Page 28

T ownsend's laugh carried across the room, grating on Chilton's nerves as he attempted to focus on the game of chess he was engaged in with Lincon Welby.

The baron was trying to feign interest in the game board before him, but his concentration faltered repeatedly as, across the salon filled with guests, Meredith and Townsend once again drew everyone's attention to themselves.

Their animated discussion about educational methods had attracted a small circle of listeners—some genuinely interested, others merely amused by Townsend's transparent efforts to impress.

I shouldn't be angry with Meredith , Chilton scolded himself.

It was hardly her fault that the buffoon was showing such overt attention to her.

His jealousy was making him ridiculous, but he was determined to avoid making a scene.

Miss Martin didn't deserve to be caught in the middle of such an awkward scenario.

As the conversation across the room continued, Chilton increasingly suspected that Townsend was pursuing Meredith with less than honourable intentions.

The man's reputation in neighbouring counties was far from pristine, though Chilton couldn't fathom why Faith and Jasper had included him among their guests.

More importantly, he wondered why no one was doing more to protect Meredith from his obvious machinations.

Chilton placed his next piece onto the board with much more force than necessary, hoping to distract himself from his simmering anger. Lincoln glanced at him with an upraised eyebrow but forbore to comment.

Townsend's laughter struck Chilton as particularly false, and the way the man leaned scandalously close to Meredith's shoulder made Chilton's hand clench around the knight he’d just claimed.

He entertained a brief, satisfying fantasy of planting a facer on Townsend, but maintained his composure, watching from a distance with growing discomfort.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Chilton conceded defeat to his opponent who had placed his king in check without his noticing.

Suppressing his frustrations, he stood, shook Lincoln’s hand, then strode across the room and approached the group.

He arrived just as Townsend was making another grandiose pronouncement about his newfound interest in philanthropic endeavours.

"So, you've truly become interested in children's education, Townsend?" Chilton inquired, his tone conversational though his eyes were sharp.

"Certainly," Townsend blustered, adjusting his elaborately tied cravat. "If the lovely lady is going to be spearheading such a pursuit, how could any red-blooded gentleman avoid developing an interest?"

He accompanied this with a cordial tilt of his head and a grin that set Chilton's teeth on edge.

There was something in the man's tone that rang utterly false to Chilton's ears. He fixed Townsend with a steady gaze.

"She is a gentlewoman, you know," he finally said, his voice dropping slightly as his eyes narrowed.

The others in the conversation almost visibly retreated a step, sensing the sudden tension. Meredith, however, moved forward, a frown creasing her brow.

"What precisely are you attempting to say, Lord Sutcliffe?" she asked, her chin lifting. "Are you calling into question my behaviour, or this gentleman's?"

Chilton offered her a quick smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Certainly not yours," he assured her.

Before the situation could escalate further, Captain Peters stepped forward and took Chilton's elbow.

"Jealousy isn't a good look, my friend," he said in a low but jovial tone. "Why don't we go for a ride? Clear your head a bit."

The suggestion hung between them as Chilton struggled with his response. He knew Sidney was right—he was making a spectacle of himself, and worse, drawing unwanted attention to Meredith. Yet the thought of leaving her alone with Townsend made his stomach churn.

"Perhaps Miss Martin would like to join us?" Chilton suggested, ignoring Sidney's knowing look. "The afternoon is perfect for riding, and I recall you mentioning your fondness for horses."

Meredith's expression shifted from annoyance to surprise, then to something more contemplative.

"I wouldn't want to interrupt Mr. Townsend's discourse on educational reform," she said, a note of dry humour in her voice that made Chilton's heart leap. "He was just explaining how teaching poor children to read might lead them to develop ideas above their station."

Townsend, missing the sarcasm entirely, beamed. "Exactly! You see, Lord Sutcliffe, the lady understands my concerns perfectly."

"Does she indeed?" Chilton replied, catching the flash of amusement in Meredith's eyes. "And what do you think of such concerns, Miss Martin?"

"Oh, I think Mr. Townsend's concerns are entirely justified," Meredith said sweetly. "After all, what could be more dangerous than people thinking for themselves? Why, they might even begin to question the divine right of certain gentlemen to inherit vast fortunes without ever having to earn them."

The silence that followed was profound. Townsend's face flushed crimson as he finally caught her meaning, while several other guests poorly concealed their amusement behind raised hands or sudden coughs.

"I... that is to say..." Townsend sputtered, but Meredith was already turning away.

"A ride sounds lovely," she said to Chilton and Sidney. "Though perhaps we should invite Faith as well? I wouldn't want to give anyone cause to question my behaviour."

The pointed look she gave Chilton made him wince.

"I apologize if I overstepped," he said quietly as they moved toward the door. "I only meant—"

"I know what you meant," she interrupted, her voice equally low. "Though I'm not entirely sure you do."

Sidney, walking ahead of them, called back, "I'll see about getting the horses ready. And perhaps finding Faith, if she can be torn away from wedding preparations."

Left alone in the hallway for the moment, Chilton found himself struggling to meet Meredith's gaze.

"I didn't mean to imply anything about your reputation," he said finally. "I was more concerned about his."

"Was that all you were concerned about?" she asked, and something in her tone made him look up sharply.

Her expression was unreadable, but there was a warmth in her eyes that made his pulse quicken.

Before he could respond, Sidney returned with news that Faith would join them shortly. Chilton watched Meredith with that same thoughtful expression, and he wondered if she could read the confusion in his face as easily as she had read Townsend's true character.

What had started as a simple attempt to protect her had somehow become something much more complicated. Chilton wasn't ready to name the feelings stirring in his chest, but he couldn't deny their presence any longer. The question was, what was he going to do about them?

The afternoon ride had done little to clear Chilton's head.

