Winning Violet

by Lower, Becky

  She stared at him for a long minute before she shifted her gaze. “Let me clean myself up a bit, and then we’ll discuss what I have planned for us to do today.” She grabbed a nearby pitcher and ran out the door to the water trough filled with rain water. A few minutes later, she returned, her face, hands, and arms shiny and clean. She scurried to her seat behind the desk, as if to create a barrier between them, cutting off any further direct contact.

  Parker’s fingers still tingled from when he’d touched her cheek. He welcomed the barrier, although he did still need to get an explanation about Carson. No one—male, female, or animal—should be subjected to cruelty such as what that man displayed.

  Violet had removed her apron while outside cleaning up, so Parker caught her huge intake of breath before she placed her hands, molded into fists, on top of the desk. “Did you learn anything yesterday with Father?”

  “Quite a bit, actually. Although I found most of it not to my liking. Bookkeeping and mazes are not what I came to England to learn about. But Mr. McMahon asked me to check into your father’s methods of business, so yesterday turned out to be more of a fact-finding mission for Mr. McMahon rather than for me.” Parker decided to gradually approach the topic uppermost in his mind.

  “So what facts do you wish to explore?” She couldn’t have opened the door wider if she’d tried.

  Parker rubbed his aching leg. “Do you consider us friends?”

  Violet briefly closed her eyes and scratched her nose. Her gaze flickered over him, then shifted to the left. He waited for her, aware he’d unsettled her already by touching her and didn’t need to add to the upset further. He had to start sorting out his rose order today, cross a big item off his checklist, but what he most needed to cross off had nothing to do with plants. He needed to figure out why she let Carson ride roughshod over her instead of reporting his behavior.

  She cleared her throat, finally. “Yes, of course, I consider us to be friendly with each other, although you’ve made it quite clear you have no fondness for the English and all we stand for.”

  Parker drummed his fingers on the desk. “True enough, although when it’s just the two of us, I tend to forget you’re English. And we might now relax a little in our politeness and call each other by our given names—in private, of course. But being friends and being friendly are two entirely different things, aren’t they? Friends share things with each other. What would you care to ask of me, Violet? What one burning question can I answer?”

  Violet’s eyes glimmered with excitement. “What do you most appreciate about America? Have you spent much time with Mr. Jefferson? What manner of man is he?” Then, she shook her head. “No, forget I asked those questions. If I had only one question to ask, I’m ever so curious about how you came to have a limp.” She nodded toward his leg, which he had begun to rub again.

  “Ah, my leg, my injury, is what interests you most?” Parker ceased stroking his wound. She took another deep breath and nodded, her eyes huge as she stared at him, so he answered. “It’s a token, a reminder, of the war.”

  He’d hoped by opening the line of questioning to satisfy her curiosity, he’d be able to find out why she let Carson get away with his crude behavior toward her, but it had backfired. He really had no wish to talk about himself. Especially the war, which had left him with a lifelong wound and devastated his family and his community. He gritted his teeth, hoping she’d drop the issue.

  Violet stared at him, and he could almost see the wheels spinning in her mind. “But America’s Revolutionary War happened in your country ages ago. You could not have fought in the war.”

  “Not that one. I’m talking about the other war with the British. The War of 1812.” Parker locked stares with her. “The one you probably have no knowledge of. But the one that about killed me.”

  Violet tapped the top of her desk with a pencil as she pondered his statement. “I’ll admit I lost interest in our long British history right after the War of the Roses, so I may not have my facts straight. I do recall something about a minor skirmish in America. But that’s all I can remember.”

  Parker couldn’t sit still. He got to his feet and paced. Violet had uncovered part of the reason why he’d hoped never to set foot in this country. The English who were not military had no idea of the hardship, the strife, the humiliation, they’d caused as their soldiers marauded through the vast landscape of America. His heart rate soared as he recalled the battle in which he’d been shot. And his eyes grew misty as he recalled the manner in which his wife and child had perished.

