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"No," the vicar acknowledged. "Mrs. Harrington would tell you I'm something of a radical in that regard, though a quiet one. The constraints of my position require certain concessions to conventional wisdom."

The admission resonated with Chilton's own recent experiences. "I understand such constraints all too well. But perhaps the time has come to reconsider which conventions truly serve the greater good."

"You have changed, my lord. May I ask what prompted this evolution in your thinking?"

"A series of conversations with someone who challenged my assumptions," Chilton said simply. "And subsequent observations that confirmed the validity of her challenges."

"Her?" The vicar's eyes twinkled. "Ah, the most effective catalysts for change often come in unexpected forms."

Chilton’s face heated but he refused to give in to his embarrassment.

“I also had an enlightening conversation with a young curate while travelling recently. He had some good ideas about keeping the education practical to the children’s experience, tying in what they learn with what they already know. ”

“Sounds reasonable.” The vicar nodded.

Their conversation continued for another hour, delving into practical considerations of location, staffing, and community response. By the time Chilton took his leave, the outline of a potential approach had begun to take shape.

As he rode back toward Sutcliffe Manor, Chilton found his mind turning to Meredith. How would she respond to his embryonic plans? The thought of discussing these questions with her in London brought both anticipation and nervous uncertainty.

But before London, he had promised himself another visit—one that would ground his intellectual explorations in the human reality they were meant to serve.

The Williams cottage appeared much as it had during his previous visit. Mary sat on a rough wooden bench beneath the single apple tree, a slate propped on her knees as she laboriously copied letters with a piece of chalk.

She looked up at the sound of hoofbeats, her eyes widening in recognition. "My lord!" she exclaimed, scrambling to her feet and executing a hasty curtsey.

"Hello, Mary," Chilton greeted her, dismounting with a smile. "What are you working on today?"

"Letters, my lord," she replied, holding up the slate to display her careful, if wobbly, alphabet. "Mrs. Harrington showed me how to make them all proper-like."

"Very impressive," Chilton said, genuinely appreciating the effort evident in her work.

Mary beamed at the praise. "Father says if I learn my letters good enough, maybe someday I might read a real book. With stories in it!"

"A worthy goal indeed," Chilton agreed. "Is your father at home?"

John Williams was mending a harness when Chilton entered the barn. He looked up in surprise, hastily setting aside his work.

"My lord! Didn't expect to see you again so soon. Is everything all right?"

"Perfectly all right, John," Chilton assured him.

"Just wanted to check in once more and assure you I am taking steps to ensure Sutcliffe will have a proper school for the tenant children just as soon as I can manage it. And we’re hoping to ensure the education is as comprehensive as possible, not just the basics, so that it might offer them future opportunities. "

The tenant farmer's weathered face transformed with joy so naked it was almost painful to witness. "My lord, I hardly know what to say. This is more than we dared hope."

"The details remain to be determined," Chilton cautioned. "But the commitment is firm. Every child on Sutcliffe lands will have access to education that nurtures their potential, whatever that might be."

"My Mary," Williams said, his voice thick with emotion, "she's got such a quick mind. Picks up everything so fast it fair takes my breath away. But me and the missus, we've no learning to give her beyond the basics. To think she might have real schooling..."

"That's precisely what I intend," Chilton confirmed. "For Mary and all the children. Boys and girls alike."

Mary's demonstration of her limited but earnest learning occupied the next half hour.

What struck Chilton most forcefully was not the content of her knowledge—which was indeed rudimentary—but the shining eagerness with which she approached each task, the pure joy of learning that animated her small face.

Here, in this modest cottage, was the most compelling argument for education he had yet encountered. More persuasive than scholarly treatises, more immediate than abstract discussions, Mary's uncomplicated delight in knowledge affirmed his commitment in a way nothing else could have done.

"When will the school start, my lord?" Mary asked as he mounted Sultan, her eagerness overcoming her habitual shyness.

"Not immediately," Chilton admitted. "There's much to prepare first. But soon, Mary. I promise you that."

The ride back to Sutcliffe Manor gave Chilton time to reflect. The visit to the Williams’ cottage had crystallized his conviction. Mary's bright eyes and eager mind deserved nurturing, regardless of her birth or gender. That simple truth extended to all the children under his care.

By the time he reached home, a comprehensive plan had begun to take shape in his mind.

The old schoolhouse might be renovated as a central facility, but satellite locations could be established for younger children from distant farms. The staffing would require careful consideration, as would a curriculum that balanced practical skills with broader knowledge.

Most challenging would be ensuring that the education provided genuinely expanded opportunity rather than merely reinforcing existing limitations. This was where Meredith's perspective would be most valuable.

As he entered his study, Chilton called for writing materials. The resulting document—part philosophical statement, part practical plan—flowed from his pen with surprising ease. By the time the dinner gong sounded, he had produced a comprehensive outline of his vision for education at Sutcliffe.

"Shall I have this copied for your records, my lord?" Simmons asked when Chilton handed him the completed document.

"Yes, please. And prepare copies to bring to London next week. I'll want to share them with several educational specialists I'll be meeting there."

"Of course, my lord." The butler hesitated briefly. "If I may say so, it's gratifying to see you taking such an interest in the estate's development. Your father would be most pleased."

The comment caught Chilton by surprise. "You think so? Father was rather traditional in his approach to tenant relations."

"In many ways, yes," Simmons acknowledged.

"But he always said that a great estate was measured not merely by its acres but by the welfare of those who worked them.

Education was of particular interest to him, though circumstances prevented him from pursuing initiatives similar to what you're proposing. "

This glimpse of his father's thinking touched Chilton deeply. Perhaps he was not breaking with family tradition after all, but rather fulfilling an aspect of it that circumstances had previously constrained.

That evening, as he dined alone, Chilton found his thoughts returning repeatedly to Meredith. Would she approve of the direction he had taken? Would she see his efforts as genuine commitment to educational principles? Would she recognize how profoundly she had influenced his thinking?

And most uncertain of all—would she welcome his growing personal interest, or maintain the professional distance she had established during their parting at Linford Park?

These questions had no immediate answers, but London would provide opportunity to discover them. As Chilton prepared for bed that night, he found himself anticipating Tuesday's gathering with an eagerness that went far beyond intellectual curiosity.

Whether Meredith Martin would welcome his transformed perspective remained to be seen.

But that the transformation had occurred was beyond question—and for that, regardless of what followed, he would always be grateful to the passionate bluestocking who had dared to challenge a baron's conventional thinking.