Grace in Wonderland - Chapter 92

92. The Closed Door

“I told you to make an appointment before visiting,” Sebastian said, cautiously watching the Young Earl’s reaction inside the carriage heading toward the outskirts of Grentabridge.

Richard Spencer was still floundering between uncontainable embarrassment and disbelief.

Why couldn’t he just restrain himself? Why did Richard Spencer always fail to hold back?

In his noble and dignified life as the Young Earl of Spencer, the appalling event of being turned away at the door had never occurred until just thirty minutes ago. Not even the beggars at the gates of the Spencer estate in Lydon had been dismissed in such a manner.

When Sebastian had timidly tapped on the door of Charles Dodgson’s modest house, barely making a sound, Richard had been full of dreams and hope. He imagined himself flashing a brilliant smile at the surprised Grace Gurton and sealing their radiant future together in that glorious moment.

The front door had opened quickly. Sebastian’s prayer went unanswered. Somehow, despite the faint knock, Grace Gurton had immediately turned the doorknob.

Whoosh. The autumn wind blew through, slipping between the three people facing each other before vanishing. Like an untouchable gust, Grace Gurton disappeared the moment she confirmed the two figures at her door were Richard Spencer and Sebastian, slamming the door shut.

It happened before Richard had the chance to offer his dazzling smile. And so, the two men stood dumbfounded in front of the firmly closed door, unable to move for a while.

“How could she not even say a word of greeting?” Richard Spencer muttered in disbelief. As a man and a rugby player, wasn’t he the man Grace Gurton had once ‘liked’?

Even though she had declared, “I hope we won’t meet again,” how could she shut the door so harshly on a great noble who had deigned to visit her at such a late hour? Not that he expected her to bow deeply in reverence, but to close the door with such a loud slam?

Was it the wind that caused the door to close so forcefully? Surely, it wasn’t intentional? Even in that fleeting moment, through the narrow crack of the door, Grace Gurton…

Those eyes—one the reddish hue of the rising sun and the other the soft lavender-gray of evening clouds—still pierced him with startling intensity. And that pure white nightgown, reminiscent of a wedding dress… It left him feeling like the three-legged human in the riddle posed by the Sphinx to Oedipus, suddenly and inexplicably stirred.

Get a hold of yourself, you lunatic!

Richard Spencer tousled his hair in frustration.

“Tomorrow, I will visit Professor Dodgson and explain the situation. I’ll try to secure an invitation,” Sebastian said again, looking at him with pity—like a beggar turned away from the Spencer estate gates.

Sharing the experience of being turned away strengthened his resolve to ensure the Young Earl would one day step foot inside the Dodgson residence.

***

“Grace, who was at the door?”

From the second-floor study, where he was engrossed in research, Professor Charles Dodgson called out loudly. Despite being absorbed in his work like a mad scholar, he had still heard the sound of the front door shutting. Grace felt her neck prickle.

“Ah, no one. It was… no one,” Grace replied, trying to steady her pounding heart and sound as casual as possible.

Recently, Grace had been dragging herself through the lethargy of daytime and the insomnia of nighttime. Even when she lay down early, she would stare wide-eyed for three or four hours before finally falling asleep, and the quality of her sleep was terrible.

Unlike the heartbroken men and women in romance novels who ruin their lives in despair, Grace Gurton’s mathematical and logical mind wouldn’t allow her to fall into such extremes.

But something felt off. Like the tilted axis of a spinning Earth.

The Earth orbits the Sun. If its axis weren’t tilted, the sunlight would shine on Ingrint at consistent angles and intensities, maintaining stable weather.

The seasons change because the Earth’s axis is tilted. This tilt causes Ingrint’s position to shift up and down as the Earth orbits, altering the angle of sunlight and bringing about the four seasons.

In Grentabridge, Grace’s life had originally stood upright, like a vertical axis. Her unrequited love for Richard Spencer caused a slight wobble in her axis, but not enough to change the seasons. The pleasant temperature fluctuations were even welcome.

But since her return from Lydon, her axis had tilted 23.5 degrees. Now, multiple cycles of four seasons passed within a single day. Coupled with the tumultuous emotions she brought back from Wonderland, this constant fluctuation left her sleepless.

Like the four seasons cycling unpredictably, her feelings were out of balance. It was no wonder she couldn’t sleep properly.

