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T he familiar spires of Oxford emerged through the afternoon mist as the stagecoach rattled over the final miles of Meredith's journey.

After nearly two days of travel, including an uncomfortably sleepless drive through the night, the sight of the ancient university town stirred a complex mixture of emotions in her breast. Relief at returning to familiar surroundings warred with a peculiar sense of displacement, as though the woman arriving was not quite the same as the one who had departed.

"First time back in Oxford, miss?" asked the elderly gentleman seated across from her, misinterpreting her intent gaze through the window.

"No," Meredith replied with a small smile. "I'm returning home, actually."

"Ah, nothing like coming home after a journey," he nodded sagely. "Family waiting for you, I expect?"

The innocent question gave Meredith pause.

Family? She had her mother, of course, though Lady Hartford now resided in London with her new husband. But in truth, the person most eagerly awaiting her return was Sasha—a friend who had become something closer to a sister through their shared work and convictions.

"Of a sort," she answered finally, unwilling to explain the complexities of her situation to a stranger.

As the coach made its way through the narrow streets toward the central coaching inn, Meredith found herself studying Oxford with fresh eyes.

The honey-coloured stone buildings and ancient quadrangles remained as they had always been, yet something felt different.

Perhaps it was simply that she had changed, her perspective altered by the experiences of the past fortnight.

The coach lurched to a halt before the King's Arms, where passengers destined for Oxford would disembark.

Meredith accepted the coachman's assistance, her legs stiff from the confined journey.

As her small traveling bag was retrieved from the roof, she scanned the inn yard, wondering if Sasha might have received her hastily scribbled note announcing her return.

"Meredith Martin, as I live and breathe!" The familiar voice cut through the bustle of the coaching yard. "Look at you, all fine silks and fancy manners after your time with the quality!"

Sasha Brookes pushed through the crowd, her practical work dress and sturdy boots a stark contrast to Meredith's travel ensemble. Her broad smile and outstretched arms, however, were the warmest welcome Meredith could have wished for.

"Sasha!" Meredith embraced her friend, propriety momentarily forgotten in the joy of reunion. "How did you know when I'd arrive?"

"Got your note yesterday and decided to check every coach today," Sasha replied, already taking charge of one of Meredith's bags. "Couldn't have you lugging these through town by yourself, could I? Not after you've been consorting with dukes and earls."

"There weren't any dukes," Meredith corrected with a laugh, "though there was an earl or two, besides the Marquess."

"Close enough," Sasha dismissed with a wave as they began walking toward Meredith's lodgings. "And a baron as well, if I'm not mistaken? Your letters were surprisingly reserved on that particular topic."

Heat rose to Meredith's cheeks despite her best efforts to appear nonchalant. "Lord Sutcliffe was among the guests, yes."

"Lord Sutcliffe, is it?" Sasha's eyebrows rose suggestively. "Not 'that insufferable man' or 'that idle aristocrat' as you called him when last we spoke of him? Interesting development."

"There's been no development," Meredith insisted, though she knew the protest sounded hollow even to her own ears. "We simply had several conversations about education that proved more substantive than I initially expected."

"Must have been quite the conversations," Sasha observed shrewdly. "You've gone pink as a peony just mentioning them."

Rather than dignify this with a response, Meredith changed the subject. "How have the children been during my absence? Has Tommy Winters made any progress with his reading?"

"Don't think you can distract me that easily," Sasha warned, though she allowed the deflection. "Tommy's coming along splendidly—mastered most of his letters and can write his name now. Mary Jenkins has been asking when you'll return to help with her sums. Says I don't explain them properly."

"I'm sure you explain perfectly well," Meredith countered loyally.

Sasha snorted. "We both know arithmetic isn't my strong suit. But I've kept them learning, which is what matters. Though our 'classroom' is becoming something of a problem."

"How so?"

"We're bursting at the seams," Sasha explained as they turned onto the street where Meredith lodged. "Had to turn away three more children last week—simply no room to squeeze them in. And Mr. Peabody from the church has been making noises about needing the space for parish meetings."

