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"I can't believe I'm to be married tomorrow," Faith whispered, staring at her reflection in the mirror.

The evening light cast a golden glow in her chamber, softening the nervous tension visible in her features. Her wedding gown hung nearby, its delicate ivory silk and intricate lace work a testament to the station she was about to enter.

Meredith sat on the edge of the bed, watching her friend with a mixture of joy and wistfulness.

"You look beautiful," she said softly. "Jasper won't be able to take his eyes off you."

Faith turned, her expression suddenly vulnerable.

"Do you think I'm doing the right thing, Merry?

Sometimes I feel as though I'm stepping into a world where I don't truly belong.

" She twisted her hands in her lap, a gesture that reminded Meredith of their school days, when Faith would fret before examinations despite always being thoroughly prepared.

"If you're asking whether marrying Jasper is right, I believe you already know the answer to that," Meredith replied, moving to sit beside her friend. "As for belonging in his world... you'll make your own place. You always have."

The soft knock at the door interrupted them. Lady Thornfield's lady's maid entered, carrying a small wooden box.

"Begging your pardon, Miss Somerton," the maid said with a curtsey. "Her ladyship asked me to bring you this. It's the family pearls, for tomorrow."

Faith accepted the box with trembling fingers.

"Please thank Lady Thornfield for her kindness," she murmured. When the maid departed, Faith stared at the closed box without opening it.

"What is it?" Meredith asked gently.

"They're trying, Merry. They truly are." Faith's voice wavered slightly.

"Lord Thornfield has been unfailingly polite.

Lady Thornfield has offered advice without criticism.

Even Lord Edward manages civil conversation at dinner.

But I can feel their reservation—as if they're waiting for me to reveal myself as the professor's daughter who doesn't belong in their grand house. "

Meredith took her friend's hands. "And yet they've given you the family pearls to wear. That doesn't strike me as the action of people who think you don't belong."

Faith's smile was tentative.

"Perhaps you're right." She set the box aside and turned to Meredith with a deliberate brightening of her expression. "Enough about my nerves. Tell me, what will you do when you return to Oxford? You've secured several promises of support for your school, haven't you?"

"Indeed," Meredith replied, grateful for her friend's interest despite her own preoccupations.

"Lady Beaverbrook has been particularly generous—she's offered not only funding but her influence with the local authorities.

Even Dr. Welby, for all his initial scepticism, has promised books from his personal library. "

She didn't mention Townsend's increasingly insistent offers, which she suspected would evaporate the moment he realized his suit was unwelcome.

Nor did she mention Chilton's halting expressions of support, which seemed to vacillate with the direction of the wind—or more precisely, with his sister's presence.

"And what of Lord Sutcliffe?" Faith asked, her intuition as sharp as ever. "I noticed him watching you at supper. There seems to be... something developing there."

Meredith smoothed her skirts, buying time to compose her thoughts.

"We have had several interesting discussions about education. Sometimes I think he truly understands the importance of what I'm trying to achieve, and other times..." She shook her head. "His sister has made her opinion of me abundantly clear."

"Caroline Hurst is a formidable woman," Faith conceded. "But Chilton is his own man, even if he sometimes forgets it."

"Is he?" Meredith asked, unable to keep a hint of bitterness from her voice. "He defended me against his sister's accusations, yet the very next day retreated to formal politeness, as if afraid of her disapproval."

"People aren't always straightforward in their actions," Faith said gently. "Especially when they're caught between competing loyalties."

Meredith rose, moving to the window to gaze out at the darkening gardens.

"In any case, it hardly matters. I'll be returning to Oxford after the wedding, and Lord Sutcliffe to his estate. Whatever might have developed between us will remain an interesting footnote to a country house gathering." The words tasted false even as she spoke them.

"Will it?" Faith asked quietly. "You've never been one to dismiss anything as a mere footnote, Merry—least of all something that puts such a light in your eyes when you speak of it."

Before Meredith could formulate a response, another knock came at the door. This time, it was Lady Beaverbrook's maid.

"Miss Martin? Her ladyship wonders if you might join her and several of the gentlemen in the library. Something about a puzzle they've been working on."

Curiosity piqued, Meredith glanced at Faith, who smiled and nodded. "Go on. I should rest anyway, before tomorrow's excitement."

