Grace in Wonderland - Chapter 52

52. Lancelot’s Portrait

In recent days, the atmosphere at the Spencer villa in Bath was far too complex to define in a single word.

After the incident, Richard Spencer gave a brief explanation of the grave matter to the immediate family, the Countess of Spencer, and Freya. It was an initial sorting process to unravel a convoluted formula.

Freya Spencer was shocked to learn that Eleanor d’Estrée, whom she respected, and Richard Spencer, whom she followed, had both been betrayed. She spewed venomous remarks but fell silent after a short tea time with Richard.

Richard had always been a kind brother, ever lenient with Freya. However, this time was different.

He showed no trace of personal feelings. Making it clear that it was not an “engagement” but a “contract” that had been broken, he warned her that unnecessary interference could harm the Spencer family’s interests.

The same applied to his mother. When Richard revealed the truth, the Countess of Spencer repeatedly exclaimed disbelief before suddenly growing hostile. “Did you fabricate this to frame Lancelot?” she accused, to which Richard replied:

“Would you like to see me formally object to the family and request Lancelot Spencer’s expulsion as Eleanor d’Estrée’s betrothed?”

Hearing this, the Countess rolled her eyes back and fainted. When she regained consciousness, she knocked on Lancelot’s door, hoping to hear an explanation from her beloved son. However, Lancelot did not open the door. Richard had already collected the villa’s keys in advance.

There was no contact between Richard Spencer and either Lancelot or Eleanor. Perhaps out of guilt or another emotion, they avoided meeting Richard, who likewise had no desire to see them.

Although he did not love Eleanor d’Estrée, she had still been his fiancée. The fact that her romantic involvement was with his twin brother made the situation incomprehensibly absurd.

Meanwhile, the person even more baffled by his reaction was Sebastian.

“So you’re not sad or angry, but just… stunned?”

“Why would I be sad or angry?”

“Well, it’s… not something one can easily put into words. Your fiancée and your brother…”

“That much is true.”

“Yet, you’re neither sad nor angry?”

“More than anything else…”

“Ah, so you feel betrayed? Maybe jealous?”

“It’s annoying.”

“Pardon?”

“Because of those two, I’ll be stuck working tirelessly as soon as I graduate.”

“……”

“Why?”

“I just realized there are times when being selfish might be advantageous. Living for yourself doesn’t seem so bad.”

Perhaps Sebastian was right. It was certainly infuriating. But somehow, Richard was not particularly angry.

Even when he witnessed Lancelot and Eleanor’s secret meeting in the Assembly Room garden, he had felt… oddly relieved rather than seething with rage.

Though he disapproved of their love, he found himself inexplicably rooting for them. He even fleetingly thought they might succeed…

It was truly strange. But Richard Spencer stopped himself there, sensing that delving deeper into the labyrinth would leave him lost without an exit.

Avoidance, evasion, and severance—these were Richard’s specialties, and he employed them once again with great effect.

At any rate, Richard Spencer needed to minimize the losses caused by the broken contract by ensuring Lancelot and Eleanor were wed. The problem was that Lancelot was paralyzed with fear, and Eleanor was disheartened.

Watching Eleanor pack her belongings over several days instead of finishing in one, it was clear she was not entirely without lingering attachments. What could he do about it? As Richard rubbed his throbbing left temple in thought, Sebastian offered a suggestion.

“Ask a friend for help, Young Master.”

“A friend?”

“Miss Grace Gurton. She was present at the scene, was she not?”

It was a rare but decent idea from Sebastian. Richard grinned and crossed his arms.

“I was just considering that, Sebastian.”

“…Were you now.”

Thus, Richard made a simple request of Grace Gurton, the sort one might ask of a friend. A trivial favor to help Eleanor d’Estrée regain her resolve.

“Grace, could I ask a favor as a friend?”

“A f-favor? A-as a friend?”

“Lady d’Estrée doesn’t want to meet me. That’s perfectly understandable.”

“S-so…?”

“I would like you to meet her in my place and persuade her to postpone her departure until Lancelot gets his act together.”

“D-do you think I’m capable of that?”

“The exact details are known only to the five of us present. Of those, three, myself included, cannot face her. Asking Edmund Beaufort would be absurd. That leaves you, Grace. You’re the perfect choice.”

“……”

“Don’t feel too burdened. Even if things don’t work out, it won’t be your fault.”

“B-but…”

“In return, if you help me, I’ll stake the honor of the Young Earl of Spencer on granting you one request.”

The swing soared into the sky. Grace Gurton could not resist the push from Richard Spencer, as always.

***

“I must have shown such a shameful side of myself.”

Eleanor d’Estrée spoke as if she had given up entirely. She had even abandoned her beloved makeup, yet her face was as pale as if coated with plaster dust.

