Grace in Wonderland - Chapter 4

4. The Mysterious Woman

June 1st. The first day of Grentabridge’s colleges ending their term and commencing festivities. Known as the “June Festival,” this period was a time for students to release all the pent-up stress accumulated during the long exam period, often by letting loose without restraint.

The highlight of the June Festival was undoubtedly the “College Rugby League.” It was a stage for fierce physical battles fueled by the boundless energy of young men, and a glorious opportunity to elevate the honor of one’s college. On game days, the stands were packed so tightly that there wasn’t even room to set foot.

There was another reason for the bustling atmosphere around the pitch. Young women from the town flocked to watch the players, who were all college students.

“Lawrence! That woman’s here again!”

Edmund Beaufort, a forward on the Christ Church College rugby team, glanced at the crowd gathered on the edge of the pitch. Standing in the center of the field, he puffed out his chest and relished the attention of the town’s young women cheering for the players.

“Edmund, you look like a courting wild bear doing that.”

Lawrence Fairfax, another forward on the team, responded with an exasperated expression.

“What? A wild bear? You little…!”

Edmund glared at him, but Lawrence snickered and smacked the back of Edmund’s head. The women in the stands cheered, seemingly thrilled by the display of camaraderie.

“By the way, who’s ‘that woman’ you’re talking about?”

“She’s been coming to every game lately without fail.”

“There are plenty of women like that,” Lawrence replied dismissively.

The college rugby players practically had the personal details of the women in the stands memorized—except for Richard Spencer, the narcissistic neat freak.

“Most of the women who come are all the same. But she’s… different. Very different.”

“How so?”

“Well, how do I put this… She’s kind of mysterious…”

Edmund crossed his legs awkwardly. Lawrence, imagining him as a bear begging for biscuits in a circus, shuddered.

“Lawrence, just take a look over there and tell me.”

Edmund darted his eyes toward the stands and spoke hastily. Though he barely moved his lips, his pronunciation was clear—a natural talent that surfaced only when gossiping about women.

“Where? Who?”

Lawrence also became serious. Pretending to adjust his sleeve, he discreetly turned his head.

“Over there, the one with brown hair…”

“The woman in the sky-blue dress? Or is it gray?”

“Yes, yes. That one!”

“You call that mysterious? How?”

“Hey! Keep it down! She’s looking over here!”

Edmund flailed like a bear who’d just found a honey pot. Lawrence lowered his gaze sharply and whispered through clenched teeth. He, too, had a remarkable knack for discussing women in a stealthy manner—one of the reasons the two were such close friends at Grentabridge.

“Edmund, what exactly makes her so mysterious?”

At the question, Edmund scratched the back of his head and replied, “It’s her eyes. Those eyes are really…”

“Her eyes? What about them?”

“Look closely. But don’t make it obvious, you idiot!”

Is it even possible to closely observe without making it obvious? Lawrence raised his right hand and ran it through his hair. As his sweat-dampened hair scattered, the sound of women gulping could almost be heard from nearby.

Pretending to ruffle his hair, Lawrence covered his eyes with his elbow and began studying the curly-haired woman with light brown hair. Gradually, his expression changed to one of intrigue.

“Oh…”

“See? What do you think? I was right, wasn’t I?”

When Lawrence murmured in admiration, Edmund eagerly pressed him for validation.

“Edmund, you’re right. She’s unique.”

“She’s not just unique; she’s mysterious! I told you so!”

Edmund grinned triumphantly as he nodded in agreement.

Speaking of the mysterious woman, she had recently started lingering near the pitch whenever there was a rugby match. For Edmund Beaufort, whose favorite pastime was chatting with the town girls whenever he could, she became an intriguing figure. Among the great inheritance passed down from his grandfather, Edmund had received one exceptional trait: a discerning eye for beauty.

Had he used this discerning eye properly, he could have followed in his grandfather’s footsteps by collecting works from up-and-coming artists and making a fortune. Or, perhaps, refined his terrible fashion sense and transformed into a man of style. Unfortunately, Edmund’s interests extended only to women.

Even among crowds of hundreds or thousands of women, Edmund Beaufort’s keen eyes could easily pick out the rare gems. And recently, the one who had captured his greedy gaze was none other than the woman with the mysterious eyes.

To be honest, he had been so bewitched by those eyes that he’d lost the ball multiple times during matches. He had run distractedly while sneaking glances, made careless forward passes, and even failed to dodge tackles that he would have easily avoided otherwise.

“I thought only witches or cats had eyes like those.”

“…What?”

Edmund frowned deeply. Lawrence Fairfax’s lack of taste in women matched his unattractive face. How could someone have such terrible judgment?

“Richard. What do you think?”

Frustrated, Edmund called out to Richard Spencer, who was warming up nearby. There was no better example to educate the blind Lawrence Fairfax than Richard.

“What about?” Richard asked in his usual indifferent tone as he removed his jacket and draped it over his arm.

“That woman over there, the one with the light brown curly hair.”

Following the direction of Edmund’s subtly darting eyes, Richard turned his head abruptly. Oh no, not so obviously…!

“…What about her?” Richard tilted his head and asked again.

“Huh?”

What else could a man mean when asking about a woman? Of course, he was referring to her looks. Surely, he wasn’t asking about her personality.

“I mean, how does she look?!”

Frustrated, Edmund pounded his chest. What a bear, Lawrence thought, chuckling quietly again.

“Well…”

“Well? That’s it? Doesn’t she catch your eye? Shouldn’t you all get your eyesight checked?”

Richard Spencer was in a league of his own. As a true aristocrat and a key figure in Lydon’s high society, he had seen countless impeccably dressed noblewomen. Moreover, his younger sister, Freya Spencer, was famous as the dream bride for many boys born in Ingrint.

If Richard declared her unimpressive, Edmund might seriously have to question his own discerning eye.

“She’s not bad. Decent enough.”

After finishing his observation, Richard smirked slightly. At this, Edmund puffed up his chest triumphantly, as if to say, ‘See? I told you so.’

“That’s it? Tell me more. Lawrence here is hopeless when it comes to women, so it’s no fun.”

“Hmm.”

Prodded further, Richard spoke again, “She’s unusual, I’ll give her that.”

The boy from the lecture hall. Now he understood why that boy had kept quiet. For some reason, she hadn’t dared to speak in a place forbidden to women. Whatever the circumstances, Richard, who usually regarded most faces as unremarkable, found this incident unusual. He rarely paid such close attention to others in the first place.

“Unusual? Not mysterious?”

“What, should I sing her praises? Say that her heterochromatic eyes, one light reddish-brown and the other violet-tinged gray, make her look like a goddess?”

Huh?

“Her hair color is somewhat common, but it’s not unpleasant to look at. Her pale complexion suits the sky-blue dress she’s wearing quite well. Still, she’s absolutely not my type.”

What was that? Pretending not to care, but paying such meticulous attention… Edmund’s jaw dropped. So, if she’s not his type, what does it matter?

Richard turned his gaze away from the woman, signaling he had no further interest. Meanwhile, the mysterious woman with light brown curls, the focus of their attention, was being jostled by the crowd, struggling to find a place to sit.

Just then, the referee blew the whistle, signaling the start of the second half. The gentlemen’s cheeky commentary ended there.