Grace in Wonderland - Chapter 40

40. Propositions and Contrapositives

Grace Gurton left the Pump Room hall and hid herself in a corner of the garden. Though she was accustomed to hearing words filled with hostility, she still wasn’t used to digesting them.

It wasn’t as though she hadn’t anticipated such a situation. That had been one of the reasons why she had initially refused Lady Mary Montague’s proposal of adoption.

However, the moment she decided to accept Lady Montague’s earnest request, she resolved to endure such things. That resolve remained firm. Though it was painful for others’ malice to unearth the agony she had buried and tamped down under layers of determination, it was the kind of burden she would have to bear regardless.

The gossip about her parents was something Grace couldn’t erase or mitigate. However, the habit of stuttering was entirely her own trait—something she had to overcome herself.

If it couldn’t be corrected, it had to be accepted. Humbly acknowledge it and deal with it appropriately.

Grace’s mother, Annabel, had never been sorrowful or angry about her daughter’s stuttering. On the contrary, she had comforted and encouraged her.

Annabel would often take young Grace to the cliffs along the Aire coast, where they lived. There, she would let Grace listen to the sound of waves echoing between the caves and the cries of seabirds reverberating off the rocky walls.

“Grace, your words are like the echoes reverberating in a cave. So there’s no need to feel ashamed.”

Grace’s speech patterns often involved repetition of initial syllables. Just as Annabel described, it was like echoes reverberating within a cave—the sound repeated once more.

Childhood is significant because it’s when we learn, internalize, and store the emotions that dominate our entire lives. These memories aren’t retained in our minds but remain etched in our hearts.

People spend time building their personalities on the foundation of those emotions left behind. The sturdiness and strength of the cornerstone determine the height and stability of the tower they construct.

Grace Gurton’s cornerstone was her mother’s words and the warmth she felt while hearing them. In a life marred by misfortune, Grace, being an optimistic and positive child, was able to build the base of her tower with what little happiness she had experienced.

“I-I should go back now.”

Grace, ever optimistic and positive, muttered to herself as she released her grip on her skirt. She was concerned about the creases that had appeared on the finely ironed high-quality fabric and couldn’t leave her spot without smoothing the dress a few more times.

“Miss Gurton.”

At the sound of her name, Grace flinched. Whenever she “accidentally” ran into Richard Spencer in the garden of the Spencer villa, he would address her this way.

“Y-Young Earl?”

Grace mumbled. Was she now, like the girl in a fairy tale, crossing time and space to find herself back at the Spencer villa?

“W-why are you here?”

Richard Spencer seemed like someone who disliked frequenting the Pump Room. When Grace had come here the day after arriving in Bath, along with Eleanor, Lancelot, and two others, she sensed a faint air of boredom and disinterest emanating from him.

Despite escorting Eleanor with perfect manners and agreeing with her remarks, Richard had appeared uncharacteristically uncomfortable to Grace. Nervously, she had watched him from a distance.

When you have unrequited feelings, you become acutely sensitive to the small changes in the person you like. If they’re happy, so are you; if they’re upset, you feel the same. This proposition’s contrapositive doesn’t hold true. That’s the nature of unrequited love.

And yet, just now, the contrapositive had become true—for both Grace and Richard, though neither realized it.

Richard Spencer now disliked what Grace disliked. Thus, he left the Pump Room without hearing the entirety of Edmund Beaufort and Theresius Wilford’s conversation and instead sought Grace Gurton.

“Are you all right?”

Goodness, how kind of him. Overwhelmed with gratitude, Grace could only move her lips without managing a proper response.

Interpreting her silence as ‘I’m not all right at all; I’m struggling immensely,’ Richard felt as though his insides were rotting. What was this feeling, like a bug gnawing at his heart, leaving behind the sound of its crunching jaws?

“What will you do now?”

“I-I was thinking of going back inside…”

“You mean to return?”

“I-I only stepped out for a moment…”

Was she foolish or just too kind? Richard absentmindedly tapped his left temple with his finger, glaring at Grace as he asked again.

