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M eredith tried to still her mental tumult with one of her father's well-worn journals, the cracked leather binding embossed with his initials.

The pages were yellowed at the edges, time's gentle patina marking the passage of years since he had first recorded his thoughts on Galileo's astronomical theories.

She hadn't read through this one in quite some time, and she knew it would surely contain something that could inspire her for her school.

She placed it carefully in her satchel, well aware that the long drive would require something to keep her mind occupied.

She was willing to risk the added weight to the bag she would have to carry just to have something of her beloved father with her.

Outside her small window, the bell of St. Mary's tolled the hour, reminding her of the inexorable march of time. The afternoon sun cast golden light across the worn floorboards of her modest chamber, illuminating the small collection of possessions she had deemed worthy of bringing to the wedding.

Unlike the fashionable ladies who would attend with trunks full of the latest London styles, Meredith had only two gowns suitable for such an occasion—her best day dress of sprigged muslin and a pale blue silk evening gown that had been her mother's, altered to fit her more slender frame.

She knew she was dithering. She was being a ninny. There was nothing to fear about going to this house party—her nervousness was merely her insecurities talking.

Her birth meant she should be welcomed into the High Society in which her fellow guests circulated.

But the fact that she was pursuing education would nearly put her beyond the pale.

Oxford Society might tolerate her oddities because of her late father's position, but among the ton , a bluestocking was an object of amusement at best, scorn at worst.

Her mother's voice seemed to whisper in her ear: "Hold your tongue about books, darling. Gentlemen do not wish to be reminded that a woman might have read the same volumes as they."

The memory made her grimace as she folded a modest fichu to wear with her evening gown, ensuring her décolletage would remain properly covered.

"A letter for you, Miss Martin." The landlady's daughter, Anne, appeared in the doorway, a sealed missive in her outstretched hand. "Just delivered by a footman in very fine livery."

Meredith thanked the girl, recognizing her mother's elaborate handwriting immediately. She set it aside without opening it, knowing all too well what lectures it would contain about proper behaviour and the importance of making a favourable impression. Time enough for that on the journey.

"Will you be staying long at the grand estate, Miss?"

Anne lingered, her eyes wide with fascination. At eleven years old, she was precisely the sort of girl Meredith hoped to educate one day—bright, curious, and destined for a life far below her potential without intervention.

"Just a week," Meredith replied with a smile. "I'm attending my friend's wedding."

"How wonderful!" Anne sighed dreamily. "Will there be lords and ladies and fine carriages?"

"I expect so," Meredith chuckled. "Though I shall be traveling by stagecoach myself."

Anne's brow furrowed. "But surely a lady such as yourself—"

"Is perfectly capable of managing a stagecoach journey," Meredith finished for her. "Besides, it will be an adventure."

The girl's expression suggested she found this decision utterly incomprehensible, but she merely curtseyed and withdrew, leaving Meredith to her packing and her thoughts.

A rap at the door announced another visitor.

Sasha Brookes, the daughter of a local shopkeeper and Meredith's most dedicated assistant in her secret teaching endeavours, entered without waiting for an invitation.

At twenty-seven, Sasha was older than Meredith by several years and possessed a forthright manner that many found disconcerting but Meredith found refreshing.

"So, you're really going, then?" Sasha asked, eyeing the half-packed satchel dubiously. "To mingle with the quality while we common folk mind the shop?"

There was no real resentment in her tone, merely the teasing familiarity of long acquaintance. Meredith smiled as she carefully wrapped a small bottle of lavender water in a handkerchief.

"How could you possibly think to attend such an event?" Sasha demanded when Meredith admitted she was attending the wedding.

"Did Faith not invite you?" Meredith asked.

"Of course not." Sasha snorted, settling herself uninvited onto the narrow bed. "She surely knows that her future father-in-law would never welcome one such as me in his fancy house."

"Are you certain that was the reason?" Meredith asked gently.

