His Remarkable Bride (22 page)

She was spared having to think about or visualize that outcome any more than she already had as Mrs. Lyon led the Strong children into the room and down the center aisle. Elspeth’s heart went out to Athos as he twisted in his chair, holding his breath as he watched his brood march in. Someone had gotten the idea to line them up in order from youngest to oldest, and judging by the pleased, almost smug looks on all of their faces, it wasn’t Mrs. Lyon. Mrs. Lyon looked as fussy and put-out as ever, while every one of the Strong children wore cheerful smiles and walked sedately. In fact, if Elspeth wasn’t mistaken, they had all dressed in their Sunday best and were scrubbed, combed, and polished to a shine. The four guards slumped in after them and took up positions at the back of the room.

As the children reached the section of seats in the front center of the room and filed quietly in, waiting, checking with each other, and sitting in unison, Elspeth couldn’t contain her smile of pride. Not only did Athos’s children—her children by extension—look like perfect angels, they had clearly plotted and rehearsed how they would handle the hearing. Elspeth snuck a careful look all the way across the room to Honoria and found her smiling with satisfaction at the children’s display as well.

Judge Moss glanced up from his conversation with Howard behind the desk and frowned at the Strong children. “Is this it?” he asked, not knowing who to single out with his dark frown.

Mrs. Lyon stepped forward. She cleared her throat with a tight cough, then tilted her chin up. “I am Mrs. Margaret Lyon, representative from the Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Children, yes.”

Judge Moss shook his head. “No, that’s not what I mean. Are those the wild, irreverent, out-of-control children that have been taken from their father?” He gestured toward the row where the Strong children sat.

Each one of the Strong children sat straighter, hands folded in their laps, sweet smiles on their cherubic faces. Even Thomas managed to play along. Elspeth reached for Athos’s hand with one of hers, covering her mouth to keep from laughing with the other.

“Yes, they are, but—” Mrs. Lyon paused. Her frown of frustration resolved into a smug grin. “They are, your honor, and as you can see, even a week away from their negligent father has done them a world of good. Imagine what changes could be wrought if they were given new homes entirely.”

The older Strong children lost their smiles as they realized the tactic Mrs. Lyon was using. By Elspeth’s side, Athos tensed. She squeezed his hand to reassure him.

“Wait this out,” Solomon said on Athos’s other side, reflecting Elspeth’s thoughts.

“And you should see the state their home is in,” Mrs. Lyon argued on. “Why, it’s a perfect sty.”

“No it isn’t.”

The room full of people who had come to watch the hearing turned as Pete Evans stood.

“Who are you?” Judge Moss asked.

“Peter Evans. I live next door to the Strong family, and I can assure you that their home is in perfect order,” Pete said with every ounce of his considerable authority.

“Pete is one of the town’s preeminent citizens,” Howard told Judge Moss from his seat behind the desk.

“Is that so?” Judge Moss asked in response to both Howard and Pete. Mrs. Lyon’s face pinched in fury as the Judge Moss nodded and said, “Go on.”

“That house has been in perfect shape ever since Elspeth arrived and married Athos Strong,” Pete said. “She’d got the whole thing in tip-top shape. The garden looks nice too.”

“Yes, I agree.” Josephine stood by Pete’s side. “I’m Josephine Evans, by the way, your honor. Pete’s wife. And I must say that ever since Elspeth and Athos got married, everything has been harmonious and tidy next door.”

“But she only arrived and married him a week ago,” Mrs. Lyon protested, throwing out her hands.

“Yes, and even a week of Elspeth being here has done a world of good,” Josephine drawled, crossing her arms. “Imagine how lovely that home would be with a happy family in it.”

The courtroom burst into chuckles and a spattering of applause as Mrs. Lyon’s words were turned back on her. Judge Moss had to wave his arms and call out, “Quiet, quiet!” Elspeth was sure that if he had a gavel, he would have banged it on the desk.

Athos leaned close to Elspeth and whispered. “Remind me to thank Josephine later.” His smile was back, and once more Elspeth was confident in the direction of the hearing.

