Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 57623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 288(@200wpm)___ 230(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 288(@200wpm)___ 230(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
Jane is not sure how long she has been there, but it’s possible given the blonde hair on the armrest that the young lady came in the night and slept in the office, lying in wait like a particularly incensed insomniac tigress experiencing a very unpleasant come down.
“Hello, Kiera,” Jane says pleasantly.
“You.” Kiera intones gravely.
Jane continues to go about her business. She pulls the curtains on the floor to ceiling windows to allow natural light to flow into the room, then turns back toward her guest. By this time, Kiera has risen from the couch and is wearing the blanket like a cape.
She looks very much worse for wear. She has dark circles under her eyes and a certain listlessness in her expression, not to mention a grayish pallor to her skin. The vital creature from yesterday is gone. She looks at Jane with flat betrayal and primal vehemence.
“You’ve ruined Ronald. He doesn’t love me anymore.”
“I don’t think that is true.”
Kiera screws her face up in the anguish that can only be experienced by someone facing the potential loss of their first love. “It is true. He said he wouldn’t take me out of here. He’s never refused me anything before. You’ve made him stop loving me. You’ve stolen my Ronald.”
“I have not stolen anything,” Jane says, trying not to appear too amused by what is clearly a serious matter for Kiera.
“He said you caned him.”
“I did.”
“You can’t cane other people’s boyfriends!” Kiera stamps her foot, looking like a much younger girl in that moment of high temper.
“I can when they arrive at this school and attempt to take a student who very much needs guidance back to a life that is destroying her,” Jane says. “I’m sure Ronald’s a very nice young man, but I am not interested in him.”
That statement only makes matters worse. Kiera is suddenly animated by outrage, simultaneously furious that Jane has stolen her boyfriend, and that she doesn’t even want him.
“Oh, so he’s not good enough for you!?”
“That’s not what I said, Kiera. Take a deep breath.”
“I won’t be told how to breathe by the likes of you!” Kiera declares, scandalized. “I am going to call my father, and he is going to remove you from this school. He funds pretty much all of it, did you know that? Of course you don’t. You’re just a boyfriend-stealing hussy!”
Kiera storms out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
It would be quite a dramatic exit, but for the fact that as she leaves, her blanky cape flows out behind her and as the door closes, it traps a corner of it. Jane hears Kiera huff for a moment, try to pull it out, then continue storming off, too proud to come back and open the door again.
Jane does not pay the fit too much mind, though it will be dealt with later on. Kiera may be less high than she was yesterday, but she is certainly not in a sober frame of mind, and punishing her now would be a pointless cruelty.
The threat she made does not concern Jane overly either. Spoiled little rich girls like Kiera like to throw around the idea of money and power, but if her father was overly concerned about such matters, she would not be running around Europe the way she has been.
Outside Jane’s office, the school is starting a new day. Well dressed, well spoken, and well-bred young ladies are filtering from breakfast back through their bedrooms and off to various classes. The school is filled with light and feminine chatter as it serves as a rare place of respite from the modern age.
At Birchbane, no element of education is overlooked, and while many traditional subjects are covered for the benefit of younger students planning on attending universities, other classes are dedicated to the finer things in life. Things Storm has absolutely no interest in, like dinner settings, and today: Deportment.
The young ladies in this class are all dressed in black skirts that fall below the knee and pristine white blouses with black lavallières tied neatly at their necks. Well, most of them are. Storm’s pussycat bow will not stay tied up no matter what she does. It just keeps unwinding, and even when it is done up, one side is always bigger than the other. She has tried to tie it properly at least a dozen times now, maybe two dozen, and it never stays in place.
Deportment classes are taken by Madame Pritchard, an older woman who used to be a ballerina. It shows in every graceful movement she makes, from the way she walks to the way she moves her fingertips when illustrating a point.
“Welcome, ladies,” Madame Pritchard says, gliding to the front of the class.
She has blonde hair tinged with gray swept up into one of those fancy elegant updos that befuddle Storm thoroughly because she can barely use a hair tie. She is very beautiful, of course, and quite intimidating to many.