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"Of course, of course," he said with affected good humour. "Though I hope we might find time for a more private discussion of your vision. Great ventures begin with intimate conversations between like minds, do they not?"

Before Meredith could respond to this rather forward suggestion, Caroline appeared at Chilton's elbow, her arrival precisely timed as always.

"Darling," she said, her voice pitched to carry just far enough, "Lord Thornfield has been asking after you. Something about the hunting prospects for tomorrow."

The convenient interruption was transparent, but Chilton welcomed the excuse to retreat from his uncomfortable observation post. As he allowed Caroline to guide him away, he cast one last glance toward Meredith, only to find her watching him with an expression he could not quite decipher—disappointment, perhaps, or simple curiosity about his distance.

Caroline's fingers tightened on his arm as they moved toward the library where Lord Thornfield awaited. "That Townsend fellow seems rather attentive to your Miss Martin," she observed, her tone deliberately casual. "A fortunate development, I should think."

"Fortunate?" Chilton echoed, unable to keep the edge from his voice.

"Indeed," Caroline replied. "His interest provides an excellent reason for you to maintain your distance. After all, one wouldn't wish to interfere with a potential match that might secure the lady's future and her educational project."

The suggestion that Meredith might actually consider Townsend as a suitor created a hollow sensation in Chilton's chest. He had stepped back, as family duty and prudence dictated, only to see his place immediately filled by a man whose interest seemed more mercenary than genuine.

"Townsend's sudden enthusiasm for education seems remarkably convenient," he said, unable to entirely disguise his scepticism. "I wonder if his charitable inclinations extend beyond impressing pretty bluestockings."

Caroline's eyebrows rose at his tone. "My, my, Chilton.

Jealousy doesn't become you. Besides, what concern is it of yours?

You've wisely decided to focus on more appropriate matters, as befits your position.

" Her expression shifted, softening into something more calculated.

"What would Father say if he could see you now, distracted from your duties by a bluestocking with revolutionary ideas?

He who so carefully prepared you to be Sutcliffe? "

The mention of their father struck with precision, as Caroline had intended.

Bartholomew Sutcliffe had been a man of rigid principles and unwavering dedication to tradition.

The question of his approval had haunted Chilton since childhood, made more powerful by the man's early death, which had transformed him from a mortal parent into an almost mythical standard of baronial perfection.

"Father understood that a baron's first duty is to his estate and tenants," Chilton replied, the defence feeling hollow even as he voiced it.

"Precisely," Caroline agreed. "And he fulfilled that duty by maintaining the social order that has served Sutcliffe for generations. Not by encouraging tenant children to aspire beyond their station or allowing himself to be swayed by inappropriate attachments."

Her words, meant to remind him of his duty, instead crystallized the conflict that had been building within him since their first real conversation in the library.

What right did he have to feel protective of Meredith when he had retreated at the first hint of familial disapproval?

What right to question Townsend's motives when his own had proven so easily swayed?

"I merely observe that genuine support would be preferable to empty promises," he said, his voice stiff with suppressed emotion.

"And has your support been so genuine?" Caroline inquired with devastating accuracy. "You were quick enough to distance yourself when reminded of your responsibilities to the Sutcliffe name. Father would expect nothing less."

The observation struck home. Chilton had no response that wouldn't either reveal the depth of his conflicted feelings or expose him as a hypocrite.

They reached the library, where Lord Thornfield was indeed discussing the next day's hunting plans with several gentlemen.

Chilton joined the conversation with practiced ease, offering opinions on the best coverts and the quality of the local pack.

Yet his thoughts remained fixed on the drawing room scene he had left behind—Meredith's careful evaluation of Townsend's offer, the man's transparent attempts to create inappropriate intimacy, his own frustrated inability to intervene.

When the group eventually returned to the drawing room before dinner, Chilton found that Townsend had moved even closer to Meredith, his attentions now obvious enough to draw knowing glances from several guests.

Faith hovered nearby, her expression concerned, though whether for Meredith's comfort or reputation wasn't clear.

"What is your opinion on Rousseau's educational theories, Mr. Townsend?" Meredith was asking, clearly attempting to steer the conversation toward substantive topics.

"Fascinating, utterly fascinating," Townsend replied with enthusiasm entirely disproportionate to his evident knowledge. "Though perhaps more applicable to boys than girls, wouldn't you say? Female education should focus on... gentler subjects."

"On the contrary," Meredith began, launching into what promised to be a spirited defence of comprehensive female education.

Chilton found himself moving closer despite Caroline's warning glance from across the room. Something about Townsend's dismissive attitude toward a subject Meredith held so dear roused his protective instincts beyond his ability to suppress them.

"Rousseau's ideas, while revolutionary for their time, fail to account for individual aptitude regardless of gender," he heard himself saying as he joined their circle. "Don't you agree, Miss Martin?"

Meredith's surprise at his unexpected intervention was evident, though she recovered quickly. "Indeed, Lord Sutcliffe. The capacity for reason isn't determined by gender, but opportunity."

