Rescue Me Please

by Nichole Matthews

  Parker’s eyes followed her agitated movements choosing not to mention the action at that time. “Your baby is safe with me,” he assured. “You have no need to fear.” He allowed his voice to go soft and calming. He took that moment to rise cautiously to his feet with the infant still pressed securely against his wide shoulder. “I mean you know harm.” He kept his gaze on hers; her tired green eyes held suspicion as if she wasn’t fully convinced that she could trust him and her pink-tipped nose told him she was cold.

  She couldn’t help but stare; he was such a large man, tall, broad-shouldered, lean, and well-dressed with casual elegance, almost immaculate if not for the loosened cravat about his neck and the thick brown hair tipped with gold that lay tousled atop his head which she assumed was normally flawlessly styled. She watched as he raked his long fingers through the silky strands and almost smiled. He was the perfect example of man. The kind that would have caught her eye before—her past desires were no longer of any consequence. She closed her eyes gathering her wits. She had only enough strength to worry for herself and her daughter. The rest was nothing but a best forgotten longing for something that would never be hers. She opened her eyes slowly, her gaze not quite focused.

  Parker watched her closely taking note of how she held the knife with both hands, her knuckles white. Her arms stretched out stiff in front of her, her meager bosom heaving. Fear perceptible in every tense line of her slender body. No, not just fear. Terror. He could tell that she had no formal training in weaponry, but hid her terror well behind false bravado. His brows drew together, and he stared intently at her.

  “Imagine my disbelief as I walked and nearly stumbled upon your crying babe.” He noticed that she fought a smile. He watched as she pressed her lips flat before losing the battle as the corners of her mouth tipped up in an unexpected smile, if for only a second. A flicker of warmth heated her eyes for a moment before they were shuttered once again with guardedness. He knew that smile meant something; it seemed rusty, but not forced. It appeared and brightened her face and for some reason he felt that smile all the way down to his toes. He used that distraction to inch closer.

  A heartbeat of silence descended over the clearing, curiously he observed her. His eyes traveled over her disheveled appearance. She was rail thin and beyond pale. Her deep red hair was scraped back in a tight coil at the back of her head, with hunks of limp curls falling about her face. Dark circles were drawn beneath her eyes as if from charcoal, emphasizing the washed-out appearance of her skin. Her cheeks hollowed and the freckles scattered across her nose made more visible by her ashen appearance. And although the dress had seen better days, he could see that under the filth and grime, the fabric was of the highest quality. The worn cotton hung loosely on her body as if she hadn’t eaten well in a good while, although the baby appeared healthy and well-fed. Delightful rolls of fat encased its tiny body.

  “Your baby needs a dry cloth.” His eyes slanted towards the discarded satchel. “I was going in search of one when I accidently woke you from your rest.”

  Her brow wrinkled in confusion. She glanced at her baby, then her face crumpled. He could see her check the tears that had welled up in her eyes. Her head shook tiredly from side to side. She licked her lips and swallowed her voice a croak as she responded to his inquiry, “Our belongings were taken a few days back when we stopped to rest. I have nothing else to use,” her reply said in a low voice and with a regretful shake of her head. She averted her eyes, pressing her lips together to still their trembling.

  “Crying women make me nervous,” he admitted not taking his eyes off her face. “You would think with two sisters and an aunt under my care I would have become quite used to tears by now, but alas, no.” He kept his eyes trained on her face watching for any sign. He almost chuckled when he saw a spark of humor flicker then quickly disappear in her green depths.

  “It’s true.” He shuffled a bit closer. “A single tear reduces me to rubbish.”

  She looked up into his eyes, her lips twitching.

  He shrugged, with a rueful twist to his lips. “Where?” He could feel anger welling up inside of him that someone could be so cruel to such an obviously needy traveler? He was impressed that after all that she had obviously endured, she could still find a reason to smile. No matter how fleeting the action.

  “Where?” She was so very tired she didn’t understand what he was questioning.

