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"Exceptional cases exist, of course," Caroline allowed, with the air of making a significant concession.

"The occasional bright child from humble origins might, with proper patronage, rise somewhat above their station.

But that is not justification for universal education that would fill the lower orders with inappropriate aspirations. "

"Inappropriate aspirations," Chilton repeated slowly, testing the phrase. "Like a baron associating with a professor's daughter?"

Caroline's fan snapped open with a sound like a small gunshot.

"That comparison is beneath you, Chilton.

Miss Martin's birth, while hardly distinguished, is at least genteel.

My concern is her ideas, which reflect dangerous modern thinking that has already wrought havoc in France.

Have you forgotten the Terror? The guillotine?

The royal family slaughtered like animals by the very peasants they sought to elevate? "

The spectre of revolution was Caroline's ultimate weapon, one she wielded now with practiced efficiency. The French Revolution had cast a long shadow over England's aristocracy, transforming educational reform from mere philosophical debate to potential existential threat in the minds of many.

"Teaching tenant children their letters is hardly the same as inciting revolution," Chilton said, though he could not entirely dismiss the connection Caroline sought to establish. Change, once begun, did not always remain within intended boundaries.

"It begins with ABCs and ends with demands for rights and representation," Caroline insisted. "History has shown this pattern time and again. As baron, your duty is to provide benevolent guidance within established structures, not to undermine those very structures through misguided reform."

A light morning rain began to fall, droplets glittering on the rose leaves around them. Caroline opened her parasol, its delicate silk a barrier against nature's minor inconvenience, much as her social position served as barrier against larger disruptions.

"I believe we should return to the house," she said, rising with fluid grace. "But before we do, I must ask you plainly: what are your intentions regarding Miss Martin?"

The directness of the question caught Chilton off guard. "I... admire her intellect and conviction," he said after a moment's hesitation. "Her educational project has merit that deserves consideration."

"That is not what I asked, and you know it." Caroline's voice was uncharacteristically blunt. "Are you contemplating a match with this woman?"

The rain intensified, drumming against Caroline's parasol in rhythmic counterpoint to the sudden acceleration of Chilton's heartbeat. The question forced him to confront possibilities he had deliberately avoided examining too closely.

"We have known each other only briefly," he hedged. "It would be premature to speak of matches or intentions."

"But not too premature to defend her against distinguished scholars? To publicly support educational theories that run counter to centuries of social wisdom?" Caroline's eyes narrowed. "Your actions suggest deeper feelings than mere intellectual admiration, Chilton."

Did they? Chilton wondered. He had certainly been drawn to Meredith from their first real conversation in the library—to her passionate intelligence, her unwavering commitment to her principles, the way her eyes sparked when defending her beliefs.

But marriage? The idea was simultaneously thrilling and terrifying in its implications.

"I respect Miss Martin greatly," he said finally. "But I am also mindful of my position and responsibilities. I have made no declarations, implied no intentions beyond support for educational improvement in general terms."

Caroline studied him for a long moment, seeming to weigh the sincerity of his statement.

"Then I suggest you maintain that prudent distance," she said finally.

"For her sake as much as yours. A woman of her background and beliefs would make a most unsuitable Baroness Sutcliffe, ill-equipped for the role and unhappy in its constraints.

Better to admire from afar than to embark on a connection that would bring mutual disappointment. "

The assessment was delivered with such apparent concern for both parties that its inherent condescension was almost disguised.

Almost, but not quite. For the first time, Chilton heard the implicit assumption in Caroline's counsel: that Meredith could never successfully adapt to or be accepted within their social circle, regardless of her personal qualities.

"You underestimate her," he said, the words emerging before he could reconsider them.

Caroline's eyebrows rose fractionally. "Do I? Or do you overestimate your ability to shield her from the consequences of being a baron's wife with revolutionary ideas? The ton can be cruel, Chilton. Especially to those seen as threatening established order."

The rain had become a proper downpour now, forcing them to hurry back toward the house. As they reached the shelter of the terrace, Caroline paused, placing a gloved hand on Chilton's arm.

"I speak from concern for you both," she said, her voice softening.

"You have responsibilities that cannot be set aside for personal inclination.

The estate, the tenants, the family legacy—all depend on you making prudent choices.

And she would be asked to surrender the very independence of thought and action that you find so admirable.

How could such a match bring anything but regret? "

With that parting observation, Caroline swept into the house, leaving Chilton alone on the rain-washed terrace. Water dripped from the stone balustrade, forming small rivulets that joined and separated in patterns too complex to follow.

He remained there for some time, watching the rain transform the formal gardens into a glistening landscape of subdued colours. Caroline's words echoed in his mind, not because they aligned with his own thinking, but because they forced him to confront questions he had been avoiding.

What did he truly believe about education and social hierarchy?

For most of his life, he had accepted without question the principles Caroline had just articulated—that society functioned best when each person remained within their ordained sphere, that change threatened rather than enhanced the social fabric, that his duty as baron was to preserve rather than transform.

Yet his conversations with Meredith had awakened doubts about these seemingly self-evident truths.

What if the traditional social order, for all its apparent stability, actually wasted human potential?

What if education could improve lives without destroying necessary hierarchies?

What if his responsibility to Sutcliffe included not just preservation but thoughtful evolution?

These were dangerous questions, challenging assumptions that had shaped his understanding of the world since childhood.

Caroline was right about one thing—they had implications far beyond theoretical debate.

If taken seriously, they would require him to reconsider not just his views on tenant education but his entire conception of what being Baron Sutcliffe entailed.

And then there was the more personal question that Caroline had forced into his consciousness: his feelings for Meredith herself.

He had claimed they were merely intellectual admiration, and there was truth in that assertion.

But it was not the whole truth, as his reaction to Townsend's attentions had made uncomfortably clear.

The rain began to slacken, sunlight breaking through the clouds to create momentary rainbows above the drenched garden.

Chilton watched the play of light and water, aware that something fundamental had shifted within him.

Caroline had intended to reinforce his adherence to familiar principles, but she had instead catalysed deeper questioning.

He did not yet know where such questioning might lead.

The path of least resistance would be to retreat into conventional thinking, to accept Caroline's counsel as wisdom rather than dogma.

Yet he found himself increasingly unable to do so, not after seeing the world through Meredith's eyes, even briefly.

Perhaps that was the most disturbing realization of all—that once certain questions were asked, they could not be unasked. Once certain possibilities were glimpsed, they could not be unseen.

As the rain finally ceased, Chilton straightened his shoulders and prepared to rejoin the house party. Whatever internal debates might rage within him, he had social obligations to fulfil, a role to play in the ongoing drama of aristocratic leisure.

But beneath the perfect composure of Lord Sutcliffe, fifth Baron, heir to centuries of tradition and privilege, doubt had taken root—doubt about education and social hierarchy, doubt about his own beliefs and responsibilities, doubt about the adequacy of the life he had always assumed was his inevitable destiny.

And though he could not yet admit it even to himself, doubt about whether he could continue to deny the growing attraction that drew him toward a woman whose vision of the world challenged everything he had been raised to believe.