Chapter Nineteen

 Parker waited with Edgar in the parlor of the Wilson home. Violet would soon enter the room, and Parker fidgeted with his poorly tied cravat as he waited. What could he possibly say to her? His actions in the greenhouse had been crude yet electrifying, his manner unforgiving yet stimulating. He’d been beating himself up all afternoon for taking advantage of her breathtaking lack of guile. Her sweet innocence. Which he had almost stolen. Well, he’d get through this dastardly dinner, pack his order in a matter of days, and be on his way home, leaving all temptation behind.

Edgar paid no mind to his agitated state. “This should be a most entertaining evening, Parker. I’ve only been inside Lord Weymouth’s home a few times before this and am anxious to see more rooms. Of course, one could visit the home twenty times and not see every room in the place, it’s so huge.”

“My thought exactly.” Parker nodded in agreement. “Why would someone need such a large home? Does his lordship have many children?”

Edgar chuckled. “There’s the rub. His wife and both his children have passed on before him, so he rambles around in the house alone. Of course, he has a full staff of servants, and he hosts parties at the estate that last for days during the season and the summer, and then there’s the big gala at Christmas time, so there’s usually more than just the staff and him in the house, but still . . . ”

Edgar’s musings were interrupted, and his gaze wandered toward the door. “Ah, this must be Violet.”

The swish of Violet’s skirts was the first sound Parker picked up on. His gaze fell on her as she entered the room, and he lost his breath. The wild mane of curls had been tamed into a lovely updo, with tendrils gracing her face. A shiny blue ribbon the same shade as her eyes had been woven into her hair. Her gown, a darker blue watered silk with cream accents, complemented her skin tone. The sleeves ended at her elbows and had lace dripping from them. She had a pair of cream-colored gloves in her hands.

“There you are, Violet,” Edgar intoned. “Had to keep the men waiting so you could make your entrance, eh?” He took a step toward her and kissed her cheek. “You are a vision in blue this evening.”

“Thank you, Father. If you’ll hold my gloves, I’ll tie your cravat, as always.” Violet handed the gloves over and wove the ends of the cravat properly.

“I can’t figure out why men’s fashion has evolved to this state, where a woman or a manservant is needed to help us get ready for a meal.” Edgar murmured while Violet worked on his cravat.

“It never bothered you when Mother was living. In fact, you rather enjoyed having her fuss over you.” Violet’s voice hitched, and she patted her father’s chest.

Edgar placed his hand over hers and kissed her cheek again. “From the looks of Mr. Sinclair, you’ll need to tie his as well. I’ll go see if the carriage is ready while you do so.”

Edgar handed back her gloves and departed the room. Violet glanced at Parker for the first time since she’d entered. She set her gloves on a table, took a step forward, her wounded eyes staring up at him, and Parker could feel his heart shattering. When she grabbed the ends of the cravat, he could feel her tremble, and he raised a hand to cover hers. She shook him off and yanked on the cravat, which quickly resembled a noose. Parker choked as Violet tightened the knot.

He put his hands up and yanked away the offensive tie, giving himself some breathing room. “I thought you said you didn’t strangle people in front of witnesses.” He tried for humor and caught a glimmer in her eyes. Maybe they could get through the evening.

“I changed my mind.” She tightened the knot again. “Besides, we’re alone for the moment. No one need ever be the wiser.”

Voices rang out in the hallway, and Poppy burst into the room, followed by Iris, who grabbed her arm.

“I apologize, Violet and Parker. I tried to keep her away.” Iris held on to Poppy and attempted to force her from the room. Poppy shook her off and stood in front of the couple. Violet had removed her hands from his shirt the moment the noise erupted in the hallway, and Parker missed her warmth. Yet he couldn’t help but smile as Poppy gazed at them.

“You’re a right proper country gentleman, Mr. Sinclair. The waistcoat and breeches fit you perfectly. I did a good job selecting your wardrobe. And Violet, you are beautiful. You should always wear your hair like that.” Poppy rose up on her tiptoes and brushed Violet’s tresses.

“Thank you, Poppy. Now that we’ve passed inspection, you need to run along. I must finish tying Mr. Sinclair’s cravat before we leave.” Violet’s eyes glimmered with excitement as Poppy and Iris exited the room.

“Saved from strangulation by Poppy.” Violet chuckled and tied off Parker’s cravat with a flourish. “I do agree with Poppy, though. Your attire fits you perfectly, and you could almost pass for a proper English gentleman. Until you open your mouth, anyway, and that crude American accent emerges.”

“And I agree with Poppy as well,” Parker replied as he brushed a curl back from Violet’s cheek. “You are beautiful.”

Violet swallowed hard at his statement, and her cheeks bloomed with color. She spun around to the door. “We should go. Father’s probably waiting.”

