Grace in Wonderland - Chapter 23

23. Realization

“Did she appeal to your heart?”

“……”

“She’s your future wife; you should like her.”

“Well, I’m not sure about that either.”

Richard recalled the day he returned to Lydon when his younger sister had asked him a similar question. Freya had asked if he liked Eleanor, and Richard had dodged the question, cutting the conversation short by offering unsolicited advice.

Answering how he felt about Eleanor d’Estrée wasn’t difficult. The answer was singular and clear.

‘I feel nothing.’

Richard Spencer wasn’t marrying Eleanor d’Estrée because he liked her. However, it wasn’t as though he disliked her either. She was as unremarkable as odorless, colorless air. And just as one has to breathe air regardless of its lack of excitement, marrying a woman who didn’t evoke any emotions seemed inevitable.

“I just want you to be happy.”

Mary Montague tenderly smiled as she stroked Richard’s hair.

“Well, I’ve never really thought of myself as unhappy.”

“Richard, not being unhappy is entirely different from being happy.”

Richard fell silent at her words. He didn’t know how to respond.

People often said Richard Spencer was incredibly fortunate—his supreme social standing, immense wealth, and robust physique were things any man would envy. In some respects, they weren’t wrong.

But sometimes, when you wipe away the thick dust to peer through a window, the clear view inside can be more disappointing than the hazy image from afar. While people marveled at the blurred outline through the dusty glass, Richard would face his own reflection in a polished mirror, mocking the reality he saw.

From the moment he was born as the eldest son of a grand noble family, personal happiness had been out of reach for Richard Spencer. It was like a rainbow—a distant illusion. The rainbow was far away, unreachable, and Richard had no desire to chase its end in search of treasure. It was a truth ingrained in him by his upbringing as a Spencer and a desire he had long been conditioned to suppress.

“I want you to be happy. It’s time you understood what love truly is.”

Mary Montague clasped Richard’s hand tightly, her voice almost pleading. Richard held his breath, pressing his lips together. He didn’t know how to handle such moments. Happiness, love… Such words made him uncomfortable.

“That’s why I hope Eleanor is a good person.”

“…Perhaps she is.”

He managed to respond, though it left him feeling as if a cold sweat were trickling down his back. Being forced to confront emotions he had chosen to ignore and avoid was far from pleasant.

Eleanor d’Estrée was reserved. Whether it was due to her limited proficiency in Ingrintian or her naturally quiet disposition, she remained silent in Richard’s presence.

A future wife who wasn’t talkative was preferable to one who was overly so. After all, Richard’s responsibilities as Young Earl did not include the “blissful, harmonious couple” clause.

Like his father, James Spencer, who had tainted the sanctity of marriage with his infidelities, Richard had no intention of abandoning his family or betraying his vows. However, he also had no plans to be attentive and caring at home. He wouldn’t stray, but that was the extent of his commitment.

Responsibility and duty, Richard believed, were obligations he bore as a noble and a Young Earl. Beyond fulfilling those, he saw no need to expend effort in other areas. Thus, aside from meeting his necessary responsibilities, he intended to live as he pleased.

Having abandoned any expectation of parental love, he did not cling to human relationships. He avoided emotional entanglements.

He neither wanted to love nor to experience unrequited love. He disliked expressing his feelings and feared the wounds that came from baring one’s heart. He avoided approaching others and resented being approached.

When Sebastian would tease him, asking if he intended to live alone forever, Richard would scoff. Life, after all, was a solitary journey. For Richard, the most important person in his life was himself.

This belief had solidified when he left the Spencer estate for Grentabridge. It was his internal resolution, his completed vow. Over the past three years, he had lived by this principle. And on his wedding day, as he rode to the cathedral in Lydon, he would likely hold the same belief.

“I suppose that’s good to hear.”

Mary ended the conversation there. Yet she wished her beloved nephew could break free from the oppressive constraints binding his heart and live life on his own terms—just as a younger Mary Spencer had.

Avoidance and evasion might be convenient, but they weren’t solutions. While they could make life more comfortable, they didn’t bring happiness. Richard Spencer had yet to taste the sweetness of pursuing and achieving one’s own will.

“I’m on your side. And remember, happiness is closer than you think.”

The swiftly moving carriage gradually slowed down. The familiar view of Bath began to unfold.

Richard stopped his thoughts and shifted his gaze from the window to the front. Opposite him, a pair of eyes, set within rugby ball-shaped, oval features, were looking straight at him.

The reddish hue of the dawn sun and the deep purplish clouds of late evening—the beginning and end of the rainbow spectrum.

***

Sebastian had arrived at the Bath villa a day earlier. There was a lot to prepare in advance, especially since Eleanor d’Estrée, Richard Spencer’s betrothed, was expected to accompany them on this visit. Sebastian had taken extra care in every detail.

However, when he saw who stepped out of the carriage bearing the Spencer family’s crest of the red lion, he was stunned. It was Grace Gurton—that Grace Gurton.

Displaying the polished manners of a seasoned attendant, Sebastian courteously escorted Grace to her room, offering a brief “Please rest comfortably” before rushing off to find Richard.

“Young Master, what is going on?”

“This was at Aunt’s request.”

Once again, Richard’s priority was Mary Montague, not Eleanor d’Estrée. Richard would have leaped into an icy lake to save her if she had fallen in—or perhaps, more accurately, he would have ordered someone else to jump in and then taken the credit himself.

“You should have escorted Lady d’Estrée. She’s new to Ingrint and likely needs help in many ways.”

“I explained and sought her understanding.”

“That’s not the point. If you had accompanied Lady Montague instead, I wouldn’t be saying this. But no woman in the world would appreciate being abandoned by her betrothed while he escorts another young lady.”

“…She doesn’t seem particularly upset.”

Richard answered as he began opening a window, pausing to glance outside. A light, amused laughter drifted in through the slightly opened gap.

“Pardon?”

Sebastian quickly moved to stand by his side. Their eyes followed the scene unfolding below, where Lancelot and the Countess were helping Freya and Eleanor d’Estrée out of the carriage.

“There must be at least one woman in the world who’d be fine with her betrothed escorting another.”

“I beg your pardon…”

“And it seems that one woman is my betrothed.”

Eleanor, supported by Lancelot as she stepped onto the ground, looked radiant. The stiffness she had displayed over the past few days was gone, replaced by a faint, lingering smile.

“Are you boasting?”

Sebastian asked incredulously, disbelief etched on his face. How could someone be so indifferent? A man who doesn’t understand a woman’s heart is as guilty as a sinner.

“At least it seems she enjoyed the journey. Better than riding in a carriage with me.”

Richard remarked, recalling his journey with Grace Gurton. Throughout the ride, Grace had frequently cast furtive glances his way.

Come to think of it, she had behaved similarly when they first met at the Montague mansion. Fidgeting with her fingers, her cheeks blazing as if they might catch fire, her head bowing as though it would snap upon meeting his gaze, and her incessantly blinking eyes.

Though inexperienced in matters of love, Richard Spencer was familiar with admiration. In Lydon, daughters of noble families constantly tried to captivate him. At Grentabridge, town girls endlessly sought his attention.

Drawing on those familiar experiences, he couldn’t help but notice the striking resemblance between Grace Gurton’s behavior in the carriage and that of other women who had courted him. Her clumsy attempts, even more jarring than the carriage’s jolts, were a dead giveaway.

But what could she want from me? At first, I thought her antics were to secure her adoption. But now the situation has changed.

Using Lady Montague’s health as leverage to silence me and solidify her position, what more could she want?

Suddenly, a lightning bolt of realization struck Richard’s mind.

Could it be that she truly likes me?