Ashley stepped forward and gave Pete a hug. “Thanks,” she said. “But how would you know if I’m smart or not?”
“I’m an accountant,” Pete replied. “You got one store, you’re opening two more. You sell what women want. You’re smart.”
Ashley laughed. “Yes,” she said, “I am.” Then she turned to her other guests. “I thought I’d show you the house and grounds. Then we’ll have an early lunch. This weekend is our annual Harvest Festival, and I thought you might enjoy going later. But if not we’ll just sit and talk. Ryan and I plan to go tomorrow either way.”
“How lovely,
cara
,” Lina responded. “Yes, I for one would love to go to this festival. Do they have handicrafts?”
“Oh, yes,” Ashley told her. “The festival proceeds all go to our local hospital. There are homemade treats, knitted goods, birdhouses, and our local author signs her latest book. Her publisher donates the books so everything can go to Egret Pointe General Hospital.”
“Who’s the author?” Bride asked, curious in spite of herself.
“Emilie Shann is her pen name. She’s really Emily Devlin. She’ll probably be there, although she does have a new baby. She’s old Egret Pointe too, and way back we’re probably related. I’m sure a Kimbrough married a Dunham somewhere along the way.” Ashley laughed.
“Emilie Shann lives here?” Elisabetta’s eyes were excited. “I love her books! And especially since she’s gotten sexier. Do you know her?”
“Yes,” Ashley said. “We went to school together.”
“We’ve got to go to this festival,” Elisabetta said. “She is my favorite author. Do you think she’ll sign a book for me?”
“For a price, sure,” Ashley said. She was secretly tickled that her sister-in-law was one of Emily’s fans. “And remember, it’s all for charity. But now, how about Ryan and I show you the house? Frankie did our bedroom suite, and it’s lovely.”
“Even the floral chairs,” Ryan said, and his brothers-in-law chuckled.
The Mulcahy sisters were, in spite of themselves, fascinated by Kimbrough Hall. The wide boards in the floors amazed them, and Ashley was quick to tell them that the boards came from trees found growing in the area when the house was built in 1724, a year after the town was founded. “My ancestor, Edmund Kimbrough, wanted to replicate the manor house in England where he had grown up.”
“There’s a house like this in England?” Magdalena asked.
“Yes, in Devon. It’s also Kimbrough Hall. That branch of the family is still going strong.”
“How did your family make the money to build a house like this?” Elisabetta inquired. She taught history in a local city private school.
“Rum, molasses, and slaves to begin with,” Ashley replied. “Pretty much like all the successful early families. Then in the 1840s we got into the China trade. And some of the family’s fleet were whalers. And then the Kimbroughs got involved in helping to build railroads, started a few banks, and eventually got a seat on the New York Stock Exchange. Grandfather sold that before he died. The Egret Pointe National Bank is mine, or rather the Kimbroughs’. I’m on the board, of course, although I have little to do with running it.” She smiled at them. “My late mother’s family came here from Ireland in the middle of the nineteenth century, before the Civil War. They were all shopkeepers, so I guess I come by it naturally. Nobody left on that side. They weren’t much on reproduction, I’m sorry to say.”
Ryan’s five older sisters looked slightly shell-shocked by this recitation. Their husbands were openly impressed, and perhaps just a little bit awed. This was certainly going to erase any doubts the harpies had about Ashley’s motives for marrying him, Ryan thought as he caught his mother’s eye and winked.
“Well, come on now,” Ashley said brightly as they moved from the formal dining room to the breakfast room and the library. “There’s the rest of the house to show you.” She led them upstairs, flinging open the door to the first bedroom. “The rumor is that President Washington himself stayed here once when he was either coming or going from New York, the capital in the early days. It was this bedroom.”
Everyone looked around the room. The furnishings were definitely eighteenth century. Even the draperies at the windows and the bed hangings looked authentic.
“Not many people know that New York was the first capital,” Elisabetta remarked. “Are the hangings real?”
Ashley shook her head. “Very good reproductions. The originals were in the room until about twenty years ago, though. But they just became too hard to clean.”