  “Where did you lose your belongings?” He bristled. “Ashford?”

  She gave a brisk shake of her head. “I believe the town was called Caldwell.” The words squeaked from her throat.

  His shoulders almost slumped in relief. “Well then, we must improvise.” Without hesitating, he reached for his cravat. There simply wasn’t another viable alternative at that time.

  She gasped in horror as he gently laid her baby on the freshly cut grass. He proceeded to reach up and tug his fine linen cravat from around his neck. A strangled cry escaped when she realized his intended use for said cravat. The panels of his shirt separated revealing the sun-browned skin of his neck and the beginnings of a dark furred chest to her gaze. “You cannot…”

  He lifted his head and met her worried green eyes waving his hand dismissively just in time to witness her hastily averted eyes from the V of his shirt. A delightful pink color enhanced her previously pale cheeks. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Of course I can. The babe is quite uncomfortable in its current circumstances and I have means to remedy the discomfort.”

  “I have nothing of value to offer for your cravat, sir,” she said despondently, gesturing towards her person. “As you can very plainly see, I have barely enough to keep the two of us fed…” she broke off, her chest heaving as she tried to regain control of herself. The look in her eyes one of desperation.

  The knot in Parker’s stomach grew larger. He was surprised by her speech. It was that of a lady. “I do not recall having asked for recompense.” He quickly tied the makeshift nappy and lifted the baby in front of him as if he were admiring his handiwork. Then he propped the baby on his shoulder once again before standing. “And I believe that you sell yourself short. You have much to offer.”

  A look of puzzlement drew her fine brows together; a certain measure of relief entered her face but also a hint of fear as panic hammered in her chest. “I do not understand?” She marveled at how calm she sounded. How composed.

  “What I would ask of you is your name and that of your baby.” He raised his brow in question.

  Persephone’s eyes locked on his and her hand fell back to her side, tucked into the folds of her skirt while she weighed his words. Could she trust him? Did she dare to hope that he held no nefarious designs on her person other than kindness? How did she know he wasn’t one that had been searching for her all along? She should have been more fearful, but she found herself mollified by his immaculate attire and her exhaustion. In her dealings with unscrupulous men, they came in all shapes, sizes, and clothing. She should have learned her lesson by now. The vilest creatures she had ever met came attired in the finest threads money could buy. They disguised themselves as the holiest of angels, when in truth they were the most sinful of demons. The difference, they most definitely would not have bothered to soothe a crying infant with tender words and incoherent sounds of comfort.

  Emotions knotted her stomach. She glanced worriedly at her crying baby, then down at the frayed hem of her gown and the numerous dirt smudges scattered across her skirt and felt a twinge of embarrassment, then she quickly checked her response. Embarrassment was a ridiculous emotion to have in this situation. She released the knife with one hand in order to pull her thread-bare shawl more tightly around her wan frame yet unable to ease the numbness of her uncomfortably cold feet.

  She took a moment to study him. He was well over six foot tall and large—even with the knife she was in no position to fight him. She hadn’t eaten in days and the most sleep she had had was the few minutes she had stolen this afternoon. In
fact, her lack of food was making her decidedly woozy. Could she truly afford to discourage any help being offered?

  Parker studied her right back. His look deliberate, determined as she chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, then dragged in a breath.

  “Persephone Smith and my baby’s name is Tillie. Matilda, but I call her Tillie,” she explained, her voice shaky. He couldn’t tell from fear or hunger.

  “Persephone,” he repeated, his brow quirked, smiling slightly. “Your parents must have had a profound interest in Greek mythology.” He bowed. “To be in the presence of the daughter of Zeus is a tremendous honor.” He couldn’t help the smile that appeared. “Or am I in the presence of the wife of Hades?”

  Her eyes widened at his knowledge of Greek mythology and his attempt at humor. “My father.” A brief smile appeared, but sadness dulled her eyes. “He was mad about it; he would have named me Medusa had my mother not intervened and for the latter, I suppose it would depend on whom you ask.”

