“Thank you,” Ashley said. “Keep the dogs from it.”
He nodded his acknowledgment.
Returning to the house, Ashley went to the dining room. It had already been set up. The table was covered with a white silk damask cloth embroidered with multicolored silk flowers along its border. “Where did this come from?” she asked Byrnes.
“It’s been stored in the linen chest since your mother married your father,” he answered her. “Hasn’t been used since. We had to wash it and iron it to get the wrinkles out of it from all those years being folded up. I’d forgotten all about it, but you know how sentimental Mrs. B. is. She remembered, and thought it should be on the table today.”
“The flower arrangement is spectacular,” Ashley noted, approving the big cut-crystal bowl of purple, lavender, pink, and white dahlias, and greens.
“Did them myself,” Byrnes said. “We’re using the Royal Worcester and the Waterford tonight. Do you want the Gorham Fairfax or the Reed and Barton 1810?”
“Use the Fairfax. I like it better with the Royal Worcester,” Ashley said. Then she left the dining room. There was absolutely nothing for her to do. The garden was ready. Byrnes had everything in hand in the house, and if she dared to venture into the kitchen she would hurt Mrs. B.’s feelings. She had canceled her regular Saturday massage, but she did have a noon appointment at Prime Cuts for a manicure and a pedicure. She glanced at the grandfather clock in the hall as it began to strike, and saw it was eleven forty-five. Ashley raced to her car.
At Prime Cuts she found herself surrounded by women she knew. Tiffany Pietro d’Angelo was there, along with Carla Johnson and Nora Buckley. They smiled at her conspiratorially. Emily Shanski, now Emily Devlin, delivered in late June of her first child, was in a wicker chaise getting a pedicure while the baby slept in a basket by her side.
“You look great for someone who just had a baby,” Ashley said.
“You think so?” Emily said with a rueful smile. “I still feel like a bit of a cow about to calve.” She chuckled. “When you get married one day—and you will, despite your previous misfortunes—look out for those extra romantic moments that sneak up on you. Writing a novel is far easier than being preggers, I can assure you.”
“Yeah.” Carla Johnson laughed. “Those sudden pleasures can really get you.”
The other women all laughed knowingly. Each one of them was a subscriber to the Channel, but they were also happy, even the widowed Nora.
“Well,” Ashley said, “I’ve never written a novel, but I suppose one day I might have a baby. When I do I’ll let you know if the shop is harder.” She smiled at them. Why was it that Nora Buckley seemed to grow more beautiful and younger-looking as each day went by? Ashley remembered a few years back, when Nora would never have ventured into her shop. She would just stand outside the windows looking sad and worn. But today she was one of Ashley’s best customers, and the more suggestive a garment was, the better Nora liked it, though who she wore those lacy nothings for, Ashley didn’t know. But then Nora, a widow, had always been a very private woman—except for that brief time when her husband was arrested and died in the lockup overnight.
A manicure table became available, and the pedicurist, having finished with Emily Devlin, moved over to do Ashley’s feet as her hands were being tended to. By one thirty she was driving back up to Kimbrough Hall. She wanted a bath. Her nerves were becoming more jangled with each passing moment. A bath would soothe her, she decided as she poured oil of lilies into the hot water. Her cell rang, and she flipped it open. “Ashley here.”
“We’re on our way,” Ryan’s voice said. Then he lowered it. “What are you doing right now, Ash?”
“I’m in the bathtub,” she said softly.
“Next time I’ll be with you,” he told her. “See you soon.”
