Chapter Seven
Day Four
There could be no putting it off any longer. The compost bin needed manure. Despite having her routine broken up by Parker Sinclair’s appearance, the needs of her plants overrode the needs of the American. She forced her lips into a tight line as she picked up her buckets and opened the greenhouse door. A quick run down to the barn and back shouldn’t take her but fifteen minutes. If Mr. Sinclair arrived while she was out, he could maybe pick out a shrub or two. The sooner he started making some decisions, the sooner he’d leave.
Her head down and bent on the task at hand, she didn’t see the American until she ran directly into him, on his way up the hill to the glass building.
“Whoa.” Parker held on to her elbows, waiting for her to regain her balance. “Where are you running off to?”
She glanced up into his piercing blue eyes and stepped back a pace. Her buckets clanged together since she couldn’t keep her hands from trembling. Not when he hovered so close, invading her personal space. His commanding presence stole all the air from the surrounding area, and she had trouble catching her breath.
“I, uh, I need to go fetch some manure from the barn.” She raised the buckets for him to see.
He took two of the buckets from her. “I’ll be glad to help.”
“Oh, it’s not necessary. You didn’t come all the way from America to sling manure with me. You should be selecting the roses you need to transport back to America.” She grabbed at the buckets in his grasp.
He shifted them to the other side. “Nonsense. It’s part of what makes your roses grow so well. I consider this another opportunity to learn.”
Violet swallowed hard, swallowing her pride along with her annoyance. She’d allow him to accompany her to the barn and hope no one would be about. Mr. Sinclair didn’t need to be aware of all her problems, of the bet that had turned her world upside down. “It’s no trade secret that manure makes for good fertilizer. Surely even Americans are aware of that. But if it will make you happy, by all means come along to the manure pile.” She glanced at his worn work boots, hoping to spy a hole for the slimy manure to crawl into. It would be only fitting.
They made little sound as they circled the dwelling. The scent of hay and horses filled the air. Violet led Parker to the area where the manure had been piled high, waiting for her. She took a quick glance around the yard and let out her breath when she found no one in sight.
“It’s nice of the horses and cows to offer up some of the finest fertilizer on earth, isn’t it?” Parker grabbed a nearby shovel and started to fill a bucket.
Violet smiled as she picked up a pitchfork. “I have the same thought every time I come here.”
“About time you showed up to take some of that mess away.” The sneering face of the head groomsman, Carson, peered out from the shadow of the barn, and he closed the space between them. He glanced at Parker, then back at Violet. “What’s this? You managed to snare another fellow?”
Violet could feel the flush rising to her cheeks, but she straightened in front of this bully, despite his muscular arms and his towering frame. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Sinclair, from America. He’s come here to do business with Father and to purchase a rather large quantity of roses from us. His purchase will pay your salary for several months, so use a care in what you say in front of him. He could take his business elsewhere.” She faced Parker. “Mr. Sinclair, may I introduce our head groomsman, Carson.”
The two men eyed each other. Parker extended his hand, which Carson pumped before shifting his gaze back to Violet. “Davey worked here yesterday. He and I had a chuckle about how you make yourself scarce from the barn anymore.”
“’Tis neither here nor there, Carson. Now, if you’ll leave me alone, I’ll fill my buckets and let you get back to your work. Don’t you have a horse to groom or something?” Violet squared her shoulders, even as her insides shrank against the torment. She glanced quickly at Parker, who stared at her quizzically. She shook her head and bent to her task, grateful Parker did the same as Carson melted back into the building. The sooner they were done, the sooner they could leave the barn, which Violet had come to hate. But she supposed Parker would ask her about the encounter before they made it up the hill to the greenhouse. What could she tell him? Certainly not the truth.
• • •
Something was off with the groomsman, Carson, but Parker couldn’t quite put his finger on what bothered him. His skin had crawled when the burly man had shaken his hand. The lack of respect he’d shown to Violet, his employer’s daughter, had been appalling. Parker needed to figure out why Carson had been so rude to Violet and why she’d let him be, but he feared he already had the answer. He’d seen it all before. Bile rose in the back of his throat as he thought about the British soldiers who had been too long in America, torturing decent men and women and getting away with mayhem and murder simply because they carried guns and wore uniforms.
Violet didn’t speak as they made their way to the greenhouse, but Parker caught the shine of unspent tears in her eyes. She blinked to keep them at bay. Good for her. On the surface, and especially when confronted by the bully, she might appear as her namesake, a shrinking violet, but Parker had seen a flash of her inner strength when she’d stood up to Carson. Her thorny side disappeared way too fast, though. He hoped Carson would soon feel a prick of pain for messing with her.
