Grace in Wonderland - Chapter 127

127. The Meaning of Birthdays

“Ri-Richard, your birthday is coming soon.”

Richard nodded without much reaction.

“H-how would you like to spend it?”

Richard furrowed his brow briefly before answering, “When Lancelot returns in a few days, we’ll have a small party as usual. Since the Countess isn’t here this year, there’s no need to make it grand. Freya will take care of the arrangements.”

“N-not a party with Lancelot.”

“What?”

“I-I meant, how do you want to spend your birthday… with me?”

“…With you, Grace?”

Both Richard and Grace turned bright red. Even Sebastian, standing nearby for no apparent reason, felt his cheeks flush with secondhand embarrassment. Quietly observing the situation, he debated how and when to excuse himself. Perhaps he could feign a stomachache or claim to have just remembered an urgent task.

Why are they always like this? And why do they act as if my presence doesn’t matter?

Of course, skilled attendants are supposed to be as good as invisible. But is it really necessary to act this way in front of a single, unmarried man in his late thirties?

“I-I heard you’ve always shared your birthday celebrations with Lancelot. So, w-we can keep the party as it is, but I… I want to celebrate your birthday separately, just the two of us.”

“……”

“I-if it’s okay, how about we create a new calendar just for us?”

“A calendar?”

“T-the Emperors of Romia extended the months containing their birthdays by adding extra days. T-that’s why February is so short. Richard, y-you’re a victim of this.”

“Well, that’s…”

“T-to me, Richard is far more precious than those emperors.”

Sebastian considered himself something of a romance theorist. He had a scholarly passion for reading dating guides published in Ingrint and Gallia, as well as thick romance novels that kept him up all night. But even for him, this was too much.

If the head of the Greenwich Observatory overheard this conversation, he’d likely exclaim, “What nonsense!” One of them was a graduate of Ingrint’s top university’s mathematics department, and the other had studied under a renowned mathematics professor. Yet, together, they produced the most absurd conversation imaginable.

In practical life, “1 + 1 = 2” rarely holds true. Watching these two, it seemed more like “1 + 1 = 0” or even a negative number.

“Grace, you are…”

“Y-you’ll do it, right?”

Unable to endure any longer, Sebastian abruptly stood. His ears felt like caterpillars were wriggling inside them.

“Young Master!”

Richard, who had been gently placing his hand over Grace’s, welcomed Sebastian’s interruption with open arms.

“Yes, go ahead.”

“…Understood.”

Not even trying to stop me.

Sebastian trudged along the shortcut leading to the Spencer mansion. As he walked, he reflected.

Perhaps young Richard Spencer, back then so childish and stubborn, would have loved to hear such words. If I’d said something like that, he might have sulked and pouted but secretly enjoyed it. He might have even fetched paper to redraw February’s calendar.

Sebastian chuckled softly at the thought of an eight-year-old Young Earl scribbling “29” on the calendar while grumbling, “This is absurd!”

Now, Richard was an adult. The time for Sebastian to say such things had passed. Regretfully, that opportunity had slipped away.

Instead, Grace Montague had taken the ball passed from Sebastian and was carrying it forward. She held it tightly, making sure no one could snatch it away, and scored the try, securing the victory.

And that was enough.

Wiping the moisture from his eyes, Sebastian glanced back. Through the blurry, nostalgic haze, he saw Richard and Grace sitting cozily together.

“Grace, you have a scone crumb near your mouth.”

Ugh!

The moment he heard that, Sebastian fled toward the Spencer mansion as fast as he could. Whether she dabbed the wrong spot with a napkin or brushed it off and ate it, he didn’t care.

***

Lancelot had returned to Lydon. Having concluded negotiations with the Duke of Charlotte in Gallia and even secured approval for his marriage to Eleanor d’Estrée, Lancelot’s face was as vibrant as a daffodil blooming in early spring.

“It took longer than expected.”

Richard Spencer sat alone with Lancelot in his office for the first time in a long while. According to the original schedule, the two families should have signed the revised contract before last winter. Richard lightly scolded Lancelot for the two-month delay in his return.

“There were good reasons for the delay.”

Lancelot replied nonchalantly, handing the contract in his hand to Richard.

“…Did the Duke of Charlotte really agree to this?”

Richard’s suspicion was evident as he examined the document.

The consent form, bearing the seals of both Lancelot and the Duke of Charlotte, stated that 1 million acres of prime land in the Charlotte territory would be leased to the Spencer family for ten years.

The marriage contract between Richard Spencer and Eleanor d’Estrée included a clause granting the use of 200,000 acres for fifty years. Lancelot, however, had quintupled the land area while securing a comparable grain yield over a shorter period.

The Duke of Charlotte was not the sort of man to show such generosity to Lancelot, a figure effectively disowned by the Spencer family. Naturally, Richard couldn’t help but doubt the Duke’s intentions.

Lancelot shrugged, brushing his thick red hair back as he began to speak.

“I deliberately delayed my return to observe and gauge the situation in Gallia. Things over there are far from stable.”

“What kind of situation?”

“You’ve probably heard reports from Ingrint, but hearing about it and witnessing it firsthand are two different things.”

Recently, rebellions led by lower-ranking nobles and wealthy commoners had been breaking out frequently across Gallia. Resembling the Polska Revolution, which had seen the beheading of numerous royals and high-ranking nobles, the situation in Gallia was being closely monitored by nations across the continent, all on edge.

“I heard the King of Gallia is deploying troops to suppress the unrest.”

“That’s true, but it doesn’t feel promising. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that the monarchy could collapse within the next decade.”

Lancelot glanced at the servant standing by the office door, then lowered his voice so as not to be overheard.

“So that’s why you set the lease term at ten years?”

“Exactly. Even if we were to agree on a longer lease, the contract would be nullified if the country fell apart. It’s better to extract as much as we can in the short term.”

“Extract as much as we can… Right.”

Richard considered reprimanding Lancelot’s choice of words but decided against it. More pressing matters came to mind.

It’s imperative to acquire the Cornwall tin mines as soon as possible. Only then can we preserve the massive quantities of grain harvested from the million acres for an extended period.

“Did the Duke of Charlotte sign this so readily?”

“Who do you think learns about rapidly changing circumstances first? The king and high-ranking nobles. While they’re currently using military force to maintain order, once things worsen, they’ll be the first to flee abroad. The Duke knows time is running out.”

“So you’re saying this is a promise to assist in the Duke’s exile when the time comes?”

“Exactly. That’s outlined in a separate agreement. Check the back page.”

Richard scanned the back of the document and clicked his tongue.

“So the Spencer family is committing to support them.”

“Of course. After all, they’re Eleanor’s family.”

Family? What family?

Richard hadn’t forgotten how the Duke of Charlotte had conspired with the Countess last year to undermine him during the family meeting. He had no intention of welcoming the Duke graciously. In fact, he planned to help them experience firsthand the notoriety of Ingrint’s high society.

“And they’ll be the family of the child Eleanor and I will have.”

Lancelot blushed as he spoke shyly. The peculiar and ominous tone of his words made Richard set down the quill he was holding.

“You don’t mean…”

“That’s right, Richard.”

The twins’ conversation lacked a direct object, but its presence was unmistakable even without being spoken.

“Eleanor couldn’t come because the Duke’s physician advised against sea travel due to her condition.”

“You… you’ve always been quick, haven’t you?”

Richard muttered, shaking his head. Though the tone was distinctly sarcastic by Ingrint standards, Lancelot interpreted it with pride.

“Except for being born eight minutes later, I’ve always been ahead of you.”