Grace in Wonderland - Chapter 28

28. An Unwelcome Visitor

“Miss Gurton, under no circumstances should you apologize lightly.”

Richard Spencer’s sudden remark left the three others speechless, staring at him blankly.

Richard elaborated further, “Miss Gurton is about to become Lady Montague’s adopted daughter. It means she’s entitled to hold her head high, no matter where she goes or whom she meets.”

Grace blinked a few times before gazing at Richard.

Isn’t he truly like a prince? No, perhaps a knight?

If William Hogarth, the renowned contemporary satirical artist, were to paint Richard’s portrait at this moment, he’d undoubtedly replace his eyes with two hearts. A man who never failed to captivate her every time they met—he was simply irresistible.

“Richard, if you put it that way…”

Lancelot looked troubled as he glanced at Richard. While Richard’s statement wasn’t entirely incorrect, his words defending Grace Gurton were as good as scolding Eleanor d’Estrée, his betrothed.

“……”

Eleanor d’Estrée’s face turned crimson, the redness seeping through her thick plaster-like makeup. Richard’s words to Grace Gurton felt deeply insulting to Eleanor, who stood opposite her.

“Young Lady d’Estrée, I hope you can extend the same courtesy. I regard Lady Mary Montague as no less than a mother. I would appreciate it if you treated her future adopted daughter well.”

Meanwhile, Richard cursed himself internally for getting involved in women’s affairs and speaking so carelessly.

Eleanor’s advice to Grace Gurton had been correct. Conversation was the foundation of social interaction, and keeping up with its flow was basic etiquette. Yet Richard found it irritating to see Eleanor seize upon a single mistake to teach a lesson, especially since she still struggled with Ingrintian herself.

Of course, Richard Spencer wasn’t particularly fond of Grace Gurton either. However, seeing Grace dismissed felt akin to disrespecting Lady Montague. That’s why he had spoken up, albeit impulsively.

“Rather than standing around, we should find seats,” Richard said, looking down at Eleanor’s face, which was as red as if she had just gulped down a large glass of wine.

As he led the reluctant Eleanor to a sofa in one corner of the hall, Richard continued berating himself internally.

Why did I do that?

At that moment, a familiar and unpleasant voice called out behind him.

“Richard Spencer.”

Turning around, Richard found Theresius Wilford standing near their seating area.

Theresius’ jaw still bore faint yellowish bruises that hadn’t completely faded. In contrast, Richard’s face was spotless.

I must have hit him harder, Richard thought, feeling a sudden wave of satisfaction despite his displeasure at seeing Wilford’s face.

“…Wilford.”

The clipped way Richard addressed him made Theresius smile as if in exasperation. However, he didn’t provoke further.

“I happened to see you from over there and came to apologize,” Theresius said in his usual sly tone. “About the fight that day.”

This bastard. Richard’s expression hardened.

The reason for bringing up a fistfight in such a public setting was obvious: to drag both of them down. Richard noticed that other attendees were holding their breath, intently focused on their conversation.

“There’s no need to apologize; it was nothing,” Richard replied, glaring at the yellowish mark on Theresius’ jaw.

Just then, Lancelot, who had been watching from the sidelines, stood up and inserted himself between the two men.

“Did you two have a fight?”

Theresius Wilford shifted his gaze to Lancelot Spencer, Richard’s twin brother. Though they resembled each other in appearance, the two projected entirely different auras.

Richard Spencer was arrogant and indifferent, a man of contrasting impressions—sometimes languid, sometimes sharp, sometimes rough.

In contrast, Lancelot Spencer exuded a gentle, affectionate warmth, as if he had been drenched in honey. The soft, radiant heat of his deep golden eyes had a way of subtly lifting the spirits of those around him.

Lancelot Spencer rarely appeared in social circles. This was due to the Countess, who doted on her naive younger son and kept him from mingling with clever women who might ensnare him. She wouldn’t have gone to such lengths for just any lady.

“Theresius Wilford.”

Theresius bowed slightly to Lancelot. Lancelot returned his greeting with a friendly smile and introduced himself.

“Lancelot Spencer. I’m Richard’s younger brother.”

Then he asked again the question that had been on his mind.

“Why did you fight with Richard?”

Richard Spencer wasn’t the sort to get into fights. It wasn’t because he disliked violence but because he found it bothersome. The very idea of their altercation shocked Lancelot.

For the past three years, Richard hadn’t set foot in Lydon. His life in Grentabridge remained veiled even from his family, including Lancelot.

“It was nothing serious. Just a minor misunderstanding,” Theresius said, deflecting the question.

His tone was light, but the noise and stifling atmosphere of the Pump Room were giving him a splitting headache. Richard clenched his teeth, maintaining an outward composure.

“Tell me more next time we meet. I’m very curious about Richard’s college life. He never talks about it…”

Lancelot trailed off wistfully. Eleanor, seated beside him, raised her hand delicately to join the conversation.

“I’m curious as well.”

Theresius paused momentarily at her awkward Ingrintian but quickly masked his reaction with a practiced smile.

“You must be the beautiful fiancée of the Young Earl Richard Spencer, whom I’ve heard so much about,” he greeted exaggeratedly.

Eleanor feigned indifference, but everyone present noticed her chin tilt upward and her lips curve faintly.

“Did you two have a duel?”

Who but a Gallian woman would ask such a question? As though this were The Three Musketeers. Richard Spencer let out an almost imperceptible sigh.

He was adept at blocking out unpleasant or unwelcome topics. Richard wasn’t one to endure such things.

“Let’s drop the subject.”

At his words, Eleanor’s softly upturned lips drooped. Once again, Richard had cut her off. It was far too unfair a treatment for his longtime fiancée.

“But Richard…”

“Hmm? Isn’t that Miss Gurton?”

Eleanor had been about to voice her dissatisfaction but fell silent again when Theresius Wilford acknowledged Grace Gurton.

“…I-it’s nice to see you again,” Grace replied awkwardly.

Theresius Wilford was the man Grace had encountered while walking by the Thame River with Lady Mary Montague. She hadn’t shown it at the time, but she recognized him as someone she’d seen frequently in Grentabridge. Grace had often gone to rugby matches—or rather, to watch Richard Spencer.

In fact, she had witnessed the two men’s last match, which had ended with Richard punching Theresius. This was why she couldn’t bring herself to act friendly toward him along the Thame River. Regardless of the circumstances, leaving a mark on a handsome man’s face was an unforgivable crime, one deserving of a death sentence.

“Did Lady Montague not accompany you?” Theresius asked, glancing around.

Grace hesitated before answering, “S-She had urgent business to attend to, so she’ll be arriving in a few days.”

“That’s unfortunate. I was hoping to see her.”

Theresius let his eyebrows droop in disappointment.

“Do the two of you know each other?”

Richard, observing them, asked pointedly.

No! Grace desperately wanted to shake her head but managed to stay composed.

“I happened to meet Miss Gurton by chance while she was walking with Lady Montague near the Thame River. Lady Montague had a special request for me, which is why I’m in Bath.”

“What sort of request?”

“She asked me to meet her here again in Bath,” Theresius said, smiling smugly as he watched Richard’s expression tighten momentarily before returning to its usual neutrality.

Then, to everyone’s surprise, Theresius nearly knelt before Grace and made a bold request.

“Miss Gurton, there’s a play being performed at the Assembly Room tonight. Would you accompany me?”