by Becky Lower
“I suppose any paper would suffice,” he murmured as he scoured the room with his gaze. The calendar taunted him. Eighteen big black Xs glared at him. Eighteen days he’d spent with Violet, learning her techniques with the plants and learning her behavior. It had only taken him eighteen days to fall in love. She had rocked him to his core in only a bit more than a fortnight. He only hoped he’d been able to enlighten her to her strengths at the same time.
He stood for a long minute staring at the calendar, a considerable amount of paper that he could use for his remaining roses. It would be poetic justice to use the calendar, which had marked off his days in England, to help wrap up his visit. He stared at it one more time. He couldn’t rip it down, although his fingers itched to do so. It did not belong to him, even if he had been the reason for its creation. It belonged to Violet. His gaze circled to the empty fireplace. A crumpled up piece of paper lay in the grate.
“Not much, but it’s a start.” Parker leaned down and grabbed the paper, opening it before he doused it in water, just to make certain it contained nothing important.
The breath whooshed out of him as he stared at the list in Violet’s handwriting. Two columns—a Why and a Why Not. Under the Why Not column, she’d written the following:
1. I’d have to abandon my work at hybridizing the Lady Banks.
2. I’m afraid of water.
3. I am British and he harbors a dislike for us.
Under the Why column, there were only two entries:
1. It’s Parker.
2. We have a similar interest in plants and roses.
3.
Her third reason had been left blank; the list had been balled up and crumpled in the fireplace grate. What did she mean, “It’s Parker”? Why had there been no third reason? Could he have been reading all the signs wrong and she wasn’t even remotely interested in him? That she’d rather have her future be here in England, with Lord Weymouth? Or could it be that she cared for him as he did for her? Could she not piece together the underlying reason for all of her unrest? As well as his?
He studied the list again, hoping he’d make better sense of it if he stared at it long enough. Hope flared within him as he reread the Why column, only to be dashed when he reviewed the Why Nots. Except for the fear of water, something he had been unaware of, the rest of the list lined up with his own assessment of their situation. On the Why side, his thoughts lined up with hers as well.
What had she been about to write down as item number three before tossing the possibility of a new life into the fireplace? Would it have been the same reason as his?
Before he could formulate an answer, a whisper of movement from the door and a sharp inhalation of breath shifted his focus. He glanced up into the clear, deep blue eyes and the dark curls framing the face of the list’s author.
“What are you doing?” she questioned, her voice low and shaky. She crossed the room and put the pile of newspapers she had with her into the water in the sink.
“I ran out of newspapers and searched the office for any other kind of paper to use. What is this, Violet?” He held up the crumpled list.
She fiddled with her hair, brushing it back from her face and fashioning a loose bun from all those glorious curls. Parker waited for an answer.
“Obviously, because you found it in the grate, it’s rubbish, nothing to be concerned about.” She stepped forward to take the offensive piece of paper from him.
He held it aloft. “What were you going to write as your number three in the Why column?”
“It’s of no importance. Besides, I couldn’t come up with a third reason, which is why it got tossed. I’m not a list maker. Iris is.” Violet rose to her tiptoes in an attempt to retrieve her list, to no avail.
“I crafted a list too, Violet, and it’s amazingly similar to yours. Would you care to hear it?” Parker took hold of one of her hands to steady her, because she was still perched on her tiptoes.
Her attention shifted from the paper held aloft, and she searched his face. “Yes, I would care to hear your list.” She sank to the floor again, but kept her hand in his.
“My number one reason. It’s Violet, the most fascinating woman I’ve met in more than a decade.” He stared into her eyes and caught the glimmer of tears. Taking her tears as a sign of encouragement, he continued.
“Reason number two—we have a similar interest in plants and roses. I added another flower to the list, however, since I’ve become extremely interested in violets.” Her sudden inhale of breath pleased him. “One variety of Violet in particular.”
“Do you have a number three?” Violet whispered, and he could feel her tremor through their joined hands.
“I do. And I’m not afraid any longer to put it into words. I love you, Violet. You have made me come alive when I’ve been living in the past all these years. Please tell me you feel the same.” He tugged her close to his body, and she leaned into him.
“But what about your dislike of all things British? I don’t wish you to come to hate me.” Violet’s eyes clouded over as she stared at him. “I have no wish to be cast aside in a strange land when things become too difficult.”
He laughed and wrapped an arm around her. “It’s true, I’ve carried a lot of hatred against your countrymen for what they did to my family and for damaging my leg. They are two scars I’ll always carry, but I won’t let them define me. Not anymore. I would love to forge a new life with you. You’ve opened me up to the possibility that I can still love someone, that I can have more children, that I can be at peace.”
“But my work is here, in England. With Lord Weymouth’s support, I now have gained the attention of the Royal Horticultural Society. I can’t leave behind all I’ve worked for. All I’ve focused on for years.” Violet retreated from his grasp.
