Grace in Wonderland - Chapter 42

42. Narcissus and Echo

There is no such thing as friendship between a man and a woman. It’s an impossibility.

When people claim to be friends, it’s because one side, or sometimes both, is hiding their feelings of affection. Even if there are no feelings at the moment, they keep the possibility of a kiss open and insist on calling it friendship. Until just a few hours ago, this had been Richard Spencer’s philosophy.

But Richard was a progressive and forward-thinking individual who knew how to break such old-fashioned stereotypes. That’s why he made such a proposal to Grace Gurton.

Of course, this philosophy wouldn’t apply to men like Edmund Beaufort or Theresius Wilford. They were the type who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, be friends with women, bound by conservative and dull values.

Only those with flexible mindsets could think outside the box—like Richard Spencer himself.

“M-me, friends with the Young Earl?”

Grace Gurton asked innocently, her wide eyes sparkling. How fascinating, no… how adorable she was.

People in Grentabridge had whispered about him, calling him a narcissist as he gazed into the stream at Cherry Hinton. The reason Richard hadn’t been hurt by those comments was because he didn’t entirely disagree with them.

People judge based on one side of the door, the visible surface. And that was the side Richard presented to the world.

But Grace Gurton knew the hidden side of Janus. And she still liked him.

He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what he was feeling. The emotions running through Richard were hard to describe—a strange mix of relaxation and a sense of relief. Comfort, yes, that was the word. Perhaps even reassurance.

Few had seen Richard Spencer’s scar. Among those who had, not one had reacted indifferently. The Earl of Spencer had disapproved, the Countess had found it repulsive, Lady Mary Montague and Sebastian had been pained, and his younger siblings and Graham had been curious.

Had Richard been a commoner or not the heir to a noble family, things might have been different. When smallpox swept through Brighton, many survivors were simply grateful to be alive. A scar the size of a baby’s fist was considered a small price to pay.

But Richard was both a noble and an heir. That’s where the trouble began. As the family’s leader-to-be, his imperfect face was seen as a stain on the family’s dignity.

The fact that he was a twin further complicated matters. The existence of a twin undermined the uniqueness of the heir. Unlike Richard, Lancelot had emerged from the epidemic with his flawless face intact. Their mother, Elaine Spencer, strongly argued that Lancelot, born alongside Richard, could replace him.

Lady Mary Montague had been the one to stand by Richard’s side to the very end. Though she was a married-out relative, she had been the old Earl’s beloved niece. Like cutting away endlessly sprouting weeds, she eliminated the malicious attacks aimed at Richard and ultimately swayed both his father and older brother, the final decision-makers.

The small blemish near Richard’s eye carried an immense history, much like the craters on the moon hold their hidden stories. Thus, no one could remain indifferent when looking at one side of his face.

But Grace was different. When she had mentioned Janus, her face bore no emotion other than a slight blush. How extraordinary that experience had been for Richard—Grace would never know.

“Do you dislike the idea?” Richard asked. It was an offer that couldn’t be refused.

“N-no, I’m just a little surprised.”

Imagine a woman admiring an actor from afar. She follows him quietly, basking in joy, happiness, and contentment.

Then, one day, the actor suddenly appears before her and says he wants to be her friend. Would that really be a good thing?

One-sided feelings are comfortable. Mutual emotions, though she had yet to experience them fully, wouldn’t be as simple. Two-way relationships come with responsibilities and consequences.

It’s easy when you’re ready to give up. But once expectations form, joy, happiness, and contentment can transform into sorrow, pain, and despair.

Grace Gurton was already beginning to change. She had started to look forward to those “accidental” encounters with Richard Spencer in the garden.

“If you don’t dislike the idea, give it a try,” Richard urged, unaware of Grace’s conflicted feelings. He was in a slightly agitated state himself.

To confess, Richard had no one he truly considered a friend. While his relationship with Graham Harold came closest to the dictionary definition of friendship, Richard hated the parts of his past Graham knew about.

