Grace in Wonderland - Chapter 129

129. A Strange Night

Grace Montague is a peculiar woman.

She is the kind of person who effortlessly dismantles the rules Richard Spencer once adhered to. Ever since Grace flew into the pitch, unpredictable like a stray ball, the orderly and regular flow of Richard’s gameplay had been replaced by an array of irregular moves.

Moreover, Grace knows the hidden side of Richard’s door. If the front of the door depicts a gentleman and a fully grown adult, then the back reveals a delinquent and an unripe child. And she loves even the delinquent and the child hidden on the other side.

The delinquent and child that Grace loves decided to ignore the rules and employ unconventional moves again. After all, today was a strange and mystical day that ignored Greenwich Mean Time—a day belonging only to Richard and Grace.

As captain of the Christ Church College Rugby Club and forward number 8, Richard Spencer’s goal-scoring ability was abysmal when it came to Grace. He had rarely, if ever, succeeded in scoring when the opportunity presented itself.

Whether it was when he mentioned friendship to Grace, when he misdirected his anger after Lady Mary Montague’s passing, when he yelled upon seeing Viscount Lovelace and Grace together, or even when he read his list of assets while proposing—Richard had failed miserably.

Most people would have been mortified by such repeated failures and would have quietly taken off their jersey. But Richard Spencer had the bullheaded determination to obtain whatever caught his eye.

Perhaps that’s the most crucial talent for a player. Just as the adage goes, “failure is the mother of success,” Richard nurtured countless failures into a successful proposal. Since then, his matches had progressed smoothly, free of irregularities.

The trigger for his new unconventional play came from Lancelot’s remark. Provoked by the absurd taunt that Lancelot had always been ahead of him except for the moment of their birth, Richard acted impulsively without any forethought, true to his reputation as a man of action.

Being a great nobleman, heir to the Spencer Earldom, and acting representative of the current Earl, James Spencer—Richard was a man imbued with refined elegance, deeply ingrained in his being. A disciplined and ascetic individual, he was a well-educated and virtuous fiancé. These attributes formed the many tackles that could trip him up.

Yet the forward number 8 of Christ Church College’s club broke through countless tackles and finally reached the in-goal area.

And he hesitated.

Faced with the limitations of his goal-scoring ability, Richard faltered. At that moment, Grace Montague’s loving birthday wish and gift gave him the courage to push forward. To fail to score in such a situation would earn him the ridicule of being called a fool for the rest of his life.

“The night isn’t over yet. Give me another chance to ask for what I want, Grace.”

Richard clasped Grace’s hands firmly in his own and whispered in a restrained voice. Fixing her gaze on their joined hands, Grace blushed and said what Richard had longed to hear.

“I… I’ll give you another chance.”

“I don’t want to let you go. Stay with me until my birthday ends.”

Grace nodded slightly.

***

A rugby match runs for 40 minutes in the first half and another 40 minutes in the second half, with a 15-minute halftime break. A talented player with stubborn determination didn’t waste a single second of the time given.

The first half is usually spent assessing the opponent’s strength and condition. It’s also important to carefully examine the state of the pitch being played on for the first time.

No player is free from nerves during their first match against a new team. Thus, during the first half, the player was tense, making frequent clumsy and awkward moves. Even so, he approached the game with utmost caution and sincerity.

After a brief 15-minute break, the player regained composure. The second half unfolded more fluidly and boldly than the first. Equipped with newfound confidence, the player demonstrated efficient and effective gameplay during the remaining 40 minutes.

The player surveyed the pitch, leaving footprints, and tumbling when necessary. The warm, soft pitch sometimes yielded under his weight and sometimes cushioned him gently. When he picked up speed, the damp surface quivered faintly beneath him. A hot wind blew across the sweat-drenched player’s forehead.

The player tirelessly traversed every corner of the pitch, standing firm, falling, clashing, and diving. Never once setting the ball down, he thoroughly caressed, gripped, and stroked it. In one swift move, he eradicated his chronic problem of lacking goal-scoring ability.

And so, the match that spanned a total of 95 minutes concluded. At the same time, Richard Spencer’s strange and mysterious birthday came to an end. It was the best match and the best birthday he could have ever imagined.

Overwhelmed by a flawless victory, the player collapsed onto the pitch, drifting into a deep sleep. Nestled snugly in his embrace was a small, round, and adorable ball.

The moonlight pouring through the window was clear and bright. Upon the moon’s pale surface, the man with the thorn bushes put down his burden, turned around, and smiled faintly.

***

The reddish morning sunlight filtered through the window, which had been left uncurtained. Grace opened one eye, wincing. Slowly, her iris, the color of a dawn-lit sky, came into focus.

Grace was startled by the hammering heartbeat resounding from her cheek. Opening her other eye, she blinked several times in confusion before her vision clarified. She saw a white, solid wall-like object looming before her.

A thumping white wall.

Could such a thing even exist in this world? Without much thought, Grace pressed her cheek against the wall and rubbed it lightly. The thumping white wall felt warm.

Wow, not only does this white wall thump, but it’s warm too.

She had experienced this exact sensation not too long ago. When was it? Where was it?

Grace Gurton’s mathematical and rational brain began to work.

…This is Richard Spencer. Not his back, but his chest. It’s no different from the situation in the cave at Cherry Hinton.

From that realization onward, Grace Gurton closed her eyes and began to recognize her state. Her face was pressed against his solid chest, her hand rested somewhere along his firm waist, and one of her legs was wedged between his stone-like thighs. Wait a second, what is this other leg that’s not mine…?

Up to this point, everything matched her memories. Having experienced this once before, Grace grew bolder. She decided to venture courageously down the multiple paths before her.

After all, the path ends at a cliff. Hadn’t she already faced that in the cave?

Just as she was about to bravely step onto the winding trail, Grace realized something. Her legs weren’t covered with anything.

Aaaahhh!

Grace barely managed to suppress the scream that almost escaped her. The present was worlds apart from the past. Nothing was the same between her memory and reality.

This is insane. Absolutely insane.

A proper woman doesn’t do things like this. Spending the night with a man before marriage? She couldn’t even begin to imagine the scolding she’d receive from Lord Anthony Montague upon returning home.

If she were alone, she’d kick the blanket dozens of times. But if she did that now, Richard Spencer would wake up and see Grace Montague in her bare state.

If she got out of bed, she’d be naked. The end of the winding trail wasn’t a cliff; it was a sheer, unending precipice.

I want to die, seriously…

Grace pulled the blanket over her head and forced herself to sleep, trusting that the perilous stroll along the precipice could wait until she woke—or better yet, that Richard Spencer would wake and take her place.

“Grace.”

A voice tinged with amusement sounded near her head.

“I know you’re not asleep.”

Oh no. How does he know?

Grace hesitantly poked her face out but let out a startled gasp before diving back under the covers. Seeing Richard Spencer’s face so early in the morning was too much. Clearly, the world outside the blanket was dangerous…

And… the world inside the blanket was equally dangerous. The forward’s competitive spirit, restored after the night’s rest, was flaring up again.

‘Football is a gentleman’s game played by ruffians, while rugby is a ruffians’ game played by gentlemen.’

Richard Spencer was a gentleman, Ingrint’s most eligible bachelor, and the darling of high society. But on the pitch, he was a rugby player through and through. In other words, he was no different from a ruffian.

The player, preparing for overtime, gripped the ball resolutely. The rugby ball, now one with the player, began to traverse the pitch once more. The forward number 8, lying sideways, boasted infinite stamina, represented by the symbol of infinity. Their game, much like a Möbius strip, seemed never-ending.