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T he mail coach rattled over the final miles of its journey, the rhythmic swaying having long since numbed Meredith to the discomfort.

Dawn had broken over the rolling Wiltshire landscape, bathing the countryside in a soft golden light that transformed even the most ordinary hedgerow into something magical.

Despite her exhaustion from the overnight journey, Meredith found herself captivated by the beauty outside her window.

"First visit to this part of the country?" Mrs. Winters inquired, looking remarkably composed despite the rigors of travel. Her black bombazine gown showed barely a wrinkle, and her cap remained perfectly pinned, making Meredith acutely conscious of her own rumpled appearance.

"Yes," Meredith admitted, attempting to smooth her skirts with little success. "Though I've read extensively about Wiltshire's historical significance."

"Reading about a place and experiencing it are quite different matters," the widow observed with a knowing smile. "Though I imagine a scholar such as yourself understands that better than most."

Before Meredith could formulate a response, the coachman's voice carried from above. "Linford Park ahead, for any passengers alighting there!"

A flutter of nerves seized Meredith's stomach.

After the long journey, the moment of arrival was suddenly upon her.

She would see Faith again, meet Jasper's family, and inevitably encounter Lord Sutcliffe once more.

The thought of presenting herself in her current travel-worn state made her wince inwardly.

"Your destination, I believe?" Mrs. Winters said. "How fortunate to have friends in such elevated circles."

"My friend Faith is marrying into the family," Meredith explained, gathering her reticule and adjusting her bonnet as best she could. "She and I were childhood companions in Oxford."

Mrs. Winters nodded approvingly. "Connections are valuable currency in our world. I wish you an enjoyable celebration."

The coach slowed as it approached a set of imposing wrought-iron gates, beyond which a tree-lined avenue stretched toward a grand manor house. A livered gatekeeper emerged from a small stone lodge to inquire about their business.

"Mail coach, with a passenger for the house," the coachman called down. "Miss Martin, expected for the Somerton-Linford wedding."

The gatekeeper consulted a list, then nodded and stepped through a smaller gate in the large imposing one to assist Meredith to alight.

Before she could step down, Meredith’s attention was torn between taking her leave of her travelling companions and absorbing her surroundings.

She caught her first full view of Linford Park—a magnificent structure of honey-coloured stone, its symmetrical facade adorned with stately columns and tall, gleaming windows.

The formal gardens surrounding the house were immaculately maintained, with geometric patterns of box hedges and gravel paths leading to stone fountains and classical statuary.

It was more imposing than she had imagined, and for a moment, Meredith felt her confidence falter. This was a world far removed from her modest lodgings in Oxford, a world governed by rules of precedence and privilege that she understood intellectually but had little practice navigating.

"Gracious," she murmured involuntarily.

Mrs. Winters chuckled softly. "Indeed. Remember to hold your head high, my dear. Confidence often compensates for what one lacks in circumstance or connection."

The advice, though unsolicited, steadied Meredith as she stepped down and proceeded to trudge up the long drive to the house. A footman in the Linford livery of dark green and silver caught sight of her and hurried to meet her, taking her satchel from her hand.

"Miss Martin, welcome to Linford Park," he said with a practiced bow. "Miss Somerton is expecting you. If you'll follow me, I'll show you to your chamber where you might refresh yourself after your journey."

Meredith merely smiled her appreciation, still trying to catch her breath so unable to comment, then followed the footman up the broad stone steps and into the entrance hall.

The interior of Linford Park matched its exterior grandeur—a soaring space with a black and white marble floor, walls adorned with family portraits and classical landscapes, and a magnificent double staircase curving upward at the far end.

Crystal chandeliers caught the morning light streaming through tall windows, casting prismatic patterns across the polished surfaces.

"Merry!"

The familiar voice broke Meredith from her awestruck contemplation. Faith Somerton—soon to be Lady Faith Linford—hurried across the hall, her face alight with pleasure. In a rustle of sprigged muslin and lace, she embraced Meredith warmly, convention momentarily forgotten in the joy of reunion.

"Oh, look at you," Faith said, stepping back to examine her friend. "You must be exhausted from that dreadful journey. I told Jasper we should have sent a carriage for you."

