Grace in Wonderland - Chapter 1

1. The First Encounter

In the distance, the cheerful sound of a bell rang. Simultaneously, the stiflingly oppressive air within the room seemed to exhale sharply. Heavy wooden chairs screeched as they were pushed back across the floor, following the bustling movements of students clad in black uniforms.

A man seated at the very back of the lecture hall set down his quill. He then lifted his test paper to review his perfectly completed answers one final time.

At that moment, someone tapped lightly on his desk. The man turned his gaze slightly toward the source of the sound.

A boy he’d never seen before stood awkwardly in front of him. The boy’s eyes were fixed on the test paper on the man’s desk, his lips moving faintly.

“What is it?”

At the man’s question, the boy’s youthful face reddened slightly. He avoided making eye contact, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

The man pointed at the test paper on his desk, asking for confirmation.

“…The test paper?”

The boy nodded multiple times. Several sheets of test papers, presumably submitted by other students, fluttered in his small hand.

“Are you asking me to hand it in?”

The man raised his right eyebrow and directed his gaze at the small, scrawny boy, who was hesitating. The boy nodded again, this time with greater vigor.

“Wait a moment.”

Saying this, the man began writing his name at the top of the test paper. Holding a quill made of swan feathers, his hand moved with precision and grace, drawing curves as though creating a piece of art.

Richard Spencer

As he wrote his name in smooth cursive, a pair of heterochromatic eyes attentively followed the trail of the inked lines.

Richard Spencer…

The boy’s faint whisper, so soft it was barely audible, escaped his throat like a shallow breeze.

Through the dull glass windows that filled the wall, the languid noonday sunlight of early summer poured in. On the first day of June, the blazing sun, at its peak, illuminated the face of the man resting his chin on one hand.

The boy’s gaze, which had been slowly climbing up the man’s moving Adam’s apple, reached his chin and froze. It stopped at the hollow point, where light and shadow pooled together, accentuating the sharp and solid jawline.

“Here.”

At the sound of the voice, the boy closed his slightly parted lips. When Richard handed the test paper to him, he received it with trembling hands, causing one corner of the thin sheet to crumple miserably.

“Thank you.”

After Richard’s expression of gratitude, a brief silence followed. Soon, the small figure turned briskly away.

Walking toward the platform where the professor stood, the boy struggled to hide his flushed cheeks as he carefully arranged the test papers. Although the professor standing beside him said something, the boy kept his lips firmly shut, responding only with nods.

Unconsciously, Richard narrowed his eyes.

A round, soft-featured face. Light brown curls that gently covered a pale forehead.

And eyes that stood out distinctly on that face: a reddish-brown iris, softly sun-kissed like autumn leaves, paired with a pale lavender-gray one that resembled rain-soaked clouds.

Was Professor Charles Dodgson’s assistant always this striking? As his thoughts wandered, a teasing voice full of amusement came from behind him.

“Richard, congratulations on finishing your last exam.”

“…Graham.”

Recognizing the voice, Richard Spencer instinctively reached to rub his left temple but stopped midway. The headache that had bothered him throughout the exam seemed to worsen.

Straightening his posture with a slight delay, he responded, “What brings you here?”

“Oh, Richard. Isn’t a proper greeting in order? Even a beggar outside the Spencer mansion in Westminster would receive a warmer welcome than I do.”

“That’s likely true. If it’s attention of that kind you desire, feel free to visit the mansion anytime.”

“Does that mean you’ll offer me a cup of tea?”

Richard had no desire to endure meaningless chatter that reminded him of his lineage, especially in the lecture hall. It was even less appealing when the conversation involved Graham Harold, who seemed perpetually eager to bring him news from Lydon.

“Unlikely. The Countess Spencer, who has her sights set on the future Marquess of Winchester, would personally see to your welcome.”

Richard elegantly slid his chair back without making a sound and rose gracefully. Though his words were far from friendly, his movements exuded the refined poise ingrained in him since childhood.

