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"This is a significant departure from established policy, my lord," Matthews observed, his tone carefully neutral despite the implicit criticism. "May I ask what has prompted such a change in thinking?"

Chilton hesitated, considering how much to reveal.

"I had several enlightening discussions about the practical benefits of education during my time at Linford Park," he said finally. "And I've come to believe that our tenants' children deserve more opportunity than current circumstances afford them."

"I see." Matthews' tone suggested he saw rather more than Chilton had explicitly stated. "And might these 'enlightening discussions' have been with Miss Martin? Lady Caroline mentioned her presence at the house party in her last communication."

The question caught Chilton off guard, though in retrospect, it shouldn't have. Caroline would naturally have mentioned Meredith in her correspondence with the steward, likely painting her as a dangerous influence to be countered.

The poor dear had never been able to quite give up her tight grip on Sutcliffe despite Chilton’s coming of age years ago. It was well past time for him to put an end to his sister’s meddling. Until now it had felt like more trouble than it was worth. It was time now.

"Miss Martin was among the guests, yes," he confirmed, keeping his tone deliberately casual. "As were several distinguished scholars whose perspectives on education proved most informative."

Matthews nodded, accepting the deflection without pressing further. "As you wish, my lord. Shall I prepare an assessment of what a modest educational initiative might require in terms of resources?"

"Please do," Chilton agreed, relieved at the steward's professional pivot. "Consider several options—from supporting existing schools in neighbouring villages to establishing something here at Sutcliffe. I'd like to review the possibilities before making a decision."

"Very good, my lord." Matthews gathered his papers, his movements reflecting the efficiency that had made him indispensable to the estate. "Will there be anything else?"

"Yes, actually," Chilton said, making a decision. "I'd like to ride out to the Williams’ farm this afternoon. See how young Mary is getting on."

If this request surprised the steward, he concealed it well. "I'll have a groomsman see that your horse saddled at two, my lord."

After Matthews departed, Chilton turned his attention to the correspondence awaiting him that could not be addressed by his steward.

Most was routine—invitations to social events, a letter from his solicitor regarding a minor property dispute, communications from his banker about investments.

Nothing that required immediate response.

The last letter in the pile, however, caused his heart to skip: an invitation from Lady Evangeline, requesting his presence at a small gathering in London the following week.

"A discussion of educational initiatives among like-minded individuals," her elegant script explained, "including several potential patrons with interest in supporting worthy projects. Your perspective would be most valuable."

Chilton read the invitation twice, noting what remained unwritten but clearly implied: Meredith would likely be invited as well. Lady Evangeline, perceptive as always, was providing an opportunity for their paths to cross again in a setting that offered the pretext of educational philanthropy.

The thought both thrilled and unsettled him. To see Meredith again so soon—before he had fully resolved his own conflicted feelings, before he had navigated Caroline's inevitable resistance—seemed imprudent. Yet the prospect of declining was equally unpalatable.

Setting the invitation aside for further consideration, Chilton rose and moved to the window overlooking the south lawn.

Sutcliffe stretched before him in autumnal splendour, the formal gardens giving way to parkland, then to the productive fields and tenanted farms that had supported his family for generations.

All of it his responsibility, his birthright, his purpose.

Or at least, that was what he had always believed.

Yet now, with Meredith's questions echoing in his mind, he found himself wondering if being Baron Sutcliffe might encompass more than simply maintaining what his ancestors had built.

Might it not also include improving what could be better, changing what needed changing, even if such change challenged long-held assumptions?

The grandfather clock in the corner chimed two, reminding him of his planned visit to the Williams’ farm. Chilton welcomed the interruption to his increasingly complicated thoughts. Practical observation of tenant conditions might provide clearer direction than abstract philosophizing.

His mare awaited in the stable yard, saddled and ready.

The ride to the Williams’ farm took him through the heart of his estate, past fields where the last of the harvest was being gathered in, cottages where tenant families had lived for generations, the small village that depended on Sutcliffe's prosperity for its own.

