Grace in Wonderland - Chapter 100

100. Justified Retribution

Theresius Wilford approached Richard with a wide grin, stumbling slightly as he shook off the rain-soaked hair. Despite his unsteady steps, he firmly clutched the liquor bottle in his hand.

In Ingrint, even commoners rarely walked outdoors with liquor bottles in hand outside the slums. And yet here was a so-called nobleman doing just that. Richard intended to ignore him and walk past.

“Richard, were you interested in a woman I discarded?”

Until he heard those words, Richard had indeed planned to simply walk away.

“What?”

“You must have a knack for picking up what others throw away. It seems the Spencer family’s fortune has finally run its course. The so-called heir is now recycling trash.”

“Say that again, you bastard.”

Hearing Richard’s retort, Theresius burst into raucous laughter. His drunken, bloodshot eyes brimmed with tears, which mixed with the raindrops running down his cheeks.

“So much for being the most noble of noblemen. Now you’re no better than a thug, throwing around low-class insults only fit for servants. I see you in a new light, Richard Spencer.”

“You filthy dog! Can’t you speak properly?”

Just as Theresius said, this was the first time Richard had ever lashed out with such vulgar profanity in front of someone outside his close circle.

Typically, if criticized, he would maintain the polished composure of a noble, offering veiled insults in return and exacting ruthless revenge from behind the scenes. Never before had he openly expressed such intense anger toward a stranger.

“Stealing someone else’s fiancée and usurping the heirship that should have gone to your twin brother. Isn’t that right?”

“Stop spouting nonsense.”

“Then again, stealing someone else’s fiancée seems to run in the family. It makes sense why Lancelot Spencer lost Eleanor d’Estrée and why you’d covet Grace Gurton. Honestly, it would have been better for the family if Lancelot Spencer became the heir. At least he’s smart enough to know what benefits his life.”

“Wilford. I’ll give you one last chance to walk away.”

Richard growled, clenching his fists so tightly that veins bulged on the back of his hands, threatening to burst.

“But what can you do? I’ve already had Grace Gurton.”

“……”

“In the carriage to Dockland, when I made a move, she clung to me like she was waiting for it. Just like her mother, Annabel Gurton, it seems the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“……”

“That woman has certainly had her fair share of fun. Then again, all the women parading around Grentabridge in skirts are the same.”

“……”

“In the carriage, she yelped like a bitch in heat, but the moment we arrived at the charity school, she switched to acting like a demure lady. Honestly, even I almost fell for her act after all that.”

“……”

“If you’re curious, let me enlighten you.”

“……”

“Th-that s-stuttering Gr-Grace Gurton even st-stutters wh-when she’s m-moaning.”

As predicted by Charles Dodgson and Richard Spencer, within a few years, gin would become a major problem in Ingrint, comparable to smallpox—no, the plague. Theresius Wilford was like the rat spreading the disease. And such rats needed to have their heads crushed and their bodies burned.

Even burning would be too generous. Stripping the skin and throwing them alive into the flames to experience ultimate suffering would be more fitting.

Upon Richard Spencer’s return to Lydon, a large-scale tax investigation into the Wilford family and an inquiry into their loyalty to the gracious Queen Anne Stuart would take place. Fines would be imposed, substantial enough to shutter a few tin mines, and the queen’s inferiority complex would be exploited to push the family to the brink of extinction.

But before all that, Theresius Wilford had to be half-killed. Killing him outright would deny Richard the satisfaction of savoring the misfortune to come; thus, it was necessary to leave him half-dead for now.

If Theresius had made a save on the rugby pitch, then here at Cherry Hinton, Richard Spencer struck first. It wasn’t a punch but a swing of his arm. He delivered a blow with his elbow, putting the full weight of his body into the attack.

Rugby is a ruffians’ game played by gentlemen. Had they been on the pitch, Richard might have at least feigned civility and delivered a gentlemanly punch. But, unfortunately for Theresius, this was no playing field. Richard had no reason to pretend to be a gentleman.

The powerful strike sent Theresius sprawling. The liquor bottle he was holding shattered against a nearby rock, spilling its contents. The liquid from the bottle mixed with Theresius’ blood, pooling with the rainwater on the muddy ground.