After assisting Violet to a seat in the open carriage, Edgar dashed around to the opposite side and climbed aboard, taking the reins in the center of the carriage. Parker had no choice except to sit next to Edgar, as far from Violet as possible. Considering her maneuvers with his cravat, he should be grateful he didn’t need to sit near her, but instead he chafed. She appeared the picture of grace and stateliness in her lovely gown as she tugged on her gloves. Parker took a deep breath of the cool night air and tore his gaze from her. But the sounds she’d made in the hothouse earlier, the little mewling moans and gasps, still rang in his ears, upsetting his plans to leave England with only plants. He couldn’t wait for this night to end. And he couldn’t wait for this night to begin. He’d slip his hand around her waist when they danced, inhale her musky rose scent, maybe nibble on an earlobe if he could get away with it unnoticed. He drew a deep breath of the night air, hoping to settle himself.

Lord Weymouth’s butler ushered the trio into the parlor, where their host and an assortment of other guests awaited them. Violet curtsied and Edgar shook Lord Weymouth’s hand. “Ah, Edgar, so nice to see you again. And Violet, you’ve grown into a lovely young lady since I last spoke to you.” His gaze lingered on Violet before he shifted his glance to Parker, extending his hand. “And you must be the American the whole town’s been talking about.”

“Guilty as charged.” Parker grinned.

“I got the full story about your run-in with Carson. I hope the incident hasn’t colored your opinion of our country.” Lord Weymouth ushered them to the fireplace where the other guests were already assembled, and they sat.

Parker took a breath. “Overall, this visit has been quite pleasant. I’ve seen your country in a completely different light.”

Lord Weymouth nodded. “Yes, I’m certain most of your country doesn’t hold England in the highest regard. I still recall your Mr. Jefferson’s intense interest in our English gardens when he visited here with John Adams years ago from the colonies. That, and our architecture, were about the only things he considered important.”

“But now that the wars are finished, I hope those of us in the States can have decades of prosperity ahead of us.” Parker wished to put an end to any discussion of any feelings he now harbored about the country, and one English lady in particular.

His wish granted, they were finally escorted into dinner. Lord Weymouth asked Parker about how Thomas Jefferson spent his time now that he was no longer president, and asked only a few questions about the man before his attention shifted from Parker to Violet. “Now tell me what you’ve been doing in the greenhouse with your hybridizing efforts.”

Violet’s eyes lit up as she spoke of the subject near to her heart, and of her Lady Banks. Parker paid close attention to Lord Weymouth, surprised he showed a genuine interest in her work. And in her. He had assumed the man had only a passing interest in roses and gardens and would not take her work seriously, despite his membership in the Royal Horticultural Society. Parker grew uncomfortable as the older man’s gaze traveled time and again to Violet’s décolletage during their conversation. Not just her work was enticing to the man.

“You must have been following to the letter the guidelines the Society has developed. In fact, tonight is a bit of a cause for celebration for you as well as a celebration of the American in our midst.”

“What do you mean, my lord?” Violet’s voice quavered.

Lord Weymouth took hold of Violet’s hand, and Parker noticed her tremble. A hot bolt of jealousy seared its way through his body. This man, this lord, had the ability to make every one of Violet’s dreams come true. All Parker had to offer was a new beginning. She’d have to start over with her work should she choose to come with him to America, throwing years of exacting science away on a whim.

Lord Weymouth didn’t relinquish her hand. “I have a missive from the Royal Horticultural Society. They’ve asked me to personally extend to you the invitation to become part of their lecture tour this summer. They’re most impressed with your work.”

Parker couldn’t tell if her tremor when Lord Weymouth touched her was due to the invitation from the Royal Horticultural Society he dangled, or due to true interest in the man himself. After all, he was a baron, and marriage to him would be quite a feather in her cap. By the way their host eyed Violet, as if she were a prime slice of meat and he the stealthy prey, Parker didn’t stand a chance. Especially when he noticed tears sparkling in her eyes.

“My Lord, are you certain they want me to be a lecturer? I feel as if I’m still learning.” Violet’s voice shook. All her dreams were coming true. He truly didn’t stand a chance.

• • •

Violet’s stomach knotted when Lord Weymouth placed his hand over hers at dinner. She’d thought the evening with Parker and the baron would be a disaster when she’d first found out about her required involvement. Then, the incident with Parker in the greenhouse added to her discomfort, and now, Lord Weymouth had opened the door to new possibilities for her, both with his access to the Royal Horticultural Society and, if she hadn’t been mistaken, his display of a romantic interest in her. But then, she had proven herself to be a dunce time and again when it came to understanding men, so quite possibly she had mistaken his glances.

At least she hoped that to be the case. She studied him discreetly while at dinner. His dark hair had begun to thin on top, but she supposed that because he had the title, most women would overlook his sparse head of hair. He was not overly tall, yet his patrician features made him appear much taller. Could she possibly bend her mind to find him appealing as a suitor? She didn’t think so, at least not when she compared him to Parker, a very tall man with a full head of dark hair. And blue eyes, not brown, like Lord Weymouth’s. And like Davey’s.