John Williams was in his modest dooryard when Chilton arrived, splitting logs for winter fuel. He straightened at the sight of his landlord, setting aside his axe with a respectful nod.

"Lord Sutcliffe," he said, surprise evident in his tone. "Wasn't expecting a visit today."

"I've just returned from my travels," Chilton explained, dismounting and handing his reins to the elder Williams boy who had come running. "Thought I'd see how matters stand with your family."

"Right kind of you, my lord," Williams replied, though confusion lingered in his expression.

The baron had previously not made a habit of visiting his tenants regularly, his previous visit being more out of the ordinary than he would like to admit.

"Would you care to step inside? The missus will fetch tea. "

"Thank you, but I won't disturb your household," Chilton said, aware that his unexpected arrival had probably sent Mrs. Williams into a flutter of preparation. "I mainly wanted to ask after your daughter—Mary, wasn't it? The one you mentioned had an interest in learning."

Williams' weathered face brightened at the mention of his youngest. "Aye, that's her. Sharp as a tack, that one. Been teaching herself from the family Bible, picking out letters and trying to make sense of them. Mrs. Williams helps when she can, but with the baby coming and all the regular work..."

"Another child on the way?" Chilton inquired, genuinely interested. "Congratulations."

"Thank you, my lord. Due around Christmas, we think. Makes it six for us, God willing."

Six children in a modest tenant cottage, Chilton reflected, with parents too busy with survival to provide much educational guidance. Yet at least one of those children hungered for knowledge she had little means to acquire.

"Might I meet Mary?" he asked. "I'd be interested to see her progress."

If this request struck Williams as unusual, he gave no sign beyond a momentary widening of his eyes. "Of course, my lord. Mary! Come out here, girl. His lordship wants to speak with you."

After a moment's delay, a small figure appeared in the cottage doorway.

Mary Williams couldn't have been more than seven or eight, her homespun dress clean but much mended, her dark hair pulled back in a simple braid.

She approached shyly, executing a wobbly curtsey that suggested someone—her mother, perhaps—had instructed her in the proper way to greet nobility.

"Hello, Mary," Chilton said, crouching to meet her at eye level, a gesture that would have astounded anyone familiar with aristocratic protocol. "Your father tells me you're teaching yourself to read. That's quite an accomplishment."

The girl's eyes, brown and serious, studied him with cautious interest.

"Thank you, my lord," she whispered, her gaze dropping to her worn shoes.

"What sorts of things do you like to learn about?" Chilton asked, genuinely curious.

Mary glanced at her father, who nodded encouragement.

"I like stories," she said softly. "And numbers. Mrs. Tanner lets me help count eggs at the market sometimes."

"Does she? That's excellent practice," Chilton replied, thinking of Meredith's insistence that practical applications enhanced theoretical learning. "Would you like to learn more about numbers and letters, if you had the chance?"

The girl's face lit with sudden animation, her shyness momentarily forgotten.

"Oh yes, my lord! I should like that very much. Tommy Fletcher says there's books with pictures of far-off places and strange animals. Is that true?"

"Quite true," Chilton confirmed, feeling an unexpected tightness in his chest at her eager response. "There are books about all manner of things—places, animals, stories, how things work. The world is full of wonders to learn about."

Mary's expression glowed with longing so intense it was almost painful to witness.

"I should like to see such books someday," she said, as if speaking of an impossible dream.

Chilton rose, his decision crystallizing with sudden clarity. "I believe that might be arranged sooner than you think, Mary. Thank you for speaking with me."

As the girl returned to the cottage at her father's nod, Williams turned to Chilton with naked hope in his eyes. "My lord, does this mean you're considering some schooling for the children after all?"

"I am," Chilton confirmed, the words feeling right as he spoke them. "Not just considering, but planning. The details remain to be determined, but I intend to ensure that Mary and children like her have the opportunity to learn."