“I would never expect you to leave your experiments behind. We can take them with us, to America, if you’d consent to marrying me. I have a greenhouse in Philadelphia that you can turn into your own. You’ll still be dealing with English roses, regardless of which side of the Atlantic you’re on.” Parker encircled her with his arms again and brought his body up against her. “I can’t leave you behind, Violet. Will you come with me to America?” He stopped in order to gauge her response.
Her tears spilled over. “But I’m afraid of water.”
He kissed away her tears. “I made it safely across the Atlantic once already, with only a bout of seasickness. Is your fear of water the only reason you would hesitate? I’m in love with you, and you’ll break my heart if you don’t say yes.” Parker’s grip on her tightened as he awaited her reply.
She nodded and claimed his lips. “Yes. I love you, too, Parker. I feared if I wrote it down, put it on paper, and you left me here, I’d certainly shrivel up and perish. So I tossed my unfinished list into the grate instead. Caring for plants, my roses, my Lady Banks, is only one of the reasons for my being on this earth. I hope for some children to raise and care for as well, and I hope for them to be of sturdy stock. My children should also be hybrids, perhaps a combination of English and American. But, would you not consider staying here in England? I’m sure Father would love for you to join the business. Just the other night, he referred to you as a right clever young man.”
Parker let out a long breath and swooped in for another kiss. This one rocked him to his core, because he could feel all the love Violet had kept bottled up during his visit. She had finally lowered all her barriers and, similar to how the Scotch rose pollen had spread from its shattered bottle, her freed love spread to every portion of his body. “I do have my obligation to Mr. Jefferson to accomplish first. Would you care to join me in America for a few months? You can meet my employer, Mr. McMahon, and see how his operation works. Then, together we can take the roses to Monticello and plant the beds for Mr. Jefferson. After that, we can return here and I’ll work for your father, if he’ll have me.”
Violet glanced up at him under her long lashes. “But in order for me to consider
your offer, it needs to be official.” She raised her head and stared at him. “I must have a proper proposal. But take care with the bum leg.”
He grinned for the first time in days. “Yes, my lady,” he replied and dropped to one knee. “My lovely Violet, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? Will you take a place beside me as we travel through life together? Will you make me a whole man again? Please say yes.”
“I’ll need to talk to Father first, and then you must have a talk with him, but yes, Parker, I’ll marry you and join you in America for a few months as your bride.” Violet tugged on his hand. “Now come back up here and kiss me again.”
If Parker could only get her father to relinquish one of his prize flowers, he’d be a happy man. He admired Edgar and what he had done here, putting together one of the finest nurseries in all of England. And Edgar returned the admiration for him and his employer. Their couple of days spent together were quite pleasant. But that happened before Parker stole his daughter’s affections. What would the man say if he lost both a treasured daughter and a valuable employee? And would the idea Violet had of the two of them returning to England and working for Edgar hold any appeal? There could be only one way to find out.
• • •
Violet entered her father’s office on slippered feet. She thought it only proper to not wear her work boots from the greenhouse when she begged for permission to marry the American.
Her father’s gaze rose from the never-ending papers on his desk, and his smile lit the room. “My darling Violet! What has caused you to leave the greenhouse this fine day? Is Parker all packed up and ready to depart?”
Her stomach had been in turmoil all morning. First, in dismay when she’d caught sight of Parker with her crumpled-up pros and cons list. Then, in delight, when he’d professed his love to her and asked for her hand in marriage. Now, in nervousness, as she faced her father.
She cleared her throat and clasped her hands in front of her. “He’s nearly done. Just one more thing to take care of before he sets off.” She grasped one of her curls and twirled it between her fingers. “Do you recall when you said I should never hide anything from you ever again? And how I haven’t been the only one to do something stupid when it comes to love?”
Edgar stood and leaned over his desk. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for Lord Weymouth now. I noticed him leering at you the other night. I’m not afraid to dress him down, regardless of his royal status.”
Violet laughed. “No, Father. Other than his connection to the Horticultural Society, Lord Weymouth holds no interest for me.”
Edgar took a step toward her. “Well, then, has Parker overstepped? Do I need to have a talk with him?”
“Well, yes to the last. But no to the first. He has been a perfect gentleman since the day he collapsed in front of me, and he even fought against Carson on my behalf and got him sent packing.” Violet chewed her bottom lip as she waited for her father’s response.
“Then what, pray tell, do I need to speak with him about?” Edgar sat back in his chair.
“He wishes to marry me and to take me to America with him. But only for a time. We’ll return here after the roses are planted at Monticello.” Violet’s voice came out just above a whisper, as if saying the words out loud would cause them to disappear.
Edgar raked his hands through his gray hair, causing it to stand on end. Amused, Violet leaned over and straightened the strands. “I love when your hair gets all mussed. It looks as if a wee band of elves has been playing in it.”
He caught her hands and kissed her fingers. “How do you feel about Parker’s pronouncement? Especially after Lord Weymouth all but assured you’d be able to address the Royal Horticultural Society. You’ll be abandoning all your efforts.”