No wonder the succulent meal offered held no appeal. She delicately cut her portion of duck, chased her peas across the plate, and buried her fork in her mashed potatoes. The plum pudding finally appeared, signaling an end to the formal dinner. Violet breathed a sigh of relief, but then her breath caught in her throat as she recollected the second part of the evening involved dancing. She glanced around the table. There were only two other women at dinner, with four men, so Violet could tell she’d not be able to graciously sit out a dance. But perhaps she could feign a headache or dance with the other men in the room and avoid Parker altogether, although the way Lord Weymouth had examined her at dinner made her stomach jump even more than the thought of dancing with Parker.

“Violet, dear, why don’t you lead things off with young Mr. Sinclair?” Lord Weymouth put an end to her plans before she even had a chance to put them into action. “As the youngest in the room, you two need to show us old folks how it’s done.”

She controlled her grimace and smiled at Lord Weymouth. “It will be my pleasure, my lord.” Extending a hand to Parker, she waited for the string quartet in the corner to begin playing. Her head had swirled all during dinner with thoughts of both Parker and her hybridizing. Lord Weymouth held the key to making all her dreams with the Horticultural Society come to fruition. And possibly, he appeared interested in her on a personal level. With a bit of effort on her part and giving a care to her appearance, she might become a baroness, of all things. Lord Weymouth might be twenty or so years older than she, but he needed a new wife and children to pass the title on to, as was his duty to the crown. A future with Parker would mean her work over the past few years would be for naught. She could forget the adulation from the Horticultural Society and the thought of going through life with a title. She’d be far better to hang her hopes on Lord Weymouth rather than the American. So why did she feel so empty?

Parker’s hand around her waist warmed her, and her rampant thoughts dissipated. He dipped his head to her level, and whispered in her ear, “You are by far the loveliest woman in the room. No wonder Lord Weymouth has stared at you all evening.”

She gasped at his words, and her gaze ricocheted around the room. Lord Weymouth indeed watched her and raised his glass of brandy when he caught her glance. She lost her breath. Parker’s head remained close to hers, and he nipped her earlobe before straightening. When his teeth grazed her, she immediately became damp, just as she had in the hothouse earlier. But they were standing in front of her father and the lord! She had to control the full-body tremor his closeness caused. Bloody American. Fortunately, the music ceased and they parted. The minute Parker’s hand left her waist, she trembled again, this time from the coldness that enveloped her.

“Lovely.” Lord Weymouth came to their side as the couple left the floor. “You have grown into a most delightful woman, Violet. I insist on having the next dance.”

Violet allowed herself to be led to the dance floor again. Lord Weymouth placed his hand on her in the exact same spot where Parker’s had been moments ago. But instead of his hand providing warmth and comfort, she felt nothing but ice. He kept up a steady stream of conversation, but instead of Parker’s earthy scent, Lord Weymouth smelled of brandy and mothballs. Conversation swirled around them, but there were only two items Violet could concentrate on: Parker danced with one of the other ladies, and Lord Weymouth placed his leg between hers as they twirled around the room. Even with all her petticoats, she sensed his intrusion into her space. And the way his gaze wandered over her swell of bosom made her skin crawl. Would this nightmare of an evening never end? She figured she’d be uncomfortable around Parker tonight, but she hadn’t counted on Lord Weymouth’s attention. She couldn’t wait to call an end to the evening.

Mercifully, the music ceased, and Lord Weymouth led her to her father, who had been standing alongside the dance floor.

“I hate to put an end to what has been a most delightful evening, my lord, but we must leave soon. Mr. Sinclair needs all his strength in the next few days in order to pack all the roses bound for American soil. And you’ve certainly given Violet something to fill her head.” Edgar shook Lord Weymouth’s hand and signaled to Parker.

“I’ve enjoyed the evening very much, my lord.” Violet curtsied and blew out a small breath. Lord Weymouth noticed the movement of her chest, and his gaze raked over her one more time, staring at her décolletage as she dipped into her curtsy. He latched on to her hand again.

“Allow me to escort you out, my dear.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, tugging her close. “We’ll need to meet again soon so you can share your work with me.”

“Yes, of course, my lord.” He assisted her up into the carriage, his hand lingering on her waist. She bit her lip, needing to spout a nasty retort, but holding back. She reminded herself of his stature in the community and his position as one of the nursery’s most important clients. She must keep her tongue under control. But chickens would have to grow teeth before she’d allow herself to be alone with him. She glanced over at Parker sitting next to her father. Their gazes met and he smiled. Her earlobe, where his teeth had been earlier, became warm and she brushed her finger over it.

His smile grew.

She glanced away. Bloody American.