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C hilton stared at the departing stagecoach, the dust from its wheels still hanging in the air. The encounter with Meredith had left him feeling like a clumsy schoolboy—earnest in intention yet woefully inept in execution.

How could an offer of assistance have gone so terribly awry?

"Will you be requiring anything else before we depart, my lord?" Jenkins approached with the quiet deference that characterized his service, carrying a small wicker hamper from the inn's kitchen.

"No, that will be all," Chilton replied, still watching the road where the mail coach had disappeared around a bend. "Let us continue on our way."

As his carriage rolled forward, the well-sprung vehicle offering a stark contrast to the jolting conveyance Miss Martin had chosen, Chilton found himself replaying their brief exchange.

Her indignation had been entirely justified; he could see that now.

To suggest an unmarried gentlewoman travel alone with him—even with servants present—was a breach of propriety that she had every right to reject.

What had possessed him to make such an offer?

The sight of her preparing to board that cramped, dusty coach had stirred some protective instinct he hadn't known he possessed.

Seeing her—with her refined bearing and intelligent eyes—wedged between the common travellers had struck him as fundamentally wrong, like finding a thoroughbred mare confined to a common stable, or a fine portrait hung in a tavern where none would appreciate its quality.

It offended his sense of natural order, though he couldn't quite explain why her particular circumstances should concern him so deeply.

"Have I lost my mind?" Chilton asked himself as the carriage sped toward his destination, the wheels clattering against the packed dirt of the road.

Why on earth had he made such an offer to her? He barely knew the woman, after all. Her reaction had been perfectly justified, though the memory of her indignation made his lips twitch with suppressed amusement.

He smirked, recalling the shock etched across the woman's face at his suggestion that she travel with him.

He hadn't propositioned her—at least, he hadn't meant to—yet her surprise had made him wonder if perhaps he had inadvertently crossed a line he hadn't even seen. Still, he couldn't help feeling drawn to her—her strong sense of propriety and obvious intelligence.

She'd used such precise diction in telling him exactly what she thought of his suggestion. Like a professor delivering a particularly stern lecture.

Chilton chuckled aloud, the sound echoing in the empty carriage.

"Definitely lost my senses," he muttered, shaking his head at his own folly.

The whole encounter replayed in his mind: her initial surprise at seeing him, that fleeting smile before she'd remembered to be disapproving, the way her eyes had flashed when she'd thought he was questioning her judgment.

The countryside rolled past outside his window, the autumn landscape painted in rich golds and russets.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves of the trees lining the road, casting dappled shadows through the carriage window.

It was a perfect moment to sit quietly and reflect, though his thoughts seemed determined to circle back to a certain blue-eyed bluestocking.

"She probably thinks I'm completely addlepated," he mused, remembering how she'd looked at him when he'd suggested she might not be safe in the public house.

As if she, with all her education and intelligence, hadn't already considered every aspect of her journey. As if she needed him, of all people, to point out potential dangers.

Once more, doubt crept into his thoughts.

Was he really prepared to spend a week in the company of scholars?

Miss Martin's reaction only underscored how differently his mind seemed to work compared to theirs.

He was certain his laid-back temperament would irritate them, just as they were bound to judge him for his lack of scholarly ambition.

But why should they?

"I did well enough at school," he muttered, frowning at his reflection in the window.

He hadn't failed any of his subjects. While it was true he hadn't pursued academia as Jasper and his friends had, he certainly wasn't idle. The familiar defensive thoughts rose up, but this time he examined them more carefully.

"Perhaps that's the real problem," he said to himself, watching the countryside roll past. "I've spent so much time defending my choices that I've never really questioned them."

His father had always said that true wisdom lay in knowing what you didn't know—advice Chilton had conveniently ignored until now.

He contemplated the small volume on education theory tucked into the pocket of his traveling coat.

