Love with a Notorious Rake

by Karyn Gerrard

  “I’ve had plenty of rest. I’ve discussed this with Riordan, and he agrees with my scheme. Dr. Bevan suggested I submerge myself in one of the family’s causes.” Aidan explained how factory reform held his interest, and how he wished to operate as Riordan had, observing as a covert operative, gathering information that could be used to push through much-needed amendments to the current act.

  His father and grandfather exchanged glances. At least they hadn’t discarded his suggestion outright.

  “I’m particularly interested in cotton mills, since they exploit women and children more than any other industry,” Aidan said.

  “Dr. Bevan agreed to this strategy? Does he believe you well enough?” his father asked.

  Aidan frowned. “I didn’t discuss the particulars, but he would not have allowed me to leave if I wasn’t ready to move on with my life.”

  “Aidan should do this, and he should be given our full support,” Garrett said.

  He gave his uncle a nod of thanks. His six-years-older uncle was more of a big brother, and Aidan was glad of his assistance. “Father, between you and Grandfather, you know of the worst mills in the country. Using your influence, you can have me placed at one. Think of the information I could gather—enough ammunition to push for improvements.”

  “In what capacity would you work at the mill? You hardly look and sound like a factory worker,” his father interjected.

  Aidan smiled. “I’ve thought of that. Surely there are middle management positions, such as a floor supervisor.”

  “That would not be easy to arrange,” his grandfather said. “Such positions are coveted, and usually held by men who have been at the mill many years.”

  “I have great faith in your power, Grandfather, and in Father’s. You could arrange something, even if it’s temporary.”

  His father rubbed his forehead. “You cannot be plunked down in the middle of a cotton mill. You will have to be trained on the machines, learn the inner workings of the production of cotton. Study all of the laws—”

  “Like the Labor in Cotton Mills Act of eighteen thirty-one? As I said to Riordan, I listened more at those family meetings than you know.” Aidan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I have to do this. I want—need—to do something worthwhile. It’s not an immediate necessity that I be dropped into a mill; I will do the due diligence, be trained on the machines, study laws and procedures. It will have to be one of the worst mills in the country. Surely you know of one.”

  His father sighed, “There is more than one, unfortunately. Government grinds at an agonizingly slow pace. Even Riordan’s presentation of education reform before the prince will not bring about swift change. Passing amendments to present acts, or crafting new ones, takes months, years. God, even decades.”

  “It’s true,” his grandfather interjected. “It is deuced frustrating. You could go to all this trouble and see no satisfactory result.”

  “Even bringing the mill owner to justice would be a victory, would it not?” Aidan asked. “Think of me as a de facto factory inspector, albeit a stealthy one.”

  “Sounds like a victory to me,” Garrett stated. “Surely Da, you’re able to find a mill owner who deserves to be prosecuted?”

  “Yes, Garrett, there are a number. If you are determined to do this, Aidan, then allow your father and me to make inquiries. I know of a man who can train you on the inner workings of a cotton mill, but it may take a few weeks.”

  Aidan beamed. Hope bloomed inside him for the first time in—well, longer than he could recall.

  Abbie knocked and entered. “Tea is served, gentlemen. And Aidan, when I informed Mrs. Barnes you were home, she and Mrs. Teague prepared a veritable feast.”

  The housekeeper and cook had been at the hall since before Aidan was born. Even when he misbehaved as a child—which, he reflected, was often—the ladies always had a biscuit and a ready hug when he had needed it most. He would visit them after dinner.

  Later, once tea then dinner had concluded and he’d spoken to Mrs. Barnes and Mrs. Teague, Aidan entered his suite of rooms. He marveled at the cleanliness—not an item out of place, and in the exact condition he’d left it last year, as if waiting for his return. Aidan tore off the layers of clothes, tossing them to the divan. Naked, he sat on the floor facing the end of his bed. Hooking his feet under the iron rungs of the footboard and clasping his hands behind his head, he began his regimen of one hundred sit-ups. After this, he would do one hundred floor presses.