If anything, watching Meredith guide her mount with easy grace, her profile outlined against the autumn sky, had only confirmed what he'd been trying to deny.

His feelings for her had developed beyond mere admiration into something deeper and more disquieting.

As the party returned to the house, Chilton found himself seeking an opportunity to speak with her privately. He found his chance when Meredith detached from the others to examine a particularly fine specimen of late-blooming foxglove near the garden wall.

"Miss Martin," he began, approaching with what he hoped was casual ease. "I've been considering our discussions about education."

She straightened, brushing soil from her gloves. "Have you, my lord? And what conclusions have you reached?"

Chilton drew a deep breath. This was his opportunity to present the compromise he had been formulating since their last, rather heated debate.

"I believe I may have been too rigid in my thinking," he admitted. "While I still maintain there are practical considerations that cannot be ignored, I see merit in establishing more educational opportunities for tenant children."

Meredith's eyebrows rose slightly. "Go on."

"What if we were to create a system where basic literacy and arithmetic were taught alongside practical skills?

The boys could learn traditional trades from their fathers or local craftsmen, while the girls might be instructed in household management, basic accounting, perhaps even herbal medicine. "

He warmed to his subject, encouraged by her attentive silence. "This approach would provide useful knowledge without disrupting the natural social order. Each child would be prepared for their station in life, but with added skills to make them more effective within that sphere."

Chilton waited, expecting approval of what seemed to him a measured and reasonable solution. Instead, Meredith's expression gradually tightened, a small line appearing between her brows.

"And who would determine which station each child belongs in?" she asked, her voice unnervingly calm.

"Well," Chilton hesitated, sensing unexpected danger, "naturally, they would follow their family traditions. A blacksmith's son would learn smithing, a farmer's daughter household management suitable for a farmer's wife—"

"And the blacksmith's daughter who shows an aptitude for mathematics? The farmer's son who might have the mind of a poet or philosopher?" Meredith interrupted, her eyes flashing. "Would they simply be redirected toward their 'proper' place?"

Chilton frowned. "We must be practical, Miss Martin. These children need skills that will support them in the lives they will lead."

"And who decides what lives they should lead?

" She took a step closer, her voice rising slightly.

"You speak of compromise, my lord, but what you propose is merely a kinder form of limitation.

You still wish to keep every person in their assigned place, merely making that place slightly more comfortable. "

"That's not my intention," Chilton protested, feeling wrongfooted. "I'm trying to find a middle path that respects both tradition and progress."

"A middle path that maintains all your privileges while offering crumbs of improvement to others," Meredith countered. "How generous of you."

Her sarcasm stung. "That's unfair. I'm genuinely attempting to find a solution that doesn't completely overturn the social order that has maintained stability for centuries."

"Stability for whom?" Meredith's cheeks had flushed with colour. "For those born to privilege, certainly. But what of the bright minds trapped in circumstances that deny them any chance to develop their gifts? Is their frustration and wasted potential a price worth paying for your 'stability'?"

Chilton felt his own temper rising. "You make it sound as though I'm personally responsible for every inequality in England! I am attempting to be reasonable, to find a workable solution that might actually be implemented rather than mere idealistic dreams."

"Dreams are what drive change," Meredith retorted. "Without them, we merely accept the world as it is, with all its injustices intact."

They stood facing each other, the air between them charged with conflicting passions. Chilton was suddenly, acutely aware of how beautiful she looked with her eyes bright with conviction, her cheeks flushed with emotion. The realization only intensified his frustration.

"You speak as though change is always for the better," he said, fighting to keep his voice level. "History suggests otherwise. Revolution in France brought the Terror, not utopia."

"And now you equate teaching poor children to read with guillotines in the streets? How predictably alarmist." Meredith shook her head, disappointment evident in her expression. "I had thought... after our conversations, that perhaps you understood. Clearly, I was mistaken."

The pain in her voice cut deeper than her anger had. "Meredith—"

"Miss Martin, if you please," she corrected stiffly.

"We clearly stand on opposite sides of a divide too wide to bridge with compromise, my lord.

You wish to maintain the world as it is, with minor adjustments to ease your conscience.

I wish to build a world where every mind has the opportunity to develop its full potential, regardless of birth or station. "

She gathered her skirts, preparing to return to the house. "It seems we are fundamentally at odds, and no amount of attraction or mutual respect can overcome such different visions of what society should be."

Chilton felt as though the ground beneath him had shifted. "Attraction?" he echoed, focusing on the word that revealed more than perhaps she had intended.

Meredith's face flushed deeper. "I misspoke. I meant no impropriety."

"There was none," he assured her quickly. "I only—" But words failed him, the complexity of his feelings impossible to articulate properly in the moment.

"Good day, Lord Sutcliffe," she said with quiet dignity. "I think it best if we limit our interactions to formal social necessities for the remainder of this gathering."

As she walked away, head high and shoulders straight, Chilton remained rooted to the spot, overwhelmed by conflicting emotions.

He had tried to build a bridge between their worlds, to find common ground, only to discover that what he viewed as reasonable compromise, she saw as patronizing half-measures.

More troubling still was the realization that a part of him—a larger part than he cared to admit—suspected she might be right.

He stared after her retreating figure, wondering if what lay between them was indeed too fundamental to overcome.

She spoke of dreams and potential; he spoke of stability and tradition.

Could such opposing visions ever be reconciled?

And even if they could, was he prepared to risk everything his family had built over generations on a chance at something new and untested?

Chilton had no answers, only a hollow ache in his chest where certainty had once resided.

The comfortable assumptions that had guided his life now seemed less solid, less self-evidently correct.

And in their place were only questions, doubts, and the painful awareness of what he might be losing before it had ever truly begun.