Grace in Wonderland - Chapter 48

48. Pyramus and Thisbe

“I want to marry you.”

“But you are my brother’s betrothed.”

In A Midsummer Night’s Dream, the play-within-a-play tells the story of Pyramus and Thisbe, Babylonian lovers. Their tale serves as the prototype for Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, representing an iconic example of impossible love.

Lancelot Spencer and Eleanor d’Estrée were likewise an impossible pair. This was because Eleanor was set to be engaged to Lancelot’s elder brother.

Being on the brink of engagement meant that the engagement hadn’t yet occurred. Thus, if the engagement didn’t happen, there was a sliver of hope for their love.

The problem lay in the substantial investments of money, time, and effort that both families had poured into Richard and Eleanor’s marriage over the past twenty years. The benefits that each stood to gain from this union were equivalent to Lydon’s annual budget—a staggering amount.

But Eleanor’s trials didn’t end there. If that were the only obstacle, she might have been able to persuade her father. While the anticipated benefits would be reduced, the fact that Lancelot was also a Spencer meant the losses wouldn’t be catastrophic.

The most unexpected and significant hurdle, however, was Lancelot himself. While he was the very embodiment of Eleanor’s love, he was also the greatest impediment to it. The reason was his lack of courage equal to hers.

“Didn’t you know I was Richard’s betrothed?”

“……”

“You did know.”

“…I’m sorry.”

Lancelot had lived his life wrapped in the protective skirts of the Countess. Unlike Richard, who had left home and faced the world, Lancelot stayed sheltered in his mother’s embrace, enjoying her affection.

While Richard faced severe scoldings for even minor mistakes, Lancelot was generously forgiven for any wrongdoing, often receiving concerned reassurances instead.

Long-lasting peace weakens a person. Blind forgiveness breeds irresponsibility.

Thus, Lancelot Spencer became weak and irresponsible. Though he loved Eleanor, he lacked the will to shoulder the responsibility of that love. Even as he sent letters to Eleanor and tapped on her wall to stir her heart, he regretted his actions without having the strength to take accountability.

He was like a great plant drinking in the downpour of Eleanor’s love each day. The soil in which Lancelot’s roots grew was rich with nutrients, and no pests ever threatened him.

But if Lancelot were to pursue his love for Eleanor, he would face hailstones the size of fists daily instead of gentle rain. The fertile soil would vanish, replaced by relentless pests eager to destroy him.

“Do you think we can be together, Eleanor?”

The frightened Lancelot asked, self-mockingly. From his question, Eleanor discerned his implied answer: Don’t you think it’s impossible? Her exposure to Ingrint’s rhetorical nuances through her teatime conversations with the Countess had prepared her for this.

That was the end of their conversation. For the first time, Eleanor d’Estrée didn’t kiss the wall.

“Let’s go to the ball at the Assembly Room. Together.”

Her suggestion to Richard Spencer stemmed from a primal instinct. She had no choice but to endure a teatime session with the Spencer twins due to the Countess’s persistence, during which her engagement and wedding schedule with Richard were discussed.

Seeing Lancelot’s discomfort at the mention of the engagement gave Eleanor a small sense of satisfaction. And when she rose to leave the drawing room with Richard and caught sight of Lancelot’s expression, it was truly priceless.

Eleanor d’Estrée might have lacked practical experience, but she was well-versed in the theory of love. Observing the romantic lives of her three younger sisters had significantly contributed to her understanding.

A Gallian guide to romance she had recently read stated that the surest way to determine one’s feelings for someone was to observe their reaction when the person they cared about met someone else. Eleanor decided to apply this to Lancelot.

“…Wouldn’t it be better to attend with Lancelot? Or perhaps ask Freya?”

“Aren’t you my fiancé?”

“……”

Richard Spencer was rarely caught off guard, but this time, he was.

The lack of aversion Richard felt toward his engagement and marriage to Eleanor stemmed from her seeming lack of expectations. However, Eleanor asserting her claim on him as her fiancé was entirely unfamiliar.

Moreover, a ball at the Assembly Room? He would have preferred a brief visit to the Pump Room or even a drive to the countryside. While he wasn’t keen on either, he would have agreed without hesitation.

