From Kiss to Queen
““I’ve brought you a dress, Miss Abbot,” the fiftyish woman said. “And shoes. We dress for dinner,” she continued, her gaze settling on Jane’s old boots peeking out from beneath her slacks. “And I brought some stockings.”
“I see.”
The woman’s hair was neatly tucked into an intricate bun at the back of her head, and she wasn’t any taller than Jane, her figure trim and her eyes blue and intense. She didn’t look like a Lakeland, although she spoke with an air of authority, her mannerism and very aura suggesting a person sit up and listen to what she was saying. But having grown up with more than one formidable nun looking over her shoulder, Jane had learned a few tricks to pluck the thorns from such a woman’s mien.
Jane turned her smile to full power. “I’m Jane Abbot,” she said, offering her hand.
“Aunt Irina,” the woman said, seemingly startled as she held out her hand holding the shoes.
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