Even after hearing countless cold assessments from Sebastian about how Richard Spencer seemed to live in his own world, Richard remained unmoved. To become close friends with someone, one must reveal their hand and look at the other’s cards, like a barter exchange.

Richard didn’t mind observing, but he detested revealing his own cards. Showing them would invite questions, and those questions would inevitably expose his flaws.

In that sense, Grace Gurton was the perfect candidate for “friendship.” She didn’t know the past Richard wished to hide but understood the shadows of his present, all while showing affection toward him. She was the first person to fit Richard’s unique situation and preferences so perfectly.

She was sharp enough to notice that Richard had a hidden side but calm enough that this realization didn’t negatively affect her view of him. Meeting someone so perfectly tailored to his circumstances was a revelation—like discovering a brave new world.

That’s why he made the impulsive suggestion. Of course, he had no intention of revealing every fine detail engraved into the shadows she had glimpsed.

“Hmm?”

Richard prompted again, pressing for her response.

“I-if you’re okay with it…”

Grace hesitantly replied.

Truthfully, it wasn’t a proposal she wanted to accept. Her reluctant response felt like a sigh growing into a beanstalk and swaying all the way to the heavens.

When it came to Richard Spencer, Grace Gurton would always be like this. Since receiving Lady Montague’s letter and coming to Lydon, it had always been this way.

When she agreed to Lady Montague’s request to become an adopted daughter, was it truly unaffected by Richard Spencer? No, that wasn’t the case.

It was true that Lady Montague’s words about getting closer to Richard had swayed her. She had tried to shake her head, recalling the tranquility of Grentabridge, but her heart had already softened.

Additionally, Grace had felt burdened by the guilt of lying to Richard about Lady Montague’s health. Feeling responsible for caring for Lady Montague in her stead only deepened her sense of obligation.

She told herself she had weighed a comfortable life against an adventure, but ultimately, she had been swept into the adventure regardless of her preference. And now, thanks to Richard Spencer’s persistent urging, Grace found herself reluctantly agreeing to this absurd “friendship.”

The Cheshire Cat appeared like the wind, kindly conversed with Grace, and then disappeared just as swiftly. His comings and goings were as unpredictable as the whims of the wind. Grace had to meet and part with him on his terms.

In unrequited love, such traits posed no problem. But in a reciprocal relationship where bonds were “shared,” they could easily tire the other person out.

“I-I’ll do it.”

After all, those teetering on the high end of the seesaw have no choice.

And Richard Spencer had already anticipated her eventual acceptance. No matter what his Janus hidden side revealed, the self-serving narcissist he had long sculpted on the front side of the door remained firmly intact.

***

In mythology, Narcissus loves only himself. And Echo loves Narcissus, who loves only himself.

In reality, Richard Spencer also loves only himself. And Grace Gurton loves such a man.

Narcissus cannot love others. It’s not that he doesn’t; he simply cannot. He’s cursed by the gods.

The same was true of Richard Spencer. A child who isn’t loved when they should be doesn’t know how to give love as an adult.

Emotions, too, are products of adaptation. Richard adapted to a state of being unloved, and thus, it became natural for him not to give love in return.

Echo cannot love herself. It’s not that she doesn’t; she simply cannot. She, too, is cursed by the gods.

The same was true of Grace Gurton. Both in speech and in background, she lacked the qualities that made her easily lovable by many. For Grace, loving herself was a constant challenge.

Yet she persevered and reached a point where she could live with a degree of happiness. But that happiness wasn’t born from self-love. It stemmed from her love for the natural beauty of Grentabridge, her love for mathematics, and her love for Richard Spencer.

“Miss Gurton, shall we be friends?”

“M-me, friends with the Young Earl?”

“If you don’t dislike the idea, give it a try.”

“I-I’ll do it.”

Echo repeats the words of others. And Grace Gurton, too, ultimately followed the words of others—Lady Montague’s proposal, Theresius Wilford’s request, and finally, Richard Spencer’s demand.

Most people sympathize with Echo and point fingers at Narcissus. But in some respects, Narcissus is a victim, too. He’s a man living within a calamity.

Thus, both figures are tragic beings. Richard and Grace alike.