Grace in Wonderland - Chapter 13

13. Misunderstandings Are Free

Without giving any prior notice, Mary Montague called Grace down from the guest room on the second floor. Responding to an invitation for a light tea time accompanied by refreshments, Grace quickly made her way to the drawing room on the first floor.

The Montague mansion in Chelsea was truly a wonderland. Rare and diverse items that she had never seen before were scattered everywhere.

There were intricately patterned red carpets, a hookah with red-hot coals burning on top, exotic mosaics made of small tiles, a massive crescent-shaped sword, and books inscribed with wavy letters. Everything was fascinating. Lady Montague said she had brought these items back from Turkan.

While Grace and Lady Montague enjoyed their tea time, the lady would often share the stories behind the drawing room’s decorations, one by one. Lady Montague was an excellent storyteller, and Grace found herself completely captivated by their lively conversations.

However, in this strange and mysterious land, there existed a figure far more magnificent than anything Grace could have imagined. That figure was none other than her personal Cheshire Cat, the Lion King with his fiery red mane—Richard Spencer.

The thought of him made Grace’s face flush with heat once again. She covered her heated cheeks with her palms and stomped her feet in nervous excitement.

Should she avoid washing her hands for a while? Or perhaps start wearing gloves? Could she treat the sacred warmth of Richard Spencer’s touch with such casual care?

Just as he had in the lecture hall, Richard Spencer radiated a halo-like aura when seen up close. Mesmerized by the brilliant light, Grace found herself unconsciously parting her lips. It was uncharacteristic of her.

Ordinarily, Grace rarely spoke in front of others. At some point, it had become natural for her to stay silent.

Ingrint’s conversational customs were peculiar. They would spend the first hour tediously discussing the weather in dull, uninteresting tones. Only after exhausting the topic of weather would they pour fresh tea, discarding the now-cold brew, and begin a “proper” conversation.

Not only were their conversational methods strange, but the content of their discussions was equally so. They would use every embellishment under the sun to pry into each other’s lives. Initially, Grace had often mistaken their words for compliments or goodwill.

However, after letting her guard down in response to their warm language and answering candidly, she was met with sharp and prickly reactions. Since moving to Ingrint, Grace had encountered such experiences countless times.

Moreover, there were few who were kind to people who stammered. Most found it frustrating, became angry, or simply ignored her. Others pitied her, offering condescending sympathy.

For these reasons, Grace rarely initiated conversations or engaged in lengthy discussions with others.

Instead, she continuously replayed the stories her mother had once shared while holding her close. Her mother had praised the echoing quality of her stammering speech, likening it to the sound of echoes in a cave.

But in front of Richard Spencer, Grace Gurton broke her own rules. It was irresistible. Like a devout follower suddenly encountering a deity, she found herself blurting out uncontrollable greetings and unfiltered confessions.

Yet Richard remained gentlemanly, serious, and composed throughout. Not only did he greet her politely, but he even shook her hand. Occasionally, he stared intently at her and listened quietly, which allowed her to speak comfortably, forgetting entirely about her stammer.

To meet such an extraordinary man up close—to think that Richard Spencer and Mary Montague were not only relatives but also shared a close relationship.

For Grace, this alone made her trip to Lydon worthwhile. She could now die without regrets. She felt she could return to Grentabridge, carrying the memory of Richard Spencer, and relive the moment for decades.

But then, Lady Mary Montague’s bombshell announcement nearly caused Grace to spit out her tea. Fortunately, she avoided embarrassing herself in front of Richard Spencer, but her mind was in utter disarray.

Adoption meant that Grace’s entire foundation would be uprooted and moved to Lydon. The people she met and her way of life would change completely.

She had been content with her life in Grentabridge. Charles Dodgson, though eccentric, was a responsible guardian and was practically family to her.

Helping him with his research had become enjoyable, though she occasionally felt frustrated, even outraged, when he presented her with problems that were too difficult.