  He chuckled, but noticed her use of the word was in regards to her parents. Those questions could be answered at another time. “Thank goodness for your mother’s firm hand.” He witnessed the hint of a smile again. “I pray you will allow me time for acquaintance for the latter.”

  She smiled.

  “You will be a perfect fit for my family.” He waited for the quizzical look to disappear.

  She looked away, as if bothered by his words. How she longed to be a part of something good. To be a part of a loving family again was only a ridiculous notion.

  Parker continued, “My father and mother were determined to turn us into a tongue twister.” He grinned as her brow furrowed. “Peyton, Piper, Poppy, and my name is Parker Peregrine.” He bowed quite elegantly even with Tillie held firmly in his arms. “At your service, ma’am. You have taken your respite on my land.” He gestured towards the red brick home. “Perhaps you will allow me to entice you to tea with myself and my aunt, Adele. She is always happy for company. It can get quite lonely in the country.”

  Her mouth watered at the thought of fresh biscuits and hot tea. “I cannot think to impose on you any further, sir.” Although he watched as genuine longing flashed in her eyes and the tip of her tongue flicked out to wet her bottom lip.

  A fierce possessiveness gripped him quite suddenly by the throat, his arm tightened around the cooing baby. He could not send them back out to the wolves. She had barely enough strength to stand, let alone to fight off any true blackguard that might attack or to even walk a few steps lugging her satchel and babe. “Nonsense, surely you will allow me an opportunity to practice hospitality to a traveler in need of rest.”

  She swallowed as he looked almost hurt by her quick decline.

  “Mrs. Harris loves to receive additional feedback on her fare. She advised me just this morning that she was experimenting with a new recipe for lemon tarts.” He closed his eyes for a brief moment, but continued to watch through tiny slits. The tip of her tongue peeked out again to run across her bottom lip as if she could taste the tart sweetness and he watched as her throat worked on a swallow.

  “Why are you being so kind?” Her throat closed, tears glistening in her eyes.

  Her voice spoke volumes of doubt and concern, and Parker felt all his protective instincts rise to the fore. “Because I am able and quite willing to come to you and your babies aid, Miss Smith.” Parker smiled just a little, his eyes narrowed. “I have never been accused of being heartless and standing aside while there is someone who is in such desperate need of assistance.”

  “Charity?” She swayed, blinking, then squeezed her eyes tighter over a prickle of useless tears. Show no fear. No weakness. She had to be strong.

  “No, Miss Smith, kindness,” Parker replied gently. “Obviously something that has been sorely lacking in your life of late for it to be unrecognizable.” His left hand covered her baby’s back, holding her firmly against his shoulder and he held out his right hand in supplication. “I would be grateful, if you would allow me to do this one kindness. I am obviously in tremendous need of practice.”

  Persephone was afraid that at any moment she would make a spectacle of herself by swooning. If her circumstances did not change, it would not be the last.

  “My skills for charming strangers have noticeably diminished greatly over the past few months.” Parker watched her grow even paler, which he would have thought impossible, and took a step closer, raising his arm to assist.

  She shrunk back from his touch, her heart rate spiking in fear as his hand rose, the color fading from her lips. She held out her arm as if to assist with her balance as she swayed again. She thought she managed a smile and tried to respond before her eyes fluttered closed and she slumped to the ground in a graceless pile.

  Parker witnessed what little color remained in her face quickly fade and discerned the precise moment that she was going to sink to the ground, but unable to do anything about it. He sprinted to where she lay crumpled in an untidy heap and knelt next to her body, shaking her gently. “Miss Smith?” He breathed a sigh of relief when she groaned. Her eyelashes fluttered open, then closed where they remained. Any man who said that they enjoyed women swooning at their feet must not have had a true experience. It was rather frightening. He would prefer to face a pistol over a wet field at dawn.

