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S utcliffe Manor emerged from the morning mist as Chilton's carriage crested the final hill of the approach.

The ancient stone edifice, weathered by centuries of Berkshire seasons, seemed to welcome him home with the same stoic permanence it had offered generations of Lorings before him.

Ivy climbed the walls in familiar patterns, and smoke curled from the kitchen chimneys where servants prepared for their master's return.

Yet despite the comforting familiarity of the scene, Chilton felt a curious reluctance as the carriage wheels crunched over the gravel drive.

He had departed Linford Park the previous morning, declining Captain Peters' invitation to join the treasure-hunting expedition to Dorset.

Duty called him back to Sutcliffe—tenant matters requiring attention, estate accounts to review, responsibilities that could not be ignored despite the temptation of adventure.

Or perhaps, he admitted privately, he had needed time alone to contemplate the bewildering changes wrought within him during his time at the house party.

"Home at last, my lord," Jenkins observed from the opposite seat as the carriage drew to a halt before the main entrance. "Shall I have your correspondence brought to the library after you've refreshed yourself?"

"Yes, thank you," Chilton replied, mentally preparing himself for the inevitable stack of letters requiring his attention due to his absence.

Simmons awaited on the steps, his dignified bearing as much a part of Sutcliffe as the stone gargoyles that adorned the roof's edge.

"Welcome home, my lord," the butler intoned, bowing with the perfect degree of respect he had always shown. "I trust your journey was comfortable?"

"Quite comfortable, thank you, Simmons," Chilton replied, handing his hat and gloves to a waiting footman. "Any matters requiring immediate attention?"

"Mr. Matthews has requested an audience regarding the east field drainage project, my lord. And several letters have arrived addressed to you personally, which I've placed on your desk."

"Very good. I'll see Matthews in an hour. First, I should like a bath and perhaps some luncheon."

"Of course, my lord. Mrs. Hobbs has prepared a cold collation in anticipation of your return."

The familiar exchange of master and servant should have been comforting in its routine, yet Chilton found himself wondering what Meredith would make of such formality.

Would she see it as the necessary structure of a well-ordered household, or as yet another manifestation of the rigid social hierarchy she sought to challenge through education?

The thought of Meredith brought a pang he had not expected—sharper here, in the setting of his ancestral home, than it had been during the solitary journey from Linford Park. Distance had not diminished her effect on him, it seemed.

As he made his way to his chambers, servants nodded respectfully or bowed as he passed.

Each face was familiar, each person a part of the complex organism that was Sutcliffe estate.

Yet now, with Meredith's perspective shifting his own, he found himself wondering about these people in ways he never had before.

Did the housemaid's son know his letters?

Had the footman's daughter ever held a book?

Questions that would never have occurred to him a month ago now seemed urgently relevant.

In his chambers, Chilton found a bath already drawn, steaming invitingly before the hearth. Jenkins moved about with practiced efficiency, laying out fresh clothing while his master bathed.

"Lady Hurst has sent word that she will call tomorrow," the valet mentioned as Chilton towelled himself dry. "She expresses hope that you are fully recovered from the rigors of travel."

Chilton nearly laughed at the transparent pretext. Caroline was not concerned about his physical well-being. She was coming to assess whether his behaviour at Linford Park indicated a more permanent deviation from the path she had so carefully laid out for him.

"How considerate of my sister," he said dryly. "Please inform Simmons we shall require tea at three."

"Very good, my lord. Shall I lay out the blue coat for her visit? She has always expressed admiration for it."

"The brown will do," Chilton replied, deliberately selecting the less formal option. "This is family, not a state occasion."

If Jenkins found this departure from custom surprising, he masked it well. "As you wish, my lord."

Luncheon awaited in the small dining room—Chilton's preferred location for solitary meals, being less oppressively formal than the grand dining hall designed for entertaining.

As he ate, he found his thoughts continuing to drift to Meredith.

Had she reached Oxford safely? Was she already immersed in plans for her school, perhaps discussing potential premises with her friend Sasha?

