do you think, Parker?” As he surveyed the arrangement, she stood away from the table and focused on him instead of the flowerbed they’d laid out. Without saying a word, a my
riad of emotions crossed his face. His eyes lit with excitement, his brows lifted, he plowed his hand through his gorgeous dark hair, and he stroked his chin before he broke into a grin.

  “I’ve got to hand it to us, Violet. We make a great team.” He peered closely at the table, checking the plant tags and making notes in his sketchpad. Then, he stood back and took a breath.

  “I love this arrangement. And Mr. Jefferson will, as well. I need to sketch this out completely before we get to other business.” Parker took out his pad and drew the design on paper.

  Violet crossed her arms as she stood silently next to him. His focus right now might be on the layout of the proposed rose garden, but judging from his statement of “other business,” he hadn’t forgotten her promise to talk to her father. Pride in their accomplishment with the layout quickly tarnished in light of that impending conversation. She left Parker’s side, even though seeing him sketching their plan on paper excited her.

  Scenarios rolled out in her mind of how her father would react to her statements about their groomsman. He loved Carson like a son, and Carson had been solely responsible for cultivating their livestock as much as Violet had been solely responsible for cultivating the roses they were known for. Because of his value to the company, she had overlooked his disintegrating personality after his wife left him, and put up with his lashing out against all women. She had no wish to rock the relationship between her father and Carson, but she could no longer keep it to herself since he’d made his threats about Poppy. Parker had correctly identified him as a bully, and unless he could be quickly dealt with, his behavior would only escalate. But surely there had to be another way to put him in his place than to involve her father.

  A long twenty minutes later, Parker called to her. She ceased stewing about the confrontation with Carson and her father and returned to the big open area of the greenhouse. He glanced up from his pad, and his smile caused her heart to skip a beat.

  “We’ve made some great progress today. I’ve noted all the varieties separately, so you can create an invoice. This is a fabulous design. We should design a few smaller beds before I head out of here in case Mr. Jefferson wants more, since we work so well together.” Parker touched the leaves of the closest plant, and Violet sucked in a breath as her gaze followed his fingers. She stood mesmerized by his large, tanned hands with their little nick marks. She forced herself to raise her gaze to his face.

  “I’m so glad you approve of our design. I had more fun with my roses, more freedom, than I’ve had with anything lately.” She shifted her gaze from his eyes to his tantalizing lips for a moment before glancing back at the table. “Most of my work is so exacting, and this is liberating. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to contribute. But are you certain you don’t wish to put together one more version?”

  Parker set his sketchpad on the table, took hold of her hands, and kissed her fingers. “While I appreciate your painstaking work with hybridizing the roses, what you do should always be liberating; otherwise, why bother? You don’t need me to approve of your capabilities. All you need is to let yourself approve of them. We work well together.”

  Violet couldn’t speak. She should mount a clever comeback to his sincere words, but her tongue ceased working. Parker only had to touch her, praise her, and she melted into a pool of gooseberry jam.

  “Your bed of English roses merely needed the touch of an Englishwoman.” Her voice squeaked. Could that be the best she could do? What had happened to her rapier wit? She pried her hands away, even though she longed to keep them in his. “With a bit of interference from an upstart American.” There. Her sharp tongue was still intact, if somewhat delayed. Now if she could keep his focus on the rose bed for the remainder of the day, perhaps he’d forget about Carson. “Let’s break for our noon meal, then. This has been a good morning’s work. This afternoon, I’ll start to make up an invoice for Iris.”

  “And, we can discuss what you’ll say to your father.” Parker left her side, left the rose bed, and limped slightly as he made his way to the office, where their food awaited.

  Violet sighed. Her diversionary tactics had only provided a momentary respite. He could not be swayed from his path of protecting her. The bloody American.

  Chapter Twelve

  Day Eleven

  Violet sat alone in her greenhouse in the bright light of morning.

  He’d held her hands. Kissed her fingers. Then, as if that weren’t enough, he’d praised her ingenuity as together they had reworked the Jefferson rose bed. She got a sloppy grin on her face and closed her eyes, reliving the past few days. For the remainder of the previous day, her body had tingled next to him as they’d worked with the cuttings, nurturing them. She’d even managed to convince Parker she needed more time to put together her thoughts before approaching her father. At least she thought she had. Then, while she waited for sleep to take over last night, she played out the scene in her head again, as if in a Shakespeare play.

