Grace in Wonderland - Chapter 55

55. Rejection

“How did you persuade Lancelot?”

Richard asked bluntly. He was curious about how Grace had managed to pull Lancelot Spencer, who had likely been holed up in his room crying, out and onto a horse.

What Richard had asked of Grace was to help delay Eleanor d’Estrée’s departure. He hadn’t even expected the cowardly Lancelot to change his mind so quickly.

But Grace had moved Lancelot instead of Eleanor. It was a completely unexpected victory.

“I-I didn’t do much at all.”

Grace herself was still bewildered by Lancelot’s gratitude. She had visited Eleanor d’Estrée’s room several times at Richard’s request, but she had been unable to change Eleanor’s mind.

However, she had been bothered by the portrait Eleanor had. Some objects seemed to absorb fragments of the soul. That painting was a piece of Eleanor d’Estrée’s essence.

So Grace took it to Lancelot. She also spoke softly about responsibility, blending regret with gentle reproach.

She did not criticize him directly. After all, who knew what unseen burdens Lancelot might carry?

Grace imagined the lovers arriving somewhere far from Bath, perhaps to a place with mulberry trees. The Lion King remained here without pursuing them. So, they would likely arrive safely in Lydon, Gallia, or wherever their destination might be.

“As promised, I must thank a friend who has accomplished a great deed. If there’s something you want or want to try, let me know. It’s only right to repay a debt.”

“Th-there’s nothing.”

“Come now, don’t be like that. I genuinely want to do this for you. Tell me openly whatever it may be.”

“A-anything?”

“Yes, anything.”

Richard stood in front of Grace with a soft smile. Grace, who had been looking at a bed of violets that had wilted and lost their petals in the heat, responded quietly but firmly.

“P-please don’t treat me as a friend.”

“……”

Had he misheard because of the crows cawing and flying away? That must be it.

Richard Spencer froze stiff, like the statue of the Spencer family’s founder in the middle of the garden. It felt as if bird droppings had suddenly landed on his smiling face.

“What do you mean by that all of a sudden?”

“I-I appreciate your offer to be friends. B-but…”

“But?”

“It’s too overwhelming.”

…Of course, it would be overwhelming. It wasn’t incomprehensible. Sharing a friendship that transcended mere acquaintance with the heir to the Spencer family was no ordinary feat. Even Graham Harold hadn’t achieved such a milestone.

“What about it is overwhelming?”

But what had he done? He hadn’t built her a house under the pretense of friendship or given her land.

Of course, if Grace Gurton earnestly asked for it, he could do such things—because they were “friends.” But so far, nothing had even happened!

“M-my feelings make it overwhelming.”

“Your feelings?”

Ah, he had overlooked that. Grace Gurton was suffering from a severe fever of unrequited love. And the target of that unrequited love was none other than her “friend,” Richard Spencer.

Until now, since Richard Spencer had been engaged to Eleanor d’Estrée, she had managed to keep her feelings in check. But with Eleanor gone and Richard now a free man, he was poised to become the top bachelor of the social world.

So, of course, she would feel upset. Suddenly, it must seem as though her friend was soaring out of reach. Along with that, jealousy must be growing.

Ah, what a sinful soul I have.

Why does Grace Gurton like me? What part of me does she like? My face and body? My intelligence? My status? Or perhaps my wealth? Maybe even my personality?

“…Because you like me?”

Let it be emphasized once more: Richard Spencer was not the type of person who made foolish remarks in public. As a highly refined noble, he almost never let such absurd comments slip. But this time, it had happened unintentionally—like a stray bullet of thought escaping his mind.

Unbelievable.

“That… I didn’t mean to offend…”

“I-it’s okay.”

“When I asked if you liked me…”

“Y-yes, I do.”

Once again, his words seemed to unravel completely. Yet, as before, he wasn’t angry. He didn’t feel compelled to speak about “what a noble should do” either.

Wait a moment.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I-I like you.”

Grace Gurton, with her wide eyes fixed on him, “confessed.” Richard swallowed audibly, shamelessly.

What should he do now? Did she mean she wanted to marry him? Now that Eleanor was gone, and Richard Spencer was officially a bachelor?

Even if Grace were adopted into the Montague family, the gap in status between her and the Spencer family was too vast to propose such a marriage. What if the loud-mouthed old men of the Spencer family raised a ruckus?

Was there a precedent for someone relinquishing a title for love? Besides, Richard had never been particularly attached to the Spencer earldom.

If he passed it to Lancelot, then Eleanor’s father, the Duke of Charlotte, would likely agree. After all, the Duke wanted the future Earl of Spencer, not specifically Richard Spencer.

Then he could take this small woman and move to Woodstock, settle at Blenheim Palace, and live modestly off his existing wealth. It might not be extravagant, but there was enough for three generations to live comfortably.