He had wanted to write to her immediately upon their parting, but prudence counselled patience. A letter arriving too quickly might seem overeager, too calculated to make an impression. Better to allow a few days for reflection, to compose his thoughts carefully before committing them to paper.

Yet even as he rationalized the delay, Chilton knew the true reason for his hesitation: uncertainty about what he truly wanted to say.

Did he wish merely to discuss educational philosophy and potential patronage, maintaining the safe distance of intellectual exchange?

Or did he dare express the deeper feelings that had begun to take root during their time together?

And what of Caroline's inevitable disapproval? His sister would be arriving tomorrow, no doubt prepared to redirect his thinking toward more "suitable" connections—perhaps even with specific candidates in mind. The thought filled him with a weariness he could not entirely explain.

After luncheon, Chilton made his way to the library, where the business of the estate awaited. Matthews was already there, reviewing ledgers with the focused concentration that had made him invaluable as steward.

"My lord," he said, rising as Chilton entered. "Welcome home. I trust your time at Linford Park was pleasant?"

"Enlightening, certainly," Chilton replied, settling behind the massive oak desk that had been his father's, and his grandfather's before that. "Now, tell me about this drainage issue."

Matthews launched into a detailed explanation of the east field project—a substantial undertaking they had begun planning before Chilton's departure. The existing system had proven inadequate during recent heavy rains, resulting in waterlogged sections that threatened next season's planting.

"The cost is considerable," Matthews concluded, "but the improved yield should justify the expense within three years, according to my calculations."

In the past, Chilton would have simply approved the steward's recommendation without much consideration. Matthews knew his business, after all. But today, he found himself asking questions he might not have before.

"And the workers for this project—they'll be hired from among our tenants?"

"Where possible," Matthews confirmed, a flicker of surprise crossing his features at the inquiry. "Though specialized knowledge is required for certain aspects of the design."

"And the tenant families—how are they faring after the difficult harvest? Has there been sufficient income to see them through winter?"

The steward's eyebrows rose fractionally. "Adequately, my lord, though without excess. The usual hardship cases have received the customary assistance from the estate's emergency fund."

Chilton nodded, making a mental note to review that fund's parameters. "What of the Williams family? John mentioned concerns about his children's education when last we spoke."

At this, Matthews' expression shifted from surprise to something approaching wariness. "Education, my lord? I understood that to be a passing inquiry, not a matter requiring action."

"On the contrary," Chilton replied, meeting his steward's gaze directly. "It's a concern I've given considerable thought to during my absence. The lack of educational opportunities for tenant children seems an oversight we should address."

A lengthy silence followed this pronouncement. Matthews' face remained carefully neutral, but the slight tension in his shoulders revealed his discomfort with this unexpected direction.

"Forgive me, my lord, but educational initiatives require significant resources—resources that might be better directed toward improvements with more immediate returns. The drainage project alone will strain this quarter's budget considerably."

It was the response Chilton had expected—practical, focused on financial considerations, reflective of the estate management priorities that had guided Sutcliffe for generations. Yet it no longer seemed entirely adequate.

"I understand the financial constraints," he acknowledged.

"But I'm beginning to wonder if we've been calculating returns too narrowly.

Might not an educated tenantry provide benefits beyond what appears in the ledgers?

Children who can read instruction manuals, calculate crop yields, keep accurate records of their own small enterprises? "

Matthews' expression remained sceptical. "A theoretical benefit, perhaps, and one that might take years to materialize—if it does at all. Meanwhile, the immediate costs are quite real."

The argument echoed Chilton's own initial response to Meredith's passionate advocacy. How quickly perspectives could shift, he reflected, when one began to see through different eyes.

"I'm not proposing to abandon the drainage project or any other essential improvement," he clarified.

"Merely suggesting that we might allocate some portion of the estate's resources toward educational initiatives as well.

A small school, perhaps, or support for a qualified teacher to provide basic instruction. "