Meredith embraced her friend tightly.

"Everything will be beautiful tomorrow," she promised. "And you will be the most radiant bride Wiltshire has ever seen."

As she made her way down the corridor, Meredith found her thoughts returning stubbornly to Chilton.

Their last conversation had ended awkwardly, with his cryptic remark about conventional and unconventional opportunities not being mutually exclusive.

What had he meant? And more importantly, why did she care so deeply about his meaning?

The sound of animated voices drew her attention as she approached the library.

The door stood ajar, golden lamplight spilling into the dim hallway.

She could make out Lady Beaverbrook's clear tones, Captain Peters' deeper rumble, and the distinctive cadence of Lord Beaverbrook's scholarly precision.

"It simply makes no sense," the earl was saying as Meredith entered. "If we follow the Stratford clue, we should be looking north, yet the Cambridge cipher points clearly west."

"Ah, Miss Martin." Lady Beaverbrook greeted her with genuine warmth. "Thank you for joining us. We find ourselves at something of an impasse with our little scholarly project."

The library table was covered with maps, papers, and what appeared to be fragments of letters or journals. Several of the men glanced up at her entrance, including Chilton, who stood somewhat apart from the main group, a book of county histories open in his hands.

His eyes met hers briefly before returning to the text, but not before she caught the flash of something that might have been regret.

"What is it?" Meredith asked, approaching the table with natural curiosity.

"A treasure hunt," Captain Peters explained, gesturing to the scattered papers. "Historical research with a dash of adventure. We've been following a trail of clues for some time now, but seem to have reached a dead end."

"Would you like to see what has the finest minds in England thoroughly confounded?" Lady Beaverbrook asked with a mischievous smile.

“Is this connected with the clues Faith, Jasper, and I found in Oxford when we discovered the ancient manuscripts?”

“Ah, yes, clearly we’re befuddled, we even forgot you were already involved.” Lord Beaverbrook shook his head and chuckled.

“I have been longing to see the rest of the clues, so I’m thrilled to be asked to examine the complete picture. Faith mentioned the clue we were working on tied in with a poem.”

“Darby’s wife found it in a bookshop of all places,” Captain Peters scoffed.

“Don’t disparage the source,” Lincoln Welby chuckled. “That clue made all the difference.”

“Not all the difference,” Captain Peters grumbled. “We still can’t figure out the rest of it. And we’ve been hearing rumours that others are searching too.”

“Well, if we didn’t tell all and sundry, perhaps there wouldn’t be a competition,” Sean Smythe exclaimed with a pointed glance at Lord Sutcliffe.

The baron held up his hands with a chuckle. “I’m merely an observer, lads. I know where I’m outranked.”

“Trust a nobleman not to care about treasure,” Captain Peters scoffed, but Meredith could hear the light affection under the jesting.

Allowing the sound of their good-natured argument to drift over her, Meredith found herself drawn into the intellectual challenge despite her best intentions.

The collection of cryptic references, historical annotations, and geographical clues was precisely the sort of puzzle her father would have delighted in.

She was conscious of Chilton watching her as she studied the documents, his presence a distraction she fought to ignore. Focus on the puzzle , she told herself firmly. It was safer territory than the confusion of emotions his nearness stirred.

"May I?" she asked, indicating a set of letters laid out in what appeared to be chronological order.

"By all means." Dr. Welby nodded, his earlier dismissal of female intellectual capabilities seemingly forgotten.

Meredith examined the papers carefully, noting the dates, locations, and cryptic references contained in each. A pattern began to emerge—not in the content itself, but in the way the information had been arranged.

"I wonder," she murmured, half to herself, "if perhaps chronology isn't the key at all."

From the corner of her eye, she saw Chilton straighten, moving closer to the table with evident interest.

"What do you mean?" Lady Beaverbrook asked, also stepping closer.

Meredith hesitated, suddenly conscious of the prominent scholars watching her. But the puzzle before her was too compelling to resist.

"These clues," she said, indicating the letters, "contain references to specific locations, each with known coordinates." She rearranged several pages, placing them in a new order. "If you arrange them by longitude rather than date, the pattern changes entirely."

Captain Peters leaned forward, his expression shifting from polite interest to intense focus.