“The Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Children was assured in explicit language that the behavior of these children and their living situation was dire indeed,” Mrs. Lyon went on, her voice shrill. “The court in Cheyenne followed the report that was given—a most explicit report that detailed outrageous behavior, disregard of the feelings of others, and disrespect toward neighbors, none of which was checked by the unfit person of Mr. Strong—and made their determination about the welfare of these children.”

“Who filed the original report?” Judge Moss asked, unswayed by Mrs. Lyon’s burst of emotion.

“They did.” Mrs. Lyon threw out a hand toward the Bonnevilles.

Everyone in the room leaned forward, straining to see what Rex or his daughters would say. Rex sat stiff in his chair, arms crossed, staring straight forward. Bonnie looked mortified to be sitting there with them. Vivian, Melinda, and Bebe fussed with their dresses, plumped their hairstyles, and looked everywhere but at the judge or the spectators. Honoria shrank back in her chair, hand covering her mouth.

“Tell them!” Mrs. Lyon demanded.

“What is there to tell?” Vivian asked, batting her eyelashes and looking as innocent as she could.

“But—” Mrs. Lyon sputtered.

“
You
were the one who made us take them out to our ranch,” Bebe sniffed. It was a shock to see her speaking for her entire family, but since the rest of them kept their mouths shut… “
We
never wanted them out there to begin with. We just wanted them to stop being such awful devils. And Vivian wanted revenge because her lilac dress was ruined.”

“Bebe, be quiet,” Rex growled under his breath.

“I’m just telling the truth,” she said, then crossed her arms and slumped in a huff.

Judge Moss dragged his irritated stare back to Mrs. Lyon. “Do you have anything else you want to say?” He sounded bored and on the verge of giving someone a telling-off.

“N-no, your honor.” Mrs. Lyon stepped back to her seat and plunked down, shoulders sagging.

Judge Moss turned to Solomon, Athos, and Elspeth. “Do you lot want to say something?”

Solomon stood. “You know, I had quite the defense planned. Testimonials, statistics, reference to the law. But after all that?” He nodded to the Bonneville’s side of the room. “No, I think we can—”

“Yes.” Athos cut Solomon off. “Yes, I would like to say something.”

Elspeth’s heart trembled with excitement as Athos stood, tugged the hem of his jacket, and straightened his tie. He took a few steps forward and turned to face the room. Solomon sat.

“I’ve been a father since I was nineteen years old,” Athos said, addressing the people of Haskell more than Judge Moss. “That’s far too young for anyone to start building a family, but it’s what happened, and I wouldn’t change it for anything.”

He broke into a smile, focusing all of his attention on his children. “You lot mean the world to me,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Every one of you has been a blessing in my life. I’m not too proud to admit that I cried tears of joy when every one of you came into this world. I’ve changed your diapers, fed you, dressed you, forced you to brush your teeth when you didn’t want to, tickled your bellies until you snorted.”

The children—and several others in the room—laughed. Elspeth’s eyes stung and her throat closed up. She pressed a hand to her pounding heart, more glad for the ring she wore telling the world she was this man’s wife than for anything she’d ever known.

“We’ve had good times—like that Christmas your grandpa sent us sleds from Connecticut without realizing there aren’t any hills nearby, so we made a train and dragged them through the streets instead.”

“I remember that,” Hubert spoke up, eyes bright with nostalgia. “You were so tired from playing reindeer at the end of the day that you fell asleep on the sofa, and we painted your face to look like Santa Claus.”

The older children giggled at the memories, while the younger ones—who Elspeth guessed hadn’t been born yet or were too young—looked on in wonder.

“We’ve been through bad times too,” Athos continued. “It was hard losing your mother, harder than you’ll ever know.”

Ivy and Heather nodded, tears coming to their eyes. They hugged each other, while the older boys looked solemn.

“I loved her,” Athos said quietly. “I did, even though we were both so busy and caught up in life to show it the way we should have. I wasn’t a very good husband then, and I wasn’t the best father I could have been.”

“No!”

“No, Papa, you’re the best.”

“You’re a wonderful father.”

The children’s protests brought tears to more than a few of the spectators.

“No.” Athos held up his hand to stop them and shook his head. “I wasn’t everything I could have been. But I promise you all that I’ll be much better now. And now I have help. Mrs. and Mrs. Evans are right. Elspeth is a wonderful, remarkable woman.” He stepped over to her, reaching for her hand. Elspeth shot to her feet, grasping his offered hand with both of hers. Athos gazed into her eyes and said, “I love her, and I promise you,” he turned back to the children, “that our lives will all be so much better now that she’s here with us.”