"From what I know of Faith, she would not allow herself to be swayed by anyone's prejudice—not even those of her future father-in-law.

And Jasper certainly didn't strike me as the sort who would look down on you just because your parents were not nobles. "

Sasha absently fingered the worn embroidery on Meredith's bedspread, her callused hands revealing the manual work she did in her father's shop when not helping with their covert lessons.

"And yet I didn't receive an invitation, now, did I? Matters not anyway, since I wouldn't have accepted it even if they had been so foolish as to ask me to attend. And I am shocked beyond words that you have accepted!"

Meredith laughed. "It doesn't sound to me as though you're beyond words," she teased, securing her satchel with a leather strap.

"Now, you—" Sasha began, but even she had to laugh.

"I know you belong in those circles—at least according to your mother," Sasha allowed, her expression softening. "It's likely she's thrilled you're going."

"I actually haven't read the letter she sent yet, because you're right—she will be delighted. And not to say that I don't wish to bring delight to my mother, but I don't care to hear her lectures about how to catch a husband."

Meredith moved to her small dressing table, examining her appearance in the spotted glass.

Her dark hair was neatly coiled at the nape of her neck, a style more practical than fashionable, and her complexion was perhaps too sun-kissed for current tastes after hours spent walking Oxford's streets.

She touched the small gold locket at her throat—her father's last gift—drawing comfort from its familiar weight.

Sasha snorted from her perch on the bed. "Seems to me you could easily catch one in these parts."

Meredith shook her head and shrugged. "The 'gentlemen' here don't often seem to be offering marriage."

"Well, to the likes of you, they certainly do," Sasha insisted, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Why, just last week you told me about that offer from that young Carlton fellow!"

Meredith laughed and shook her head again. "His lordship was far too young for such a declaration. Certainly, his parents would not have appreciated my entertaining his offer."

Young Lord Carlton had been barely twenty, fresh from his first year at university and dazzled by what he called her "intellectual prowess.

" His earnest proposals had been sweet but entirely impractical, not least because his family would surely cut him off without a penny should he align himself with a penniless bluestocking five years his senior.

Sasha snorted once more. "Most likely another thing you haven't told your mother, I'd say."

"You will have your work cut out for you while I'm gone, and I do apologize for leaving these tasks to you.

" Meredith gestured to the small stack of primers and slates they had managed to acquire for their students—the children of tradesmen and servants who gathered three times weekly in the back room of Mr. Brookes' shop under the guise of Bible study.

"Get on with you, girl." Sasha waved away Meredith's words with a work-roughened hand.

"Some of these parents will do better hearing from me, in any case, don't you know?

And seems to me you've done plenty of the work yourself.

It's about time you took a little breather—not that I suggest you go amongst that crowd, but there's no accounting for taste. "

Just thinking about the conversation made Meredith smile in remembrance as she finished her packing after her friend’s departure. But the sting of Sasha's words remained, as well as the amusement.

What if she was right, and Meredith would bring an awkward atmosphere to Faith's wedding? Meredith was well aware that the members of High Society did not look kindly upon women like her—women pursuing education and wishing to educate others.

She sighed, even as she thought about it, and grabbed one more of her father's journals—this one on classical philosophy and its applications to modern governance.

She was going to need all the reinforcements she could get.

Perhaps she would have to take two satchels with her on the stagecoach.

But the thought of keeping track of so much made her shudder.

If only she could accept her stepfather's generosity and use one of his carriages to travel to the wedding.

Her mother had written just last month to make the offer.

Of course, it was for the purpose of bringing her to London, but Meredith could only imagine her mother would wish the same for this trip.

"Lord Hartford would be most pleased to send his traveling carriage for you, my dear. The thought of you on a public conveyance positively makes me faint with distress."

But then she would have to bring servants, and even her mother would likely insist on accompanying her, and it would become almost a farce.

This way was much better, and no one could claim that it was inappropriate.

With a sufficient variety of fellow travellers, there could be no question of impropriety.