"A philosophical position, certainly," Townsend said with a patronizing smile. "Though practical experience suggests natural differences in intellectual inclination. Women excel in emotional intelligence, while men dominate rational thought."

"An interesting assertion," Chilton replied before Meredith could respond, his tone deceptively mild. "Though I wonder how you account for women like Mary Somerville, whose mathematical works have been praised by the Royal Society? Or Caroline Herschel, who discovered several comets?"

The examples, drawn from his recent reading on female education, clearly surprised both Meredith and Townsend—though for entirely different reasons. Meredith's expression warmed with what might have been approval, while Townsend seemed taken aback by opposition from an unexpected quarter.

"Exceptions that prove the rule," Townsend insisted, his confident manner slipping slightly. "Though I welcome all perspectives, of course. My charitable foundation takes a broad view of educational philanthropy."

"How fortunate for those seeking support," Chilton observed, unable to keep a hint of irony from his voice. "Though I imagine you apply rigorous standards when evaluating potential recipients."

"The most rigorous," Townsend assured him, missing the scepticism entirely. "I personally review all applications."

"Fascinating," Chilton replied. "I should be interested to learn more about your foundation's structure and previous grants. As a fellow supporter of educational initiatives, I'm always seeking models of effective philanthropy."

The direct challenge caught Townsend off-guard. His momentary hesitation suggested that the "foundation" might be less established than his earlier claims had implied.

"Of course, of course," he said, his smile now distinctly forced. "Though the details are rather technical. Better discussed among gentlemen, perhaps, over brandy?"

"I find Miss Martin perfectly capable of following technical discussions," Chilton countered. "Indeed, her insights often reveal aspects others might overlook."

The dinner gong sounded before Townsend could formulate a response, providing him with a convenient escape from further interrogation. As the guests began to move toward the dining room, Meredith lingered briefly, allowing a slight gap to form between them and the others.

"That was unexpected, my lord," she said quietly. "I had thought you'd lost interest in educational discourse."

Her tone held no accusation, merely a question she was too polite to ask directly: why had he withdrawn after Caroline's arrival, only to reappear as apparent defender against Townsend's patronizing assumptions?

"Some topics transcend social convenience," Chilton replied, knowing the answer was inadequate even as he offered it. "And Townsend's scholarship seemed suspiciously limited for a self-proclaimed educational philanthropist."

"Indeed," Meredith agreed, studying his face as if seeking something beyond his words. "Though I wonder what prompted your sudden concern for the authenticity of his interest."

The question hung between them; its implications clear. Chilton could not answer truthfully without revealing more than propriety—or his own confused emotions—would allow.

"Charitable endeavours should be founded on genuine conviction, not passing fancy," he said finally. "Your school deserves authentic support."

Something flickered in Meredith's expression—disappointment, perhaps, at his failure to acknowledge the personal element in his intervention. Before she could respond, however, Faith appeared at her side.

"Meredith, you're to be seated beside Lord Beaverbrook," she said, casting a questioning glance between them. "He specifically requested your company, mentioning something about astronomical education for young ladies."

"How fascinating," Meredith replied, allowing herself to be guided away. "I look forward to the conversation."

As she departed, she cast one last glance at Chilton, her expression impossible to read. He stood frozen for a moment, aware that he had somehow failed a test he hadn't known he was taking.

Caroline appeared beside him, as though she had been awaiting the opportunity.

"Nicely handled, darling," she said, though her approving tone suggested she had witnessed only his withdrawal, not his earlier defence. "Distance is best maintained through polite formality."

"Is it?" Chilton asked, the question more genuine than she could know. "I sometimes wonder if distance preserves anything worth keeping."

Caroline frowned at his philosophical turn. "It preserves what matters most—family legacy, social position, the order that sustains us all. Come, we mustn't be late."

As they entered the dining room, Chilton found himself seated far from Meredith, with Caroline on one side and Lady Thornfield on the other.

From his position, he could see Meredith engaged in animated conversation with Lord Beaverbrook, her expression alight with the intellectual passion that made her so compelling.

Several seats away, Townsend watched her as well, his attention barely disguised despite the elderly dowager attempting to engage him about her rheumatism. The man's interest was obvious, his intentions less so.

The familiar hollow feeling expanded in Chilton's chest as he mechanically responded to Lady Thornfield's observations about the local assembly rooms. He had retreated from Meredith out of duty and family obligation, only to find that his withdrawal solved nothing.

The attraction remained, complicated now by jealousy he had no right to feel and protective instincts he had forfeited the right to indulge.

Caroline had claimed victory too soon. For while Chilton might sit at an appropriate distance, making appropriate conversation with appropriate dinner companions, his thoughts and gaze continually strayed toward the woman who challenged everything he had been raised to believe about education, social order, and perhaps most disturbingly, his own heart.

Duty might dictate his actions, but it could not, it seemed, control his increasingly inconvenient feelings. And that realization was perhaps the most unsettling development of all.