Grace Gurton visited Eleanor d’Estrée’s room multiple times a day. It was to follow Richard’s strict orders.

There was no need to ask to know that Eleanor was waiting for Lancelot. Her room was adjacent to Lancelot’s, and at the slightest sound outside, Eleanor would tense up and heighten her senses.

“Th-that’s not true.”

Grace awkwardly tried to comfort her. When she had been led out of the Assembly Room by Edmund Beaufort and overheard Eleanor and Lancelot’s secret conversation, she couldn’t laugh it off as easily as Edmund had.

It was because their situation reminded her of her own parents. The desperate love and harsh reality mirrored what Annabel Lovelace and Lewis Gurton had experienced.

Every door has a back side. Those outside can only see the front, but they cannot know what the back looks like.

Not every affair in the world can be rationalized this way. However, at least Eleanor’s feelings were something Grace could understand.

“Richard has never loved me, not even once.”

“……”

“Even in the past, I wanted to be close to him.”

“……”

“So, I painted my portraits beautifully.”

Eleanor d’Estrée had wanted to be a good wife to Richard Spencer. It was a common dream for a girl in her early teens.

However, after years of staring at Richard’s portraits sent from Ingrint, she realized they could never share the same dreams. Richard Spencer’s indifference pierced through the paintings and stabbed Eleanor’s heart relentlessly.

As a result, she became neglectful of painting her own portraits. That year, she sent back a portrait as devoid of emotion as her fiancé’s. It was during that time that Lancelot’s letter arrived.

Later, he confessed that he had immediately noticed the change in the painting. The resignation conveyed by that one portrait had troubled him so much that he eventually asked how she was doing.

Lancelot Spencer was highly sensitive to others’ emotions. Perhaps it was due to the many years he spent trying to appease the capricious Countess. Desperate for affection, he had honed all his senses to survive.

Such a person was impossible not to love. Unlike her indifferent fiancé, Lancelot always paid attention to Eleanor’s feelings and carefully catered to her preferences.

“Even when I visited Ingrint, Richard didn’t pay attention to me.”

Whenever Grace occasionally joined their gatherings, Richard rarely participated in conversations. However, he did not disengage entirely. He merely stayed in his seat at a level that wouldn’t offend others.

Naturally, Eleanor’s conversational partner became Lancelot. Before long, the two were entirely focused on each other.

Grace, uncertain about the subtle tension between them, decided to feign ignorance. And Richard simply didn’t notice. He had no interest in such matters.

“Lancelot loved me, but not that much.”

“Th-that’s not true.”

Grace shook her head.

When Lewis Gurton had tried to persuade Annabel to leave with him, Annabel had hesitated, causing him much anguish. The circumstances were such that she couldn’t make up her mind easily.

Annabel often looked back and regretted that time. She said that if she had selfishly turned a blind eye, she would have cherished even the few months she could have spent with her husband, who died early.

In truth, no one can say what is truly right. For the country girl who paid a hefty dowry to become Lewis Gurton’s wife, it was undoubtedly an unfair and bitter ordeal. For both Lewis Gurton and Annabel Lovelace, who entered into a bigamous marriage unknowingly, it was the same.

Not all events in life are governed by clear cause and effect. The lines between good and evil are blurred. Life does not always align with the biblical verses promising rewards for good deeds and punishments for bad ones. The criteria for what is good or bad are equally ambiguous.

Therefore, Grace decided not to judge her parents or Lancelot and Eleanor. No one can truly know the circumstances behind closed doors.

“W-what is this?”

Scattered on the floor were items the maids hadn’t packed into Eleanor’s luggage. Picking up one of the noticeable objects, Grace changed the subject.

“That is…”

Eleanor hesitated. In Grace’s hands was a portrait of Richard Spencer.

“It’s nothing,” Eleanor said.

Grace carefully examined the face in the portrait. It depicted a much younger Richard standing with his chin raised and hands clasped behind his back. Without realizing it, a faint smile formed on her lips.

“Th-that’s Lancelot Spencer,” Eleanor corrected.

When Eleanor d’Estrée was as young as Richard in the portrait, she had painted the eyes in the portrait with amber-colored paint. It was a childish prank she had only done once. She had kept it hidden from others and secretly enjoyed looking at it.

Grace awkwardly returned the crudely painted portrait to Eleanor, who clasped her hands behind her back and refused to take it.

“I was going to burn it.”

If it were winter, she would have thrown it into the fireplace. But since it was summer, she couldn’t ask anyone to light a fire. That was why it remained among her belongings, she explained.

“C-could I take this?”

“Miss Gurton? Why?”

Eleanor frowned in confusion.

“I-I’ll take care of it. Secretly, so the maids won’t notice.”

“Would you really?”

“Y-yes.”

And so, Grace took Lancelot’s portrait. As Eleanor parted with the painting, her gaze was filled with indescribable sorrow.