  He’d been introduced to this routine a couple of years past, in his boxing phase. The trainer at the club stated the ancient Romans used to do a version of these particular exercises, which the trainer referred to as calisthenics. The physical exertion kept disquiet from his soul, and allowed him to focus on something other than haunting memories.

  It also kept him focused on his goal. Recovery. Rebirth. Redemption. Not to mention it aided in building up his strength, muscle, and stamina, which had been sadly lacking. His brother was right; he was far too thin. He moved quicker, and sweat popped out on his forehead from the effort.

  Banish the demons. Keep temptation at bay.

  And, more importantly, try to forget Cristyn. She invaded his erotic dreams. He could not shake the memory of her. At times, he swore he caught the scent of violets. She haunted his every step. No woman had ever affected him to this extent—she was yet another addiction to overcome. Or perhaps she wasn’t. Perhaps she was more. Best to put it out of his mind. Putting her out of his heart, however, would require greater effort.

  * * * *

  It was well into June before Cristyn decided to speak to her father about her plan to pursue nursing. She’d broached the subject once more with Cyn and Davidson, and they’d agreed that any place but London would be a better choice. Davidson had attended university there and painted a rather grim picture of dirty streets, foul air, rude people, and expensive lodgings. With the city out of the question, perhaps a smaller town or village would suffice. It was what she was used to.

  There was no time like the present to raise the topic. “Dad, since a recent medical graduate from Oxford will be here by the end of the month, I thought I might look for work elsewhere.”

  Her father dropped his fork in shock, and pieces of beef and vegetable smothered in gravy bounced across the tablecloth, leaving a greasy stain. “What?”

  “The training program that Mr. Garrett Black, Aidan’s wealthy uncle, is funding? Young doctors will be learning your methods of addiction treatment. You will have a young man arrive here with another in August. You no longer need me to act as your assistant. I would rather not be relegated to the position of head maid.” Cristyn dabbed the corner of her mouth and laid the napkin on the table. “I have learned much from you, and I wish to put it into practice in front-line medical situations. At first, I thought London—”

  Her father’s eyes widened. “No, Cristyn.”

  She held up her hand. “I’ve already ruled it out. There is no formal training for nursing, and if I applied for a position at a hospital there, I would be treated no better than a servant. There is nothing wrong with being a maid, but that is not what you’ve trained me for. I know as much or more than any apothecary offering medical care to the lower classes. Perhaps more than a surgeon treating those who can afford to pay to have a broken bone set.” Cristyn exhaled.

  “Yes, you are highly knowledgeable.”

  “But it is not enough to have it recognized by anyone other than my father. Women are not welcome in the medical field, or even allowed to train and study formally at an accredited university. It’s not fair.”

  “No, it isn’t. But here at the sanatorium you will receive the respect that you deserve. Regardless of who comes here to train, I would never relegate you to a subservient position. You’re my assistant, and that will not change. Not as long as I run this facility. And if these youn
g men can’t accept it, they can return from whence they came.”

  Her father’s passionately spoken words of support touched her heart. “I do appreciate it, Dad. Truly. But as I said, I wish to put my skills to practical use.”

  “We treat the villagers for various maladies,” her father replied.

  “Yes, lancing a boil or pulling an infected tooth. I’m speaking of those in true need, those too poor to pay for medical care. Surely there must be a place my experience and learning can be put to good use. Besides London or any other large city.”

  “You’re serious about this.”

  She nodded. “Yes. Completely.”

  “Is there more to it? Is it because of Aidan Black?”

  Her father knew her well. “Perhaps a little.”

  He cocked a dubious eyebrow at her.

  “All right, perhaps more than a little,” she whispered softly.

  Her father’s eyes widened. “Dear God, you’re in love with him.”

  “I don’t want to be.”

  “Damn the man. I am sorry I ever allowed him to stay here,” her father snapped irritably. “How dare he hurt you.”

