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"Indeed," he said, smiling with what appeared to be genuine warmth. "An adventure, to be sure."

Despite herself, Meredith returned his smile, albeit slightly.

"It is rather an adventure for me," she admitted. "I've never been this far from home."

"Nor travelled by stagecoach, I'd wager," Sutcliffe observed, glancing through the window at the public conveyance waiting in the yard.

"No, I haven't," she acknowledged. "Though I'm finding it quite illuminating. One meets the most interesting people."

"But the stagecoach?" His brow furrowed in evident concern. "Couldn't Linford have sent a carriage for you? Or perhaps your family?"

His tone had sharpened, carrying a note of disapproval that immediately put Meredith's back up. Who was he to question her choices?

"Oh, I suppose Lord Linford could have," she replied, keeping her voice light despite her irritation.

"And I'm certain my stepfather would have happily done so.

But imagine the complications that would have required!

I'd need to be responsible for a chaperone, servants, and all manner of bothersome things that traveling by coach avoids quite handily. "

She watched his expression shift from concern to something more complex as he glanced again at the weathered coach and back to the varied assembled passengers milling about the inn, some of whom were eyeing Meredith with undisguised curiosity.

"Are you certain this is a better alternative?" Meredith had the impression he couldn’t prevent the words from escaping. It would have amused her if not for the fact that he was being forward.

"Perhaps you ought to come with me." He said it with the usual sort of superior attitude Meredith associated with titled gentlemen, as though they owned all they set their eyes upon and were entitled to direct everyone else’s affairs.

Meredith stared at him, unable to believe what she was hearing. Was he truly suggesting that she—an unmarried gentlewoman—travel alone with him in his private carriage? The impropriety was staggering.

"Accompany you?" she repeated, her tone suggesting he'd offered her an insult of the highest order. "Are you alone in your carriage?"

"Yes, just my servants," Lord Sutcliffe said in a hesitant tone, belatedly realizing how this might sound to a lady of her breeding.

"Aren't you a baron?" The haughty note in her voice stung more than he cared to admit.

"I am," he replied, straightening to his full height, his own pride rising to meet hers. "I am Sutcliffe. Didn't you just address me as such?"

"Not directly, no," she admitted, "but I would have thought a baron would know better than to ask a lady to accompany him in a closed carriage for an extended period."

"It wasn't meant as an insult," Lord Sutcliffe replied stiffly, sounding like a schoolboy being corrected by a particularly stern teacher.

"You may not have intended it as such, but that's how it came across," she countered, her tone carrying all the frost of a December morning. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think it's nearly time for my departure."

Outside, the guard's horn sounded, summoning the passengers back to the coach. Meredith gave Sutcliffe a final cool nod before turning and walking with measured dignity toward the door, her back straight as a ramrod and her head held high.

As she allowed the clerk to assist her into the coach, she caught a glimpse of the baron still standing in the inn doorway, his expression a curious mixture of confusion and chagrin.

Something about it made her chest tighten unexpectedly, but she pushed the feeling aside as she settled back into her seat.

"Gentleman friend of yours?" the elderly woman beside her inquired with thinly veiled curiosity.

"Merely an acquaintance," Meredith replied, opening her father's journal with deliberate nonchalance. "We share mutual friends."

"Hmm," the woman responded noncommittally, though her raised eyebrow spoke volumes.

As the coach lurched back onto the road, Meredith tried to focus on her father's astronomical observations, but her mind kept returning to the encounter with Baron Sutcliffe.

His offer had been inappropriate, certainly, yet she sensed it had been motivated by genuine concern rather than any improper intentions.

Still, the presumption of it rankled. Did he think her incapable of managing her own travels? Or was it that he believed his rank entitled him to disregard social conventions that others must observe?

Whichever it was, she would see him again at Linford Park, where the formal setting would require proper behaviour from them both. Until then, she would put Lord Sutcliffe and his misguided gallantry firmly from her mind.

The coach rattled on through the afternoon, the sky gradually darkening as clouds gathered on the horizon.

Rain began to spatter against the windows, and Meredith found herself half-listening to conversations around her, her thoughts drifting between anticipation of the wedding, concerns about her school in Oxford, and—despite her best efforts—occasional flashes of Sutcliffe's puzzled expression as she had refused his offer.

Dusk was falling when they reached the Fox and Feathers Inn, where they would pause for a hot meal before continuing through the night.

As they descended from the coach, stiff and weary from hours of confinement, Meredith found herself scanning the inn yard, wondering if she might encounter Chilton again.

His fine carriage was nowhere to be seen, and she told herself the tightness in her chest was relief, not disappointment.

The inn's common room was alive with activity—travellers from various coaches mingling with local patrons, servants hurrying back and forth with trays of food and drink, and a fiddler in the corner providing cheerful accompaniment to the evening's revelry.

The savoury aroma of roast beef and fresh bread made Meredith's stomach growl appreciatively.

"This way, miss," directed the innkeeper's wife, a robust woman with a kindly face. "We've a corner table reserved for the ladies travelling alone. Keeps the bolder gentlemen at bay."

She winked conspiratorially as she led Meredith to a small table partially screened by a wooden partition.

"Thank you," Meredith said sincerely, appreciating the thoughtful arrangement. "Would it be possible to have a pot of tea and whatever hot meal is readily available?"

"Of course, miss. The roast beef is particularly fine today, with vegetables from our own garden. Will that suit?"