Richard mercilessly stomped on Theresius’ broken face with the heel of his shoe. Looking at the bloodstain splattered on the glossy leather toe, Richard grimaced. He thought to himself that he’d have to burn these shoes as soon as he returned.

Everything, when taken to its extreme, begins to decline. The full moon wanes, and after the darkest night comes the dawn.

Richard felt this principle applied to emotions as well. His fury, which had surged to the top of his head, cooled as Theresius lay beneath his feet.

In a situation where even harsher insults wouldn’t have sufficed, all he could feel was irritation over his dirty shoes.

Richard Spencer’s character must have truly elevated to new heights. With a faint smile, he pressed the heel of his shoe, encrusted with tiny shards of glass, against Theresius’ bloodied nape with all his strength.

“Now, Wilford. It’s your turn to make some noises.”

Richard looked down at Theresius and whispered kindly. From the man whose nose had collapsed came only shallow, wheezing sounds, like wind leaking through a broken window frame.

I shouldn’t have bothered Sebastian with this.

Had he known he’d deal with this himself, he wouldn’t have bothered bringing along guards. For now, Theresius Wilford wouldn’t be able to lift a hand properly.

Thinking this, Richard shifted his foot to Theresius’ right hand. Though it was unlikely, since he dared to claim he had “touched” Grace Gurton, Richard decided to ensure this hand would never touch another woman again.

“Aaaaah!”

A sudden scream tore from Theresius Wilford, who had abruptly regained consciousness. The flesh on the back of his hand split open, revealing white bone.

“Your noises are too disgusting to bear.”

Theresius barely managed to lift his drooping eyelids. Though he had often seen Richard Spencer’s expressionless face, today’s indifference was different.

Amid the appearance of boredom, traces of carefully suppressed cruelty seeped out. It was the instinct of a lion breaking a hyena’s neck the moment its pride was threatened.

The drunken haze began to fade. Rainwater slipped into his open mouth, bringing with it a sharp metallic taste. Theresius, realizing what he had said, trembled in fear.

The smashed face and broken hand weren’t the issue. What terrified him were the actions Richard Spencer would take next, using every method and means to target the Wilford family. It would be akin to gutting a man, tearing out his organs, and feeding his bones to stray dogs.

“I-it’s not true.”

Theresius stammered in a trembling voice.

“Hmm? What did you say?”

“I-it’s not true. N-nothing happened with Grace Gurton.”

Richard furrowed his brow, feigning concentration as he asked, “Really?”

“Y-yes. Truly, nothing like that ever happened. I misspoke. P-please believe me. Forgive me.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

Richard Spencer let out a deep breath, as if he were genuinely reassured. A faint glimmer of hope flashed across Theresius’ bloodshot eyes.

“But what can I do, Wilford?”

Richard continued in a tone of feigned regret, “I believe you when you say it didn’t happen.”

“Then…”

“But I can’t forgive you. You should have known better.”

Theresius squeezed his eyes shut.

Earlier that day, he had thought about kicking the whining Agnes in the stomach but instead had grabbed a random bottle of liquor from the table and wandered the streets. After seeing Grace Gurton that morning, his twisted mood had only worsened.

If he hadn’t met that woman, Theresius Wilford might have been thriving as a sought-after groom at social events by now. If Richard Spencer hadn’t sabotaged his engagement, he might have been enjoying success with the Montague family’s backing.

This tragic turn of events was entirely Grace Gurton’s and Richard Spencer’s fault. As he guzzled liquor, Theresius cursed them endlessly.

Then, unexpectedly encountering Richard Spencer at Cherry Hinton, he had provoked him in a drunken haze. The result of that provocation was utter ruin.

Richard lifted his foot from Theresius’ body and added one final remark before turning away.

“It seems you’re the one who stutters when making noises, Wilford.”

Hearing the mockery directed at him, Theresius’ eyes snapped open. Turning his head to the side, he saw the jagged edge of a broken liquor bottle swaying in his hazy vision.

He reached out with his trembling left hand.