Page 19 of The Rogue’s Runaway Bride (Rogue of Her Own #3)

B elle’s first morning as a governess—or teacher, or whatever title she wanted to claim—left her convinced she was made for the role.

It wouldn’t be long before Jon would see he had no chance of winning his wager.

All she’d need to do was decide upon the charity which would receive his generous support.

He’d departed for his office within minutes after he’d proposed the bet which now seemed certain to cost him a pretty penny.

Such a shame he could not witness how very mistaken he’d been.

Her first hours with her new charge flowed so smoothly, Belle wondered why she’d ever had the slightest doubt.

Carrie embraced the arrival of her new governess.

The child was clever and cooperative, and evidently someone had taught the girl to watch her manners.

Perhaps the not-so-endearing Miss Pritchard had performed a useful function in spite of her unceremonious exit.

All in all, Belle’s new role seemed an utter delight.

Pity Belle could not say the same of the hours immediately after morning had passed.

The afternoon had begun uneventfully. Mrs. Gilroy had put on a kettle of soup earlier that day.

By noon, the savory aroma of herbs and well-seasoned chicken wafted through the air.

When Mrs. Gilroy ventured into the kitchen to prepare their midday meal, Belle went with her, intent on lending a hand.

The housekeeper dished up the piping hot soup. “Do be careful to wait for the broth to cool before ye serve the wee lass,” Mrs. Gilroy advised as she placed two bowls on the serving platter.

With a nod of understanding, Belle reached for the bowl Mrs. Gilroy had left on the counter, but the housekeeper gave a brisk shake of her head. “I’ll be taking mine in the kitchen.”

“Are you sure you won’t reconsider?” Belle asked. “I was hoping we might chat a bit.”

The housekeeper’s lips thinned. “Miss Pritchard did not think it proper for me to dine with the girl.”

My, what a persnickety woman Carrie’s previous governess must be. “Well, she didn’t know what she was talking about, now did she?” Belle said. “I do hope you’ll reconsider, Mrs. Gilroy. After all you’ve done to prepare this delicious meal.”

“Ye’re sure of that?”

“Of course.” Belle mulled the question whispering in the back of her thoughts. “Might I ask what Mr. Mason thought of the governess’s request?”

“I doubt he knew anything about it. He’s so consumed with this deal he’s working on, he’s seldom been in the residence for his meals.

The man works himself to the bone, don’t ye know?

” A hint of sadness tinged her voice at the revelation.

“But if he’d found out, I do suspect he’d have thought it rubbish. ”

A sense of relief washed over Belle. At least Jon did not appear to secretly be a horrid snob.

“I didn’t know if ye’d feel the same as she did,” Mrs. Gilroy went on. A thin smile pulled at her mouth. “I suspected ye would not.”

“Well then, we shall enjoy a stimulating conversation,” Belle said. “There’s so much I’d like to know about Carrie.”

“I can’t say as I’ve much to tell ye that ye don’t already know, but I’ll try.”

“I would appreciate that.” Belle glanced down at the woman’s leg. “I’ll be happy to assist you to the table before I bring the tray.”

“Thank ye,” the older woman said, “but I can make it on my own.”

Mrs. Gilroy hobbled to the dining room with Belle following close behind. After setting the places for their meal, Belle made the short walk down the corridor to the room Jon had designated Carrie’s playroom.

The girl sat on the rug, acting out a scene with a pair of stuffed rabbits. One of the bunnies had evidently suffered a fright from a threatening creature, and the other bunny was consoling it with a hug.

“That’s a very kind rabbit,” Belle said, smiling to herself.

“She’s my nicest bunny,” Carrie agreed. “And the prettiest.”

“She is quite fetching,” Belle said. “But now, it’s time for our meal. Please put the bunnies on the shelf, out of Heathy’s reach.”

“Heathy likes the bunnies,” the girl said, hugging the stuffed dolls. “He won’t hurt them.”

“I doubt he’d try to hurt them... not on purpose,” Belle said gently. “But he is a dog, and we know that dogs like to chew, don’t they?”

The girl offered a solemn nod, then placed the dolls on a shelf. “I’d like a real bunny,” she said, reaching for Belle’s hand.

“Perhaps you shall have one . . . someday.”

“I do hope so.” The child slipped from Belle’s light hold, made a dash for the spindle chair in the corner, and scooped up a ragdoll into her arms.

Belle smiled to herself. So, this was Carrie’s favorite.

“May I bring Anna?” The girl sounded rather proper as she proudly held out her doll for Belle to see.

“I see no reason why not.” Belle studied the doll.

