Grace in Wonderland - Chapter 68

68. The Direction of Inequality

“Richard, this is inappropriate.”

Lady Mary Montague appeared flustered as she faced her nephew, Richard Spencer, who had knocked on the mansion’s door unannounced. In her memory, Richard had never acted so recklessly before.

“I need to speak with you, Aunt.”

Richard Spencer’s visits always came with clear reasons and prior notice. Unless he was urgently summoned, the Young Earl of Spencer maintained proper decorum at all times.

“I don’t know what this is about, Richard, but let’s talk in ten minutes.”

“This is an urgent matter.”

“So is mine. Theresius Wilford is here to present Grace with a ring.”

“…What?”

Peeking into the drawing room, Lady Montague’s face flushed a natural shade of red. At this moment, even Turkan cosmetics were unnecessary.

“It seems Wilford cares deeply for Grace. I never expected him to do something so thoughtful the day before their engagement,” she said with a proud smile.

She continued, “They say it’s always the mothers and sisters standing outside the drawing room who feel more nervous than the ones actually proposing. I’m tempted to crack the door open and listen, but that’d be too undignified, so I’ve refrained. Still…”

“Aunt.”

Richard interrupted Lady Montague, causing her to be surprised for the second time. Interrupting someone was unlike Richard Spencer and was the height of discourtesy.

“This engagement must be called off.”

“What?”

“No, it must be called off. You need to go inside right now and stop the proposal—”

“Richard.”

Interrupting others wasn’t something Mary Montague would typically do either, but this time she did. The situation was far too absurd.

Could this be what she had feared in Bath?

Grace had said she liked Richard. To Mary, it seemed less like love and more like admiration, but nonetheless, the girl liked him.

And Richard?

If she hadn’t overheard their conversation in the garden, she wouldn’t have worried at all. But at that moment, Mary Montague had clearly sensed it.

The way Richard Spencer treated Grace Gurton was entirely different from how he had treated Eleanor d’Estrée. He seemed more comfortable, even relaxed.

Lady Montague believed that love was essential in marriage, but in this case, she made an exception. She didn’t want Grace to repeat Annabel’s mistakes.

It was because of Elaine Spencer, Richard’s mother and the Countess. That woman would never accept Grace as family. Worse, she would torment her maliciously and spread vile rumors in high society without hesitation.

Would Richard be able to handle such a situation?

She doubted it. The Richard Spencer she knew was someone who avoided, ignored, and severed connections. He didn’t seem like the type who could shield Grace from sharp gazes and heal her wounds.

Furthermore, Richard Spencer needed a strong ally—a woman from a powerful family who could withstand the Countess’s schemes. For that reason, Lady Montague had decided to arrange a marriage for Richard with the Young Lady of Devonshire as quickly as possible. Though Harmonia Cavendish was still young, securing an engagement and waiting until she came of age for marriage would ensure peace of mind, even after death. Mary Montague thought so and let out a bitter smile.

Ironically, the standards she applied to others, and even to herself, she didn’t apply to Grace or Richard. She thought this might be a kind of maternal instinct. She was willing to trade her beliefs for the futures of her “daughter” and “son.”

Thankfully, Richard hadn’t yet realized his feelings. That was truly fortunate. So she had deftly obscured them before he could figure it out, provoking Richard’s pride to make him vehemently deny them.

“Showing up out of nowhere and saying this is utterly inappropriate.”

Surely, his feelings hadn’t changed since then? Placing a hand on her irregularly pounding chest, Mary Montague sternly questioned him.

“I’ll explain later.”

Richard strode past Lady Montague and marched forward. Too shocked to move for a moment, she trembled once before quickly chasing after him.

The hallway connecting the entrance to the drawing room was short. Richard Spencer reached the door to where Theresius and Grace were within just a few steps.

As he stood before the door, he finally understood the meaning of all his past actions, what he was doing now, and what he was about to do.

It had all been excuses. Justifications. Avoidance and evasion. Severance.

It wasn’t because he disliked her that he could recall Grace Gurton’s appearance in such detail. It wasn’t because he was worried about Lady Mary Montague that he lingered near Grace and watched over her. It wasn’t simply a whim that he gave her the title of “friend.” It wasn’t out of a desire to inspect the plight of the poor that he had followed her.

He had felt affection, concern, anger, pity, shame, relief, and regret for her. And because of that, he had looked at her and paid attention to her.

The final stage of the five phases of emotional change: acceptance.

I like Grace Gurton.

I like Grace Gurton.

I like Grace Gurton.

The realization struck him in an instant, but the resonance lingered. Even when the awareness that Grace Gurton liked him struck like a flash of light, the truth reverberated in his mind like an echo—again and again, vast, uneven, and encompassing.

The hand Richard Spencer placed on the doorknob tightened. His repeated dry swallows scratched the back of his throat.

Beyond this door lay a completely different world. Once he confirmed what was on the other side, there would be no turning back.

Richard closed his eyes tightly, then opened them again. For some reason, he felt strength leaving his fingers.

“Hide your feelings of affection.”

“Don’t reveal your desires.”

“The desire to be loved can sometimes be a flaw.”

A resolution disguised as advice, a determination dressed up as counsel. A resolve endlessly repeated like self-imposed indoctrination since that day of tearful weeping in the Lake District.

He had never considered searching for the chest buried beneath the far-off end of the rainbow. He had believed that chasing something that might not exist, that might contain who-knows-what even if it did exist, was a fool’s errand.

Yet Richard Spencer had already packed his bag, taken the first steps, and was now advancing toward the elusive end of the rainbow. Though his mind denied it, his legs kept moving forward.

He had spent years turning his head away, pounding his fists against walls, and wrapping himself in a shell. He had lived countless days locked behind closed doors, looking inward and surviving in solitude.

But perhaps the boy on the other side of the door had been waiting for someone’s knock. Perhaps, even though he had shut the door, he hadn’t quite locked it.

Perhaps he had been waiting for a girl who could gently open that unlocked door, enter, and trace her fingers over the scars carved on the other side.

I want to like. I want to want. I want to be loved.

It was a yearning he had not felt in over a decade. The mustard seed dropped by the woman who had opened the door and entered had grown quickly. Even though it hadn’t been exposed to sunlight, even though it hadn’t been watered, the tiny, dust-like seed had grown tall on its own.

He could still cut it down without hesitation. The opportunity was still there. He could turn back to Lady Mary Montague, explain everything, and leave the decision to her. As always, he could claim to be acting as a dutiful nephew and offer simple assistance, ending it there.

Richard Spencer had always completed the inequality that defined his life—as a nobleman, as the Young Earl, as someone bound by certain rules, clear plans, and perfect manners. The inequality’s sign had always pointed toward duty and responsibility.

But he no longer wanted it.

He wanted to let his gaze follow where it was drawn. He wanted to let his attention flow where it led. He wanted, finally, to see what lay at the end of the rainbow.

The intense but brief deliberation that would alter the course of the Young Earl’s life concluded. His hesitant fingers gripped the door firmly. And he opened it, pushing his body into an entirely different world.

The sign of inequality that had remained unmoving for so long spun wildly, like a compass needle. And in this entirely new dimension, the compass finally pointed to a direction it had never indicated before.

There, in a world tinged with the colors of a reddish dawn and dusky purple evening clouds, was Grace Gurton. Her eyes, adorable and lovely, reflected the spectrum of a rainbow’s beginning and end—the very place he had longed to find.