CHAPTER 71

DO YOU FEEL AT HOME…

The Vandell estate was always quiet at dawn, but on this particular morning, the silence felt heavier, almost watchful. Abigail moved through the sunlit corridors with steady steps, though her stomach tightened with unease. She had received a message at breakfast a short, clipped note delivered by one of Kate’s personal aides.

"Lady Vandell requests your presence in the blue salon. Immediately."

There had been no explanations, no details. Just the summons.

Luke had frowned when he saw it, his jaw tightening in silent protest. “You don’t have to go alone,” he’d said.

But Abigail had shaken her head. “If she wanted you there, she would have written it. This is about me, Luke. I need to face it.”

And so, she went.

The blue salon was one of Kate’s favored spaces, a room of elegant restraint. Sunlight filtered through tall windows, glinting off crystal vases filled with white lilies. The walls were covered in soft blue silk, the furnishings carved mahogany, every detail speaking of taste without excess.

Kate was already there, seated at a writing desk near the window. She did not rise when Abigail entered, nor did she smile. Her pen scratched softly across the page before she finally set it aside and gestured toward the chair opposite her.

“Sit.”

Abigail obeyed, smoothing her skirt as she lowered herself gracefully. She kept her posture straight, her hands resting lightly in her lap, every instinct telling her that the smallest misstep here could cost her dearly.

Kate regarded her in silence for several long moments, her sharp eyes taking in every detail Abigail’s composed expression, the steadiness of her hands, even the way she sat. Finally, she spoke.

“You held yourself well the other evening.”

The words might have been praise, but Kate’s tone was flat, almost clinical. Abigail met her gaze calmly. “Thank you, Lady Vandell.”

A faint arch of Kate’s brow. “Do you always thank someone for an observation? Or only when you are uncertain if it is a compliment?”

Abigail felt the trap immediately, but she did not flinch. “I thank people when they take the time to notice me. Whether it is a compliment or not is their choice. How I respond is mine.”

Kate’s lips curved almost imperceptibly. Not quite a smile, but something near it. “An interesting answer.”

She rose then, moving to the window. The sunlight framed her figure, her presence commanding without effort. “Tell me, Abigail. Do you enjoy this life? The estate, the dinners, the politics? Do you feel… at home in it?”

Abigail inhaled slowly. The truth was complicated. Part of her longed for the simplicity she once had, the freedom of anonymity. But that wasn’t the whole truth anymore. She thought of Luke, of Maya, of the battles she had fought and the ones still ahead.

“I don’t know if I feel at home,” Abigail said carefully. “But I feel… capable of learning to live here. I don’t run from difficulty, Lady Vandell. I adapt to it.”

Kate turned, studying her again. “Adaptation. That is a useful trait. But tell me do you adapt for survival? Or do you adapt to conquer?”

The question lingered between them like smoke. Abigail’s pulse quickened, but her voice remained even. “I adapt because life demands it. Whether that leads to survival or to conquering depends on the circumstances.”

Kate’s gaze sharpened. “Spoken like someone who does not wish to reveal her hand.”

Abigail allowed herself the faintest smile. “Perhaps I am still deciding what my hand is.”

For the first time, Kate chuckled softly, the sound low and deliberate. “Careful. Vagueness can be a strength, but it can also be a shield. And shields crack under enough weight.”

A servant entered quietly with a tray of tea, placing it between them before retreating again. Kate poured herself a cup, her movements elegant and unhurried. She gestured for Abigail to do the same.

As Abigail lifted the porcelain teacup, she could feel Kate’s eyes on her, watching the way she held it, the steadiness of her hand.

Kate sipped first, then set her cup down. “You must know that Obetta visited me yesterday.”

Abigail paused only for a second before setting her own cup back on its saucer. “I can imagine what she might have said.”

Kate’s expression remained unreadable. “She complained, of course. Said you humiliated her in front of others. Said you were disrespectful, unrefined, manipulative.”

Abigail didn’t speak. She didn’t rise to defend herself, didn’t deny it. She simply waited.

Kate tilted her head slightly, intrigued. “You don’t ask me whether I believed her?”

“No,” Abigail said quietly. “Because if you did, I wouldn’t be sitting here now.”

That earned her another faint quirk of Kate’s lips. “You’re perceptive.”

“I try to be,” Abigail replied.

Kate leaned back in her chair, folding her hands neatly in her lap. “Do you want to know what I told Obetta?”

Abigail nodded once.

“I told her that anyone who allows themselves to be humiliated so easily should look first at their own faults. Not at the person who revealed them.”

Abigail’s brows rose slightly at that, though she quickly schooled her expression. Kate’s words carried layers. On the surface, it was an insult aimed at Obetta. But it was also a warning to Abigail that revealing another’s weakness was a dangerous power to wield, one that could cut both ways.

“I see,” Abigail said softly.

“Do you?” Kate countered, her eyes narrowing. “Because seeing is not enough in this family. One must also know when to act. And when to wait.”

The weight of her words pressed against Abigail, but she held her gaze steadily.

The conversation shifted then, Kate steering it with precision. She asked about Abigail’s upbringing, her education, her thoughts on literature and politics. But every question was layered, every topic a test of both knowledge and composure.

Abigail answered carefully, drawing on what she knew, but never pretending more than she could offer. When she lacked detail, she admitted it with honesty, then offered a thoughtful perspective instead.

Kate listened, her sharp eyes betraying nothing, but Abigail could sense the calculation behind them. This was not simple curiosity. This was measurement.

At one point, Kate asked, “What is your greatest flaw, Abigail?”

The room went still. Abigail felt her heartbeat quicken. A careless answer could unravel everything she had built tonight.

She took a slow breath. “My greatest flaw is that I feel too deeply. I care, sometimes more than I should. It makes me vulnerable. But it also makes me stronger, because it reminds me what I am fighting for.”

Kate’s eyes softened just barely. “A dangerous flaw. But not without its uses.”

Time passed, the sun shifting higher in the sky. Finally, Kate rose, signaling the end of their exchange.

“You may go,” she said simply.

Abigail stood, smoothing her skirt again. She bowed her head slightly. “Thank you, Lady Vandell.”

But before she could leave, Kate added, her voice quiet but firm, “Abigail.”

Abigail turned.

Kate regarded her with that same piercing gaze, but this time there was something else there. Not warmth, not yet but a sliver of recognition. Respect, perhaps, in its earliest form.

“You have potential,” Kate said. “But potential is nothing without discipline. Remember that.”

Abigail inclined her head. “I will.”

And then she left, her steps measured, though her heart pounded in her chest.

When she returned to their wing, Luke was waiting for her, pacing by the fireplace. He crossed to her immediately. “What did she say? What did she do?”

Abigail smiled faintly, exhaustion pulling at her features. “She tested me. Pushed me. But… I think I passed.”

Luke searched her face, then pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. “I knew you would.”

Abigail closed her eyes against his chest, letting herself breathe for the first time since the morning. She didn’t tell him everything not yet. She didn’t tell him about the warning in Kate’s words, the sense that this was only the beginning of something larger.

Because she knew now: Kate was watching her. Testing her. Measuring her.

And Abigail would need to be ready.