The familiar concerns of their educational endeavour washed over Meredith, simultaneously grounding her in the reality of her work and reminding her of the daunting challenges ahead.

The support promised at Linford Park seemed suddenly abstract compared to the immediate space constraints Sasha described.

They reached Meredith's modest lodging house, where Mrs. Tibbs, the landlady, greeted her with genuine warmth.

"Miss Martin! Welcome back. Your room is just as you left it—I've had it aired and a fresh fire laid. Will you be taking tea?"

"That would be lovely, Mrs. Tibbs, thank you. And perhaps something for Miss Brookes as well? We have much to discuss."

Once the landlady had bustled away, Meredith led Sasha up the narrow stairs to her small room.

The space was exactly as she had left it—books neatly stacked on every surface, papers organized in precise piles, her father's portrait watching over it all from its place above the small fireplace.

Yet like Oxford itself, it felt subtly different, as though belonging to a slightly different version of herself.

"Well then," Sasha said, settling into the worn armchair by the hearth as Meredith dropped her bag by the door. "Tell me everything. And don't skimp on the details this time."

Meredith hung her traveling cloak on the hook behind the door, considering where to begin.

"Faith looked beautiful," she said finally. "Truly radiant. And Jasper clearly adores her."

"I'm glad for her, of course," Sasha nodded, "but that's not what I'm asking, and you know it. Did your school project secure the patronage you were hoping for? And what of this baron who seems to have mellowed your opinion of the aristocracy?"

Mrs. Tibbs arrived with the tea tray before Meredith could respond, providing a welcome moment to gather her thoughts.

As she poured for them both, adding the precise amount of milk that Sasha preferred, she tried to formulate an answer that would satisfy her friend's curiosity without revealing the full complexity of her feelings toward Chilton.

"Lady Beaverbrook has promised significant support," she began once they were alone again.

"Her solicitor will be contacting me within the fortnight to arrange the particulars.

Lady Evangeline took great interest and wants to know more.

Dr. Welby has offered books from his personal library as well as a consultation about the curriculum, and Captain Peters made a generous pledge as well. "

"That's wonderful news!" Sasha exclaimed, her practical nature immediately recognizing the value of such connections. "With that kind of backing, we might actually secure proper premises."

"Indeed," Meredith agreed, warming to the subject.

"I've been considering the old bootmaker's shop on Turl Street—you know, the one that's stood empty since December?

The space would need work, but the location is central enough for the children to reach easily, yet not so prominent as to draw unwanted attention from University authorities. "

"Clever thinking," Sasha nodded approvingly. "Though the rent might be dear. What of furnishings? And additional teaching materials?"

"Lady Beaverbrook mentioned she has storage rooms full of discarded desks and chairs from her husband's estate school that she'd be happy to send our way. And Lady Evangeline knows a publisher in London who produces elementary texts—she believes she can secure us a substantial discount."

As Meredith outlined the practical benefits her aristocratic connections had yielded, her initial misgivings about the house party began to fade. Whatever personal confusion might have resulted from her interactions with Chilton, the trip had unquestionably advanced her educational project.

"You've accomplished more in two weeks than we managed in two months," Sasha observed, though without resentment. "Perhaps there's something to be said for infiltrating the nobility after all."

Meredith smiled at her friend's characterization. "Hardly infiltration. I was invited as Faith's friend, nothing more."

"And yet you return with promises from countesses and scholars," Sasha pointed out. "Not to mention whatever understanding you've reached with your baron."

"He is not my baron," Meredith protested, too quickly.

"No?" Sasha's shrewd eyes studied her over the rim of her teacup. "Then why does mentioning him fluster you so? I've known you five years, Meredith Martin, and I've never seen you unsettled by any man, titled or otherwise."

Meredith set down her cup with deliberate care, considering how much to reveal. Sasha was her closest friend and most trusted confidante, yet the feelings awakened by Chilton seemed too new, too fragile to fully articulate.