"Nonsense," Meredith replied, though the thought of traveling in comfort rather than enduring the mail coach was more than appealing now. "I managed perfectly well, and the journey was quite instructive. One meets the most interesting people in public conveyances."

Faith laughed, linking her arm through Meredith's.

"Always finding educational value in every experience. You haven't changed a bit." She guided Meredith toward the staircase. "Come, I've had the blue chamber prepared for you—it has a lovely view of the rose garden. You can rest, change, and then join us for luncheon when you're ready."

As they ascended the stairs, Faith whispered confidentially, "I must warn you, Jasper's family is being tolerably civil, but they're not entirely pleased with the match. His father had hopes of a more advantageous connection, and his brother is positively insufferable about my 'common' background."

She rolled her eyes expressively. "As if being a professor's daughter makes one practically a street urchin."

"How trying for you," Meredith said sympathetically, though not entirely surprised.

The social gulf between the third son of a marquess and the daughter of an Oxford professor, however respected, was considerable. "Is Jasper handling it well?"

"Admirably," Faith beamed. "He defends me most gallantly, though I've told him I'm perfectly capable of fighting my own battles.

But enough about family politics—the guests are far more congenial.

So many of Jasper's friends from the Northcott Society are here.

You'll find plenty of stimulating conversation. "

They reached the upper landing, where a maid awaited to show Meredith to her chamber. Faith squeezed her hand before releasing her. "Rest well, dear friend. We have so much to discuss."

The blue chamber proved to be a gracious suite with tall windows overlooking a formal rose garden, just as Faith had promised.

Furnished with a canopied bed draped in blue damask, a mahogany dressing table with a silver-backed brush set, a comfortable armchair by the fireplace, and a writing desk positioned to capture the best light, it offered luxury beyond anything Meredith was accustomed to.

A copper hip bath stood ready before the fireplace, with jugs of steaming water being carried in by housemaids as Meredith entered.

Her small travelling bag was being unpacked and her modest wardrobe pressed and hung in the wardrobe—a reminder of the vast machinery of servants that kept such great houses functioning.

"Will there be anything else, miss?" the maid assigned to attend her asked after completing the bath preparations.

"No, thank you," Meredith replied, still somewhat overwhelmed by the attention. "This is all most comfortable."

Left alone, she sank gratefully into the warm bath, letting the water soothe away the rigors of travel.

As she bathed, she mentally reviewed the limited wardrobe she had brought, wondering if her best sprigged muslin would be considered appropriate for luncheon in such surroundings.

Her modest gowns, while perfectly adequate for Oxford Society, might appear positively rustic among the fashionable guests at Linford Park.

"It doesn't signify," she told herself firmly, recalling Mrs. Winters' advice about confidence. "I am here for Faith, not to impress the nobility."

Still, as she dried herself and dressed with particular care, Meredith couldn't help but wonder what Lord Sutcliffe might think of her appearance.

The thought irritated her— why should his opinion matter in the slightest?

Yet try as she might, she couldn't entirely banish the image of his face from her mind, the expression of concern he'd shown at the inn before she'd rebuffed him so sharply.

Her toilette complete, Meredith made her way downstairs, following the sound of voices to a bright morning room where several guests had gathered before luncheon. Faith caught sight of her immediately and hurried over, drawing her into the room with obvious delight.

"Everyone, may I present my dearest friend, Miss Meredith Martin," Faith announced.

"Meredith, you know Jasper, of course, and here are Lord and Lady Beaverbrook, Mr. Sean Smythe and Lady Evangeline, Dr. Lincoln Welby and his wife Vesta, Captain Sidney Peters, and—" she hesitated almost imperceptibly "—Lord Sutcliffe."

Meredith executed a graceful curtsey to the assembled company, her gaze skimming over Chilton—Lord Sutcliffe, she corrected herself mentally—with deliberate casualness.

He stood slightly apart from the others, impeccably dressed in a coat of blue superfine that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders.

When their eyes met briefly, she thought she detected a flash of something like relief in his expression before his features composed themselves into polite acknowledgment.