“What will you do when you go back?”

“P-pardon?”

“Are you planning to mingle with such shallow people?”

“Uh…”

“And let yourself endure more of their lowly ridicule?”

“……”

“Do you enjoy that?”

Richard took a few steps closer to Grace and spoke, his chest tightening with each question. Dry branches beneath his feet crunched and snapped, crying out in protest.

“Th-that’s my responsibility to bear.”

Grace was bewildered by Richard’s sudden rebuke, but oddly enough, she didn’t feel upset. It seemed as though he was angry out of concern for her.

“Why should that be your responsibility, Miss Gurton?”

Grace Gurton was about to become the Montague family’s only daughter and a cousin to the Spencer heir. What exactly did she have to bear? From now on, it should be the responsibility of those who interacted with her.

Richard Spencer had completely forgotten the way he had judged Grace based on her status and speech when they first met. The avoidance and dismissal Sebastian had once mocked as Richard’s cowardly coping mechanisms were tools he still used skillfully.

“It’s… it’s my flaw.”

Grace’s voice trembled. Regardless of her mother’s comforting words, it was indeed a flaw. Overcoming it depended on her efforts, but debating whether it was a defect or not was unnecessary.

There was no reason to question a formula proven countless times by others. It was more practical to memorize the established formula and solve the problem rather than waste effort trying to prove it.

“Miss Gurton, surely not…”

In truth, Grace’s voice was trembling, but to Richard Spencer’s eyes, it appeared as though she was on the verge of tears.

Tears? Is she crying?

If it were Edmund Beaufort, the self-proclaimed King of Bath, he would have immediately pulled out a handkerchief and gently dabbed beneath her eyes. Then, he’d likely extract a promise to meet again later. But Richard was so flustered that his brain felt bleached blank, like an empty exam sheet. His twenty years of experience as an heir engaged to nobility felt utterly futile and meaningless.

Richard disliked women crying. He had always thought tears were used as weapons to manipulate situations and achieve desired outcomes.

The same applied when Freya or Mary Montague cried. He accepted it only because he loved his sister and aunt.

But her eyes… The rising moisture seemed to wash over the colors, leaving them like the rain-soaked skies of dawn and dusk…

“I-I’m fine.”

“……”

Grace blinked her reddened eyes tightly shut before opening them again. No tears fell. She had never cried since childhood because she believed no adult liked a crying child.

“Th-thank you for worrying about me.”

Her boiling emotions subsided as she adjusted her voice and expressed her gratitude.

Worry? Me?

By now, Richard Spencer’s mind was in utter chaos. It felt like the end of the world—thunder, lightning, sunlight, rain, and gales all striking at once.

No, that’s not it. I wasn’t worried; I was irritated.

He was irritated that the insolent fools dared to insult Lady Montague’s future adopted daughter, that Edmund Beaufort said nothing to defend her, and that Theresius Wilford had the audacity to treat Grace like an item to claim. That’s all it was.

“It’s not worry…”

“E-even if it’s not, thank you anyway. Y-you got angry on my behalf.”

Grace had an irritating habit of cutting him off mid-sentence. Richard tried to explain that it wasn’t worry but his noble obligation to point out what was proper. He failed.

Anger? Was I angry?

No, it wasn’t anger. It was merely the proper admonishment. The idea of Richard Spencer getting angry because of Grace Gurton was absurd.

“Actually, I wasn’t…”

“E-even if you weren’t angry, it doesn’t matter. Th-that’s just how I feel.”

Until now, no one in Richard Spencer’s life had ever dared to interrupt him so bluntly, not even his parents, the Earl and Countess, or Queen Anne herself. Only Grace had done so.

Yet, why did it feel so strangely disarming to have his words cut off? He should scold her immediately and give a lecture about noble conduct.

“Let’s go.”

For now, it was better to shut things down. Richard, a master of avoidance and dismissal, declared the conversation over. Taking Grace Gurton’s wrist, he spoke urgently.

“W-where to?”

“Anywhere.”

Anywhere but the Pump Room, where that fox Theresius Wilford lurked.