“Ah. Only our two medical students are heading to Dover. You will be traveling directly to Coventry. Mr. Henry Lisbon, the architect overseeing the St. Michael’s project, was a classmate of Harland’s and remains a close friend. He specializes in cathedrals, churches, that sort of thing. We’ve used him before to place our architecture and art students, and even an aspiring mason once.”

Charlotte stared at Clara. “Architecture and art students?” Medical students? Aspiring mason?

Clara’s eyes narrowed. “Exactly how last-minute was this all?”

“Very?”

“And how was it that you came to the attention of my brother?”

“A mutual friend?” Charlotte tried, not sure what alternate explanation she could offer.

“I see. And what details did my brother give you about your placement with us, exactly? Or Haverhall, for that matter?”

“Not much?” Charlotte winced. It seemed every one of her answers came out a question.

“Hmph. Well then, allow me to explain.” Clara clasped her hands behind her back. “The students that are part of Haverhall’s exclusive programs, such as this one and the one we run in the summer, are not chosen based on their position in Debrett’s or the amount of coin in their family’s coffers. They are chosen for their ambition and their willingness to defy every preordained expectation put upon them by a society who most often measures their value by their title and their looks. They are selected because they dare to disregard the conventional and possess the courage to do more. To become more.” Miss Hayward was watching her. “To do things denied to them, not by ability or acumen but by gender. Architects. Doctors. Solicitors. Artists.” She paused. “And we help them do it.”

Charlotte stared at Clara, at a loss for words. Her throat felt unusually tight and her heart was racing. For the first time, she understood that she wasn’t alone. That there were others who had circumvented the condescending attitude that had labeled women like her as unnatural. That there were others who had broken themselves out of the cages constructed for them by antiquated attitudes and intransigent expectations.

“Are you all right, Lady Charlotte?” Rose asked from her chair.

“Yes.” She’d never been more all right in her life.

“And you are sure that this is something that you still wish to do?”

“God, yes,” Charlotte croaked.