  He ceased pacing, since it had become more a feeble limp than a forceful march around the room, and pointed a finger at Violet. “I got shot in what you refer to as a ‘minor skirmish,’ and the only thing that made it minor is you happened to be five thousand miles away from the battlefield.”

  He lowered his finger but stared at her. She met his gaze, and her eyes were glistening with unspent tears. Dammit, he’d made her cry. What kind of man had he become? He might feel superior in manners and intelligence when it came to Carson, but really, his behavior with Violet had been no different from the bully in the stables. Carson had made her straighten her spine. Parker had brought her to tears. Totally spent, Parker collapsed into his seat. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

  “I’m the sorry one, Mr. Sinclair.” She blinked away the tears. “I had no idea our British troops were causing destruction in America. The French were our big concern.” A ghost of a smile hovered on her lips. “Thank you for enlightening me.”

  Happy to see her tears fade away, he returned her smile. “I thought we’d agreed to call each other by our given names, Violet. I’m Parker, please. Now since we’ve gotten your burning question out of the way, may I ask one of you?”

  She rubbed her hands together. “I never agreed, but I suppose it’s only fair, Mr. Sinclair. Parker, I mean.” She tried out his name. He rather enjoyed the way it sounded coming from her. “All right, you may ask one question. But I can’t fathom what you would possibly need to have clarified about me. I lead a rather boring existence.” Her hands fisted again. Clearly, the woman did not often share her thoughts. Or, if Parker guessed correctly, have anyone even ask what those thoughts were.

  “The question uppermost in my mind is why you put up with Carson’s abuse rather than report him to your father.” Parker steepled his fingers together and peered over them. Perhaps he’d overstepped for the second time today. His stomach churned as he waited for an answer. Violet’s knuckles whitened as her fists grew even tighter.

  Parker waited.

  Violet’s gaze lowered to the top of the desk, then darted left and right, as if searching for an answer. Or possibly a way out. She finally raised her head and stared at him.

  Surprised to find tears again, his stomach sank. Good Lord, he had become a bumbling idiot when dealing with the opposite sex.

  “I’m sorry, once again. I’ve made tears in your eyes for the second time in the space of five minutes.” Parker lowered his hands to cradle his stomach.

  She blinked rapidly, and the tears retreated. Good girl, don’t let them get the best of you. His thoughts jumbled together as he waited for a possible explanation.

  “Father relies on Carson so much, it would be devastating to the entire company should he leave us.” Violet’s words were no more than a whisper.

  “Another good groom can be found. If he treats you with so little regard, how must he treat the animals under his care? A groom can be installed who will treat the animals well, who will treat you with the respect you deserve as a daughter of the owner.” Parker tried for a light tone.

  “That’s just it, Mr. Sinclair. I don’t deserve his respect.” Violet rolled her shoulders.

  “Please call me Parker. And you’re wrong. Every woman deserves to be respected. Learning how to merely tolerate a bully is only going to encourage him to take matters to the next level, whatever that may be. It shows you’re afraid to confront him
.” Parker let out a breath. “Lord knows I’ve dealt with enough lobsterbacks in my day. The only way to deal with a British bully is harshly. Your father wouldn’t abide you suffering at Carson’s hands, regardless of how fine a groom he is.”

  Violet shook her head. “You couldn’t possibly comprehend what I’m dealing with. Father views Carson as the son he never had. And Carson hasn’t always behaved as he did in front of you the other day. I will handle things my own way. Please leave the matter alone.”

  Parker's voice tightened. “I don’t agree, but if you refuse to change the situation, allow me to accompany you to the barn while I’m here. It’s the least I can do.”

  Violet brushed a curl off her forehead and gazed at him. “I’ll let you accompany me when you’re here, but I won’t change my habits or patterns for you or any other man. I will, however, change the subject. Would you mind answering my other questions? Have you spent much time with Mr. Jefferson, and if so, what manner of man is he?”