Its hair consisted of a few fuzzy strands of faded red yarn, and while the velveteen dress on its cloth body might’ve been lovely in its day, it was a bit ragged with fraying lace at its hem.

Studying the needlework on the doll’s wide-eyed linen face, Belle leaned closer for a better look.

The stitches that formed perpetually surprised blue eyes and a pert mouth appeared to have been crafted by someone who was not an expert seamstress, perhaps a girl learning to embroider.

How touching that Carrie was attached to this old, simply fashioned doll when her room was filled with expensive creations decked out in expertly sewn finery.

“Mama gave her to me when I was a little girl,” Carrie said.

“She’s very pretty.”

“Mama made her,” Carrie explained. “When she was a girl.”

“How very special that she gave it to you.”

“Someday, I want to make one of my own. Just like Mama did.”

“Perhaps we shall try very soon.”

Carrie tucked the doll against her body, her sweet expression betraying the comfort she took from its nearness. From the memories it held. From the tender feelings its very presence evoked.

Belle blinked back tears. Goodness, she was a grown woman and the mere thought of losing her mother was painful. How very sad that Carrie had suffered such a tremendous loss at such a young age.

Taking the girl’s free hand in hers, Belle led her to the dining room.

The bell on Heathy’s collar accented his jaunty trot as he followed along.

While Carrie hurried to pet him, Belle noticed the expression on his canine features.

Why, she might’ve described the look as guilty.

Questions swirled. Where had the pup been? And what had he been up to?

There was no time to ponder the matter as Carrie quickly scurried up onto her chair.

The girl’s perch atop a pillow wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do until she figured out a more permanent booster.

She’d no intention of shuffling Carrie off to a separate table.

Surely Jon would soon see the benefit of having the child take her meals with him, perhaps even after Belle was no longer a guest in his home.

“The soup is quite good, isn’t it?” she said moments later as the girl seemed to enjoy her meal.

“It is very tasty,” Carrie replied with enthusiasm.

“Mrs. Gilroy prepared this delicious food,” Belle informed her.

The child turned to the old woman. “Thank you, Mrs. Gilroy.”

Belle reached for a slice of bread and dabbed a bit of butter onto the hearty rye. Smiling to herself, she savored the sense of peace which surrounded her for the first time in what seemed a very long while.

Suddenly—without so much as a bell’s tinkle of warning—a flash of black on four legs darted past the table.

Macie’s pet, most likely. Coming to a stop beneath the sideboard, the cat turned to face Belle, seeming to take her in with keen amber eyes.

Jewels—perhaps genuine, perhaps paste—adorned the midnight black feline’s collar.

“Cleo has finally stirred from her morning nap,” Mrs. Gilroy observed.

“Such a beautiful name,” Belle said.

“It’s short for Cleopatra. Or some nonsense like that.” Mrs. Gilroy chuckled. “I’m thankful Miss Macie bestowed the name on the cat and not a babe.”

“It’s pretty,” Carrie said.

“I rather like it, too,” Belle agreed.

She’d scarcely had time to utter the words when she spotted the reason for the cat’s mad dash.

Heathy charged into the room. Moving at a pace Belle suspected was as fast as his little legs could carry him, he chased after Cleo.

The happy swish of his tail gave his pursuit a playful feel.

But the golden-eyed feline was not amused. Rearing up, the cat let out a hiss.

And then, she took off.

If Heathy had ever learned that cats could jump far higher than he possibly might, he’d conveniently forgotten the lesson. He galloped happily after Cleo, but stopped in his tracks, appearing a bit perplexed as the cat leapt atop the mahogany sideboard.

“Heathy cannot be here,” Carrie said with a tone of responsibility. She hopped down out of her chair. “I will get him.”

“Carrie, stay here,” Belle said quickly. “I’ll take him to the garden.”

But the child was fast. And determined. Intent on solving the problem at hand, Carrie scurried after the dog.

Unfortunately, Heathy hadn’t gotten the message that he was not allowed in the dining room.

Rather than understanding that he was about to be unceremoniously shooed from the chamber, he met her approach with energetic wags of his tail.

If anything, he evidently believed it was time to play.

And play, he did.

Heathy trotted toward Carrie, almost within her reach. But he darted under the table, avoiding the girl’s grasp. And then, he turned and sped away, appearing quite amused by Carrie’s attempt to catch him.

Up on her perch, the cat watched the pursuit with a bored gaze, as if the humans and the dog they were attempting to corral were quite silly. But then, Heathy’s attention shifted. As if he’d suddenly remembered the cat, he bolted toward the sideboard.