Grace in Wonderland - Chapter 70

70. The Shortcut

“You’ve spread your seeds in quite a few places, Wilford.”

“It seems you’ve left traces of yourself all over, Wilford.”

Theresius sharply raised his head at Richard’s words.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, was it really necessary to go that far? You’re not a gigolo, after all.”

The shopkeeper Sebastian had bribed turned out to be gregarious and loose-lipped. She had delivered four of the most expensive hats in her shop, wrapped in lavish ribbons and topped with jeweled brooches, to the Seymour estate. Within less than an hour, she had completely won over Young Lady Eugenia Seymour.

Through soft words and gentle persuasion, the shopkeeper extracted the story from the young lady, spinning it into a fine tapestry of gossip that she presented to Sebastian. The detailed tapestry depicted Theresius Wilford’s repugnant behavior in vivid, almost miniature-like precision. According to this depiction, Theresius had sought various shortcuts from the moment he entered Lydon’s social scene years ago.

He had not neglected any of these shortcuts. By the time he graduated college, he likely had to make a choice, but until then, he hadn’t wanted to overlook even the smallest opportunity.

The women Theresius selected did not meet the typical criteria for “desirable brides.” Most of them were lacking in appearance.

In high society, ladies were expected to be beautiful and slim. Those who failed to meet such standards often endured ridicule rather than admiration. Consequently, women who had lost confidence due to their appearance were easily charmed by Theresius Wilford’s kind smile.

Eugenia Seymour was one of them.

Two months ago in Bath, she had danced with Theresius Wilford, who then accompanied her back to the Seymour estate. As she sat in the carriage, feeling his fingers slide down the hem of her dress as if dancing passionately once more, her breath hitched with nervous excitement amid the rattling of the wheels.

The very next day, Theresius had hinted at a deeper connection with Grace Gurton in the Pump Room. Eugenia had been filled with betrayal and rage but found herself unable to voice her feelings anywhere.

Part of her wished she had given herself to him. Such thoughts were a dangerous delusion common among young women with low self-esteem—the belief that offering their bodies could secure their lovers’ hearts.

However, Theresius Wilford was shrewd. He never ventured beyond a certain line, knowing that leaving things at an appropriate distance would prevent trouble. He understood that getting involved with aristocratic women would only bring complications, and without having chosen a clear path yet, he avoided taking on any unnecessary responsibilities.

Even at Grentabridge, he meticulously maintained his reputation. During vacations in Cornwall, he associated with women whose mouths could be silenced with money and status, so he hardly felt deprived. His incident with Agnes had been a disaster brought on by alcohol.

Not all of this had come directly from Eugenia Seymour’s lips. However, the shopkeeper, determined to earn the money she’d been paid, had filled in the gaps of the tapestry with meticulous detail.

“…Don’t speak so carelessly.”

Theresius was once again filled with indignation. He hadn’t taken any woman’s virtue, nor had he seduced them with false promises of marriage. Dancing and socializing with plain women wasn’t a crime. If anything, it was a noble act deserving of praise.

“I’ve come to realize something,” Richard Spencer said, nodding slowly as he spoke. “I used to think Edmund Beaufort was the biggest scoundrel of all. But next time I see Beaufort, I think I’ll owe him an apology.”

“……”

“You dared lecture me to ‘know thyself,’ acting as if you held the moral high ground. And yet here you are, filth incarnate.”

“Filth? That’s too much, Richard Spencer!”

Theresius grabbed Richard’s collar in a fit of rage. He had reached the point of no return. Since the engagement was clearly doomed, he figured a physical altercation might be a satisfying alternative.

“Theresius Wilford!”

Lady Mary Montague abruptly rose from her seat. At her signal, the servants swarmed into the drawing room and subdued Theresius.

“I will file a formal complaint with Baron Wilford. If I ever see your face in Lydon again, I’ll crush you on the spot. Now, leave at once.”

“Lady Montague, please…”

“Consider it a stroke of luck that this was discovered before the engagement. Had it come to light afterward, I would have erased your family name from the noble register by any means necessary.”

