The Reincarnated Noble Lady is the Infamous Viscount's Heir - I've Accepted a Contract Marriage for Estate Management. - Chapter 1.14

At the entrance of the townhouse, Abigail, my elder sister and the youngest person in the history of the Royal Magic Academy to be conferred the title of Magic Countess, strode into the center of the foyer. Her fiery red hair was carelessly swept back as she took command of the scene.

She motioned for her knights, who had accompanied her as guards, to restrain Claude. Once they had him firmly in their grasp, she grabbed his chin with a firm grip.

“What business do you have here, boy? This might be a small townhouse, but it is still a noble’s residence. And for the record, the people you were screaming at happen to be my sisters. Do you understand the gravity of your actions?”

“Ugh… h-huh…” Claude stammered.

Oh, wow. The aura Abigail exuded was terrifying—like that of a mafia boss, but with an unearthly edge. While Patricia has a dignified, commanding presence befitting a noblewoman, Abigail’s aura is… something else entirely. The title of Magic Countess suits her perfectly; her presence is so overwhelming it sent chills down my spine.

With her piercing light blue eyes—slightly paler than Patricia’s—narrowed in scrutiny, she glared down at Claude. Poor Claude, likely unaccustomed to encountering a woman wearing a black eyepatch, seemed completely unnerved. The eyepatch covering one of Abigail’s eyes only heightened her intimidating appearance.

Her reputation as the “Red Witch” who sacrificed her own eye in pursuit of magical knowledge was known across the capital. In the slums, she was even used as a figure to frighten children into behaving: “Hurry home, or the Red Witch will come to get you!”

If I were in Claude’s position, I’d probably feel like my very life was being drained from my body.

Abigail, ever the force of nature, seemed even more commanding than when she had first been awarded her title. The knights, clearly her personal guards, easily overpowered Claude, leaving him unable to move. It was no surprise—the gap in strength between a trained knight and a former nobleman was glaringly obvious.

“How infuriating,” Abigail said with a disdainful sneer. “To return to my family home, only to find some fool causing a ruckus at the entrance. What should I do with you?”

Patricia, standing nearby, responded with a dry smile. “Perhaps a dissection of his brain would be appropriate.”

Abigail’s face lit up with a dazzling grin. “Really?! That’s perfect! There’s a spell and ritual I’ve been wanting to test on a live subject! Eusis, Dario, turn him over to the guards. If no one comes to claim him, let them know I’ll take him for my experiments.”

Hearing this, Claude began thrashing wildly, managing to free himself from the knights’ hold and flee from the Wilcox estate. It was surprising that he had the strength to break free—perhaps adrenaline had kicked in. Or maybe the knights deliberately loosened their grip, knowing he’d run.

“Shall we pursue him, Lady Abigail?” one of the knights asked calmly, as if catching him again would be a trivial matter.

“No need,” Abigail replied with a shrug. “But if he shows up in front of me again, feel free.”

If anyone would truly turn Claude into a test subject, it would be Abigail.

“Welcome home, Abigail,” Patricia greeted her.

“I’m back, Patricia. And Grace, you’ve really grown into your role as head of the Viscountcy. Jessica, you look lively, too—those rosy cheeks of yours are adorable,” Abigail replied, stroking Jessica’s cheek. Jessica beamed at the attention.

“It’s an honor to have you here, Abigail. Truly,” I said, feeling a mix of awe and relief.

“I saw the Ainsworth Gazette. Your ball gown was stunning, Grace,” Abigail commented.

Jessica eagerly chimed in, “I picked it out for her! I’d love to choose something for you next, Abigail!”

Abigail’s face softened into a smile. “Really? I’d love that.”

Watching their exchange, I decided to ask what had been on my mind.

“Abigail, does Lord Rockwell have some urgent reason to marry? I find it puzzling that he would choose me as his fiancée. The Wilcox family holds only a viscountcy, and I’d expect someone of his rank to seek a bride with a higher title.”

Hearing this, Jessica puffed out her cheeks in protest, still clinging to Abigail’s arm. “Abigail, tell her! Grace is doubting the Earl’s proposal!”

That’s… putting it bluntly.

“Doubting, huh…” Abigail gave me a look filled with sympathy, almost as if she pitied me.

“To be honest,” she admitted, “I may have boasted about you at work. So, in a way, I might have encouraged him.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, my little sister is both beautiful and brilliant. Can you blame me?”

What? What does that even mean?

Abigail must have caught the confusion on my face, because she gave me a sly smile.

“After your previous engagement fell through, and your prospects seemed delayed, I might have felt a bit responsible.”