So, once again, Grace crept down to the kitchen to warm up some milk. There were occasional nights when sipping warm milk would somehow help her drift off to sleep.

While absentmindedly watching the milk bubble and boil, she suddenly heard the sound of a carriage stopping outside. Since the narrow alley in front of Professor Dodgson’s house rarely saw passing carriages, Grace pressed her body against the wall beside the window, straining to listen.

“Knock on the door.”

The commanding voice that concluded the low murmur of conversation made Grace’s heart leap out of her chest. That voice unmistakably sounded like Richard Spencer’s.

Was she dreaming?

Grace pressed her fingernail into the tip of her finger. The sharp pain confirmed that this wasn’t a dream. Was the Young Earl Spencer truly standing outside her house?

Sometimes, fists move faster than laws, and feet act quicker than thoughts. This was one of those moments. Grace’s slippered feet moved before her sleep-deprived and foggy brain could process what was happening.

She turned the doorknob and flung the door wide open. A chilly wind rushed in, and the next thing to follow was the ever-confident light green gaze of Richard Spencer. Finally, reflected in his sparkling eyes, Grace saw the pale, unkempt figure of herself.

It was none other than Grace Gurton. Wearing a ragged white nightgown that reached her toes, draped in a poorly knit shawl made of cheap yarn, she was the picture of a primitive woman who had thrown on anything at hand to lounge around the house.

Grace’s sleep-deprived mind cleared instantly. So thoroughly that it felt as though her brain had been drained of all thought, leaving a void as empty as a lifeless lake. In this state of utter clarity, she slammed the door shut with a rough motion. Then, for a long while, she stared at her own ridiculous reflection in the mirror hanging by the door.

She should have bought new nightwear ages ago. As Charles Dodgson had sternly pointed out, disapproving of her shabby appearance, he had begged her to purchase some proper sleepwear. But Grace had stubbornly insisted that old fabric was more comfortable for sleeping. She now hated herself for that decision. If only she had brought the ones Lady Montague had given her.

And what was with the shabby shawl and the static-filled hair sticking out in all directions? To make matters worse, the pillow marks etched on her face from lying in bed were as clear as scars.

Even if her unrequited love had ended, she certainly hadn’t wanted to show this disgraceful sight to the person she had once pined for. Eleanor d’Estrée and Freya Spencer were always immaculately beautiful, even at home. Compared to them, Grace Gurton’s reflection in the mirror looked no better than a beast.

I want to die.

This time, Grace felt as though she might actually shed tears.

Why, of all times, did Richard Spencer have to visit now? Why had I opened the door? Why had I come downstairs in such attire? Why hadn’t I just stayed in bed? Why did I even exist…

“Go back to bed and get some rest. Tomorrow, I’ll have some incredibly difficult math problems waiting for you, so be prepared.”

Charles Dodgson was standing at the top of the stairs, looking down at Grace. With a tone that dripped with disdain, he scolded her, as if she were a wild animal floundering helplessly.

Grace said nothing and returned to the kitchen. She noticed the milk had boiled over and crusted onto the pot, but she turned off the heat without a second thought.

Rummaging through the cupboard, she pulled out a bottle, then quietly retreated to her bedroom like a mouse. Tonight, she needed something other than milk to help her sleep.

***

Poor Sebastian wasn’t granted entry the following day either.

“Grace isn’t feeling well today,” Professor Charles Dodgson said, frowning as he rejected Sebastian’s request.

Sebastian was taken aback by the professor’s dismissive tone, but as a seasoned attendant, he politely inquired again, “Then when would be a good time for a visit?”

“How should I know? Give it a few days; she should recover by then.”

Charles Dodgson lifted his pocket watch and showed it to Sebastian. It was a quintessentially Ingrintian way of saying, “The new term has started, I’m a professor, and I need to prepare for work.”

“…I’ll return tomorrow.”

Sebastian left with those words. He figured telling Richard Spencer to wait a few days would only lead to unnecessary torment. Leaving the situation vague and arranging a follow-up was the lesser of two evils.

Charles Dodgson watched as the four-wheeled carriage deftly navigated the narrow alley before closing the front door. Then, with creaking footsteps, he ascended the stairs and headed toward Grace Gurton’s room.