They dumped the manure into the compost bin, along with some dry leaves Violet had swept up near the door to the greenhouse. She still hadn't made a sound, except for a small grunt as she lifted one of her pails. She rushed to her office, leaving Parker alone with the many tables of roses surrounding him in their various stages of growth. He wandered the aisles for a few minutes, sensing that Violet needed some time alone.
Finally, he made his way to the corner office. Violet sat behind the desk, moving papers around aimlessly. She glanced up as he approached. “I must apologize, Mr. Sinclair, for the behavior of our groomsman.”
He shrugged. “There’s no need to apologize for someone else’s rudeness.” He gazed at her bowed head. “I sense this isn’t the first time you’ve had trouble with him. Will you talk to me about it?”
She raised her gaze and stared at him, her eyes now cold and hard. Her nostrils flared as she answered. “I would prefer not to, if you don’t mind.”
He took a seat in front of the desk. “Well then, today might be a good day to begin my lessons. Thanks to you I feel much better physically. I haven’t coughed in hours, and my sense of smell is returning.”
An elusive smile emerged on her face. “You do have a remarkable ability to recover from illness quickly. All right then. I have to harvest the seeds from rose hips in order to grow more plants. I’m sure it’s not much different from the way you do it in America, so you can spend the morning selecting your roses. But this afternoon, Poppy and I have to take you shopping. I’m afraid Poppy won’t be put off any longer.”
“Well, I certainly have no intention of getting on Poppy’s bad side. Perhaps tomorrow, then, after I’ve made some initial selections and we have me fashionably attired, we can begin to create the rose garden for Mr. Jefferson.” Parker studied Violet as the elusive smile became a real one, and he mentally patted himself on the back. The woman might be English, but she’d been hurt and he couldn’t stand silently by without doing something. He’d attempt to replace the bad time at the barn with a good memory today. He stood and fumbled in his satchel, wondering why he cared about her feelings. “I’m in agreement, though. We should get started on my business. Let me get my sketchpad so I can take notes.”
She stood quietly for a minute, as if gathering her thoughts or marshaling her strength. Then, her deep blue eyes met his. “Let’s review the basics first. I’m sure you’re aware there are two ways to grow more rose plants. One is to take cuttings and plant them directly.” Her eyes sparkled as she warmed up to her subject. “But my favorite way is to harvest the rose hips and start from the seed. The process takes longer, but the purity and hardiness of the product is well worth the effort. It’s also the preferred method of reproduction by the Royal Horticultural Society.”
She strode past him and took him to another corner of the greenhouse. On a drying rack were an assortment of rose hips, ranging in color from bright red and orange to purple and nearly black. She picked up a few of them and held them out to him. “I began the drying process on these already, several days ago. It’s time to decide which we will use for seeds and which we will save for medicinal purposes, because rose hips make for a good tea or jam.”
“How do you determine which to use right away and which to harvest?” Parker picked up one of the rose hips from her outstretched hand, his fingers brushing her skin slightly. Her intake of breath made him aware the touch had registered with her, too. Although, an inhalation could be good or bad, depending, and he briefly wondered how to interpret her behavior. He toyed with the rose hip, rolling it between his fingers as he contemplated why, for the second time today, his concern was for Violet. His initial impression of her had changed this morning when he’d witnessed her with the bully. Perhaps she resembled a wild rose rather than a hothouse plant. Did he care to find out?
He again tugged out his memory of Sarah, tall and proud, a memory which he’d tried to avoid for years after hearing about her violent death. But here, in England, Sarah coursed through his mind in ways she never did in America. Maybe if he kept the memory of his dead wife front and center, he’d not attach hidden meanings to his ideas about Violet’s bruised feelings.
And for a third time in as many hours, he wondered why he should give a care at all. He couldn’t afford to get attached to Violet. He’d come to England only for roses, not violets. When he finally left here, he needed no encumbrances other than the plants. He’d clean up her problem with Carson to the best of his ability and then be on his way.
• • •
Poppy arrived at the greenhouse with a bag full of clothes shortly before the noon hour. Her charming presence acted as a balm to Parker, eradicating his gloomy thoughts.
“We’re to take the clothes that won’t fit you to the parish and donate them in exchange for hopefully finding you some that do fit.” Poppy dashed around the office as she spoke.
Violet grabbed on to Poppy’s arm as she raced by, stopping her frantic motion. “We won’t be going anywhere if you overturn my office or my roses. Slow down.”
“Well, let’s get on with it then. We’re to have our noon meal in town and then go to the parish. A whole blessed afternoon away from my governess. Why shouldn’t I be excited?” Poppy ceased her movements, but even standing in the same spot, she hopped from one foot to the other.
