Page 17 of The Rogue's Runaway Bride
“Tell them how ye made the pies, child,” Mrs. Gilroy urged.
Holding her cloth rabbit a bit tighter, Carrie nibbled her lower lip. “It was just a bit of mud. We were outside, in the garden. I poured a glass of water onto the ground and made tarts.”
Jon nodded, taking it in. “Well, a little mess is to be expected with a child, I suppose.”
“Alittlemess?” Mrs. Gilroy could not contain the amusement in her voice.
“But then Nanny came outside,” Carrie went on. “She was cross with me.”
“Nothing a bit of soap and water will not clean up, I presume,” Jon said to Mrs. Gilroy, sounding hopeful.
The housekeeper’s expression reminded Belle of the Cheshire Cat. “Ah, the soap and water worked quite well. On the wee lass, that is. But, ye see, Miss Pritchard’s bonnet was another story.”
“Her bonnet?” Jon rubbed his temples.
“I wanted Heathy to wear it to our tea,” the girl explained matter-of-factly.
Belle bit back a laugh. “Oh, my.”
“The woman had no reason to become upset,” Jon said, as if to convince himself. “It goes without saying that I would replace the blasted bonnet.”
“Oh, it gets better,” Mrs. Gilroy said, not even trying to conceal her cheek.
“Better?” Belle could not contain her curiosity.
“Or worse, depending on your view of the matter,” Mrs. Gilroy said.
“Promise you won’t be cross with me, Cousin Jon.” Clutching the stuffed creature even tighter, the girl regarded him with imploring eyes.
Cousin. A sense of relief washed over Belle as she chided herself for her momentary suspicion. Jon had left her in New York... he had hurt her. That much was true. But he had not lied to her.
“I will not be angry with you,” Jon said, his voice calm despite the tense set of his features. “You have my word.”
“Nanny fell.” Tears welled in the little girl’s eyes. “And then, she was so very cross with me.”
Belle could not stand by and watch the child’s distress. Crouching low, she caught Carrie’s small hands in hers. “It’s all right, dear,” she said, smoothing a wayward curl behind the girl’s ear. “You were only playing.”
The girl nodded and swiped away a tear. “Heathy didn’t mean to... to make her fall.”
“Good God,” Jon muttered under his breath.
“I had a cup for Heathy. And for me,” Carrie went on.
“Tea?” Jon plowed his fingers through his hair. “For the dog?”
“Not real tea.” Carrie shook her head. “Just pretend.”
“I should’ve known,” he agreed.
“Nanny wanted me to come in. But Heathy was still drinking his tea.”
Jon pressed his fingers to his temples. “He obviously didn’t want to rush.”
“She was looking for me.” Carrie thrust out her lower lip, looking as though she fought against tears. “I thought Heathy looked pretty. But Nanny fussed about her bonnet.”
“As ye can imagine, Miss Pritchard was not pleased to find the dog decked out in her finery. When she attempted to retrieve her bonnet—that ridiculous frilly thing with all the ruffles—the dog squirmed away,” Mrs. Gilroy added.
“She chased him.” Carrie’s lip jutted out a bit further. “Then I chased him, too.”
