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L ondon welcomed Chilton with its familiar cacophony—the clattering of carriage wheels on cobblestones, the cries of street vendors hawking their wares, the general hum of humanity crowded within the sprawling metropolis.

As his carriage navigated the increasingly congested streets toward Mayfair, Chilton found himself both energized and apprehensive about the day ahead.

He had arrived in the city the previous evening, staying at his modest townhouse which remained shuttered for most of the year.

The property, inherited from his father, held little personal significance for him.

Unlike Sutcliffe, with its generations of history and deep connection to the land, the London residence felt more like an occasional convenience than a true home.

Jenkins had worked minor miracles to have the place ready on such short notice, supervising the skeleton staff in airing out rooms, uncovering furniture, and preparing the master bedchamber.

Now, as Chilton adjusted his cravat and checked his appearance one final time in the carriage's small mirror, he was grateful for his valet's efficiency.

"The portfolio, my lord," Jenkins reminded him, handing over the leather case containing copies of his educational proposal.

"Thank you," Chilton replied, securing it beside him. "Though I'm not entirely certain how much of today's gathering will focus on practical matters versus theoretical discussion."

"Either way, you're well prepared," Jenkins assured him, his tone suggesting confidence in his master that Chilton found both touching and slightly amusing.

The valet had adapted remarkably well to the changes in his employer's approach, shifting from polite acquiescence to genuine support with smooth professionalism.

Berkeley Square came into view, its elegant townhouses surrounding the central garden where fashionable Londoners might stroll in fine weather. The Smythe residence was among the most impressive, its classical facade speaking of wealth guided by refined taste rather than ostentatious display.

As the carriage drew to a halt before the entrance, Chilton felt a flutter of anticipation that had little to do with the educational discussions ahead.

Would Meredith already be there? How would she receive him after their parting at Linford Park?

Had his letter reached her, and if so, what had she made of it?

These questions occupied his mind as a livered footman escorted him into the entrance hall, where a dignified butler received his hat and gloves.

"Lord Sutcliffe," the man intoned, "Lady Evangeline is receiving guests in the blue drawing room. If you'll follow me, please."

The house's interior reflected the same refined elegance as its exterior—classical proportions, quality furnishings, artwork selected with discerning taste.

As Chilton followed the butler through the corridor, he could hear the murmur of conversation ahead, punctuated occasionally by a woman's melodious laugh.

"Lord Sutcliffe," the butler announced as they reached the drawing room doorway.

Lady Evangeline rose gracefully from her seat near the fireplace, coming forward to greet him with genuine warmth. "Lord Sutcliffe, how delightful that you could join us. Sean will be down shortly—some last-minute calculations required his attention."

"A mathematician's work is never complete, I imagine," Chilton replied with a smile, taking her extended hand. "Thank you for including me in your gathering."

"Your perspective is most welcome," Lady Evangeline assured him. "Particularly given your recent interest in educational initiatives."

As she guided him further into the room, Chilton's gaze swept over the assembled guests, searching for one particular face. His heart sank slightly when he did not immediately see Meredith among them.

"Let me introduce you," Lady Evangeline continued, seemingly unaware of his distraction.

"Mrs. Eleanor Fielding, headmistress of the Bromley School for Girls; Mr. Thomas Winthrop of the Society for Educational Improvement; and Mr. James Harper, who has established several charitable schools in London's poorer districts. "

Chilton exchanged greetings with each, noting their evident surprise at finding a baron among their number. Mrs. Fielding, a formidable woman of perhaps fifty with intelligent eyes and a no-nonsense manner, studied him with particular interest.

"Lord Sutcliffe," she said, her tone suggesting she was reserving judgment. "Lady Evangeline mentioned your interest in rural education. A rather unexpected field of aristocratic concern, if you'll forgive my saying so."

"Perhaps it should be less unusual than it is," Chilton replied, refusing to be defensive. "Those of us with extensive lands have particular responsibility for the communities that sustain them."

