Page 47

T he morning brought unseasonably pleasant weather to London, as if nature itself conspired to favour Chilton's plans.

Sunlight streamed through the townhouse windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in golden columns.

As he attempted to read the morning paper, Chilton found himself unable to focus on parliamentary reports or Society announcements.

"Will you be requiring the carriage at three, my lord?" Jenkins inquired while refreshing his coffee.

"Yes, I'll be calling for Miss Martin at her mother's residence in Grosvenor Square prior to the musicale," Chilton replied, folding the newspaper he had barely read. "Lady Hartford's townhouse, I believe."

"Very good, my lord. And shall I lay out your blue coat? It's particularly well-suited to an afternoon in the Park."

Chilton detected the faintest hint of approval in his valet's suggestion. "The blue will do nicely, thank you."

The intervening hours passed with excruciating slowness.

Chilton attempted to occupy himself with correspondence from his London solicitor, but his thoughts continually strayed to the upcoming meeting.

What did he hope to accomplish during their walk?

Their ostensible purpose was to discuss educational initiatives, yet his motives extended far beyond professional consultation.

By half past two, his restlessness had become unmanageable. "Have the carriage brought round," he instructed Simmons. "I'll depart early and take a turn around the Square first."

The London air carried the crisp notes of early autumn—fallen leaves, wood smoke, and the particular mineral quality unique to the city. As his carriage proceeded toward Grosvenor Square, Chilton found himself absently straightening his cravat, behaviour that would have amused him in another man.

Lady Hartford's townhouse was distinguished by tasteful proportions rather than ostentatious decoration. Chilton's carriage had barely halted when he observed the front door opening, revealing Meredith descending the steps without waiting for his formal call.

Her eager departure suggested either remarkable punctuality or, more intriguing, a desire to avoid complications within. The thought brought a smile to Chilton's lips as he stepped down to greet her.

"Miss Martin," he said, bowing slightly. "I trust I find you well this afternoon?"

"Indeed, Lord Sutcliffe," she replied, her expression composed though a certain brightness in her eyes belied her calm exterior. She wore a walking dress of deep blue that complemented her complexion, with a matching pelisse and modest bonnet.

"I hope I haven't kept you waiting," Chilton said, offering his arm to assist her into the carriage.

"Not at all," Meredith assured him, accepting his assistance with only slight hesitation. "In fact, I thought it prudent to be ready slightly early."

As they settled into the carriage, Chilton noticed her glancing back toward the house with what might have been relief.

"Is everything well with Lady Hartford?" he inquired, curiosity getting the better of discretion.

Meredith's lips quirked into a small, rueful smile. "My mother is in excellent health and spirits, thank you. Perhaps overly so, given her enthusiasm for social opportunities."

"Ah." Chilton nodded, understanding immediately. "She was pleased to learn of our planned outing, I take it?"

"'Pleased' would be a significant understatement," Meredith admitted with a sigh of mixed exasperation and fondness. "Let us say she found considerable meaning in a baron calling for her daughter, regardless of the educational purpose I tried to emphasize."

The candid admission broke any remaining tension, drawing a genuine laugh from Chilton. "I see mothers are remarkably similar across social boundaries. My own would have reacted with comparable enthusiasm, though perhaps with different assumptions about its significance."

"Indeed," Meredith agreed, her expression warming. "Though in my mother's case, I fear she's already selecting wedding breakfast menus in her imagination, despite my strenuous objections."

The reference to marriage brought momentary awkwardness that neither seemed prepared to address. Chilton cleared his throat, deliberately redirecting the conversation.

"I thought we might drive through Green Park," he suggested. "The autumn colours are particularly fine there, and we could walk for a while if the weather holds."

"That sounds lovely," Meredith agreed, seemingly grateful for the change of subject. "I've had little opportunity to enjoy London's parks during previous visits. My mother's social calendar typically allows for shop windows rather than natural vistas."

