Grace in Wonderland - Chapter 35

35. A Future Husband

“The question is, what kind of people those two are. And you’re the one who can answer that, aren’t you?”

It was an unexpected statement. Richard tried not to reveal his surprise, pretending to be deep in thought instead.

As for Theresius Wilford, his reputation was generally favorable. Though not as physically imposing as Richard himself, he was reasonably well-built and capable, enjoying the wholehearted support of the King’s College Rugby Club players as their captain. His academic life appeared to be in decent order, likely due to his ambitious nature.

Richard had long been aware of Theresius’s intense drive for success. That same ambition often led him to hover annoyingly close, which was irritating. However, Richard hadn’t held a particularly negative view of Theresius Wilford as a person.

Understanding the desperate mindset of those seeking divine guidance, Richard could empathize to some extent with the hopeful feelings directed toward him. Yet, empathy did not equate to acceptance. Few approached Richard Spencer, the Young Earl, without ulterior motives. He had been trained from a young age to counter such advances with unwavering decisiveness.

It was a basic principle: kindness turns into entitlement, and kindness that cannot be sustained is better not given. Those who presumptuously claimed rights they did not possess deserved to be crushed. Preemptively blocking them was the simplest course of action.

This was a lesson ingrained in every Spencer heir from the moment they could comprehend words. Having guarded the throne’s side for centuries, the Spencers were notorious for their arrogance, a trait that had earned them criticism through the generations.

Thus, separate from his clashes with Theresius Wilford, Richard had no need to harbor ill will toward him. Though occasionally irritating, Richard viewed Theresius’s antics as no more than a fly buzzing around his ears—a minor nuisance to be swatted away when necessary.

In hindsight, he should have swatted him from the start, ensuring he never returned. Of course, handling a fly might dirty his hands, so he could have left the task to Sebastian instead…

“About Theresius Wilford. Were there any unsavory rumors about him at Grentabridge?” Lady Montague asked cautiously.

Grentabridge was both a cradle of intellect for college students and a graveyard of love for town maidens. From cradle to grave, the city was a stage for countless dramatic tales.

The social elite were well aware of this and tended to dismiss such events as youthful indiscretions. It was only the abandoned townswomen who were labeled as sinners for their “missteps.”

Occasionally, rare cases of romantic success emerged. However, the ultimate destination of such exceptions was still the grave—a figurative one in Lydon. Society had no kindness to spare for common women who ensnared naïve young noblemen.

Lady Montague’s question likely stemmed from an awareness of this context. However, Richard knew nothing of Theresius Wilford’s other activities. He had always disregarded gossip and found Sebastian’s chatter tiresome.

In hindsight, he regretted not paying closer attention. For once, he felt uncharacteristic remorse as he answered, “I haven’t heard anything. Shall I have Sebastian look into it?”

Richard Spencer posed the question tentatively.

It wouldn’t be difficult. If Lady Montague requested it, Sebastian could uncover even the number of coins in the pocket of Theresius Wilford’s coat from the previous day.

“I’ve already sent someone to investigate. They reported that he’s a diligent student with no particular romantic entanglements. I only asked you in case my source missed something. But it seems you haven’t heard anything either.”

Lady Mary Montague visibly relaxed. Meanwhile, Richard felt an inexplicable sense of disappointment, forcing a faint, stiff smile that made his lips ache.

“Even so…”

“And about Edmund Beaufort.”

Just as Richard opened his mouth, Mary Montague continued, “Richard, is there something you want to say?”

“…No.”

If Richard Spencer were to urge further investigation here, Lady Montague might find his behavior strange. After all, Richard Spencer was neither Grace Gurton’s biological brother nor someone who shared a particularly close relationship with her. Until just recently, he had harbored nothing but animosity toward her.

Thus, it was better to refrain from unnecessary meddling. If Lady Mary Montague discovered his peculiar state, how humiliating would that be?

“All right, let me continue.”

Mary cleared her throat. Flashing a mischievous grin, she resembled a girl about to share a secret with her friend.

“Edmund Beaufort has quite a humorous side.”

Richard found himself agreeing with her statement.

Edmund Beaufort, the second son of a Viscount family from Pembroke, had abandoned any pretense of a proper life early on. Unlike his elder brother, destined to inherit the title, Edmund had embraced a debauchery lifestyle the moment he arrived in Grentabridge.

His standards were infuriatingly high. In Grentabridge, there wasn’t a single young lady considered attractive who hadn’t received Edmund Beaufort’s flirtations. Some women even felt insulted if they hadn’t received his advances.

His impeccable taste for beauty was an inheritance from his grandfather, who had an extraordinary eye for art. Edmund’s grandfather had collected masterpieces—whether fine art or commercial art—and supported promising but impoverished artists. One of the most celebrated satirical painters of recent times, William Hogarth, had risen to prominence thanks to the Beaufort family’s patronage.

Some criticized the Beauforts for venturing into commercial and popular art, deeming it unbecoming of nobility. Yet these same detractors secretly subscribed to Hogarth’s prints and purchased works through auctions established by the Beauforts. Ultimately, it was Edmund’s grandfather who had the last laugh.

Fortunately, Edmund Beaufort didn’t seem to maintain any long-term romantic entanglements. Depending on one’s perspective, that might make him seem even more reprehensible. However, Edmund argued that sustaining relationships without the intention of marriage was the height of irresponsibility.

Remarkably, no women seemed to hold a grudge against him. Richard often witnessed heartbroken women coming to rugby fields to wail or curse the players who had wronged them. Yet Edmund Beaufort was never their target.

“He loves women, yet he’s never made them cry. He’s an intriguing fellow.”

Like Casanova of Venice, who embraced countless women yet managed to avoid their scorn, Edmund Beaufort possessed a similarly inexplicable charm. When Casanova was imprisoned, women reportedly clamored for his release. Edmund Beaufort seemed to exude the same mystique.

However, there was a clear distinction between other people’s affairs and one’s own. Thus, Richard Spencer couldn’t agree with Lady Mary Montague’s description of Edmund as “intriguing.”

To Richard, Edmund Beaufort was perpetually in a state of heat, like a March Hare. He often showed up on the pitch with straw clinging to his hair, suggesting questionable escapades.

“Intriguing? No, I’d say he’s utterly depraved. Changing partners as frequently as he does is unacceptable.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Richard regretted them.

After all, Grace Gurton and he were strangers. That was certain. It wasn’t his place to approve or disapprove, nor was there any need to find fault. Who was he to make such judgments?

“Oh, really?”

Mary Montague studied Richard’s face with a curious expression. Richard felt as though his shameful thoughts had been exposed. Swallowing dryly, his Adam’s apple bobbed visibly.

“You’re more concerned for Grace than I expected, Richard. You’re so caring.”

Her remark about his supposed “caring nature” was something Richard himself would never admit to, and Sebastian would vehemently deny. Yet, if such a sentiment could be spun into a virtue, so be it. Richard diverted his gaze, feigning indifference.

“Oh, Grace! How have you been these past few days?”

“L-Lady Montague,”

At that moment, Mary’s excited voice rang out, causing Richard’s head to snap around.

There stood Grace Gurton, the pitiable young woman who might become the future wife of either the sly Theresius Wilford or the debauched Edmund Beaufort.