The other bedrooms were admired, and then they came to the bedroom suite shared by Ryan and Ashley. The sisters pushed into the parlor, taking everything in.
“Nice couch,” Robert Napoli said with a grin. “Looks real comfortable.”
“Shut up, Bob!” his wife said.
Both Ryan and Ashley laughed.
“It is comfortable,” Ryan allowed.
The sisters next looked at the master bedroom, and someone gasped at the size of the bed.
“We needed it extra-large because your brother is such a big fellow,” Ashley said.
“I saw dormers on the roof,” Kathleen remarked.
“There’s a third floor. In the old days when the house had a full staff of servants they lived there. Now it’s pretty much empty. Just attics and storage,” Ashley told her. “Well, this is it, ladies and gentlemen. I expect that luncheon is ready by now, and Mrs. B. really doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
She led them briskly downstairs again to the dining room, which was set with embroidered linen place mats. There were place cards at each setting. Ryan sat at the head of the table, Ashley at the foot, and Lina had been put on her son’s right. Byrnes, along with a girl brought in for the day, served. There was clear soup to start with, and Waldorf salads were set to the left at each place. A large roast turkey was set on the sideboard, and Byrnes carved, laying bits on each plate, which the maid then distributed among the diners. The side dishes were then passed about. There were mashed turnips, French-cut green beans, and sweet potatoes whipped with butter, maple syrup, and cinnamon.
“I wasn’t certain what you would all enjoy, but I know everyone likes turkey,” Ashley murmured. “Bride, do try some of those tiny corn muffins. Mrs. B. is famous for them. And the cranberry that’s in the sauce comes from a local bog. They grow wild.”
“The veggies are all from the estate garden,” Ryan told their guests. “And the turkey is local. When was the last time any of you ate so fresh?”
“I suppose living in the country has some advantages,” Bride allowed.
Ashley couldn’t help but notice how quiet the table was as her husband’s relatives ate, and ate, and ate. There were audible sighs of bliss when the dessert was served on individual plates. It was chocolate mousse with fresh raspberries. Finally every morsel had been consumed, and they began to rise from the table.
“Let’s go to the festival now,” Ashley said brightly. “Bill can follow Ryan and me. Byrnes, tell the driver we need him, and why.”
“Yes, Mrs. Mulcahy,” Byrnes said, and he hurried off.
“Well, you know what the prince of Wales always said,” Ashley remarked. “Never miss an opportunity. If anyone wants the bathroom I think the time is now. There’s a powder room, second door on the left in the hall, and one with every bedroom upstairs.” She grinned as her guests scattered.
“Well,” Ryan said when they were alone, “I don’t know if I could say you’ve won the harpies over, but you’ve kept them from fighting. It’s amazing.”
“The day isn’t over yet,” Ashley warned. “I could kiss your brother-in-law Pete, however. He really put everything in perspective with that little speech of his. I never saw anyone so outraged as Bride when he was speaking.”
“The in-laws are all good guys,” Ryan told her. “Pete generally lets Bride have her head, but when he’s had enough he says so, and she generally listens. They’ve all had enough. None of them ever counted on getting R&R. For them it was a long shot. They’re all smart guys, and they knew I wasn’t going to let it go over that damned clause in Dad’s will. But if it weren’t for that clause,” he said, pulling her into his arms and kissing her heartily, “I would have never had you, Ash. My sexy, smart, beautiful wife. When are we going to start making those babies?”
“Soon, I promise,” Ashley said. “Oh, let go, Ryan! You’re starting to get a hard-on. What if the others see?” She pulled away from him.
Their guests returned. The limo was waiting outside, and with Ashley and Ryan in her Solstice leading them, they made their way through town to the Egret Pointe Harvest Festival. Within the big car the sisters had to admit being charmed by the town, with its little shops and ice-cream parlor. They asked Bill to slow down long enough to catch a glimpse of the windows at Lacy Nothings, which were now filled with baskets of autumn vegetables, small piles of colored leaves, and mini rakes among the blue, green, and violet lacy bras, thongs, teddies, and nightgowns. Finally they arrived at the festival, and Bill parked the limo in an adjacent field next to Ashley’s sports car.
