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Townsend's smile turned brittle.

"I wasn't aware Miss Martin required you to speak on her behalf, Lord Sutcliffe.

Unless, of course, you have a personal interest in her decisions?

" His gaze moved between them with calculated insinuation.

"Or perhaps you're offering competing patronage?

Though that would surprise me, given what I understand of your family's traditional views. "

The barb found its mark. Chilton's jaw tightened, but he said nothing to contradict Townsend's assessment. The silence stretched, painful in its implications.

"I speak for myself, Mr. Townsend," Meredith said finally, filling the void Chilton's hesitation had created. "And I must decline your offer. While I am dedicated to establishing my school, I will not compromise its fundamental purpose to secure funding."

Townsend's expression hardened. "A principled stance, if somewhat naive. Without proper support, your little project will remain precisely that—little. A charitable hobby rather than a meaningful institution."

"Better a small endeavour with integrity than a larger one built on compromised principles," Meredith countered, lifting her chin slightly.

"Indeed?" Townsend's tone dripped with condescension. "We shall see how well integrity feeds hungry children or pays for roofing repairs. Should you reconsider my offer—as I suspect you might, once Oxford's practical realities reassert themselves—you know where to find me."

With a bow that managed to be both proper and dismissive, he turned and left the library, the door closing firmly behind him.

In the sudden silence, Meredith became acutely aware of Chilton watching her, his expression unreadable.

"He's not entirely wrong," she admitted quietly. "Establishing the school will require considerable resources."

"But he is wrong about compromising your vision to secure them," Chilton said, surprising her with his firmness. "A school shaped by Townsend's 'oversight' would be a hollow imitation of what you've described to me."

"Perhaps," Meredith agreed, moving toward the window where the morning light now streamed in earnest across the grounds. "But what alternatives exist? Lady Beaverbrook's support is generous, but insufficient on its own. The other contributions, while welcome, represent a fraction of what's needed."

She turned back to face him, a question forming that she had not intended to ask. "Would your family's traditional views prevent you from supporting such an endeavour?"

The directness of her query seemed to catch him off guard. He moved to join her by the window, close enough that she could detect the faint scent of sandalwood that seemed to accompany him.

"The question is more complex than it appears," he said finally. "Sutcliffe has resources, certainly, but also obligations. Tenant cottages requiring repair, drainage systems needing extension, pensions for retired servants..."

"Of course." Meredith nodded, trying to mask her disappointment. "Your estate must come first. I understand."

"No, I don't think you do," Chilton said, his voice taking on an urgency she hadn't heard before.

"I'm not refusing support—I'm explaining why I haven't simply offered it outright.

These past days have forced me to reconsider much of what I took for granted, including how Sutcliffe's resources might be allocated. "

Hope flickered again in Meredith's chest, unwelcome but persistent. "What are you saying?"

"That I need time," he replied honestly. "Time to review accounts, to consider options, to determine what support might be possible without neglecting existing responsibilities. And yes," he added with a rueful smile, "time to navigate the family expectations Townsend so helpfully mentioned."

Meredith studied his face, searching for the certainty she needed. "I appreciate your candour. But I must return to Oxford today regardless. The school cannot wait for uncertain possibilities."

"I understand," Chilton said, disappointment evident in his tone. "Though I had hoped... that is, our conversation was headed in a different direction before Townsend's interruption."

The reminder of his earlier words—about being drawn to her, about her challenging his assumptions—brought warmth to Meredith's cheeks.

"That direction, too, requires more consideration than a hasty morning conversation allows," she said softly. "We come from different worlds, Chilton. Your sister made that abundantly clear, and she is not entirely wrong."

"Caroline sees only what she wishes to see," he countered. "She doesn't know you as I've come to know you."

"And how is that?" Meredith asked, unable to resist the question.

His expression softened in a way that made her heart skip.

"As someone who believes so deeply in the power of education that she would risk Society's disapproval to provide it to those who need it most. As someone whose intelligence is matched only by her conviction.

As someone who makes me want to be better than I am. "

The words hung between them, weighted with sincerity that Meredith couldn't doubt. Yet neither could she ignore the practical realities of their situation—her imminent departure, his unresolved family conflicts, the vastly different worlds they inhabited.

"I must go," she said reluctantly, glancing at the mantel clock that showed half past seven. "My belongings must be loaded, and I should bid farewell to Faith and Jasper before they leave for their wedding journey."

Chilton nodded, accepting the inevitable with visible regret. "Of course. May I... may I write to you in Oxford? To continue our discussion once I've had time to consider these matters more fully?"

