Page 5

The clock on the mantel chimed the quarter hour, its delicate tone at odds with the sturdy plainness of her surroundings. Meredith glanced around the small room that had been her home since her father's death.

Though clean and comfortable enough, it bore little resemblance to the professor's residence where she had grown up, surrounded by books and intellectual conversation. Still, it was hers alone, and that freedom was precious beyond measure.

It wasn't the best time for her to be leaving Oxford, though. She had so many plans in the works.

Meredith hunched over her desk, the warm glow of her candlelight soothing her worries, even as the smoke from the cheap tallow candle burned her eyes.

She had managed to secure approval from the local parish to use a small outbuilding for lessons three afternoons a week, though she had been careful to frame it as religious instruction rather than general education.

The vicar, a kindly if somewhat oblivious man, had neither the time nor the inclination to inspect her work too closely, for which she was profoundly grateful.

The scratch of her pencil on the parchment was further comfort, as it reminded her of her father and his pursuit of education.

She needed to follow in his footsteps, even if it was unusual for women of her stature—or any woman, really, she reminded herself.

Her resolve hardened. She needed to change that.

Women needed a certain level of knowledge to care properly for their families. How were they to bargain properly with the grocer if they couldn't add their prices together? How could they communicate with their children if they moved away, without letters?

Meredith knew her reasoning was sound. Even if impoverished parents couldn't afford to frank a letter, there was no way they could maintain communication with their children without reading and writing. It was ridiculous that more people didn't see this because these were facts.

While Meredith understood that she was overeducated for the position she was supposed to fill and it was a burden for her, being undereducated was also a burden for everyone—especially for the girls of this world. Meredith knew she could help change this.

Through her window, she could see the golden stones of the Radcliffe Camera catching the last rays of the setting sun. Men of learning had gathered at just such places for generations, sharing knowledge that changed the world.

Why should such transformative power be denied half of humanity based solely on gender? And what of those born to poverty rather than privilege? Were their minds somehow less worthy of cultivation?

The knock at her door startled her from her reverie. Annie again, this time with a sealed note delivered by the stagecoach office, confirming her reservation for the following morning's journey. The moment of departure was drawing near.

Perhaps Faith's scholarly friends would be able to help. There was every likelihood that Jasper's guests would be some of his fellow scholars. There was no reason to think they would look askance at her for her interest in knowledge and learning, and in passing that knowledge on to others.

She was certainly not sinning, nor was she violating some sort of etiquette required of members of the nobility. She had been raised properly; she knew that, even if it was a little eccentric.

Meredith moved to the small washstand in the corner and splashed cool water on her face to refresh herself after the day's exertions.

Her reflection in the small mirror above it showed a woman of quiet determination—not a conventional beauty by any means, but with a certain liveliness of expression that some found appealing.

Her father had always said her eyes revealed her soul, quick to spark with enthusiasm or flash with righteous indignation.

An unexpected thrill shimmied through Meredith as she once again contemplated seeing Lord Sutcliffe. He was her opposite in nearly every way. He shouldn't have such a strange effect upon her. And yet, she found herself anticipating the moment their paths would cross.

The last time they had met had been at a University function a goodly while before her father's death.

She had been helping Professor Martin arrange his notes for a lecture when Lord Sutcliffe had appeared, fashionably late and impeccably dressed in a coat of midnight blue superfine that emphasized his broad shoulders.

While the other scholars had been engaged in heated debate about some astronomical discovery, he had been leaning against a bookshelf, looking thoroughly bored until he caught sight of her watching him.

The smile he had offered then had been so genuinely amused, so conspiratorial, that for a moment she had almost responded in kind before remembering his reputation for indolence.

Meredith shook her head at the memory, wondering at her own susceptibility to a handsome face and charming smile.

Lord Sutcliffe might be pleasing to look at, but his disinterest in scholarly pursuits made him entirely unsuitable as... as what? She caught herself, alarmed at the direction of her thoughts. As a friend, of course. Nothing more.

Turning from the mirror, she surveyed her preparations once more. Her modest luggage was packed, her traveling clothes laid out for the morning. One final task remained before she could rest. Seating herself at the small desk, she drew a sheet of paper toward her and dipped her pen in the inkwell.

"Dearest Mama," she began, knowing that she must inform her mother of her plans before departing.

The letter would arrive after she had already left, thereby neatly avoiding any attempts to dissuade her from traveling alone. She would explain about the wedding, express her regrets at not accepting Lord Hartford's offer of a carriage, and promise to be the model of propriety throughout her stay.

She would not, however, mention her hopes that Faith's scholarly connections might prove beneficial to her educational endeavours. Some details were better left unshared.

As the ink dried on her signature, Meredith felt a curious mixture of anticipation and trepidation.

The week ahead represented both opportunity and challenge—a chance to reconnect with Faith, to meet learned individuals who might support her cause, but also a return to the Society that had so often made her feel inadequate and out of place.

And then there was Lord Sutcliffe. Chilton Loring.

Why did the mere thought of him make her pulse quicken?

He was everything she found frivolous and frustrating about the aristocracy—privileged, indolent, wasting educational opportunities that others would sacrifice anything to obtain.

Yet there had been moments, brief glimpses, when she had sensed something more beneath that polished exterior.

A flash of insight, a wry observation that revealed unexpected depth.

Meredith rose and moved to the window, gazing out at Oxford's ancient spires silhouetted against the twilit sky.

Tomorrow she would leave this sanctuary of learning for a world of privilege and protocol where her values and ambitions might find little welcome.

But she would go with her head high and her purpose clear.

Faith needed her presence, and perhaps—just perhaps—the connections she might form would help bring her own dreams closer to reality.

As for Lord Sutcliffe... well, their paths should cross only briefly. What harm could there be in that?

The thought brought both relief and, strangely, a touch of disappointment.

Shaking off such fanciful notions, Meredith turned to her small bedside table and opened her prayer book.

Whatever challenges the coming week might bring, she would face them with grace and determination.

After all, she was her father's daughter—and Professor Martin had never backed down from intellectual challenge or moral conviction.

With that comforting thought, she prepared for her final night in Oxford before the journey ahead. Whatever awaited her at the Linford estate, she would be ready. She hoped.