Parker grinned at her barely contained energy. “Let’s go then. We’ve put in a good morning’s work, and I’m famished.”
He took the bag from Poppy, and she led them down the hill and into the village, skipping most of the way. Violet had more restrained movements, but Parker sensed she also grew excited at the thought of an afternoon away from her usual routine. He’d only been in the village long enough to find the inn and sleep, but from what little he’d seen, the village was not unlike many of the small villages in America. Older, most definitely, and possibly more picturesque, but reminiscent of home, with its cobblestone streets, narrow alleyways, and whitewashed buildings trimmed in dark wood filled with all manner of shops. He would enjoy an afternoon of exploration as much as the ladies.
Their first stop was the local public house, where they dined on oxtail soup, warm, fresh bread slathered with butter, and hot tea. Parker enjoyed the hearty soup, which consisted of potatoes, carrots, tomatoes, and onions in addition to the beef. He could taste a bit of garlic and nutmeg in the broth as well. He didn’t even mind the ever-present tea for the ladies, although he had ordered a mug of ale for himself.
“After we explain to the vicar what we need, we’ll have to go to the tailor for what we can’t find at the church.” Poppy’s eyes danced as she focused on Parker. “I highly doubt the vicar will have the formal attire you need.”
“Since my plans only include work, not socializing, I don’t need formal attire, Poppy.” Parker tried to corral the girl’s ambitious plans. “It would be a waste of your father’s money.”
Violet covered one of Poppy’s hands with her own. “I agree with you, Poppy.” She raised her deep blue eyes to Parker. “You’ll need the proper attire for dinners with the family, and Father’s attempting to arrange for you to meet the baron who owns the estate where Lily spends most of her days.”
“Why would I need to meet him?” Parker shook his head.
“Evidently, he met your Mr. Jefferson years ago, when the statesman visited London, and when Father mentioned who you were designing a rose garden for, Lord Weymouth expressed an eagerness to reminisce with you.” Violet smiled when Parker ceased his head shaking.
“Well, in that case, I guess I will need to be appropriately clothed.” Parker tossed his napkin on the table. “What an opportunity, to meet another who is acquainted with Mr. Jefferson.” He gazed at the two women, who had their hands folded atop the table. “If you ladies are finished, let’s be off to the parish.”
“I wonder if Johnny will be about today.” Poppy played with a tendril of her hair while they made their way to the church.
Parker grinned. So the girl had another reason for getting excited about the trip to town.
Violet had to grab on to her arm again. “We’re only here to get some clothes for Mr. Sinclair, not for you to advance your relationship with Johnny Goodman. You are well aware of Father’s feelings toward young Johnny.”
“Yes, and he’s wrong. Johnny is the most handsome lad ever.” Poppy sighed deeply and shifted her gaze to Parker as she extricated her arm from Violet’s grasp. “Present company excluded, of course.”
“Of course.” Parker’s tongue was firmly placed in his cheek by the time they arrived at the parish.
“Hello, Vicar Wickersham.” Violet and Poppy both dipped into a slight curtsy when they spotted the local vicar. “Please allow me to introduce our guest, Mr. Parker Sinclair, from America.”
Parker extended his hand to the elderly man. “How do you do, sir?”
The aging vicar shook Parker’s hand, mumbled a greeting, and then slid his attention back to the Wilson girls. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company midweek?”
Violet glanced at Parker before focusing on the vicar. “Mr. Sinclair is a guest of Mulberry Hill for the next few weeks. When his ship docked in Portsmouth, his trunk and its contents disappeared, so he is without clothing. We managed to find some shirts, but none of the trousers we found fit him, so we hoped to exchange what we did find for some work clothing he might wear.”
The vicar nodded. “We may be able to help. Come along. Let’s see what we can find.”
Twenty minutes later, Parker had two pairs of workpants, another shirt, and some underthings.
Poppy lost all interest in Parker when she discovered Johnny Goodman had been placed in charge of the clothing exchange that afternoon. They kept up a steady stream of conversation between themselves as Johnny set about finding what Parker needed. Violet rummaged through the clothes as well, handing items to Parker.
“I can’t tell if I should be relieved or offended that Poppy has another interest,” Parker spoke softly to Violet.
“Trust me, relieved and thankful are the proper responses. Once the girl gets an idea in her head . . . ” Violet raised her glance from the clothes they were sorting through to Parker’s face. “We’d best get her away from Johnny, who is obviously out of his depth.” She nodded in the boy’s direction. He stumbled over his words and his cheeks grew ruddy as Poppy flirted with him. Violet’s eyes sparkled with mirth. “Come along, Poppy. We’re finished here.”
“I have the perfect shop in mind for the rest of what Mr. Sinclair needs.” Poppy skipped on ahead of Violet and Parker. “Follow me.”
