Grace in Wonderland - Chapter 17

17. A Resolution Disguised as Advice

“If I want it, it will come true.”

Freya Spencer was a girl who never hesitated to achieve what she desired. The abundant wealth, immense power, and long history of the Spencer family had guaranteed her many things from the moment she was born.

In addition to that, her outstanding beauty was almost magical. She was the idol of Ingrint’s noble boys, capable of making her wishes come true with a mere flick of her finger and creating waves simply by expressing her desires.

“Freya.”

Richard spoke firmly to Freya.

“You can’t have everything you want.”

“……”

“Whoever that man is, you should be grateful that he doesn’t have feelings for you.”

“What? What do you mean?”

Freya’s violet eyes wavered with emotion. Ignoring the tears welling up in her eyes, Richard replied coldly.

“If some man, who isn’t even in your league, dares to like you, the Young Lady of Spencer, without knowing his place, I wouldn’t let it slide.”

“Richard!”

Freya’s voice rose into a near scream. The rows of trees standing like walls reflected her voice, echoing it back like a reverberation.

“And one more thing.”

Richard continued, his voice steady, as though it were a resolution or a decision born out of countless suppressed emotions. It resonated across the garden, devoid of any rise or fall in pitch.

“Hide your feelings of affection, Freya.”

“……”

“Don’t reveal your desires.”

“Why? Why must I hide them? Why should I conceal them? For what reason?”

“The more you reveal your true feelings, the more people will mock you.”

“Me? For what reason?”

Richard looked down at his breathless sister with an impassive face.

“Even if you were a queen, it would be the same.”

“……”

“Those who cannot conceal their intentions are despised.”

“……”

“And those who openly express their emotions are disregarded.”

“……”

“So, hide your feelings. Always, from everyone.”

Freya fiddled with her fingernails, shaking her head repeatedly.

“I don’t understand. I can’t comprehend it.”

Eventually, her pretty lips parted. Richard let out a faint sigh.

“The desire to be loved can sometimes be a flaw, Freya.”

“A flaw?”

“Yes. That’s why you must live carefully so that your longing for love doesn’t become your weakness.”

“I’ve always lived getting what I wanted.”

“No, that’s not true.”

Richard shook his head and looked toward the other side of the garden. At the end of his gaze, clusters of daffodils with fallen flower stalks had begun to form seeds.

“What about you, Richard? Don’t you have any weaknesses? Weaknesses that arise because you want to be loved?”

Freya asked feebly in a grumbling tone. At least regarding this, Richard could answer calmly.

“Not anymore.”

***

“Is Mother out?”

The Spencer estate wasn’t the best place to clear his lingering unease. Between the issue of Grace Gurton’s adoption and Freya’s emotional confession, Richard’s already complicated thoughts had only grown more tangled.

He hadn’t even had the chance to ask Freya about the whereabouts of the Countess and Lancelot. As soon as he sternly warned her, Freya, unable to hide her despondency, had run back into the mansion and retreated to her entirely pink room, where she was likely crying a storm of tears.

Thinking about his sister sobbing like a rain cloud made Richard’s chest ache, but he didn’t believe what he had said was wrong. Wanting to be loved was a weakness, and once revealed, it could never be taken back.

He didn’t know what had happened during the three years he was away at Grentabridge, but neither his mother nor Lancelot should ever know Freya’s feelings. Richard was determined to keep this a secret at all costs.

If the Countess caught on, she wouldn’t stop at disciplining Freya by applying quinine to her fingernails. She might even suggest sending her away.

“The Madam…”

Head maid Sophie followed closely behind Richard as she answered.

“She has gone to Bond Street with the Second Young Master.”

“Bond Street? For what purpose?”

“To have clothes tailored at a dressmaker’s shop.”

“Why didn’t she summon the tailor to the mansion?”

“The Madam was feeling down, so she went out to get some fresh air. The Second Young Master accompanied her.”

“I see.”

Bond Street had recently emerged as a central commercial district in Lydon. Although Richard Spencer had heard about the upscale shops targeting wealthy nobles, he had never visited the area himself.

Unlike commoners, nobles typically summoned merchants to their mansions to purchase goods. The practice of merchants humbly carrying their wares to customers not only simplified transactions but also reinforced the hierarchical relationship between buyer and seller.

To travel by carriage just to shop seemed terribly unbecoming of a noble. Richard clicked his tongue softly, ensuring no one could hear.

Social rank was something one was born into but also something that had to be maintained. While being born a noble was an unchangeable destiny, living as a noble required relentless effort.

Thus, “status” was like armor clinging tightly to Richard Spencer’s body. Like a carnation pinned to one’s chest despite considering it mere ornamentation, it was something that couldn’t be shed and shouldn’t be shed.

