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A s if the previous evening’s supper wasn’t uncomfortable enough with the sidelong glances she received from some of her fellow guests for her “radical” views, Meredith now had a new problem to deal with.

"I've never met such an intelligent woman, it's a pure pleasure to converse with you."

Meredith's face was nearly on fire from the unexpected attention. Mr. Townsend had shown up once again at the house party, invited by Faith and Jasper as a member of the local gentry to even out their numbers. There was to be dancing that evening.

The gentleman's flattery and interest in her school were gratifying in a certain way. But Meredith couldn't quite place her finger on why they made her uncomfortable.

"Thank you," she murmured when it finally occurred to her that some sort of response was necessary.

"Tell me about what you do," Meredith prompted. Everyone else at the house party appeared to be extraordinarily accomplished; surely this gentleman must be as well.

"Oh, I do very little," he said with a self-deprecating laugh. "My great aunt left all her money to me, so all I have to do is spend it," he said with a flippant gesture, as though it mattered little what he did with his day—or perhaps as though he didn't notice what sort of company he was keeping.

Meredith was actually embarrassed for him, glancing around to see how everyone else was dealing with his arrival.

"Tell me more about your school," the man prompted.

"Well," Meredith began, unsure what to tell him.

"Miss Somerton and I, with the help of Lord Jasper, established a technical school to teach young woman needed skills.

But now I would like to ensure the children of the streets are also able to learn to read and write.

The students I have in mind to teach are the offspring of the impoverished in Oxford.

They have no hope of bettering their lives without learning how to read and write and do basic arithmetic.

It is my hope to be able to help them achieve higher things with their lives than what they're currently destined for. "

Mr. Townsend frowned in confusion. "But why would you bother?"

Meredith almost stepped back in her dismay, but she realized he was just foolish and had no way of knowing.

She glanced toward Lord Sutcliffe, who had seemed to struggle with his own views about education, and she realized that he was far more intelligent and invested in the future of others, particularly his tenants, than he was actually opposing her—unlike this gentleman, who claimed to be supportive but was really just rather foolish.

***

From across the room, Chilton watched the exchange with growing unease.

He had noticed Townsend's immediate gravitation toward Meredith upon arrival, and something about the man's apparent interest set his teeth on edge.

Perhaps it was the way Townsend kept leaning in, as if trying to create an artificial intimacy, or how his compliments seemed designed to draw attention to himself rather than truly praise Meredith's intelligence.

Lady Beaverbrook approached, offering him a cup of tea. "Mr. Townsend seems quite taken with Miss Martin," she observed, her tone neutral but her eyes shrewd.

"So it would appear," Chilton replied, striving to match her casual manner despite the tension building within him. For the past day, he had maintained a careful distance from Meredith, following Caroline's implicit directive. Yet watching Townsend's obvious pursuit, he found his resolve wavering.

"I've known Henry Townsend since he was in short coats," Lady Beaverbrook continued, seemingly oblivious to Chilton's discomfort. "His great-aunt's fortune has made him quite the eligible bachelor, though his personal accomplishments remain somewhat... elusive."

"I gathered as much from his own admission," Chilton said dryly. "He seems to consider inheriting money achievement enough."

Lady Beaverbrook's lips quirked in amusement. "Not unlike inheriting a title, some might say."

The observation stung precisely because it contained an element of truth. Chilton had done nothing to earn his baronetcy beyond being born to the right parents in the right order. Yet he bristled at the comparison.

"A title comes with responsibilities as well as privileges," he pointed out. "Obligations to tenants, to the land, to tradition."

"Indeed," Lady Beaverbrook agreed. "Though how one interprets those obligations varies considerably, does it not? Your views on education for tenant children, for instance, seem to be evolving."

Chilton shifted uncomfortably, aware that his retreat from Meredith had not gone unnoticed by the observant countess. "Educational theories must be considered within practical frameworks," he said, falling back on the measured response that Caroline would approve. "Balance is essential."