Mrs. Fielding's expression warmed slightly. "Well said, my lord. And what specific aspects of education have captured your interest?"

Before Chilton could respond, the butler reappeared at the doorway. "Miss Meredith Martin," he announced.

Chilton's heart performed a curious leap at the sound of her name. He turned, unable to prevent the eagerness of his movement, and found himself looking directly into Meredith's eyes as she entered the room.

She wore a gown of deep green that complemented her complexion perfectly, its style modest yet becoming.

Her dark hair was arranged simply but elegantly beneath a small hat adorned with a single feather.

The overall effect was one of understated grace that suited her far better than elaborate fashions might have done.

For a moment, their gazes held across the room, a silent exchange that contained recognition, uncertainty, and something deeper that neither was prepared to name. Then Lady Evangeline moved to welcome the new arrival, breaking the momentary spell.

"Miss Martin, how wonderful you could come," she said, taking Meredith's hands warmly. "Several of our guests have expressed particular interest in your Oxford initiative."

"You're very kind to include me," Meredith replied, and Chilton noted the slight nervousness in her voice—a rare departure from her usual self-possession. "I fear my practical experience is limited compared to your other guests."

"Fresh perspectives are often the most valuable," Lady Evangeline assured her, before turning to make introductions. "You already know Lord Sutcliffe, of course."

Meredith's eyes returned to his, and Chilton found himself moving forward without conscious decision.

"Miss Martin," he said, bowing slightly. "It's good to see you again."

"Lord Sutcliffe," she acknowledged, her voice carefully neutral despite the colour that rose to her cheeks. "I trust you're well?"

"Quite well, thank you." The formal exchange felt painfully inadequate after all that had passed between them, yet the public setting demanded such restraint.

Lady Evangeline, perceptive as always, smoothly guided Meredith to meet the other guests, allowing Chilton a moment to compose himself.

He had not anticipated how strongly her presence would affect him—the mere sight of her had sent his carefully prepared remarks scattering from his mind like leaves in an autumn wind.

Mr. Sean Smythe's arrival provided further distraction. The mathematician greeted his guests with genuine enthusiasm, his scholarly appearance belied by the warmth of his manner.

"Ah, Sutcliffe! Excellent that you could join us." He clasped Chilton's hand firmly. "I've been most intrigued by your interest in educational reform. Such practical applications of progressive principles deserve wider implementation."

"My thoughts exactly," Chilton agreed, grateful to focus on the ostensible purpose of the gathering. "Though I confess my plans are still evolving as I consult with those more experienced in educational matters."

"A wise approach," Sean approved. "Which is precisely why Evangeline and I arranged this little meeting of minds. Nothing formal, you understand—just an opportunity for those with shared interests to exchange ideas and perhaps forge useful connections."

As the group settled into a more organized conversation circle, Chilton found himself seated across from Meredith, with Mrs. Fielding between them. The arrangement allowed him to observe her without obvious staring, though he suspected his attention was less subtle than he might have wished.

"Perhaps we might begin with each person sharing their particular interest in education," Lady Evangeline suggested. "Miss Martin, would you mind starting us off? Your work in Oxford has such practical immediacy."

Put on the spot, Meredith straightened slightly, but her voice was steady as she outlined her school initiative.

"My focus is providing basic education to children who would otherwise have none—particularly girls, who are often overlooked even when limited schooling is available.

The children of labourers, tradespeople, domestic servants—those whose potential is typically wasted through simple lack of opportunity. "

"And your curriculum?" Mr. Winthrop inquired, his tone suggesting genuine interest rather than challenge. "What do you consider essential for such students?"

"Reading, writing, and arithmetic form the foundation, of course," Meredith replied. "But I believe history, geography, and natural sciences are equally important—not as abstract subjects, but as ways of understanding the world in which these children must make their way."

Chilton found himself nodding in agreement, struck by how closely her approach aligned with the conclusions he had reached in his own planning.

"And you do not fear," Mrs. Fielding asked carefully, "that such education might create dissatisfaction among those destined for manual labour or domestic service?"