No matter how beautiful the lakeshore of St. James’s Park or the streams of Cherry Hinton were, one could not live there. Even if the Spencer estate in Westminster was unbearable, Richard had to stay there.

Even if cheap scones were delicious, he could not show his preference for them. Even if the luxurious desserts imported from Gallia were overly sweet, causing him to furrow his brows, he could not let that show.

“Um, and Young Master.”

The head maid timidly called out to Richard. He stared at her intently, waiting for her next words.

“We are preparing the room for your fiancée’s stay. If there are any particular details you think we should consider…”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Pardon?”

“Are you saying Lady d’Estrée is coming here?”

“…Yes.”

Sophie flinched, her expression betraying her nervousness as she continued, “A letter arrived from Gallia about a month ago. She said she plans to visit Lydon to coincide with your graduation.”

“…Is that so?”

“You weren’t informed?”

“……”

“Perhaps it was because it was exam season, and the Madam didn’t want to disturb you.”

“That must be it.”

Richard responded indifferently. He knew that wasn’t the real reason. The Countess had either completely forgotten about it or didn’t care enough to mention it. Either way, it didn’t matter to him.

“Also, the Madam suggested taking Lady d’Estrée to Bath for a recuperative trip when she arrives.”

Hearing Sophie’s words, Richard nodded slightly without saying anything further. He just wasn’t keen on the fact that he would have to join them this time.

Eleanor d’Estrée was, in name and reality, his fiancée. Escorting someone visiting Ingrint for the first time in nearly ten years throughout the journey was a proper and expected duty of a betrothed.

Bath, located in the west of Ingrint, was a famous resort city. Over a thousand years ago, when the Romian Empire ruled Brighton Isle, it had been a region abundant with hot springs. The large Romian-style baths and temples still remained.

After the fall of the Romian Empire, Bath’s population and economy rapidly declined, and it was only frequented by those suffering from skin diseases.

However, about a dozen years ago, Queen Anne declared that drinking the hot spring water had alleviated her chronic rheumatoid arthritis. This announcement significantly boosted Bath’s reputation as the premier recuperative destination in Ingrint. Spurred on by the queen, the nobility began purchasing land in Bath and building villas.

The person who benefited most from this trend was none other than Queen Anne. The compassionate queen reluctantly sold her land, as nobles insisted. The prices of the land she had purchased cheaply in advance skyrocketed, forcing the aristocracy to pay high prices.

As a result, Bath became a popular destination bustling with royalty, nobles, and wealthy commoners. The concentration of affluent individuals naturally attracted luxury shops and amenities, making it a hub for both recuperation and social gatherings.

Among all Ingrint nobles, no one frequented Bath more than the Countess Spencer. She was a chronic patient burdened with every conceivable ache and pain: headaches, stomachaches, menstrual cramps, leg pains, toothaches, shoulder pains, and more.

Whether her complaints were genuine was uncertain. Despite thorough examinations by the Spencer family’s personal physician and other skilled doctors, no significant physical issues were ever found.

The doctors ultimately diagnosed her with nervous exhaustion, but Richard ensured this information never reached her ears. She would only deny it and likely take offense, accusing them of calling her mentally ill. Instead, she continued to hysterically chew on painkillers as if they were candy.

It would probably be no different this time.

The dull ache in Richard’s left temple worsened. He unconsciously raised his hand to his temple but quickly lowered it, conscious of Sophie’s presence.

“When is Lady d’Estrée expected to arrive?”

“It depends on the circumstances, but she should arrive within the next few days.”

“So I’ll need to meet her at the port.”

“Yes, I believe so.”

It was also the duty of a betrothed to escort a lady arriving from afar. No matter how bothersome, some responsibilities simply had to be fulfilled—all because of that infernal sense of duty.

Richard Spencer had so far fulfilled his obligations to his fiancée as best he could. He had sent her a portrait once a year, written letters, and, most importantly, refrained from indulging in the lively distractions of Grentabridge Town.

Though this restraint was due more to his disinterest in others, his aversion to emotional attachment, and his meticulous nature, it was nonetheless a fulfillment of duty.

Then, a commotion arose from the mansion’s entrance. Straightening from his slightly leaned posture as he listened to Sophie’s account, Richard turned toward the source of the noise.

“…Richard.”

The woman spoke as she removed her elaborately decorated hat, adorned with fresh flowers. Her pale, tense complexion bore a trace of coolness. Behind her stood a young man with honey-colored eyes, strikingly similar to Richard’s, who greeted him with a sugary smile.

Richard Spencer gazed at them intently before nodding slightly. In a steady, unchanging tone, he greeted them.

“Welcome back, Mother.”