Page 35

D awn crept reluctantly over Linford Park, the pale morning light filtering through wisps of fog that clung to the formal gardens.

Meredith stood at her chamber window, already dressed in her traveling clothes, watching as the grounds gradually emerged from darkness.

She had slept poorly, her dreams troubled by fragments of the previous day—Faith's radiant happiness, Caroline's cutting remarks, and Chilton's conflicted expressions.

Her small traveling bag sat ready by the door, packed with the few possessions she had brought to the house party. The stagecoach would depart from the village at nine o'clock, beginning the long journey back to Oxford and the life she had temporarily set aside.

The mantel clock chimed quarter to seven. If she intended to meet Chilton as his note requested, she would need to leave now.

"This is foolishness," she muttered to herself, even as she secured her modest bonnet and reached for her gloves. "What could possibly be gained from one final conversation?"

But she knew why she was going.

Despite every rational argument, despite Caroline's hostility, despite the vast gulf between their worlds, something about Chilton Loring had gotten under her skin in a way no one else ever had.

The baron challenged her thinking even as he infuriated her with his hesitation.

He defended her one moment and retreated the next.

He was a contradiction she could not quite resolve—and her scholarly mind had never been able to resist an unsolved puzzle.

The corridors were quiet as she made her way toward the library, the household not yet fully awake following the previous night's festivities.

The soft click of her half-boots against the polished floor seemed unnaturally loud in the morning stillness.

When she reached the library door, she paused, gathering her composure before turning the handle.

Chilton stood by the window, his tall figure silhouetted against the brightening sky. He turned at the sound of her entrance, and something in his expression—relief perhaps—suggested he had not been entirely certain she would come.

"Miss Martin," he said, crossing the room to meet her. "Thank you for agreeing to see me before your departure."

"Your note indicated it was important," she replied, remaining near the door, maintaining a safe distance between them. "Though I confess I'm unsure what remains to be said."

He gestured toward a pair of chairs positioned near the unlit fireplace. "Might we sit? The conversation I hope to have deserves more comfort than standing formality."

Meredith hesitated, then acquiesced, settling into one of the chairs. The library was cool in the early morning, and she found herself wishing for the warmth of a fire—both for physical comfort and to dispel the chill that seemed to have settled between them.

"First, I must apologize again for Caroline's behaviour," Chilton began, his voice low and sincere. "Her words were unconscionable, I know you suggested I hold my tongue, but I feel it was cowardly not to address her behaviour publicly. I regret that."

"You were respecting Faith and Jasper's celebration, and my request," Meredith pointed out. " There's no need for apology."

"There is every need," he countered, leaning forward slightly. "You deserved better defence than I provided. But my greater regret is that our conversations throughout this gathering have been repeatedly interrupted, leaving matters between us unresolved."

Meredith smoothed her gloves, buying time to collect her thoughts. "I'm not certain there is anything to resolve, Lord Sutcliffe. We have different perspectives on education, social order, and the responsibilities of privilege. These are not minor disagreements to be overcome with compromise."

"Chilton," he reminded her gently. "And you're right—our differences are not insignificant. Yet I find myself increasingly persuaded by your arguments, even as I struggle with their implications for everything I've been raised to believe."

His candour surprised her. "What are you saying, exactly?"

"That I am... changing," he said carefully. "That your passion for education, your insistence that minds should not be limited by accidents of birth—these ideas have taken root in me, uncomfortable though they may be."

Hope flickered in Meredith's chest, but she tamped it down firmly. "Ideas are easy to entertain in theory, much harder to implement in practice. Especially when family loyalty pushes in the opposite direction."

"You're referring to Caroline," he acknowledged.

"Her influence on me has been considerable, I won't deny it.

She raised me after our parents died, shaped my understanding of what it means to be Baron Sutcliffe.

Breaking from her guidance feels rather like stepping off a cliff without knowing what lies below. "

"And yet you're sitting here," Meredith observed, "having this conversation."

A smile touched his lips. "I am. Because something else has become increasingly clear to me during our acquaintance."