"Balance," Lady Beaverbrook repeated, as if testing the word. "Yes, a commendable aim. Though sometimes I wonder if what we call 'balance' is merely compromise with the familiar, even when the familiar is flawed."

Before Chilton could formulate a response to this unsettling observation, their attention was drawn by Townsend's laugh—too loud, too deliberately charming—as he continued his conversation with Meredith.

"Your educational venture is precisely the sort of worthy cause my aunt would have supported," he was saying, his voice carrying across the drawing room. "I manage her charitable foundation now, you know. Perhaps we might discuss how it could benefit your school."

Meredith's expression brightened with genuine interest for the first time since their conversation began. "That's most kind of you, Mr. Townsend. Funding is indeed our greatest challenge."

"I believe in supporting noble endeavours," Townsend said, his chest puffing slightly with self-importance. "Particularly when championed by such passionate and—if I may be so bold—enchanting advocates."

The compliment, hovering just at the edge of propriety, brought a flush to Meredith's cheeks. Chilton felt something twist in his chest—a sharp, unpleasant sensation he was reluctant to identify as jealousy.

"What charitable works has Mr. Townsend's foundation supported previously?" he found himself asking Lady Beaverbrook, his voice low.

The countess's eyebrow arched delicately. "To my knowledge, none of particular note. The aunt died only last year, and Henry has been more occupied with spending his inheritance than distributing it. Though perhaps Miss Martin has inspired him to more philanthropic pursuits."

The scepticism in her tone mirrored Chilton's own doubts. Something about Townsend's sudden interest in educational charity struck him as convenience rather than conviction. But what right had he to question the man's motives, since he was so new to considering the value of education himself?

"Would you care to join them?" Lady Beaverbrook suggested. "Your practical knowledge of estate management might add valuable perspective to their discussion of educational funding."

The invitation was innocent enough, yet Chilton detected a hint of challenge beneath it.

"I believe Miss Martin is managing quite well without my input," he replied, striving for a casual tone despite the tension in his jaw. "And I promised my sister I would review some correspondence from our solicitor before dinner."

"How dutiful," Lady Beaverbrook observed, her tone making the virtue sound suspiciously like a fault. "Though I wonder if duty to family always supersedes duty to truth."

With that cryptic remark, she drifted away to join another conversation, leaving Chilton unsettled and increasingly uncomfortable with his position as observer rather than participant in Meredith's discussion.

Across the room, Townsend had produced a small notebook and was making an elaborate show of jotting down details about Meredith's school plans.

"The foundation could provide initial funding for a building and teaching materials," he was saying, his pen poised over the page. "And perhaps a modest stipend for yourself as headmistress?"

"That's very generous," Meredith replied, her tone careful but hopeful. "Though I hadn't planned to draw a salary from the school's funds, at least initially. Every shilling should go directly to the children's needs."

"Noble, but impractical," Townsend said with a dismissive wave. "Even dedicated educators must eat, Miss Martin. And I should not wish to see such admirable enthusiasm diminished by financial hardship."

His concern would have seemed more genuine if his gaze hadn't lingered inappropriately on Meredith's face and figure as he spoke. The attention, while subtle enough to maintain plausible deniability, carried undertones that made Chilton's hands clench at his sides.

He should walk away. Caroline would expect it, would remind him that Meredith's financial arrangements were none of his concern. Yet his feet seemed rooted to the spot as Townsend leaned closer, his voice dropping to a more intimate level.

"Perhaps we might discuss the specifics over dinner? I've taken the liberty of requesting that we be seated together."

"How presumptuous," Chilton muttered under his breath, earning a curious glance from a nearby gentleman. He hadn't intended to speak aloud, but the man's forward manner was grating on his last nerve.

Meredith appeared taken aback by Townsend's presumption but rallied with admirable composure.

"While I appreciate your interest, Mr. Townsend, I believe Lord and Lady Thornfield have already arranged the dinner seating.

And in any case, such matters are better discussed in more formal settings, perhaps with other educational supporters present. "

Her diplomatic deflection impressed Chilton even as Townsend's slight frown revealed his disappointment. The man recovered quickly, however.