Standing opposite him, the silver-haired man, Graham Harold, burst into laughter. Something about the peculiar contrast between Richard’s unyielding manner and his noiseless elegance amused him.

“Even if you roll on the ground clutching a ball every day, a Spencer is still a Spencer, I suppose.”

The man standing in front of Richard Spencer said this with a gleeful tone as he looked him up and down.

As usual, Richard was impeccably dressed in a perfectly tailored formal suit. His white shirt and black jacket were spotless and unwrinkled, his socks tightly secured with garters so that not a single crease marred them at the ankles, and his polished shoes shone enough to reflect the ceiling of the lecture hall.

His appearance was the textbook definition of what the school demanded from its students during examinations. Throughout the month-long exam period that began after the Easter holiday in April, Richard Spencer had adhered to the dress code without a single lapse.

Graham alternated his gaze between the red carnation pinned to the left lapel of Richard’s suit and Richard’s face. Even that gaudy flower seemed to harmonize with Richard’s hair color, looking not entirely out of place.

“That carnation suits you quite well,” Graham said. Richard glanced down at the flower hanging from his suit and let out a faint scoff.

On the first day of exams, students traditionally pinned a white carnation, followed by a pink one on subsequent days, and finally a bright red carnation on the last day. It was a long-standing tradition at Grentabridge. Freshmen were told that it symbolized the deepening concentration of knowledge flowing from the heart during the exams.

“It’s nothing but a cumbersome formality.”

At Richard’s dismissive response, Graham shook his head in mock exasperation. Despite his words, Graham had a feeling he understood why Richard had taken such pains with his appearance.

“Richard, if it’s such a cumbersome formality, why did you bother dressing up so diligently?”

“Because, unlike others, I look good in it.”

Ah, yes, that’s Richard Spencer for you. A self-obsessed connoisseur of style, living and breathing for elegance. Graham barely stifled a laugh at Richard’s reply.

However, Graham had an important reason for seeking Richard out today. Remembering his purpose, Graham’s tone grew subtly more serious.

“Richard, are you planning to stay at Grentabridge until graduation?”

“……”

“You’re not planning to return to Lydon?”

Grentabridge was an academic city, a symbol of intellect in Ingrint, located a full day’s carriage ride from Lydon. Christ Church College, where they studied, was one of many institutions in the city.

Most of the students were noble heirs who had graduated from public schools, though a few promising individuals from the commoner class were also admitted. Due to the exorbitant tuition fees and the grueling academic schedule, fewer than half of the students who enrolled managed to graduate.

In truth, neither Richard nor Graham needed a college degree. For members of Ingrint’s three great noble families—the Dukes of Devonshire, the Earls of Spencer, and the Marquesses of Winchester—formal education was not particularly significant.

For example, the Dukes of Devonshire had not sent their heir, Demos Cavendish, to college. Even the illegitimate child they had taken in years ago was educated privately at their Kensington estate, supervised by handpicked tutors. It was considered more efficient to bring instructors directly to the estate.

In reality, it was widely understood that these measures were taken to prevent their children from mingling with less distinguished individuals.

The Spencer family was no exception. While the Marquesses of Winchester, known for their approachable and modest public image, had sent their children to Grentabridge for several generations, the Dukes of Devonshire and the Earls of Spencer remained aloof and unyielding.

Richard was the first to break this tradition. Rejecting home tutoring, he had independently chosen to attend Grentabridge, located southeast of Lydon, making him the black sheep of the Spencer family.

Although his decision to enroll at Grentabridge was not initially driven by academic pursuits, Richard Spencer had nevertheless made the best of his choice. At the very least, he ensured that he would not be excluded from the list of graduates.

Now, with their three-year academic program coming to an end, he and Graham were both preparing for graduation.

“…I’m not sure,” Richard replied, his smile fading.

Graham, noticing the shift, added with a meaningful expression, “Richard, you won’t be able to avoid it this time.”