The author's arguments about the value of practical learning combined with moral instruction had resonated deeply with him. Maybe it was possible that Miss Martin and the Oxford scholars’ dismissal of him as merely a fribble wasn’t so accurate, and he would be able to establish a school as he wished.

The carriage hit a rough patch in the road, jostling him from his reverie.

He thought of Miss Martin in the public coach, probably being thrown about like a cork in a storm.

His first instinct was to feel guilty about leaving her to such discomfort, but he checked himself.

She'd made it quite clear she didn't need his concern or his help.

Still... perhaps the scholars could help him find ways to improve his estate.

He'd heard Jasper had invented a device that enhanced ore extraction on his father's lands—maybe he could do something similar for Chilton.

At the very least, the scholars might take an interest in helping him establish a school for his tenants' and villagers' children.

From what he understood, that was precisely the kind of project that interested Misses Somerton and Martin.

"And there I go again," he muttered, realizing his thoughts had circled back to her once more. "Why do I care what she thinks of my plans?"

But he knew why. There had been something in her eyes when she'd looked at him—not just disapproval, but disappointment. As if she'd expected better of him, somehow. It shouldn't matter what some bluestocking thought of him, and yet...

Jenkins discreetly cleared his throat from the facing seat, reminding Chilton of his presence. "Perhaps you might wish to review the correspondence from Lord Jasper? I believe he mentioned specific arrangements for the week's activities."

Grateful for the distraction, Chilton accepted the packet of letters Jenkins extracted from his document case.

As he perused the detailed schedule of breakfasts, walks, musical evenings, and the wedding ceremony itself, he found himself wondering which events would allow for serious conversation with the scholars, and which might offer opportunities to speak with Meredith without the scrutiny of the entire party.

The afternoon passed pleasantly enough as the carriage made steady progress through the picturesque countryside. They stopped once more to change horses at a posting house, where Chilton took the opportunity to stretch his legs and inquire about the road ahead.

"Fair weather holding, my lord," the ostler assured him as he directed the fresh team into the traces. "Though there's talk of rain coming in two days' time. You'll want to reach your destination before then, I'd wager."

"Indeed," Chilton agreed, glancing at the clear autumn sky. "How far to Linford Park from here?"

"Another three hours, my lord, if the roads stay good. Fine estate, that. Been in the family for generations."

As they continued their journey, the landscape gradually changed.

The rolling farmland gave way to more wooded terrain, with occasional glimpses of grand estates set back from the road behind ornate gates and long, tree-lined drives.

The area was known for its hunting, Chilton recalled, with several prominent families maintaining properties specifically for the sport.

The sun was beginning its descent toward the horizon when Jenkins, who had been gazing out the window, straightened suddenly. "I believe we're approaching Linford Park, my lord."

Chilton leaned forward, observing as the carriage turned onto a well-maintained private drive.

Ancient oaks lined the approach, their massive trunks testament to centuries of careful stewardship.

Beyond them, formal gardens came into view, their geometric patterns still visible despite the encroachment of autumn.

And then, rising like a vision from the heart of the estate, stood Linford Park itself.

The manor was an impressive edifice of honey-coloured stone, its facade reflecting the golden light of the setting sun.

Built in the Elizabethan style, it featured multiple gables, tall chimneys, and rows of mullioned windows that glinted like diamonds.

A sense of permanence emanated from its walls—this was a house that had weathered centuries and would endure for centuries more.

As the carriage rounded the final bend, Chilton felt a curious mixture of anticipation and trepidation.

The coming week would challenge him in ways he hadn't experienced since his Oxford days.

He would be surrounded by scholars, by men of intellect and achievement, by women like Miss Martin, who valued knowledge above all else.

The vehicle came to a halt before the imposing entrance, where footmen in the Linford livery of blue and silver stood ready to assist the guests. As Chilton descended, he was greeted by a dignified butler whose bearing suggested decades of service to the family.

"Lord Sutcliffe," the man intoned with a precise bow. "We've been expecting you. If you'll follow me, refreshments await in the blue salon. Several guests have already arrived."