Thus, she intended to refuse Lady Montague’s proposal. However, Lady Montague immediately rejected Grace’s refusal. She pleaded with Grace to take her time and think deeply before giving an answer. Left with no choice, Grace had to agree to consider it further.

But Grace’s true dilemma began with what Mary Montague said after Richard Spencer left the mansion. Despite her initial refusal, her heart began to waver.

“I heard you enjoy studying. The Royal Library in Lydon is open to women as well. If you decide to live here, you can read and learn as much as you want there.”

What added even more weight to Grace’s wavering mind was Lady Montague’s final words, which sealed her thoughts.

“Also, if you become my daughter, you and Richard will practically be siblings. I hope you and Richard can become close, trusting, and supportive of one another.”

The bell tied around the neck of the Cheshire Cat in Wonderland was jingling, luring her in.

***

At that moment, Richard Spencer had finished his unwelcome encounter with Grace Gurton and was strolling along the lakeshore of St. James’s Park, near the Spencer estate.

The Westminster district was heavily guarded, disciplined to the point of sterility, and was almost bleak. It was home to the Royal Palace, the Royal Theatre, the Royal Art Gallery, the Royal Library, and the courts.

For these reasons, Westminster was not an ideal residential area. Centuries ago, during the early Stuart dynasty, the district was lined with luxury homes, but now, only institutions and buildings associated with the royal family remain.

After the great fire of Lydon over a hundred years ago, the city was redesigned, and this area was repurposed entirely for political use. This restructuring was implemented to secure the king’s safety and authority.

However, when all nobles were ordered to leave Westminster and relocate to affluent areas such as Kensington or Mayfair, only one family was exempt from this command: the Spencer family.

The Spencers were “older than the royal family and protectors by the king’s side.” Their ancestors, founding contributors to the kingdom, had established themselves in Westminster at the dawn of the monarchy. By steadfastly remaining there, they preserved their legacy.

Early summer in Westminster was more vibrantly green than ever. Among its sights, the Royal Gardens—maintained with every conceivable landscaping and architectural technique to showcase the splendor of the king, the ruler of Brighton Isle and its colonies, as well as the head of the Ingrint National Church—was universally lauded as a marvel.

The meticulously trimmed trees and precisely arranged flowers, uniform in size and shape, symbolized the king’s power. The symmetry also implied that under the crown, all were equally inferior.

Richard Spencer disliked the Royal Gardens. In fact, he found them repulsive.

Oddly enough, Richard and the imposing, lofty Royal Gardens were a natural fit. If the gardens were personified, every member of Lydon’s high society would instantly name Richard Spencer as their embodiment without hesitation.

But just because something suits one well doesn’t mean they must like it. Richard had never found the meticulously manicured Royal Gardens beautiful.

The Royal Palace, visible from the Spencer estate, was a symbol of the family’s enduring history. Yet Richard had a favorite place he preferred when escaping others’ watchful eyes.

That place was the wooded St. James’s Park, particularly the elongated lake nestled deep within. Its natural, untouched beauty captivated him.

The lakeshore, neglected as crowds flocked to the Royal Gardens, had an allure of its own.

A bare face, devoid of makeup, can be more appealing than one heavily adorned. A clumsy yet heartfelt remark can resonate more deeply than polished rhetoric. And a simple, fluffy Ingrint scone can soothe the soul better than an elaborate Gallian dessert made with expensive ingredients and refined techniques.

“Young Master, would you like a scone? Since we’re in Lydon after so long, I stopped by your favorite bakery and bought some. They’re still warm. I know you like them.”

Sebastian’s voice cut through Richard’s extended reverie. Walking beside him, Sebastian waved a crinkly paper bag in front of his face.

Ha, what terrible timing.

Richard cast aside his wistful gaze and glared at the brown paper bag like a cat sniffing a fish. The warm, fluffy Ingrint scone tempted him, still hot and beckoning.