With Ashley leading them they walked among the awninged tables and booths where a variety of handmade and homemade goods were on display for sale. Soon Ryan’s brothers-in-law found themselves loaded down with all manner of purchases being made by their wives. Deirdre and Kathleen were expecting new grandchildren, and there was a booth offering handmade baby garments both sewn and knitted.
“Ohh, I love watermelon pickles,” Magdalena said, and promptly bought six jars, along with three more of corn relish, and several jars of jam.
Coming into an open space, they saw a gentleman seated above a vat of something green, a crowd gathered before him.
“What on earth is that?” Bride wanted to know.
“It’s the Dr. Sam Dunk,” Ashley told her. “Dr. Sam is the chief of staff up at the hospital. Everyone just loves him. His family have been the town doctors since we were founded. You get three balls and three tries for two dollars. If you hit it just right he goes into a vat of Jell-O. All the money is for the hospital. He’s really a very good sport about it, and the Dr. Sam Dunk always earns a lot of money. Anyone want to try?”
Her new brothers-in-law all bought their three balls, but none of them could hit the target properly. Even Ryan tried. And then Ashley sauntered up, waving her two dollars, and the crowd began to chuckle.
“Here comes trouble,” Dr. Sam called from his perch above the Jell-O. “Hello, Ashley. I suppose you’re going to try to dunk me, like you do every year?”
“And you’re going down like you do every year,” Ashley taunted him. Twice she made a big issue of winding up for the pitch, and twice she missed, but Ryan could tell she was missing deliberately, and he could see Dr. Sam knew it. The third ball hit the target square-on, and the physician was dumped into the green Jell-O, to the cheers of the onlookers and the clanging of a bell. “See you next year, Dr. Sam,” Ashley said as she moved off with her party.
“Pretty good pitching,” her brother-in-law Kevin said. “Was it a lucky pitch?”
“Nope,” Ashley said with a grin. “Actually, I could have dunked him every time, but Dr. Sam and I have a deal that I’ll do it only once each year. I used to pitch on the girls’ high school softball team.”
“Is the author here, Ashley?” Elisabetta asked eagerly.
Ashley looked around, and finally she spied Emily Devlin in her author persona of Emilie Shann. She was seated at a card table beneath an awning, but the pile of books before her was down to three. Ashley led her party over to the table. “Hey, Emily!”
“Ashley.” Emily Devlin looked up, smiling, from behind her table.
Ashley spied a basket beside Emily’s chair. “Oh, here’s your little baby!” She squealed, genuinely excited. The baby gave her a toothless grin.
Emily smiled happily and, bending down, lifted the infant up. It had a headful of dark hair. “Meet Sean Michael Devlin,” she said. “Born the twenty-ninth of June.”
Ashley sighed, and all the women with her cooed and commented on what a lovely little boy he was. “These are my sisters-in-law,” Ashley said. Then she pointed. “Bride Franklin, Kathleen McGuire, Magdelena Butler, Deirdre Napoli, and Elisabetta Sweeney, who is a huge fan of yours, Em. Will you sign the new book for her?”
“Sure I will,” Emily said with a smile at Elisabetta. “How do you like the sexier books?” she asked her.
“I
love
them!” Elisabetta gushed. “I mean, I always loved your books, Ms. Shann, but last year’s
The Defiant Dutchess
was incredible. Soooo romantic! I hadn’t gotten the new one yet.” She looked down at the books left on the table. “
The Playful Prince
,” she said. “I’m going to like it, aren’t I? Is it as sexy?”
“Sexier,” Emily promised Elisabetta.
“She has an excellent role model for her heroes,” a tall, dark, and very handsome gentleman said, coming up to the table. He bent and kissed Emily. “Time to take the heir and go home, darling,” he told her. “Hi, Ashley.”
“Hi, Mick. This is Emily’s husband and editor, Michael Devlin,” Ashley introduced him to her guests. “Mick, this is my husband, Ryan Mulcahy.”
The two men shook hands, and Michael Devlin said, “I’ve been meaning to get in touch with you. I’d like to do a coffee table book on restorations. Can I call you?”