"Perfectly," Meredith assured her, settling into her seat with a grateful sigh.

As she waited for her meal, Meredith observed the bustling room with interest. Travelers from all walks of life converged here—merchants, farmers, the occasional gentleman or lady, servants accompanying their masters, and even what appeared to be an itinerant preacher earnestly engaging a sceptical audience in the far corner.

The common room of a coaching inn was perhaps the most democratic space in England, she reflected, where rank and status temporarily gave way to the shared experience of travel.

"Is this seat taken?"

The voice startled Meredith from her reverie. Looking up, she found herself staring into the face of a youngish woman dressed in the severe black garb of a widow, though her countenance lacked the sorrow one might expect from recent bereavement.

"Not at all," Meredith replied, gesturing to the vacant chair opposite her. "Please join me."

"Thank you," the woman said, arranging her skirts as she sat. "I'm Mrs. Helena Winters, traveling to my brother's home in Devizes."

"Meredith Martin," she responded, offering the customary minimum of personal information to a stranger. "Bound for a friend's wedding in Wiltshire."

Mrs. Winters signalled to the serving girl for her own meal before turning her attention back to Meredith. "A wedding! How delightful. There's nothing like a celebration to lift the spirits, especially in these uncertain times."

"Indeed," Meredith agreed, though she wondered what particular uncertainties Mrs. Winters referred to.

As if reading her thoughts, Mrs. Winters leaned forward. "Trade has been dreadfully affected since peace was declared, you know. My late husband's shipping concerns have lost nearly a third of their value. Thankfully, he had the foresight to diversify our investments before his passing."

Mrs. Winters studied her with newfound interest. "You have the look of a woman who has recently dealt with male presumption."

Despite herself, Meredith laughed. "Is it so obvious?"

"Only to someone who has experienced it herself," Mrs. Winters replied with a wry smile. "In my experience, men believe their concern for our welfare gives them the right to direct our actions, never considering that we might be capable of determining our own best interests."

The observation aligned so perfectly with Meredith's earlier frustration that she felt an immediate kinship with her dining companion. "Precisely! As if the mere fact of our gender renders us incapable of rational decision-making."

"Yet they entrust us with the raising of their children," Mrs. Winters noted dryly. "A task requiring far more judgment and wisdom than most of the matters they reserve for themselves."

Meredith's eyes lit up at this opening. "Do you have an interest in education, Mrs. Winters?"

"I have an interest in ensuring that the next generation is better equipped to face the world than the current one," the widow replied carefully. "Whether that requires formal education or practical experience depends greatly on circumstances, wouldn't you agree?"

For the next half hour, as they finished their meals and shared a pot of tea, Meredith outlined her vision for the school, her strategies for overcoming various obstacles, and her hopes for what her students might achieve.

Mrs. Winters listened attentively, asking perceptive questions that helped Meredith refine her thoughts even as she explained them.

"You've clearly given this considerable thought," the widow said finally, signalling for the bill.

"And while I cannot say I agree entirely with your views on social hierarchy, I find your passion and intellect compelling.

Should your school become a reality, I would be interested in observing its progress. "

Coming from someone who had initially seemed sceptical, this was high praise indeed. Meredith smiled warmly. "Thank you, Mrs. Winters. I value your interest, especially as you've helped me clarify several aspects of my approach through your questions."

Outside, the coachman's horn sounded, indicating that it was time for passengers to reboard. Mrs. Winters rose gracefully. "It seems our journey continues, Miss Martin. Shall we brave the night road together?"

Meredith gathered her belongings, feeling considerably more positive about the remainder of the journey than she had upon arriving at the inn. In Mrs. Winters, she had found if not an ally, then at least an engaging conversational partner to help pass the hours ahead.

As they stepped into the courtyard, Meredith's gaze caught on an elegant private carriage parked at the edge of the inn yard—not unlike Lord Sutcliffe's, though this one bore an unfamiliar crest. For a moment, her heart had given an odd little jump at the thought that it might have been his.

"Is something amiss?" Mrs. Winters inquired, following her gaze.

"Not at all," Meredith assured her hastily. "The carriage merely reminded me of someone I encountered earlier today."

"Ah," Mrs. Winters nodded knowingly. "An acquaintance, perhaps? Or the cause of that look of masculine presumption I noted earlier?"

Meredith felt her cheeks warm.

"Merely an acquaintance," she said firmly. "He's likely arrived at his destination by now, traveling as he was in his well-sprung private carriage while we endure the public coach."

"If you say so, my dear," Mrs. Winters replied, her tone suggesting she heard more in Meredith's words than intended. "Though if I may offer some unsolicited advice: not all masculine concern stems from a belief in female incapacity. Sometimes it springs from genuine regard."

Before Meredith could formulate a response to this unexpected observation, the coachman called for all passengers to board immediately.

The moment of potential revelation passed as they hurried to obey, Meredith's heart inexplicably racing even as she told herself it was merely from the rush to the coach.

The night journey stretched before them, the landscape invisible beyond the coach windows as they rattled through darkness. Mrs. Winters' words lingered in Meredith's mind as she drifted into an uneasy sleep, her head cushioned against the window frame.

Was it possible that Lord Sutcliffe's offer had been motivated by genuine concern rather than presumption? The thought was both disturbing and oddly comforting as she surrendered to exhausted slumber, the rhythmic motion of the coach carrying her toward Linford Park and whatever awaited her there.