Page 31 of The Rogue’s Runaway Bride (Rogue of Her Own #3)

He was an adorable pup. Truly, he was. Belle couldn’t find it in her heart to be upset with him. He’d only been playing, after all.

Her gaze shifted to the small, white, paw-shaped clumps on the floor leading to the bookshelves. And to the table. She blinked. Was that... could that possibly be... flour?

Turning to the open door, she saw Carrie standing in the hall, peeping inside the room. The child nibbled her lower lip, looking quite concerned.

Belle went to the girl. Her sweet round face was dusted with flour. As was her blue dress. What in the dickens was happening?

“Heathy wanted to play. But Cleo didn’t want to,” Carrie explained, sounding quite rational as she explained the situation. “I hope you are not upset with him.”

“Not at all,” she said truthfully, even as questions formed in her thoughts. “Carrie, I thought you were taking a nap.”

The girl shrugged. “I didn’t want to sleep.”

Belle swiped a bit of the white dust from the child’s cheek. Flour. Just as she’d thought.

“Carrie, why do you have flour on your face?”

Once again, she nibbled her lip. “I wanted to surprise you.”

Oh, dear. Belle suspected she would definitely not like this surprise. “How did you want to surprise me?”

“I wanted to make a pie,” she said. “Not a pretend pie, but a real one.”

Belle held her voice calm. “Will you show me what you made?”

“I didn’t get a chance to make anything.” Carrie raised her hands in a little shrug as Mrs. Gilroy limped toward them. Tears filled the child’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to make a mess.”

“Oh, it is,” Mrs. Gilroy whispered, standing with one hand on her hip and the other on her cane.

Belle’s heart sank. Judging from Mrs. Gilroy’s expression, the mess must be a real humdinger.

“I thought it had begun to snow in her playroom,” the housekeeper added under her breath.

“The playroom?” Belle repeated. Surely she’d misunderstood. “Not the kitchen?”

Mrs. Gilroy shook her head. “Carrie came to me with the idea that I might make a real pie with her. I suppose the child has tired of romping about in the mud. I did not have time today, so I saw her to her playroom. When I left her, she was playing with one of her dolls. But she returned to the kitchen. She must’ve taken the canister while I was gathering supplies in the pantry.

And now, the flour seems to have made its way throughout the house. ”

“Well, it cannot be that bad, now, can it?”

Mrs. Gilroy’s slow shake of her head seemed rather ominous. “Don’t say I did not warn ye, lass.”

Belle took Carrie’s small, flour-dusted hand in hers and led her to the playroom. Along the way, Belle could not miss the trail of white paw prints and child-sized footprints.

She’d reassured herself that she was right. I could not possibly be as bad as the housekeeper’s expression implied.

As she entered the playroom, Belle stilled. She’d been mistaken. It was that bad. In truth, it was even worse than she’d imagined.

The floor did indeed look as if it had experienced a dusting of snow. The shelves had also been dusted with the flour, while Carrie’s doll looked as if it were wearing a powdered wig.

Goodness gracious.

“Heathy was playing with the kitty. They ran in here,” Carrie explained. “But he bumped into the flour.” She pulled in a rather dramatic little breath. “And it all went poof. ” The child gestured with her hands. “Everywhere.”

“A bit of an understatement, I’d say,” Mrs. Gilroy quipped.

“It’s nothing that can’t be tidied up,” Belle said optimistically.

“Tidied up?” Mrs. Gilroy said with a wry chuckle. “That’s one way of putting it.”

Oh, well, there was nothing to be done about it now. Other than to clean the mess.

“Well, I shall simply have to get to work.” Belle forced a pleasant tone into her voice, as if that might convince even herself that the task at hand would not be that daunting.

Picturing her ever-energetic grandmother, she imagined what the human dynamo of a woman would say. This is no time to dilly dally, Belle. You’ll get it done. After all, it’s only a bit of grain.

Squaring her shoulders and plastering on a cheerful smile, Belle got to work.

She swept. She dusted. She cleaned. Then she swept and dusted and cleaned again.

And again. She repeated the process until the floor gleamed and the surfaces shined.

Even though she’d made it clear that she would clean the mess—a task that had turned out to be that bad , if not even worse—Mrs. Gilroy had insisted on helping.

For her part, Carrie joined in the clean-up effort, swishing a feather duster with a child’s natural joy.

Finally, they were finished. Satisfied with their efforts, Belle joined Mrs. Gilroy in the kitchen for tea.

“Mrs. Gilroy, might I use the kitchen table for a little lesson with Carrie?” Eyeing the housekeeper a bit gingerly, Belle broached the subject on her mind.

After their efforts to restore the playroom to order and remove all the bits of flour that had been tracked all the way into the sitting room, she didn’t dare try to predict the housekeeper’s response.

Mrs. Gilroy sent her a wary glance. Belle could see that she was worn out, and understandably so.

Now, the old woman had stretched out her bad leg with a little groan.

How very odd. Hadn’t the housekeeper injured her other leg in her tangle with Heathy?

Somehow, the achy limb seemed to have shifted.

Oh, dear. I am more tired than I’d thought. With a small sigh, she shook off the question of Mrs. Gilroy’s injured limb.

Watching Belle over her cup of tea, Mrs. Gilroy took a sip. “A lesson, is it?” she said with the faintest of smiles. “Ye’re a brave one, aren’t ye?”

“Carrie is feeling a little down, so I thought I might teach her to make ornaments. You do know the kind I’m talking about, don’t you?”

Mrs. Gilroy took another drink of tea. “I cannot say as I do.”

“You’ve never made pretty decorations out of flour and salt?”

“I cannot say as I have,” she said, echoing her previous response.

“Oh, it’s great fun.”

“Is it now?” The housekeeper appeared skeptical.

“My grandmother taught me when I was a little girl. It’s very simple. And not very messy.”

“Now that is music to these old ears.”

“Might I trouble you for your cookie cutters?”

“I’ll fetch them for ye,” Mrs. Gilroy said. “What else might ye be needing?”

“A bit of salt,” Belle said, then added with a smile, “And a few cups of flour.”

“I’m not sure I dare.” The old woman flashed a crooked grin. “But I trust ye know what ye’re doing, Miss Belle.”

“We shall see, Mrs. Gilroy.” Taking a sip of tea, Belle pictured the trail of white prints on the sitting room rug. “We’ll be working at this sturdy table. Hopefully, it’s capable of withstanding Heathy’s shenanigans.”