Williams' weather-beaten face transformed with gratitude. "That would be a blessing beyond telling, my lord. The wife and I, we've always wanted better for our little ones than we had ourselves."

"As it should be," Chilton replied, the simplicity of the tenant's aspiration striking him with unexpected force.

Was this not the essence of improvement, of progress? Each generation seeking something better for the next?

As he rode back toward Sutcliffe Manor, Chilton's mind was clearer than it had been in days.

The doubt and hesitation that had plagued him—about educational initiatives, about challenging Caroline's influence, about his growing feelings for Meredith—seemed to recede in the face of Mary Williams' eager longing for knowledge.

Some truths, it seemed, were simple enough even when their implementation might prove complex.

By the time he reached home, the autumn sun was beginning its descent, casting long shadows across the lawns and gardens of Sutcliffe. Chilton handed his horse to a waiting groom and made his way directly to the library, where he instructed Simmons to bring him writing materials.

Two letters demanded immediate composition.

The first, to Lady Evangeline, accepting her invitation to the London gathering with gratitude and confirming his attendance, easily accomplished. The second, more challenging but equally necessary, to Meredith herself.

He stared at the blank page for several minutes, considering and discarding various openings. Too formal would suggest distance he didn't wish to create; too familiar might seem presumptuous given the brevity of their acquaintance.

Finally, he began:

Miss Martin,

I trust this letter finds you well returned to Oxford and resuming the important work that calls you there. Sutcliffe welcomed me home, though I confess the familiar surroundings seem somehow changed—perhaps because I view them now through a lens altered by our conversations.

Today I visited a tenant family whose youngest daughter, Mary, shows remarkable eagerness to learn despite limited opportunity.

Observing her joy at the mere possibility of books made your arguments about education's importance more tangible than any theoretical discussion could have done.

I find myself increasingly convinced that supporting such natural curiosity is not merely charitable but essential—both for the children themselves and for the future prosperity of the communities they will one day lead.

To that end, I have begun planning for educational initiatives here at Sutcliffe, though the exact form these will take remains to be determined. Your insights regarding practical implementation would be most valuable, should you be willing to share them.

I have received an invitation from Lady Evangeline Smythe to attend a gathering in London next week focused on educational philanthropy.

I intend to accept and wonder if you have received a similar invitation?

If so, perhaps we might continue our discussions there in person, rather than through the limitation of correspondence.

My sister visits tomorrow, and I anticipate some resistance to these new directions. Yet I find my conviction strengthening rather than wavering—another change I attribute to your influence, whether you intended it or not.

Your servant, Chilton Loring

He read the letter twice, wondering if it struck the right balance between professional consultation and personal connection.

After brief hesitation, he decided to send it as written.

Whatever developed between himself and Meredith—be it scholarly collaboration, friendship, or something deeper—would be better served by honesty than by tactical calculation.

As he sealed the letter, the weight of tomorrow's confrontation with Caroline settled upon him once more.

His sister would not easily accept these changes in his thinking, particularly where Meredith was concerned.

The path of least resistance would be to retreat into familiar patterns, to allow Caroline's influence to reassert itself as it had so many times before.

But as Chilton handed the letters to Simmons for posting, he realized that path was no longer acceptable to him.

Whether Meredith eventually welcomed his personal regard or not, the truths she had helped him recognize could not be unlearned.

Educational opportunity mattered. Social barriers could be unnecessarily limiting.

Change, thoughtfully implemented, need not threaten stability but might actually enhance it.

These were principles worth defending, even against Caroline's formidable opposition. And if defending them also kept open the possibility of a deeper connection with the remarkable woman who had articulated them so passionately, so much the better.

As evening settled over Sutcliffe, Chilton found himself anticipating tomorrow's confrontation with something approaching eagerness.

For the first time in longer than he could remember, he knew with certainty what he believed and why—a clarity that owed much to Meredith Martin's unwavering conviction and his own growing courage to match it.