  Parker sensed she hoped to put an end to the discussion, to any speculation about Carson and Violet. But when he recollected how she almost cowered in front of the groomsman, Parker became incensed by the man’s lack of respect. Before he left for home, he’d get an answer from her. Or from Carson. Yet again he wondered why. It had to be only Carson’s abuse of power toward Violet that so incensed Parker. He couldn’t have any feelings for her beyond protection, could he? He refused to acknowledge he had developed any kind of tenderness for Violet. He’d only been acquainted with her for a handful of days, after spending eleven years without experiencing a woman’s touch. He could go another eleven, at least, before he’d ponder the notion of finding a replacement for his wife.

  • • •

  Parker’s gaze skimmed her face and she breathed sharply. Even with the safety of the desk between them, she’d been affected by his glance, by the play of emotions crossing his face. She hoped he’d follow her lead and take them away from unpleasant subjects. He grinned and patted his satchel with his drawings. “What kind of landscape artist do you take me for? Of course I’ve had many dealings with Mr. Jefferson. We conferred several times on the landscape design at Monticello. I couldn’t begin to create a flowerbed for him without some consultation and discussion first. For example, I had no idea when I first met him that he had such a passion for roses.”

  Violet raised her hands in front of her, mockingly shielding herself from his gaze, but her laughter bubbled up to the surface. “I meant no disrespect. It must have been quite an honor to meet one of your presidents. If I were ever in the presence of King George, I’d probably faint. If he and I were to meet to discuss one of his flowerbeds, I’d be a bundle of nerves and probably not be able to talk. Did your experience come close to what my reaction would be?”

  Parker smiled and Violet lost her breath. His smile delighted her. She mentally patted her back. Evidently, his meeting with Mr. Jefferson had been a pleasant experience, and she’d taken his mind away from his memories of war which she’d conjured up for him, replacing his harsh memories with this one.

  “I’ll admit the man did intimidate me to begin with.” He caught her gaze and locked on. “Jefferson’s place in American history is above reproach. I had been aware of his interest in agriculture before we met, but never in my wildest dreams would I have taken him for a person who appreciated roses. Not in the volume he does, anyway.”

  Violet nodded. “I should enjoy meeting your Mr. Jefferson one day.”

  Parker spread his hands wide. “And you should see Monticello, his plantation. It’s quite impressive.” He ran his hand through his dark hair, and Violet’s stomach fluttered delightfully as the strands fell back into place.

  “I can’t do his home justice with my drawings, I fear. I’m humbled and honored to be involved in the creation of the rose bed by the drive which will greet each new visitor.” Parker grinned.

  “Will you be the one to care for the massive rose bed you’re creating?” Violet expressed her interest.

  “No. McMahon Nursery is in Philadelphia. I’ll go back to the nursery once the roses are planted. Mr. Jefferson’s slave force will take over the daily care of the rose bed.” Parker shook his head. “I’ll have to train Jefferson’s main gardener on how to care for them before I return to Philadelphia.”

  “It’s a pity he uses slaves to maintain his lavish lifestyle, isn’t it? Surely there must be a better way.” Violet glanced at Parker, who nodded slightly. “Well, now you’ve engaged my curiosity, not only for Mr. Jefferson, but also for his home. I feel honored to contribute to it in my small way.” Violet took a breath. “Will you make a return visit when the roses are in bloom and draw a picture for me?”

  “It’s the least I can do, considering all the help you’re giving me.” Parker extended a hand across the desk and clasped hers. “But you really need to see it in person to appreciate it fully.”

  He removed his hand from hers, but her fingers still tingled from his touch. She sat, inhaling deeply the familiar scents of rich soil and the musky perfume of her roses, along with the earthy male smell she’d come to associate with Parker, and contemplated what his suggestion would mean.

  A journey to America. Meeting Thomas Jefferson. Spending more time with Parker. She bit her bottom lip as she acknowledged she had her priorities in the wrong order. They really were:

  Spending more time with Parker.

  A journey to America.

  Meeting Mr. Jefferson.

  Not that meeting a former president of the new United States should be considered the least of these. But to be able to spend more time with Parker, instead of only a couple of weeks, definitely sounded more enticing than meeting a former head of a country.