Violet took a deep, shaky breath. “Only for a while, Father. I need to go with him. If you’ll agree to take him on as a partner in the business, Parker and I will return here after he fulfills his obligation in America. Perhaps I can start an American version of the Horticultural Society while I’m there.”
“But you’ve only been acquainted with him a few weeks. Do you love him, child?” Edgar held onto her hands.
“Yes, Father, with all my heart. He’s the finest man I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, even if he is an American.” Violet placed one hand to her heart, as if holding it in her chest. “Perhaps especially because he’s an American.”
“Well then.” Edgar stood and rounded the desk to embrace his daughter. “We need to get you married, posthaste, because Parker’s about to leave. I will miss you so, but from the moment I met him, I had hopes one of you girls would appeal to him. He’s a fine man and would be welcome at Mulberry Hill. He’s the kind of man I need to help me shoulder the responsibility of the business. Especially when my daughters all get married and start providing me with grandchildren.”
“So you approve? He’s waiting outside, pacing in the dirt, to officially ask for my hand.” Violet kissed her father’s cheek. “I’ll send him in. Go easy on him, please.”
“But not too easy, my dear. After all, he’s taking one of my most precious flowers with him. He has to be made aware of the treasure he’s being given.” Edgar smiled.
• • •
Parker’s departure had to be postponed by a day, because Violet needed to pack her things and her Lady Banks plants and the baby sprout, which she wouldn’t let anyone else handle. Her father agreed to their union, his warm feelings for Parker overriding his concern for Violet journeying to another continent.
Edgar shifted his attention to Parker before dinner that evening, slapping him on the back as the family gathered in the parlor. “I noticed the two of you were becoming friendly with each other, and I’m glad you decided to act on it before you left my daughter behind. I had my worries the night we had dinner at the Weymouth estate. I sensed something not right between you two. But all is well now. We need to get you married tomorrow. We’ll have to get a special license for this to happen before you leave the country. The vicar will help us.”
“Ooh, a wedding!” Poppy’s eyes grew round and misty. “I can’t wait.”
Iris hugged Violet. “So my idea of making a list helped with your decision?”
Violet laughed. “In a manner of speaking, yes, the list turned out to be the key factor.”
Lily’s gaze wandered from Violet to Parker and back again. “I had no clue. Who would have thought Violet would be the first of us to wed.”
They wandered into the dining room and sat together for the last time in a long while. Edgar raised his glass in a toast, then asked, “Tell us all about Philadelphia, where you’ll take my daughter first. And then about Mr. Jefferson’s home.”
“I’d love for you to see the estate where the roses will be.” Parker warmed to the subject. “Philadelphia is a bustling place, but Violet should feel right at home in the McMahon greenhouses.”
“Ooh, a trip to America. What fun would that be?” Poppy enthused. “I can’t wait until tomorrow.”
“Neither can I,” Violet whispered. Parker smiled.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Day Twenty
While Violet packed her suitcases the following morning, Edgar set off to inform the local vicar they’d need his services that afternoon.
Violet’s wedding gown, the same blue watered silk gown she’d worn the night she and Parker had dined and danced at Lord Weymouth’s estate, now helped create a fine memory instead of the sorrowful one she had of that particular evening. She would have preferred to wear white, but the wide smile on Parker’s face more than compensated for the hasty wedding attire. Parker donned his country gentleman’s clothing for a final time in England, and Violet tied his cravat in a formal barrel knot with extreme care. He grasped her hands and kissed her fingers before they made their way to the small chapel for the ceremony.
“You make a beautiful bride. Are you nervous, my love?” Parker leaned over to her during the carriage ride to the chapel.
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“Not nervous. Excited, perhaps.” Violet leaned into him, her head fitting neatly on his shoulder. “I feel as giddy as Poppy today.”
Poppy had insisted on gathering together flower petals to toss in the short aisle of the chapel prior to the bride walking toward the altar. “It’s only appropriate, since we are called the Flower Girls by everyone in town.”
Violet laughed at Poppy’s antics, but admitted the flower petals added a special touch to the ceremony. She’d store the entire day away in her mind as one of the most momentous days of her life.
“Do you, Parker Montgomery Sinclair, take this woman to be your bride?” the vicar intoned.
“Yes, sir, I certainly do.” Violet and the vicar both smiled at his answer.
“And you, Violet Jane Wilson, will you take this upstart American as your husband?” She gasped at the vicar before catching his broad grin.
“Yes, sir, I certainly do.” She mimicked Parker’s words.
“Then, I now pronounce you husband and wife. I projected this outcome the day you came to the parish in search of clothing. I’m glad my intuition in matters of the heart is still intact.” The vicar glanced at the pair and then directed his gaze to Parker. “Take care of this lovely woman, this English flower.”
“Yes, sir. I plan to.” Parker looped an arm around her waist and kissed her in front of the vicar, her entire family, and God.
Then, as if getting married were an everyday occurrence, they returned to the nursery, changed back into their work clothes, and finished packing up the plants.
By day’s end, everything had been packed and stored on the four wagons that would carry the plants to the ship in Portsmouth. And which would carry her to a brand new life.