Ashley closed her eyes and imagined it. Yes, the tub could fit two easily. Her hand moved down between her legs, and she began playing with her clit. It didn’t take long for her to come. Oh, yes! She needed to be fucked. She needed it badly, and so did he. Tonight could well turn out to be explosive. Ashley got out of her tub and stepped into the shower to rinse off. Then, drying herself off, she went to lie down for a brief while. Her clock was set for three forty-five, and she awoke immediately as it began to beep. She felt relaxed and refreshed now, but she lay quietly for a few minutes more. Then she went to get dressed. Her bridegroom and new family would be arriving, and then the few guests. Under the circumstances it wasn’t necessary that she go down and greet them. Besides, they all knew one another. She slipped on her bra and panties. They were cream silk and lace, unlike her usual plain silk. Well, it was an occasion, she reasoned with herself. Her legs were smooth and tan, and she didn’t bother with stockings. She was wearing pretty cream-colored leather sandals on her feet. She did her makeup, such as it was: a little bit of green eye shadow, some blush, a pink lipstick. Then she slipped into her dress, which buttoned in the back with two pearl buttons she was just able to reach herself. Looking at herself in the full-length mirror, she was pleased. The calf-length dress was lovely. Reaching for her hairbrush, she fluffed her short hair. Then she affixed her mother’s antique pearl earrings in her ears. A knock sounded on her door and she called, “Come in.”
Byrnes stepped through. He was dressed in a dark suit, white shirt, and a blue-and-white polka-dot silk tie. He was carrying a small bouquet, which he handed to her. “I believe we are ready, Miss Ashley,” he said with a smile. “Oh, the wife said to make certain you wore your sapphire ring. You need something blue. Mr. Ryan’s mother has left you the something old and borrowed.” Reaching into his pocket, he drew out a small antique gold cross on a thin chain. “Mrs. Mulcahy said she hopes you’ll wear it, and she’ll tell you all about it later. Would you like me to fasten it about your neck?”
“Please,” Ashley said, and watched as the little cross settled on her chest just above the neckline of her dress. “I guess we’re ready then,” she told Byrnes.
He escorted her downstairs and through the house out into the gardens. Tony had been right: The trellis was now awash in late-afternoon sunlight. She heard the bridal march as she slowly proceeded down the short aisle, preceded by Mrs. Byrnes in a lovely floral lavender silk dress. Mrs. B. was carrying a small bouquet of purple, lavender, and white dahlias. Ashley’s nosegay was made up of small lavender roses, white freesia, and ivy. She wondered where the music was coming from, but then the music stopped magically as they reached the trellis where Ryan stood waiting with Ray Pietro d’Angelo and Judge Palmer. Byrnes proudly answered, “I do,” when asked who gave the bride.
It was happening! Ashley thought. It was really happening this time! She was getting married. Married to a handsome, sexy guy she barely knew. But strangely, she wasn’t worried. Fate sometimes actually did take a hand in your life, and it didn’t have to be forever if they decided that they hated it. And then she thought that was a lousy attitude to have as you were being married. Maybe it would work out. Maybe there would be more between them than just sex. Maybe. Just maybe.
She hardly listened to what was being said, managing only to reply, “I do,” at the appropriate place. She and Ryan had not had to go down to town hall to apply for their wedding license. Judge Palmer had made out the license himself to help them preserve their privacy. Ashley hadn’t wanted anyone to know she was getting married before the fact. And if she and Ryan had gone to get that license, the
Egret Pointe Gazette
would have had it on the front page Thursday, when the paper came out. As Judge Palmer pronounced them man and wife under the laws of the state, Ashley realized she was no longer the bad-luck bride. She was a married woman.
“You may kiss your bride, Mr. Mulcahy,” Judge Palmer said with a smile.
And he kissed her. Oh, yes, he kissed her—a long, demanding, hot kiss that sent the color flooding her cheeks. And when he released her and looked into her eyes, Ashley felt her legs go weak. She grabbed at his arm, and he smiled down at her.
“Wow!” Ashley said.
“How soon can we get rid of the guests?” he whispered to her.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the judge, turning them about, “may I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Ryan Finbar Mulcahy.”
There was much clapping and laughter as everyone pressed forward to congratulate them. Angelina hugged and kissed them both. Frankie was crying, along with Nina and Tiffany Pietro d’Angelo. Mr. and Mrs. Byrnes were standing proudly by, as pleased as if she were their own daughter. Ashley had insisted they hire servers so the Byrneses might be guests at the table today.
“So all’s well that ends well,” Ray Pietro d’Angelo said with a pleased grin. “Joe and I did good by you, huh? What do you think, Lina? Are you happy,
cara
?”
