Caroline Cross - The Notorious Groom

“Hello,” she said uncertainly.

At the same time Chelsea cried, “Hey, Miss Brown. We’re here!”

With an air of relief she couldn’t disguise, Norah looked away from him and focused her attention on Chelsea. “You certainly are,” she replied, her expression softening as she stepped back to make room for them to enter. “And you look wonderful. What a pretty dress.”

“I know. It’s new.” Chelsea skipped inside and twirled, making the soft blue fabric of the skirt bell out. “Most of our stuff got burned in the fire, so I got this and a new swimsuit and some cool shorts and stuff. Eli got some new clothes, too.”

“Oh.” Norah bit her lip, then glanced toward him.

He watched her expression go from surprised appreciation to just plain surprised as she registered that beneath his exquisitely cut tuxedo jacket, he was wearing a T-shirt, jeans and his favorite high-top tennis shoes. He had to give her credit, though. With her better-than-Miss Manners-manners, she only had to swallow once before she managed a feeble smile.

“You—you look nice, too.”

“Thanks.” Amused, he directed a pointed look at his daughter. “See, I told you she’d like it.” He turned back to Norah. “She didn’t think I was dressed up enough,” he confided blandly, one adult to another. “So we stopped by the Riptide on the way over and I borrowed the jacket from a friend of mine. Sorry if we’re a little late.”

She blinked at the mention of the local cocktail lounge.

“It’s all right,” she said weakly.

He looked around, glancing from the thick Oriental rugs to the satiny wood on the banister, to the creamy paint on the walls. The huge entry was comfortably cool despite the sunshine that poured from a bank of windows high above the open staircase. The air smelled sweet and clean, like carnations and sunshine. “Nice place.” No kidding, Einstein. It was definitely a step up from their previous lodgings.

“Thank you.”

As subtle as a boulder, Chelsea nudged him. “Don’t you think Miss Brown looks pretty, Eli?”

He gave Boo a quick once-over. With her old-fashioned hairdo and nonexistent makeup, she looked the way she usually did—except for her dress, a limp, apricot-lace affair that looked as if it might have a secret life as a tablecloth. He opened his mouth to ask who in town disliked her enough to sell her such a thing, only to hear somebody who sounded exactly like him say, “Yeah. Sure.”

“Oh.” Norah’s narrow face lit with startled pleasure. “Oh...thank you.”

Well, hell. She didn’t have to act so surprised. It was no big deal.

She turned and took a few steps, then turned back and motioned them to follow, obviously flustered. “If you’ll come this way...” Once more she started down the wide, airy hallway. “Judge Orter and Mr. Lampley are already here. They’re waiting in the study. I guess we can just go ahead and get started. That is, if that’s still all right with you, Eli?”

Eli shrugged. They’d been over this already, the day they’d gone to get the license and see the attorney. Although he wasn’t wild about the judge—he’d had a few run-ins with Orter during his teenage years—a civil ceremony made far more sense than having one of the local ministers come in. “No problem.”

“But you don’t like the study,” Chelsea protested, frowning at Norah’s back.

“It’s not my most favorite place in the house, that’s true,” Norah agreed, “but the judge felt it was the most appropriate.” Her footsteps slowed. Gesturing them to precede her, she ushered them into a long, rectangular room.

One look around was all it took Eli to understand her reservations. Although expensively furnished with walnut paneling, navy leather furniture, burgundy carpeting and heavy brocade draperies, the room was dark and oppressive. He’d been in morgues that were more uplifting. Nor was the ambiance helped by the larger-than-life-size portrait of Norah’s grandfather that dominated one wall. From what Eli remembered, the artist had ably captured Arthur Brown’s remote, intimidating manner, he could practically feel the old guy’s oil-painted eyes burning a hole between his shoulder blades as he moved forward to greet the two men standing at the far end of the room.

The elderly pair looked like mismatched bookends. Although both were dressed in navy three-piece suits, Judge Orter was tall, heavyset and balding, while Attorney Lampley was short, thin and had a full shock of white hair. Their reactions to his attire as he approached were almost identical, however. Each gave a start, then a sniff, then acquired a distinct air of disapproval.

Eli inclined his head. “Judge. Lampley.”

“Wilder,” they intoned in unison. There was a strained silence.

Norah stepped into the breach. “Ezra, Judge, I don’t believe either of you have met Elijah’s daughter.” Laying a reassuring hand on the girl’s shoulder, she urged her forward. “This is Chelsea. She’s going to be in fourth grade next year, and she’s one of my very best helpers at the library.”

Chelsea smiled her most charming smile. “Hello.”

Both men’s expressions lightened as they took turns shaking her hand. Once that was done, Judge Orter quickly returned to type, however. Drawing himself up, he glanced pointedly at his wristwatch, then said to Norah, “Now that Wilder is finally here, I think it’s time we get started. If the two of you would step forward—”

“Could we have the ceremony outside?” Chelsea interjected. “Please? It’s kinda gloomy in here. It’s sunny outside, and we could at least see some flowers, since poor Miss Brown doesn’t even have a bouquet.”

Poor Miss Brown? Eli considered his daughter’s guileless expression and decided it was time to draw the line. But before he could say a word, Orter intervened.

“Don’t be ridiculous, young lady. As I’ve already explained to your soon-to-be stepmama, a wedding is a very solemn occasion, even this questionable affair. Although neither you nor she appear to appreciate it, I insist we do whatever we can to retain at least a semblance of dignity.”

Chelsea frowned. “But it’s not your wedding.”

Orter stiffened. “Norah Jane! Tell this child to behave, if you please.”

“I don’t think so, Judge.” Up until that moment, Eli hadn’t really cared one way or the other where they held the ceremony. And though he’d duly noted Norah’s stricken expression and the way she nevertheless stepped in front of Chelsea as if to shield the child from the judge’s wrath, he was quick to assure himself that he wasn’t moved or otherwise affected. He just didn’t like Orter’s insistence on behaving like the Voice of Authority. “Chelsea’s right. I think we’d all feel better outside.” He gave a nod to his delighted daughter, who promptly let loose a very unladylike whoop and dashed toward the French doors, which she threw open after shoving aside the heavy draperies. Planting a hand on Norah’s shoulder, he turned her around and gave her a nudge in the right direction.

“But the judge...” she protested faintly, looking back at him with a cunous combination of relief and anxiety.

“He’ll live,” he said, ushering her out into the bright sunlight.

It was a definite improvement Even though it was early in the season, the gardens were filled with color.

Lampley and the judge appeared moments later. With a sour expression, Orter took a look around, then strode toward the nearest trellised archway, where he turned and stared hard at Eli. “Now may we begin?” he demanded peevishly.

Eli glanced at Norah, who nodded. “Sure. Let’s do it.”

“Wait!” Chelsea rushed over and thrust a handful of pansies at Norah.