"And what is that?"

"That I find myself drawn to you in ways I never anticipated," he said, his directness causing her breath to catch. "Not despite our differences, but in many ways because of them. You challenge me, Meredith. You make me question assumptions I've held since childhood. You—"

The library door swung open, interrupting his words. Townsend stood in the doorway, his expression shifting rapidly from surprise to something more calculating as he took in the scene before him.

"My apologies," he said, though his tone suggested he felt none. "I was told Miss Martin might be found here. I didn't realize you were... engaged."

The deliberate double meaning in his choice of words hung in the air like a challenge. Chilton rose to his feet, his posture stiffening.

"Mr. Townsend," he acknowledged coolly. "Miss Martin and I were having a private conversation."

"So I see," Townsend replied, stepping fully into the room despite the lack of invitation. "But as Miss Martin is departing this morning, I wished to speak with her regarding my contribution to her educational project. A matter of some significance, I believe."

Meredith stood as well, sensing the tension between the men. "Mr. Townsend, while I appreciate your interest in the school, perhaps we might discuss it at breakfast? Lord Sutcliffe and I—"

"Have had ample opportunity to converse throughout this gathering," Townsend interrupted smoothly. "Whereas my business offers may require more detailed explanation before you depart. Unless, of course, your educational ambitions have become secondary to... other pursuits."

The insinuation was impossible to miss. Meredith felt heat rise to her cheeks, though whether from embarrassment or anger, she couldn't quite tell.

"My educational ambitions remain my primary focus, Mr. Townsend," she replied with deliberate precision. "As they have always been."

"Excellent," Townsend said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

"Then you'll be pleased to know I've prepared a formal proposal for your consideration.

My foundation is prepared to provide substantial funding for your school—sufficient to secure suitable premises and hire additional staff.

All that remains is to discuss the terms."

"Terms?" Chilton asked, his voice carrying a note of suspicion.

"Naturally," Townsend replied with an airy wave. "Even philanthropy requires proper management. I would, of course, serve as primary patron, with appropriate oversight of the curriculum and operations."

"Oversight," Meredith repeated flatly. "You wish to dictate what is taught and how."

Townsend's smile tightened. "I prefer to think of it as ensuring the education provided aligns with suitable social expectations. A guardian against... excessive progressivism, shall we say."

Meredith felt a chill at his words. This was not the support she had hoped for, but rather an attempt to control her vision, to reshape it into something altogether different.

"I appreciate the offer, Mr. Townsend," she said carefully, "but I fear our educational philosophies may be incompatible. The school's purpose is to expand opportunities, not to reinforce existing limitations."

"An admirable sentiment," Townsend conceded with a patronizing smile, "but perhaps somewhat impractical. Without significant patronage, how do you propose to establish this school at all? Good intentions alone cannot lease buildings or purchase books."

The question struck at Meredith's deepest practical concerns. For all her passionate advocacy, the financial realities of her project remained daunting. Several guests had offered contributions, yes, but enough to fully fund the school? She couldn't be certain.

"There are other sources of support," she replied, her voice steadier than she felt. "Lady Beaverbrook has expressed interest, as have several of the scholars."

"Minor contributions, at best," Townsend dismissed. "My offer represents complete financial security for your venture. Naturally, such generosity comes with certain... expectations."

He moved closer, his manner suddenly more intimate.

"I've admired your dedication throughout this gathering, Miss Martin.

Your intelligence, your passion—they're quite captivating.

Perhaps we might discuss my proposal more privately?

Over dinner in London, when you return from Oxford?

I maintain a comfortable residence in Mayfair. "

The impropriety of the suggestion hung in the air; its implications impossible to misinterpret. From the corner of her eye, Meredith saw Chilton's expression darken.

"Mr. Townsend," she began, taking an instinctive step backward, "I believe you misunderstand—"

"I believe you misunderstand, sir," Chilton interrupted, his voice cold with controlled anger. "Miss Martin has already indicated that your educational philosophies are incompatible. That should be the end of the matter."