  Mr. Jefferson probably wouldn’t agree, but Violet smiled into her hand at the thought. A week ago, she wouldn’t have thought so either. She had certainly shifted Parker’s focus from her dilemma with Carson by the mere mention of Mr. Jefferson and the real reason for Parker’s visit. Perhaps he’d now be spurred to action and would choose his roses quickly, learn her hybrid techniques, and be gone. Before she could act on her wayward feelings. She certainly didn’t need Parker Sinclair finding out about the contrary direction of her mind.

  Violet glanced up at Parker sitting across from her. She’d repeated his first name in her head so much over the past few days that saying it aloud almost sounded like a caress.

  Instead of waxing poetic about traveling to America or having Parker be her guard against Carson, she needed to put an end to this conversation. Put an end to her thoughts of caresses. Rein in her emotions. She cleared her throat. “We should begin to select the roses you envision in this bed for Mr. Jefferson’s Monticello.”

  “I agree, I’m eager to get started. But before we drop the issue entirely, I wish to extract your promise that you’ll allow me to accompany you to the barn while I’m here, and that you’ll report Carson’s behavior to your father.” Parker would not let the subject die.

  Violet blew out a breath. “I don’t wish to give Carson the impression he scares me and that I’m using you for protection, so I will go by myself to the barn at times, too. I had hoped we’d put an end to the discussion about the man.” She straightened as she spoke to Parker, as if to show him she could handle anything Carson might dish out.

  “But he does frighten you. Why do you give him such power?” Parker refused to drop the topic.

  Violet ground her teeth. “May we get back to the subject at hand? I thought we were going to spend today working on your drawings.”

  The thought of being involved in picking out the rose shrubs to grace a former president’s home pleased her, even if she’d rein in her excitement around Parker going forward. She might even, in a couple of years, take a trip to America and see the garden in full bloom. Surely, Mr. Jefferson would allow her to view her handiwork, wouldn't he?

  Parker retrieved his sketchpad from his satchel in a quick, agitated motion. Violet could tell he didn’t
appreciate her rebuff after he’d been so forthcoming with the answer to her questions. He could have asked any other question and she would have gladly provided information. But the barn, and Carson, were off-limits in terms of topics, at least until she figured out how to handle the situation. Perhaps if she filled Parker’s mind with explaining the care, feeding, pruning, transporting, and planting of her beloved roses, he’d forget about her plight. She’d deal with Carson and figure out how to shield Poppy from his lasciviousness by herself, as she’d always done.

  Parker flipped open his sketchpad to the drawing he’d made of the proposed huge rose garden which would greet Mr. Jefferson’s guests, turning the pad so it faced her. She ran her finger over the sketch, mentally tallying up how many shrubs they would need.

  “Do you have a color preference? All pinks in one place, reds in another, yellows over here, or do you prefer a riot of color throughout?” She outlined various areas of the bed with her finger.

  “Since America is becoming a land that includes every ethnicity and religion, I’m proposing this rose bed do the same. We’ll place a red rose next to a yellow one, maybe throw in a purple one just to be different, and so on, at least in the major bed. If Mr. Jefferson decides after seeing the selections in the main bed that he wants more, I’ll create smaller beds and keep my choices more orderly, limiting the selection to only three or four varieties.” Parker’s voice rose as he spoke, his interest in the project evident.

  Violet took a breath. Her plan of redirection had worked. She rose and led him into the section of the greenhouse where the roses were sitting in pots, sorted by color and species, ready to be shipped out to various locations. “Let’s begin marking the ones you wish to take to America, shall we?”

  Parker pointed at his sketch. “Let’s start with the large bed, and then design a few smaller beds, just in case. This large one runs parallel to a fence that borders the curved driveway. Of course, I’ll need two of each shrub, in case some don’t survive the Atlantic crossing. And some additional varieties, in case the plan we come up with here doesn’t work once I start planting. Or if Mr. Jefferson is so taken by your roses he’d like me to implement our other designs.”