  “I hadn’t meant for it to happen. He did nothing to encourage my feelings. The blame can hardly be laid at his feet.”

  Her father patted her hand. “The heart is a tricky thing; it rarely listens to common sense. If you feel strongly about it, I won’t stand in your way.” He frowned, as if puzzling out the dilemma. “There is a possibility with a friend of mine from university. He attended with Elwyn and me. His name is Dr. Paris Middlemiss. He’s around forty-eight years of age, and a confirmed bachelor.”

  Cristyn’s mood brightened. “What else can you tell me about him?”

  “He strongly believes in helping those less fortunate. Although he is the third son of a viscount and has credentials enough, he was able to set up a fashionable and lucrative practice in London, though he has walked away from that life. For the past four years he has been moving about Great Britain, staying a year in each place, tending the sick and using his own fortune to finance his good works.”

  Cristyn smiled. “He sounds wonderful.”

  “Paris is a good man.”

  “Why would he give up a profitable practice in London?” Cristyn asked.

  “He mentioned a doomed love affair, but I’m not aware of the particulars. I suppose he is trying to take his mind off it by keeping busy. If I contact him, and he agrees to take you on, you must give me your word it will only be for a period of three months. I cannot spare you any longer than that. Besides, I would miss you terribly.”

  “Oh, Dad. I will miss you as well. But I need to do this. I must stand on my own two feet.” Cristyn twirled the stem of her wineglass. “And forget how much of a fool I’ve made of myself over a man who didn’t return my feelings. Perhaps there is something wrong with me.”

  “Blast it! I cannot and will not allow you to think you’re not worthy of love.” Her father slammed his napkin on the table. “I’m breaking a confidence, and it is not sitting well with me, but my dear, the attraction was mutual. Aidan confided in me that night at dinner.”

  Her eyes widened in shock. Then a slow, simmering fury crawled through her at the reminder. At the fact it had not been merely in her imaginings. “He said he was attracted to me, and still left?” Her voice shook with anger.

  “I agreed with his reasons. As I said earlier, he’s not for you. Aidan still has much to work through. He stated—rightly—he’s in no position to enter into any sort of relationship, and I concurred.”

  Damn men and their high-handedness! Somehow, it hurt even worse to know Aidan was interested in her and departed anyway, as if what had existed between them wasn’t worth exploring. Her eyes narrowed as she glared at her father. How dare they discuss her over dinner, making decisions about her life without allowing her any contribution. “You had no right to pass a verdict on my feelings. Neither of you did. How arrogant. My opinion hadn’t mattered at all.”

  Her father took her hand. “I am sorry. But try to remember: I’m aware of aspects of his past that you are not. Know that I acted in your best interests.”

  Cristyn pulled her hand away. Perhaps it was best she would be leaving for three months. She was angry and hurt, and afraid of saying something she would regret. “In the future, allow me the courtesy of living my own life, on my terms, and if that means I take a misstep along the way, then I learn from it. You cannot run my life under the guise of protecting me. I won’t be smothered or manipulated.”

  “Of course,” he murmured. “Again, I offer sincere apologies. You’re a grown woman, and I had no business interfering.”

  Too late. Aidan was gone and they would never see each other again. They were not even given a chance. Blast her father! And damn Aidan for leaving without even discussing it with her, for keeping his past and present such a secret. Damn him for capturing her heart. Cristyn admonished herself for giving her heart so readily. It was a mistake she would never make again. She folded her arms and frowned, stewing about the entire situation.

  Her father cleared his throat, no doubt uncomfortable under her withering look. Good. “Well, I should tell you where Paris is living at the moment. You’re still interested in your plan?”

  “More than ever,” she replied coolly.

  “I deserve that. At any rate, Paris is living in a village called Earl Shilton in Leicestershire, north of here, in the East Midlands. I will contact him at once.”

  * * * *

  During his first two weeks home, Aidan tried to follow the hall’s daily regimen and strict meal and tea times, but it was difficult fitting into a normal life once again. Though the family embraced him warmly, there was a definite aura of discomfiture hovering over everything.