“I love Elspeth too!” Thomas shouted. He leapt from his seat on the aisle and ran across the room to throw himself at Elspeth’s legs. Several of the spectators laughed at his burst of affection.

Elspeth’s heart felt as though it might break. She lifted Thomas and embraced him tightly. “I love you too, Thomas, and I always will.”

“I’m going to call you Mama,” he announced, then flopped his head to her shoulder, hugging her neck.

Elspeth peeked at Athos to see how he felt about that declaration. Her heart broke in earnest at the wide smile he wore and the bright glassy sheen to his eyes as he teetered near the edge of tears. He turned to Judge Moss and spread his arms wide, shrugging.

“You see, your honor. I may not be perfect, but without my children and my wife, I’m nothing at all. The house might not always stay clean. The children may stumble or act out from time to time. We might not be able to keep quiet when we all get excited. But these children are my life, my heart. And I…well, I’d like to think that I’m important to them as well.”

“You are!”

“I love you, Papa.”

“We should to home. We should all go home with Papa.”

The children’s statements were met by mutterings and outright calls of, “They should,” by the people watching the hearing.

“Papa is my hero,” Millicent exclaimed just as everyone else was quieting.

Athos laughed. “I’m not a hero, I’m just a father who loves his children.”

“That’s the best kind of hero of all,” Elspeth said so that only he—and Thomas—could hear her. She reached for his hand with her free one and held it. “You’re my hero, my musketeer.”

Beaming with affection, Athos lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. He turned back to Judge Moss. “Sir, I’d like to take my family home now. What do you say?”

The spectators in the courtroom hushed, leaning forward in their chairs expectantly. Across the front of the room, the Bonneville sisters looked on with wary indecision…all except Honoria, who was wiping tears from her eyes. Mrs. Lyon stood with her back stiff, her fists clenched at her sides, and her jaw so tight she was likely to end up with a headache.

“Well, Andrew? That is, Judge Moss.” Howard spoke up from his seat behind the judge. “Do you need some time to deliberate?”

“No.” Judge Moss’s statement was definitive. “I’ve made my decision.”

The courtroom hushed. Athos’s heart beat so hard against his ribs that he could feel the reverberations through his entire body. His senses were alive, every nerve tingling since his speech. He was probably some new, ridiculous kind of fool for pouring out his emotions to his children and in public. Heroes were supposed to put on a brave front and never let the world see the tenderness underneath the armor.

But no, as he sent a glance to Elspeth—his lady and his strength—who looked so perfect and so right with Thomas cuddled in her arms, he knew that true heroes were the ones who were open enough to experience all of those emotions and to let the world see it as well. Love was never a bad idea.

Judge Moss cleared his throat and turned to Mrs. Lyon. “The Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Children is a noble cause with an important purpose.”

Athos’s certainty withered in his chest. He tightened his grip on Elspeth’s hand.

Mrs. Lyon preened. “We like to think we’re doing vital work to protect the young people of America.”

“Well, you’re not,” the judge barked. “Not here, at least.”

Athos held his breath. He and Elspeth exchanged a quick, hopeful look. The children sat forward in their seats, confused and bristling with anticipation.

“I…I beg your pardon?” Mrs. Lyon sputtered.

Judge Moss shifted in his seat as though winding up for a pitch. “How dare you disrupt the lives of good, working folk under the guise of a charitable cause?”

His accusation was hurled with enough force to make the spectators gasp…and for Athos to release the breath he’d been holding. They’d won.

“I…I don’t know what you mean.” Mrs. Lyon’s eyes were wide, and she searched madly around for someone to support her. She found nothing. The four men serving as her guards whispered to each other, then slipped out the back of the room.

“There is nothing wrong with this family,” Judge Moss went on. “Trust me, Mrs. Lyon. I’ve seen disturbed children and young people whose past abuse led them to a sad life of crime. These children are no more in danger of becoming a menace to society than a tree frog.”

Ripples of approval and a few calls of, “That’s right,” filled the room.