“For the moment,” Angelina Mulcahy said with a meaningful nod to Ashley.
“Shall we all go up to the house now?” Byrnes suggested.
“Yes,” Ashley agreed. “There are drinks and nibbles before dinner.” She slipped her arm through her new husband’s, and began to move toward the house.
“You’re a beautiful bride,” he told her quietly as they walked. “I thought you weren’t going to wear a wedding dress?”
“It isn’t a wedding dress. It’s just a dress,” Ashley told him.
“On you, it’s a wedding dress. I want a picture of you in it,” he told her.
“There’ll be a photographer waiting up at the house,” Ashley said. “I’m giving the local paper an exclusive. We’ll be front-page news next Thursday.” She laughed.
“You hired the paper’s photographer?” he asked.
“No, the local photographer, but I’m giving him permission to sell the pictures to the paper. He just thinks he was hired for a social event. I told him it was a charity party. Is he in for a surprise.” Ashley chuckled.
Ryan grinned. “You’ve got a wicked sense of humor, Ash,” he said. “I like it.”
She smiled up at him. She was married. He was her husband. He wanted to make love to her. He liked her sense of humor. Something akin to a tiny spark of hope bloomed inside her at that moment. Was it just possible that this
convenience
could turn into something else? She had never had any luck with men. Until now…?
They entered the house, leading their guests into the gracious living room. Almost at once there were servers with trays holding glasses of wine and canapés. Most of the guests had been in the house before. Ashley saw Frankie sneak off with Rose and Tiffany Pietro d’Angelo, Carla Johnson, and Nina. She knew full well that Frankie was taking the women up to see the master suite.
“You will forgive her, of course,
cara
,” Angelina said quietly. She had seen them leave too. “Francesca is an enthusiastic woman.”
“I like her,” Ashley replied. “We’re becoming friends. I thought I would hold a party in October sometime for the rest of your family. Will you tell your other daughters that Ryan and I have gotten married, Lina? The announcement cards are ready to go out on Monday, but I really think they should be told personally.”
“I believe that chore is up to your husband,” Lina said, her warm brown eyes twinkling mischievously. “Can you do one of those conference calls to all of them at once? It will give you an idea of how
passionate
my older daughters are. That is probably a good word to describe them. They aren’t bad women, although Ryan and Frankie would have you believe it. They are simply middle-aged and bored with their lives. Some people, when they get that way, find useful things to do. My daughters, however, cause trouble for their own amusement. How they became so certain of their own righteousness I will never know. I did not raise them that way.”
“I think it might be fun to call Ryan’s sisters,” Ashley agreed. “But is he brave enough to beard them all at once, I wonder?”
“Beard who?” Ryan had come up on his mother and bride. His arm slipped about Ashley, and he leaned down to kiss her cheek.
“We’ll have to call your sisters tonight or tomorrow, and tell them you’re married,” Ashley said. “The announcements go out on Monday, and they can’t learn of your marriage that way. It’s cold and impersonal. It’s bad enough we didn’t invite them to the wedding, Ryan.”
“I wanted us to have a happy wedding day,” he said, “and with the harpies here it wouldn’t have been. But you’re right. We need to call them. We can do it tonight.”
Byrnes had been watching for the women to return to the living room, and when they did he nodded imperceptibly to the head server, who then announced dinner. They all trooped into the formal dining room, oohing and ahhing at the table setting as they sat down. Immediately a clear vegetable broth was served and the wineglasses filled. It was followed by a salad of mixed lettuces—Boston, both green and red, endive, arugula, and peppery nasturtium flowers, dressed in a raspberry vinagrette. The main course was leg of lamb cooked with garlic and rosemary, fresh French cut green beans, slivers of yellow summer squash, and small white potatoes that had been roasted about the meat as it cooked. The wineglasses were filled again. When the meal had concluded the guests once more adjourned to the living room, where the wedding cake had been set up.
“The first one of you who starts singing ‘The Bride Cuts the Cake’ is going to get it,” Ashley said grimly. “It’s so corny.”