  He looked down at the baby with a raised brow. “Well, little one, what am I to do now?” He laid the smiling Tillie, oblivious to any of her mother’s difficulties, gently on the ground beside her supine body and stood, peering intently towards the house, waving his arms vigorously. He shouted in a most ungentlemanly fashion, “Torridge! Torridge!”

  ***

  Adele stood framed by the window of the Rose Room gazing out, watching as her nephew wandered aimlessly through the gardens gravel paths. She wanted him to lead a fulfilled life. She knew he deserved to experience the magical love of a woman in which fairytales were written and Rosebriar deserved to have the joyous laughter of children and the patter of little feet running through the halls again. He was always so restless. Too busy minding everyone else’s business to mind his own.

  She watched as he wended his way slowly through the narrow passages in the garden, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. Too serious by half.

  Perhaps she could truly talk him into mucking out the stables. It never hurt anyone to get their hands dirty every once in a while. She smiled remembering the look on his face when she made that particular suggestion.

  Adele looked back out the window and watched as Parker made his way out of the garden. He stopped and started, glancing around as if he were searching for something. A moment later he circled a barely visible dark spot in the grass and crouched low to the ground.

  Adele gasped when she saw him lift something from the ground and lay it against his shoulder. It took a moment for her to realize what he held. She gathered her skirts in one hand and flew from the sitting room.

  “Dobbins!” She rushed to the door. “Dobbins!”

  Dobbins stepped from an alcove, responding to the distress in her voice, “Yes, my lady?” A frown creased his aging face.

  “There is someone in the field behind the gardens.” She flung open the door without assistance and raced down the steps flashing her ankles as she dashed out the door. “Send footmen behind me.”

  “Right away, my lady?”

  ***

  Parker stood looking down at Miss Smith and her baby at a loss of how to move forward. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He couldn’t carry both without causing harm to one, could he?

  He had always believed he was prepared for any circumstance; the gods must be looking down at him from the heavens laughing now. He arched a glance up at the cloudy, gray sky, then over towards the worn leather satchel; perhaps he could lay Tillie in the satchel and carry her and Miss Smith at the same time? Could that harm a baby?

  How can such a small creature cause him to feel so discomfited?

  Parker had barely crouched down
to lift Tillie up in his arms when he heard the voice of his head gardener, “M’lord?”

  He stood with Tillie cradled against his chest and let out his pent up breath. Thank the Lord!

  “M’lord?” Torridge called again, racing through the field.

  “Quickly, Torridge,” Parker responded, waving him on with urgency. “Take the baby.”

  “Baby, m’lord?” Torridge’s countenance turned to one of abject astonishment as he came to a halt and looked into Parker’s arms before looking up in confusion.

  “Yes, Torridge, a baby.” Parker handed over the infant and then crouched next to Miss Smith to slide his arms under her body and lifted her. She weighed next to nothing. He could feel her bones through the thin material of her dress. He clutched her to him and looked up when he heard others running through the field and spied his aunt dashing with her skirts in hand.

  “How came they to be here, m’lord?” Torridge questioned with a worried furrow between his brows.

  Parker gave Torridge a speaking look. “I suppose that will be mine to search out.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Parker, a baby?” Adele cried, her hand flying to her chest as she took deep gulping breaths. She looked at the bundle in Torridge’s arms, then turned wide eyes towards the girl in Parker’s arms. “Where on earth did the poor girl come from?” Her eyes widened when she spied the knife lying on the ground at Parker’s feet.

  Parker grimaced, shrugging. “I fear we have been relieved of our solitude by a mewling infant and a mysterious young woman.”

  “It would appear so.” Adele’s brow furrowed with worry. “Hasten, my dear. The poor child looks to be on death’s doorstep and it appears the baby will not be content until fed.”

  As they marched back towards the house, baby and girl in hand, Adele spoke quite adamantly, “First, I must send to town for a nurse.” She looked into Parker’s eyes. “We cannot very well have a baby at Rosebriar without a proper nurse.”