He loathed the Assembly Room, where the fluttering wings of mating moths disturbed his peace. The only reason he had resolved to escort Grace was that cursed thing called friendship and loyalty. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have gone within an inch of the place.

Ah, and Grace Gurton.

Upon arriving there, Grace Gurton and Theresius Wilford would be present. Just the thought of seeing Grace fall for Theresius Wilford’s duplicitous charm sent a pang through his chest—another product of that cursed friendship and loyalty.

As Lady Mary Montague’s “adopted daughter” and his “friend,” Grace deserved to be happy. If she were to be taken advantage of by someone like Theresius Wilford, her remaining life would be filled with misery painted in blood-red hues.

As her “friend” and “legal cousin,” watching such a fate unfold would be as unsettling as a perpetually overcast sky. Guilt toward Lady Mary Montague would weigh heavily on his conscience, too.

Wouldn’t it be better to personally attend and keep an eye on Theresius Wilford’s antics? Performing unseen good deeds was, after all, a duty befitting a devout follower of the Ingrint Church.

Meanwhile, Eleanor d’Estrée, who was bound by practical considerations to marry Richard Spencer, stood with her usual stoic expression, waiting for his response.

Richard slowly nodded. “If that is your wish, my lady.”

Only then did Eleanor’s lips, painted bright red, relax in satisfaction. Raising her right arm in a grand gesture, she extended her hand toward Richard’s chest.

“I will be counting on you.”

Richard briefly held her fingertips for half a second before releasing them. It was as smooth and natural as a rehearsed poker game.

Life, they say, is a comedy from afar and a tragedy up close. This sentiment fit the situation perfectly.

Through the drawing room window, Lancelot watched Richard and Eleanor. To him, they appeared to be a cheerful and loving couple, the protagonists of a comedy embarking on a new chapter after resolving their conflicts.

But standing nearby, Sebastian found it all dreadfully dull. A pair of individuals who didn’t care for each other exchanged reluctant promises and performed exaggerated gestures to reach a forced agreement. It was tragically farcical.

Spectators, whether distant or near, each had their interpretations, but their conclusion was the same. A comedy that didn’t entertain and a tragedy that didn’t move were equally worthless.

***

Mary Montague had spared no effort to make Grace the most beautiful lady at the Assembly Room that evening. She had paid the seamstress extra to quickly finish Grace’s pale green dress. As she gazed at Grace in her completed outfit, Mary’s eyes welled up with tears.

“You look so much like Annabel.”

Grace’s petite frame, round face, large gentle eyes, and curly brown hair all came from her mother. The only feature left by her father, Lewis Gurton, was her lavender-colored eyes.

“…Reverend Gurton would be proud if he could see you, too.”

Grace inherited Annabel Lovelace’s hazel eye color in one eye and Lewis Gurton’s lavender eye color in the other. While some people felt uneasy about her mismatched eyes, Grace liked them. They were her sole physical proof of her paternal lineage as a posthumous child.

“You look absolutely stunning tonight, Miss Gurton.”

Theresius Wilford, standing at the front door, exclaimed in admiration as he approached. Grace, flustered by the man’s swift and direct manner, hesitated, unsure of what to do. Yet she couldn’t step back, mindful of Lady Mary Montague’s watchful presence beside her.

“Th-Thank you.”

Lady Montague glanced between Theresius and Grace, her expression growing increasingly emotional.

“You two look absolutely perfect together.”

Grace, unsure how to respond, stood still. Theresius, on the other hand, grinned widely and replied cheerfully.

“I’ll make sure to escort the young lady properly so you can feel at ease, Madam.”

His confident and reassuring words made Lady Montague nod with a radiant smile.

Some lives, seen from afar, appear tragic but reveal themselves as comedic up close.

Mary Montague and Theresius Wilford’s nearby comedy was a poignant tragedy to Richard Spencer, observing them from the second floor. To him, Mary Montague and Grace Gurton, oblivious to Theresius’ schemes, were victims of a distant tragedy.

At that moment, a participant in the near tragedy, Eleanor d’Estrée, made her entrance. Her counterpart, Richard Spencer, led her onto the stage. And their actions, in turn, became part of the comedy for Lancelot Spencer, watching from afar.