“Madam, I beg you…”

“Make sure to return the embezzled charity funds, but I believe the mental anguish I’ve suffered requires compensation. Decide for yourself the amount to include in the check. If it doesn’t satisfy me, I’ll send it back dozens, even hundreds of times, so give it serious thought.”

Theresius’s vision darkened. Lady Mary Montague no longer bothered to maintain courtesy. He had mistaken her warm smiles and kind demeanor for those of a toothless lioness, unaware of the fierce claws hidden beneath her fur.

“Throw him out.”

At her command, the servants restraining Theresius Wilford hoisted him up. Though he faced the humiliation of being dragged away by mere servants despite his noble status, Theresius couldn’t utter a word.

“Richard.”

The sound of the front door slamming shut echoed. Left alone in the drawing room with her nephew, Mary Montague collapsed into a chair, calling his name.

“First, let me thank you. I will make sure to repay you in full.”

Lady Montague was not ungrateful. Richard Spencer knew she would express her gratitude for his intervention in some grand gesture.

“I must have been blind for a moment, in too much of a hurry…”

Realizing that she had almost single-handedly driven Grace Gurton, who was soon to become her adopted daughter, into ruin, her vision blurred with despair.

Mary chastised herself for stubbornly pursuing only what she wanted to see, blaming her impatience for clouding her judgment. Her growing awareness of her mortality had made her anxious.

“Is there a particular reason why you were so eager to rush Grace Gurton’s marriage, Aunt?”

Richard voiced a question he had long wondered about.

There would have been no issue if they had taken a year or two to find a suitable husband after adopting Grace. But this situation was entirely unlike Lady Montague’s usual careful approach to important matters.

“It’s my own inadequacy. I just wanted to finalize everything before Anthony’s foreign assignment began. There’s nothing more to it.”

Mary lied. If she revealed her true condition to Richard, he would undoubtedly treat her as an invalid for the rest of her days, something she had no intention of enduring.

She had endured enough of that in Turkan, thanks to Anthony Montague’s tearful pleas. After months of being bedridden, living only to survive, Mary Montague had finally risen one day.

Her ultimatum to her husband—to let her live as she wished until the end—was something he had reluctantly accepted. Thus began her return to Lydon, Grace Gurton’s adoption, and the swift resolution of engagements and marriage plans.

Now, being confined to her bedroom by Richard was not an option. Though Theresius Wilford had been discarded, and the family event that was to announce the engagement and adoption had been canceled, there was still a mountain of tasks to handle.

One of them was the matter of Richard Spencer’s marriage. Even now, she wished to see him somehow connected to the Devonshire family and firmly secure his position.

“Aunt, I need to tell you something.”

For this reason, she didn’t want to hear what Richard Spencer was about to say.

“In Bath, you asked if I had feelings for Grace Gurton.”

“Richard, that’s enough.”

Lady Montague’s expression grew as dark as a storm. Her cheeks twitched faintly.

“I think I need to correct my answer from back then.”

“Please, Richard.”

“I know what you’re worried about, Aunt.”

“Then don’t act rashly. It’s better for you to set those feelings aside.”

“Didn’t you say you wanted me to be happy?”

Mary was struck speechless by Richard’s reply.

Yes, she did. She had wished for Richard’s happiness and Grace’s happiness. But never once had she hoped for their happiness together.

“…Then get engaged to Harmonia Cavendish.”

“Are you seriously suggesting I marry that reckless little girl who carries around a puppy? Are you being sincere?”

Richard chuckled incredulously.

“It’s for your safety. I can’t bear to see your position as Young Earl become unstable. Harmonia Cavendish is the only match that rivals Eleanor d’Estrée. Don’t take the long way around; the shortcut is the wisest choice.”

Overwhelmed by frustration, Mary began to cough violently. As she fumbled for a handkerchief to cover her mouth, Richard, for the first time, spoke with the defiance of a boy rebelling against his mother.

“It seems you’ve been wishing for your happiness, not mine, Aunt.”