Page 75 of Love with a Notorious Rake

For all Cyn’s talk of how reformed rakes make wonderful husbands, there was a darker aspect to it. What if the man became bored with marriage? What if he missed the adventure of his wild, dissipated life? What if he only sought out matrimony because he was temporarily exhausted? Would he take up his old habits, women and opium? Aidan had stopped at a brothel on the way home. For all his claims of it being empty and meaningless, would it remain as such?

Cristyn was not so blinded by love and desire that she couldn’t see the pitfalls before her. Could they have a future? By his own admission, he was still being molded into the man he wished to be. Would the clay hold? Could he commit to one woman for the rest of his life? Instinctively and with surety, she understood she would not tolerate an aristocratic marriage, where the man led a secret life of sin while the woman was tucked away in the country, forgotten and alone.

Shaking away the horrid thoughts, she looked up at him. He was a good man; she felt it in her bones. If only Aidan would accept it.

Arriving at the clinic, he held the door open for her. Paris and Carter came out from behind the curtain to greet them. “The child?” Aidan asked.

“Resting, but fitfully. We will stay with her tonight,” Paris said.

Cristyn removed her gloves. “And I will as well.”

“Mr. Black…or, Mr. Wollstonecraft, I will tell you what you want to know,” the boy murmured, looking down at the toes of his worn shoes. He then cast a quick glance to Paris and Cristyn. “You can stay and all.” He took a deep breath and exhaled. “Not sure what happened to the women expecting babies. I heard they were sent to Scotland. But there’s a grave on the edge of the mill property. There are…children buried there. Not sure how many. I only know of two since I got here.”

The adults exchanged shocked looks. Carter bit his lower lip. “What you did for Lottie, getting her help, you’re the first to do it. When the children got sick, or injured, he—the master, and Hanson—let them die. There was no real doctor here before Dr. Middlemiss came. They stopped feeding them. I tried to slip the sick ones food, but he took them away to some other part of the mill. Then I saw them no more.”

Aidan laid a comforting hand on Carter’s shoulder.” How do you know about the grave?”

“I followed them. It was dark. There were bundles on a wagon. Hanson and a man I’ve never seen before dug in the dirt and buried the bundles. It had to be the children. They were the right sizes.” He shook his head. “I was afraid to say anything. It made me want to protect the children who were left all the more. I…I stole. In the village. I stole food to keep them fed, for what the master gave us was never enough.”

Cristyn was horrified. Glancing at Aidan, she could see the shock, but also the barely contained fury.

“The sun has set. You will show me this grave in the morning?” Aidan asked, his words clipped.

Carter nodded. “I don’t want Lottie to wind up there. Or any of them. I should’ve told, but I was afraid.”

Aidan slipped an arm about the boy’s shoulders. “No one blames you, lad. Who could you have told? No one at the mill.”

“I could have told Dr. Middlemiss,” Carter sniffled.

“Yes,” Paris said gently, “but I could have done more as well. I heard the whispers of mistreatment and neglect, and did not act quickly enough. Mistakes are lessons learned; they are not meant to be lasting regrets. Try not to think on what if, but move forward from where you are.”

* * * *

Aidan stared at Middlemiss, the empathic words resonating deep in his soul. Mistakes are lessons learned, not lasting regrets. Move forward. Isn’t that what he was trying to achieve with this covert operation at the mill? To heal his battered soul, to forgive by doing something to benefit someone other than himself?

The news about the grave was worse than he had imagined. Carter was not fabricating a tall tale— misery and regret were clear on the boy’s face.

“Wollstonecraft, I heard Muggeridge has returned to Earl Shilton. He is staying at the inn. Perhaps you can approach him with this news,” Paris said.

The queen’s representative. Perfect. He turned to Cristyn, took her hand, and kissed it. “I must take my leave and seek out Muggeridge immediately. I’ll return early in the morning. Carter, you will show me then where this grave is located?”

The boy nodded.

About to turn on his heel to depart, Aidan stopped and held out his hand to Middlemiss. “Thank you for all you have done for Lottie.” The doctor took his hand and shook it.

Aidan turned to Cristyn. “And to you, Nurse Bevan. As always, my deepest thanks.”

She gifted him with a warm smile in reply.

Aidan exited the small clinic and walked briskly toward the inn. Once he asked Atwood for Muggeridge’s room number, Aidan located it and knocked. A middle-aged man with graying hair opened the door.

“I am Aidan Wollstonecraft. Could you spare me a few moments of your time? A grave situation has arisen and I will need your assistance.” Grave, indeed.

The man arched an eyebrow at him, giving him a dubious look.

“I am the heir to the Earl of Carnstone.”

“Come in, by all means, Lord Wollstonecraft.” Aidan crossed the threshold. His grandfather’s name opened more doors than not. “Your father is Viscount Tensbridge. We’ve been corresponding about the situation here.”