  Perhaps he was mistaken in demanding no one mention his fall from grace, as it was patently obvious when people were trying to avoid the topic.

  He spent many hours in the stables, assisting Garrett and Jonas. He also came to know Megan and Abbie better. Having females in the house was strange, but entirely welcome, along with an energetic Scotch collie that enjoyed running through the halls. Aidan’s family had certainly changed. It was merely a matter of becoming used to the transition.

  A meeting had been called in his grandfather’s study. On the sideboard sat trays of sandwiches and fruit, along with coffee and tea. The men helped themselves, then took a seat at the table. Martin, after seeing everyone had sufficient food and drink, sat next to the earl, ready to take notes. His grandfather kept meticulous annotations on all their major family meetings. People may scoff at the men’s gatherings, but it was a generations-old tradition that kept them close and involved in each other’s lives—and focused on mutual objectives.

  Aidan gobbled up two sandwich wedges and reached for another. Working outdoors had restored his appetite, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d gained a pound or two in the past couple of weeks.

  “We are here to discuss you, Aidan, for I have news on your cotton mill venture,” his grandfather stated.

  Abbie and Megan walked into the room.

  Garrett smiled warmly at the sight of his wife and daughter. “Come, my loves. Take a seat. Martin, if you would be kind enough as to serve the ladies?”

  Martin stood. “Right away, Master Garrett.”

  “This is a family meeting; all the members should be here,” Garrett stated.

  “Of course. A decided oversight on my part. My apologies, Abbie, Megan. Chalk it up to my age and forgetfulness, for you are more than welcome.” His grandfather smiled.

  “How exciting,” Megan said. “I cannot wait to hear about Aidan’s plan. And if there have been any developments on my suggestion for the private home for those with special needs.”

  “On that point,” Julian stated, “it is still a work in progress. I do have several do
nors lined up. It’s a matter of where we would like to locate it. Be assured, Megan, I will include you in the meetings when they occur.”

  “Thank you, Uncle.” She beamed.

  “And quickly,” Garrett interjected. “I have received word from Dr. Bevan confirming that the first medical graduate from Oxford will arrive for training in Standon at the end of June, with another joining them at the end of August. Both young men will be staying in Abbie and Megan’s former home.”

  At the mention of the Bevan name, Aidan’s heart ached with regret. After time to reflect, he’d come to the conclusion that he had handled the situation with Cristyn as clumsily as one man could. She never left his thoughts, day or night. What could he do about it? How many mornings had he awoken to an aching erection because she’d haunted his dreams?

  “Do you have all that, Martin?” his grandfather asked, pulling Aidan away from his thoughts.

  The butler, seated once again, was scribbling frantically. “I do, my lord.”

  “Good. I believe I have found a mill to serve our purposes. It is in an area that is suffering grinding poverty. The queen has started an inquiry and sent a man to investigate. The main industries in the area are the making of boots and stockings, usually done in people’s homes from rented stocking frames, and the cotton mill, which is the only factory in the vicinity.” His grandfather took a sip of tea while he referred to his papers. “It is called Morris Mill, a medium-sized enterprise, owned and operated by Rupert McRae. While no formal complaints have been registered, there are a lot of whisperings of rampant abuse, including mistreatment of the workers, underpayment of wages, long hours, safety violations, and the like.”

  “How is he getting away with it?” Abbie asked.

  “There are only four factory inspectors for the whole of England, for starters. We are working in parliament to increase that number tenfold, and for that provision to be included in the next revision of the Factory Act,” his father replied.

  “Many workers do not report these violations for fear of losing their employment,” his grandfather interjected. “Not only is poverty rampant in the area, but so is crime involving poaching game—no doubt because of hunger. It is not safe to go out after dark, for robbery is rife as well.” His grandfather caught his gaze. “After hearing all this, Aidan, do you still wish to insert yourself into this dire situation?”