As the carriage proceeded, conversation turned to safer topics—observations about London compared to Oxford and Berkshire, mutual acquaintances from the house party, news of Faith and Jasper who had departed for their wedding journey.

By the time they reached Green Park, the initial awkwardness had dissolved into easy rapport.

The park was moderately populated, with fashionable couples strolling gravel paths and nursemaids watching over children playing among the trees. As Chilton handed Meredith down from the carriage, he instructed his coachman to wait nearby, then offered his arm for their walk.

"I've been reflecting on your observations regarding my educational proposal," he said as they set off. "The concern about inadvertently creating a two-tier system through the satellite locations was particularly insightful."

"It wasn't meant as criticism," Meredith assured him. "Merely an observation based on similar challenges we've encountered in Oxford."

"I understood it as constructive rather than critical," Chilton replied. "In fact, I've been considering several adjustments based on yesterday's discussion. The idea of regular assessment for all children, regardless of location, seems particularly promising."

As they walked, their conversation flowed naturally from educational theory to practical implementation.

Meredith described her experiences with the children in Oxford—their initial wariness, their gradual blossoming under consistent attention, the particular challenges faced by girls whose families prioritized domestic duties over learning.

"Mary Williams reminds me of several of our brightest students," she said, her expression softening at the mention of the tenant's daughter. "That hunger for knowledge, the willingness to work beyond reasonable expectations simply for the joy of understanding something new."

"I've seen it in her," Chilton agreed. "Her father mentioned finding her tracing letters in the dirt when no paper was available."

"Precisely the sort of initiative that deserves nurturing," Meredith said with quiet passion. "Imagine what such minds might accomplish if properly cultivated."

They reached a quiet section of the park, where ancient oak trees created a natural arcade over the path. Fallen leaves crunched beneath their feet, creating a pleasant counterpoint to their conversation.

"I've been meaning to ask," Chilton said after a comfortable pause, "how your school plans in Oxford are progressing? Has Lady Beaverbrook's support materialized as promised?"

"Indeed it has," Meredith confirmed, genuine pleasure lighting her features. "Her solicitor contacted me as soon as I returned home with most generous terms. And several of the scholars from Linford Park have contributed as well—books, educational materials, even furniture from Captain Peters."

"That's excellent news," Chilton said sincerely. "Have you secured premises yet?"

"We're in negotiations for the old bootmaker’s shop on Turl Street. The location is ideal—central enough for most children to reach easily, yet not so prominent as to draw unwanted attention from University authorities."

"And your friend—Sasha, wasn't it? She continues to assist you?"

The question clearly pleased Meredith. "She's been invaluable. In truth, the school would be impossible without her practical approach balancing my theoretical tendencies."

"A valuable partnership, then," Chilton observed. "The practical and the theoretical complementing each other."

"Indeed," Meredith agreed, a slight blush colouring her cheeks as she recognized the parallel to their own dynamic.

"Though we still face challenges. Finding qualified teachers willing to work with poor children for modest compensation, convincing some parents that education won't make their daughters less marriageable or their sons less capable of manual labour. "

"The same concerns that arise at Sutcliffe," Chilton nodded. "Change, even beneficial change, often meets resistance simply because it disrupts familiar patterns."

They had reached a small ornamental lake where ducks paddled serenely.

By unspoken agreement, they paused to watch the peaceful scene, standing close enough that Chilton was acutely aware of Meredith's presence—the subtle scent of lavender that seemed to accompany her, the gentle rise and fall of her breathing, the warmth where her gloved hand rested lightly on his arm.

"May I ask you something, Lord Sutcliffe?" Meredith said suddenly, her voice soft but intent.

"Chilton, please," he corrected gently. "At least when we're not in formal company."

"Chilton," she amended, the sound of his name on her lips sending unexpected warmth through him. "I've been wondering what truly prompted your interest in education. Was it merely our conversations at Linford Park, or was there something more fundamental that our discussions simply illuminated?"

The directness of the question deserved equal honesty. Chilton considered his response carefully.