  Her eyes popped open as the door to the greenhouse signaled someone entering her domain. She hoped to see Parker, to impress upon him how she needed more time before confronting her father. She hadn’t yet determined how she could explain to her father how badly she’d messed things up, how awful Davey had ended up being to her. Not to mention Carson’s role in the whole despicable mess. Not to mention the terrible things Davey had said, which still made her flush with embarrassment and shame.

  “You’re a trifle. Nothing a real man would care for in his bed,” Davey had told her, and in front of Carson. “But you’ve made me some easy coin. Pay up, Carson.” She had carried the humiliation around with her for months, covering her like a heavy blanket.

  With a sigh, she rose and took a few steps in the direction of the door.

  Bile rose in the back of her throat as the confrontation she’d been avoiding loomed in front of her. Parker, her father, and Carson were coming toward her. The musky scent of her roses, normally soothing, now made her slightly woozy, and she fought the urge to run back to the office and hide under her desk. Her gaze ricocheted from one to the other, coming to rest on Parker. His unwavering stance calmed her somewhat, but she would not be able to rest or to scurry away until this meeting had come to a conclusion. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

  “Father, is something wrong? To what do I owe the pleasure of you paying a visit to my greenhouse today?” She’d act as if she had no clue of their meeting’s purpose. Her strategy might work and they’d all leave before any nastiness erupted.

  Her father’s worried gaze met hers. “You, daughter, are why I am here. Mr. Sinclair has lodged a complaint against Carson, and how’s he’s been making your life miserable each time you go to the barn. Is this true?”

  There would be no avoiding the conversation now. Violet stared at Parker, anger and relief waging war within her. He hadn’t let the situation alone, as she’d hoped. Her gaze pleaded with him. He nodded his encouragement. She ran her tongue over her suddenly parched lips. Her gaze flitted to Carson, who kept clenching his fists, as if he needed to pound something. To pound her. Or Parker. Or both of them. She took a shaky, shallow breath and raised her chin. “Yes, Father, Parker’s claim is correct. What Parker didn’t tell you was my foolishness which started the whole thing. Or how things have escalated. Carson and Davey made a bet, unbeknownst to me, that Davey could have his way with me. I allowed him to kiss me, which was very naïve of me, I recognize now. But since then, every time I go to the barn for some manure, Carson finds a way to torment me. Because I’d behaved so stupidly, I allowed him to have his fun, but he’s now threatened to do the same, or worse, with Poppy. Parker witnessed his behavior the other day and became concerned for our safety.”

  Edgar shifted his gaze from Violet to Carson and puffed out his cheeks. “I hate to do this, Carson, but I must let you go.”

  “You’re taking the word of an American over mine?” Carson’s voice rose from incredulity to a wail.

  Edgar
shook his head. “No, I’m taking the word of my daughter over yours. How dare you torment her? To make threats against young Poppy? You’ve known both of them since they were children. I’m only grateful Mr. Sinclair witnessed your base behavior and mentioned it to me.”

  Carson sputtered and punched his meaty hand down on the desk, the only piece of wood handy. Violet jumped at the noise, certain he had broken one or the other.

  “But I’ve worked here for twelve years!” Carson folded his arms across his chest, not going anywhere.

  “Precisely my point. You’ve seen my daughters grow up before your eyes. I had hoped you would provide additional protection for them, not abuse them. Obviously, I erred in my judgment to ever let you anywhere near them.” Edgar’s voice hardened. “Despite what you’ve done with the livestock, making the stud fees for my horses and cows become as much a moneymaker as the nursery, my girls are the only flowers I care about. If you hurt one of them, you also hurt me. I’ll give you a good reference, but that’s all I can provide.”

  Carson spun around and glared at Parker. “This is all your fault, you bloody American trash. I’m having a bit of fun with the girl, and you made it something more, just so you could come out smelling like one of her roses.” Carson then stomped out of the greenhouse and slammed the door hard. Violet shuddered and then cried out when a rock flew through one of the panes of glass and shards spilled onto her new cuttings. She bent over, her hand on her stomach. Her father tugged her upright and embraced her.

  “Dear Violet, why didn’t you come to me the first moment Carson threatened you?” He took hold of her arm and guided her into her chair.

  “Because you adore Carson, and I had been such a fool.” Violet held her head between her hands.

  Her father brushed her hair with light fingers. “Dear, sweet Violet. You’re the one I worry about the most. Iris and Lily are both strong women, and Poppy is wise beyond her years. But you resemble your mother, not so much in appearance but in your personality, and I worry when you’re by yourself so much. Too much introspection isn’t necessarily a good thing, especially for you.”