She had come out right after finishing her homework, then waited for half an hour at the school gates, reading under the streetlamp?
He didn't point it out.
"Isn't your home in the South District? This is out of your way."
"I don't mind a little detour. I have a car, anyway." Grey leaned over and pushed the door open. "Get in. It's not safe to walk back this late."
A middle-aged man in a uniform sat in the driver's seat. His temples were completely white, and both hands rested steadily on the steering wheel.
"This is MacLeod, my family's chauffeur," Grey said.
The man glanced at Richard in the rearview mirror, saying nothing.
He had been the Grey family's full-time chauffeur for twenty years, driving her around since she was a baby in arms.
The young miss had never waited for anyone at the school gates before. Today was a first.
But turning a blind eye to certain things was the basic etiquette of a longtime servant.Richard got into the car.
The moment the door shut, the wind and street noise were completely sealed outside.
The interior featured genuine leather seats, walnut trim panels, and a copper ashtray embedded in the armrest.
The leather was almost excessively soft, sinking half an inch the moment he sat down.
The interior of this car alone was probably worth more than all the furniture in his living room combined.
Grey sat beside him, separated by no more than an arm's length.
The girl closed her book and looked at Richard.
Lately, Richard Williams had been changing.
She remembered perfectly well what he was like just a month ago.
That sickly boy had always kept his eyes downcast, as meek as a roadside weed.
But now, there was a brightness to him that was almost dazzling.
Grey knew that Richard's mother came from the Ashford family.
Very few members of those old families in the Imperial Capital were unattractive. Margaret had exceptional features, a trait that had clearly been passed down to her son.
The bridge of his nose, the curve of his brow, the slight, sharp angle of his jaw... he had excellent bone structure. It had simply been buried beneath his emaciated, sickly pallor before.
Now that his health was improving, those underlying features were beginning to show.
Besides, confidence and composure could transform a person's entire face.
Standing in a crowd, the current Richard could easily be called a handsome young man.
"What were you reading in the library?" she asked, intentionally striking up a conversation.
"Just a mix of things to prepare for the Cicero Cup," he replied.
"Until seven o'clock?"
"I got absorbed and lost track of time."
Grey gave him a thoughtful look.
"Williams, do you believe in that kind of stuff?"
She had suddenly pivoted to a completely unrelated topic.
"What kind of stuff?"
"The day with the Spirit Board. You told us about the ideomotor effect, and the oxygen levels in an enclosed space... Science, logic, it all made perfect sense."
Her blue eyes met his gaze head-on.
"But you held onto that Cloth Bag for too long."
Richard's expression didn't change as he waited for her to continue.
"Someone who genuinely believes in purely scientific explanations wouldn't clutch an object of unknown origin for that long."
Outside the window, the silhouettes of row houses flashed past, their chimneys standing as sharp black lines against the night sky.
"I don't know what you were doing."
Grey realized she was being a little too aggressive, and her tone softened.
"But the candle only went out after you were done. I remember that very clearly."
After a few seconds of silence, Richard spoke. "Grey, are you interested in this kind of stuff?"
"I have been since I was little." She said it as casually as if she were admitting a childhood love for strawberries.
"The study at my house has an entire wall of old books, mostly left behind by my grandfather.
When I flipped through them as a kid, I just thought the illustrations were pretty. It wasn't until later that I finally understood what those pictures actually depicted."
She stopped there.
Richard didn't press for more.
They both recognized a kindred spirit in the other, but neither of them said it aloud.
The car turned down two more streets before Grey had the chauffeur pull over at an intersection near Richard's house.
"We're here."
"Thanks for the ride, Grey," Richard said, pushing the car door open. A rush of cold air poured into the cabin.
"You're welcome."
The girl hesitated for a moment before pulling a paper bag from her pocket and handing it to him.
"These are some scones I'm planning to make for my mother. Help me taste-test them."
Richard took the bag.
It still carried a trace of residual warmth from being tucked in her pocket.
"They smell great. I'll make sure to savor them," he said, not refusing.
"Alright, see you tomorrow." Grey visibly breathed a sigh of relief.
He shut the door. The sedan pulled away under the streetlamps, its red taillights vanishing around the corner.
Richard stood under the streetlight with his schoolbag, glancing down at the paper bag in his hands.
The sweet aroma of scones wafted from the folds of the paper.
Those ten minutes in the backseat of that car had confirmed one thing for him: the Grey family's wealth was definitely a cut above Warren's.
Warren was rich, but his wealth reeked of the nouveau riche: ordering the most expensive steaks, talking the loudest, and needing everyone to see him whenever he spent money.
Grey was different.
That car, that chauffeur, that woolen overcoat with stitches so fine they were practically invisible... Everything she owned was high-quality, but none of it was meant to show off.
Old money.
The term popped into his mind, aligning perfectly with the class structure of the industrial age.
The Warren family had made their fortune in coal over three generations. The Grey family had accumulated wealth for at least five, granting them a quiet, understated foundation.
In their little trio, Warren was the front, Mason was the filler lackey, and Grey was the true core.
Richard tucked the paper bag away and walked toward his front door.
He was still a few steps away when he noticed the light spilling through the living room window.
Before he even reached the steps, the front door was pulled open from the inside.
Evelyn stood in the doorway, her arms crossed.
She looked right past Richard's shoulder, staring at the street behind him.
Clearly, someone at the window had just witnessed the entire exchange.
"Brother."
"Yeah?"
"You just got out of a car."
"I did."
"A very expensive car."
"A classmate gave me a ride home."
Evelyn knit her brows. She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again.
"What classmate? A guy or a girl?"
"A girl."
Richard answered so bluntly that Evelyn's expression completely crumbled.
"A g-girl? A girl who rides in that kind of car?"
"Her family's chauffeur brought me home."
"You—you know a girl whose family owns a car like that?"
In the living room, their father peeked out from behind his newspaper.
Their mother leaned out of the kitchen doorway, still holding a dishcloth.
"What's going on?" she asked.
"Nothing," Richard said, stepping into the house. "I stayed late at the library today, and a classmate gave me a ride home since it was on her way."
"That car that dropped you off..." Evelyn chattered as she followed him inside.
"That was an Alvis, Brother! You can count the number of families in all of Briston who own a car like that on two hands!"
"You actually recognize car brands?"
"My classmate's dad works at a dealership!"