Or would that life be too humble and cramped?

Anyway, I’m a sinful soul incapable of giving a woman those ticklish feelings of love. Still, living with the warmth of something like friendship isn’t the worst thing.

This wasn’t an easy decision to make. But Grace Gurton seemed to want it so desperately…

But why does Grace Gurton confess so boldly? When I think back to the confessions I’ve received before, the women were always shy, lowering their eyes or gazing off into the distance.

This woman, with her round, bell-like eyes fixed on the person she likes, meeting their gaze directly, exudes such strength and spirit that it deserves applause. If someone saw this, they’d mistake it for a breakup, but this is definitely a confession.

“Grace, I…”

“And, I want to stop liking you now.”

Huh?

When Richard Spencer first met “Sono” at the pasture in Burwood, the horse had blinked its dewy, jewel-like eyes and nuzzled its head against Richard’s chest, acting endearing. The horse was so gentle and obedient that Richard had jumped onto its back without a saddle, thinking it would take him to the ends of the earth.

The result was disastrous. The moment Richard climbed onto its back, the horse went wild, and he nearly died from being thrown off. If it hadn’t been for Richard’s exceptional riding skills, he might have been tossed onto the dirt and bled.

That’s exactly how he feels now. What kind of law allows someone to snuggle into your arms and then sucker-punch you in the chest? Is this a custom from Gallia?

“W-well, I know someone like me liking the Young Earl isn’t all that significant.”

“……”

“I-it wasn’t uncomfortable when I liked you on my own, but as we grew closer, it felt like wearing clothes that didn’t fit.”

That’s possible, entirely possible. It can be uncomfortable. Such is the nature of class differences.

“S-so please don’t be kind to me anymore.”

Wait, but why does this have to be the conclusion?

“F-for someone like me to dare to be friends with the Young Earl of Spencer, it’s… it’s unthinkable.”

What about me, who even briefly considered living humbly at Blenheim Palace with limited funds based on this friendship?

“…I see.”

But this was all Richard Spencer could say out loud.

Only Edmund Beaufort, across all of Ingrint, would know what to say to a woman who first confessed her love and then declared she no longer would. And only Edmund Beaufort could coax such a woman into taking back her words.

Unfortunately, Richard Spencer was not Edmund Beaufort. The day had come when he would compare himself to Edmund Beaufort.

“It’s regrettable that my kindness became a burden to you,” Richard added.

Why am I dragging this out, saying more? I could just say “I see” and turn on my heels.

This feels too strange. Grace Gurton confessed, and then she took it back. It was her overwhelming, uncontrollable love that made even friendship impossible. She cried out such a pitiful lament, and yet…

Why, why does it feel like I’m the one who confessed and got rejected? Is it because we can’t even remain friends anymore? Is it because it feels like bringing a single sheep home to make the hundredth, only to have it escape again?

“I-I’m sorry, Young Earl.”

Don’t apologize! That makes it feel like I’ve really been rejected.

Grace smiled. It was a serene smile, like that of an enlightened sage on the banks of the Indus. Richard was dumbfounded.

Why is she smiling? Isn’t she supposed to clutch her chest, shed tears, and turn away?

This feels like dealing with a rugby ball. No matter how many times you hold, throw, or kick it, there’s always a situation where you can’t predict where it’ll bounce.

“B-but I’ll always cheer for you from afar, Young Earl.”

Richard’s mind was spinning. So, you like me, but you don’t want to be friends. You won’t be friends, but you’ll cheer for me?

Come to think of it, Grace Gurton had said something similar the first time we met at the Montague mansion.

“I-I often went to watch rugby matches at Grentabridge… to see you, Young Earl.”

“T-the Young Earl was truly an object of admiration.”

“Yes. A-actually, I was one of them… I, I really admired you.”

So, Grace Gurton’s affection for Richard Spencer was purely admiration for a “rugby player”? Not for Richard Spencer the man?

Somewhere in Richard Spencer’s heart, a dagger struck deep. From the wound, a flood of shock and dismay gushed forth like the murky waters of Bath’s dingy hot springs.

“Th-thank you.”

The surge of those waters even caused his voice to falter. For Richard Spencer, a man refined in polished dignity, this was unheard of.

“Then it’s best if we only meet when absolutely necessary in the future.”

“Y-yes.”

Relief spread across Grace Gurton’s face. Her eyes, free of guilt, resembled a sky untouched by a single cloud. Like the light of dawn and dusk…

Damn it!

Richard concealed his indescribable turmoil and bid farewell to his former friend, Grace Gurton, who was no longer a friend. Then, with large strides, he left the garden.

Grace stood in place until he disappeared from sight. The lingering presence of Richard remained there, as if he hadn’t truly left.