The request was modest yet significant. Letter-writing between unmarried men and women without formal understanding was not quite proper, yet not scandalous either—particularly when educational philanthropy could provide the ostensible reason.

"You may," Meredith agreed, surprising herself with how much she wanted this tenuous connection to continue. "Though I cannot promise what may come of it."

"I ask only for the opportunity," Chilton said, relief evident in his voice. "Not presumptions about the outcome."

They moved toward the library door together, their conversation reaching its natural conclusion. At the threshold, Chilton paused.

"Meredith," he said quietly, reverting to her Christian name in this final private moment. "Whatever comes of our correspondence, please know that this se’en-night with you has changed me in ways I'm only beginning to understand. For that alone, I am grateful."

The simple sincerity of his words touched her more deeply than any grand declaration might have.

"As am I," she admitted. "For all our disagreements, you've forced me to articulate why I believe what I believe—to defend my convictions rather than merely assert them. Few have challenged me so directly."

"Few would dare," he replied with a smile that transformed his features, revealing the man beneath the baron's formal exterior. "Your intellect is rather formidable."

"As is your stubbornness," she countered, returning his smile despite herself.

The moment stretched between them, full of possibilities neither was quite ready to name. Then, with mutual, tacit agreement, they moved into the corridor, where the brightening day and the household's increasing activity reminded them of the public roles they must resume.

"I shall bid you farewell here," Chilton said formally, aware of a maid passing with fresh linens. "Safe journey to Oxford, Miss Martin."

"Thank you, Lord Sutcliffe," Meredith replied, matching his tone. "For everything."

She watched him walk away, his tall figure retreating down the corridor with the measured stride of a man who knew his place in the world—or at least, a man who had once known it with certainty. Whether that certainty remained after their acquaintance, only time would tell.

The remainder of Meredith's morning passed in a blur of farewells and travel preparations.

Faith embraced her with tearful affection, extracting promises of detailed letters about the school's progress.

Jasper presented her with a parting gift—a volume of mathematical theories he thought might interest her, inscribed with a message of gratitude for her friendship to Faith.

Lady Beaverbrook drew her aside for a private word before her departure.

"I meant what I said about supporting your school," the countess assured her. "Expect correspondence from my solicitor within the fortnight. And should you need additional assistance..."

Her gaze drifted meaningfully toward where Chilton stood conversing with Captain Peters about the upcoming expedition.

"You are too perceptive, my lady," Meredith murmured.

"I recognize the signs," Lady Beaverbrook replied with a knowing smile.

"My Ellis looked at me much the same way before he found the courage to overcome societal expectations.

Men of title often require more time to align their hearts with their responsibilities—but the worthwhile ones manage it eventually. "

Before Meredith could respond to this unexpected encouragement, the carriage was announced as ready.

Final embraces were exchanged, last-minute gifts and parcels were loaded, and Meredith found herself being handed into Lord Thornfield's smaller traveling coach, which would convey her to the village to meet the stagecoach—a courtesy she had not expected but could not refuse without causing offense.

As the carriage began to move down the long drive, Meredith glanced back at the assembled well-wishers on the steps of Linford Park.

Faith and Jasper stood arm in arm, the image of connubial happiness.

Lady Beaverbrook offered a knowing wave.

And slightly apart from the others, Chilton stood watching, his expression containing emotions too complex to decipher at this distance.

The carriage rounded a bend, and the house disappeared from view.

Meredith settled back against the squabs, trying to make sense of the tumult of feelings within her.

She had come to this gathering for Faith's wedding, expecting nothing more than the pleasure of seeing her friend happily settled.

She departed with promises of patronage for her school, unexpected scholarly connections, and—most unsettling of all—a correspondence with a baron who challenged her assumptions even as she challenged his.

What might come of such an unusual connection, she could not predict.

But as the countryside rolled past the carriage windows, Meredith found herself remembering the warmth in Chilton's eyes as he had spoken of how she had changed him—and acknowledging, if only to herself, that he had changed her as well.

Oxford awaited, with its familiar streets and academic rhythms. Sasha would be eager for news, the children would be ready for their lessons, and the practical work of establishing her school would demand her full attention.

Yet as the miles increased between her and Linford Park, Meredith knew that a part of her remained behind—not just with Faith and her new life, but with the contradictory, infuriating, increasingly intriguing Baron Sutcliffe.

Only time would reveal whether their brief connection would fade into memory or grow into something neither of them had anticipated when first they met.