They entered a tailor’s establishment, which had some clothing already sewn up and only needing minor tailoring to fit. “Hello, sir.” Poppy curtsied to the shop owner. “We are in need of some formal attire for Mr. Sinclair, who is visiting from America.”
The man quickly assembled clothing for Poppy to inspect. She made her decisions without hesitation.
“If you’ll step behind the screen and put these on, sir, I can make the necessary adjustments to the garments and have them delivered within a few days.” The tailor motioned toward the back of the shop.
Parker put on the clothing and stepped out from behind the privacy screen. He ran a hand down the black clawhammer coat with matching black velvet trim at the collar. The coat fit tightly around the torso and had tails ending just above the back of the knee. A white linen shirt with a cravat, tan buckskin breeches, and a fine pair of highly polished black Hessian boots completed the outfit.
“Well, ladies, how do I look?” Parker grinned at Violet and Poppy.
Poppy’s eyes grew large, and she stared at him, hand to her throat. “You are now a fine country gentleman, Mr. Sinclair. And I thought you were handsome before, when you were just wearing work clothing.”
He tugged on the cravat, which lay untied around his neck. “It’s been years since I’ve worn one of these, and I’ve quite forgotten how to properly tie it.”
Violet stood in front of him and grabbed on to the edges of the fabric. “I tie Father’s cravats for him all the time, have for years. Allow me to assist.”
Parker placed his hands over hers. “Are you certain you won’t strangle me?” He whispered his question so only she could hear.
Violet chuckled. “Not in front of witnesses, Mr. Sinclair.” She worried her lower lip while she concentrated on his neckwear. When she finished, she tucked the cravat into his claw-hammer coat and brushed her hands over his shoulders, smoothing out the fabric. “There. As Poppy said, you are a picture of a fine country gentleman. Your cravat is properly tied, your breeches are long enough, and your boots are shiny.”
“Then our work here is done. Shall I accompany you ladies back to Mulberry Hill?” Parker asked while the tailor took his final measurements and promised delivery of the items to Parker’s room at the local inn.
“No need to return to the nursery today, Mr. Sinclair.” Violet took Poppy’s hand and headed for the door. “You can go right from here to the inn. We’ll get back home well before dark. See you tomorrow.”
He stopped for a quick meal at the inn’s dining room before heading up to his room. The innkeeper had managed to find a spare shaving kit, and even though it was now evening, Parker couldn’t wait to shave and finally scraped away the itchy stubble. Immediately, his mind filled with the groomsman’s craggy face and his beard. Violet had reacted strangely to Carson in the barn that morning. The way she’d straightened her spine and squared her shoulders in front of the rude bully had impressed him. He’d witnessed a completely different side of her as she’d faced down her adversary. He wondered what had happened to make Carson pick on Violet. Perhaps before the end of his visit, he’d find out. If he cared to. Perhaps it would be best to keep thoughts of his dead wife in his head in order to deny his growing involvement with Violet.
It surprised him that he cared to find out.
It surprised him that he enjoyed her company.
It surprised him that his list of items he needed to accomplish still had only a few boxes checked off. He’d already been here nearly a week, counting travel time. He had hoped to have a lot more done by now. Instead, he hadn’t even begun to select all the necessary roses for the Monticello gardens.
“Dammit,” he muttered as he yanked the covers up over his head. He’d apply himself harder in the days to come and perhaps be able to leave before too much longer.
The quicker he left the shore of the British Isles, the better. Violet would certainly be grateful if he cut his visit short, and in that regard, their feelings matched, because he also counted the days until he could return home. He rolled over. If he got a good night’s sleep, he’d attack his list with vengeance in the morning. How long would it take, really, to select a hundred varieties of roses? If he were at home, in his Philadelphia nursery, it would only take a couple of days to pick and choose and put together a beautiful display for a rose bed. But here, among hundreds upon hundreds of unique varieties of shrubs, the selection process would be a lot longer.
He blamed his health as the reason for his snail’s pace here in England. But could there be more to it than a simple lack of energy? Did he hope to unravel the mystery of Violet before he left? To find out why she preferred to spend her days alone in her greenhouse on the hill, why she appeared so shy, even among her sisters. And why she allowed Carson to torment her. If he’d quit being distracted by thoughts of figuring out Violet, quit being distracted by her now discernable tantalizing scent of earth and musk, combined with another pleasant odor he couldn’t define but which was unique to her, he’d get his work done and be gone by the time the moon was full again. Admittedly, it had been years since he’d given a care to a woman’s well-being. Been intrigued by a woman’s scent. Had a woman knot his cravat for him. The lump in his throat told him he couldn’t leave England fast enough.