Nine
"Just sign these pages, Ms. Prescott, and initial those."
Elinor wrote her name neatly beside each X, a feeling of liberation humming through her. Selling Oakleigh to settle her grandfather's debts was a symbolic way of cutting her ties. She didn't need to hang on to her fears of Cole being corrupted by his money. She had decided to put her faith in him. He'd never failed her yet.
Still, she felt surprisingly regretful to give up the beautiful old house where so many of her ancestors had lived and died.
"Wonderful," Mr. Brinkman oozed, his smile gleeful. "I'm sure it's a relief to get this white elephant off your hands."
"Not exactly," Elinor said dryly. "But we did need to get this matter settled."
"Oh, yes," the realtor leered at her. "A good-looking woman such as yourself doesn't need to be burdened with a huge old house."
Elinor couldn't find a reply to that, so she just put away her pen, preparing to leave.
"Say ..."
She went still when Mr. Brinkman's hand coasted over her shoulder.
"I don't suppose you'd be available for a late lunch, would you, honey?"
Amazing, she thought, how the same endearment can sound so different from two completely dissimilar men.
"No," Elinor said crisply as she stood up, careful to move out of his range, "I'm afraid I'm not available at all."
Later that evening, tiny white lights were strung in the pines and magnolias that dotted the Boeuf River Park on the outskirts of Bayville. Children ran wild on the sloping riverbank, dabbling their bare feet at the water's edge until their parents called to them.
At this hour, the sound of chirping insects filled the sultry air, and an occasional high-pitched whine could be heard as mosquitoes reconnoitered their victims.
Humming to herself, Elinor walked through the people as the setting sun left shivery purple ripples on the river's surface. More than anything, the annual Bayville Peach Festival was an opportunity for the town to get together and throw a party. And if a few tourists came along, all the better.
The smells of river dampness mingled with the smoky rush of cooking meat to create the fragrance of excitement. The exact combination always conjured up memories of the festival itself.
Circling a group of teenage boys, Elinor heard several long, drawn-out wolf whistles as she passed by, the milkmaid outfit, she knew. Responding to their high spirits with a playful shake of her head, she turned down the avenue of booths set up for the event.
She was so excited about seeing Cole that she felt almost giddy. He'd left a message on her voicemail that afternoon saying he'd meet her at the Ladies' Guild booth around eight.
Daydreaming the hours away, she'd imagined how his eyes would darken into blue velvet when she finally gave an answer to his proposal. The only thing she hadn't figured out was how she'd convince him to wait long enough to get married in the little church here in Bayville, rather than flying to Las Vegas.
Even wearing the milkmaid outfit for the Ladies' Guild booth couldn't dampen her mood.
Mrs. Wilmington, bless her heart, had quite a sense of humor. When Elinor opened the box and saw the dress she was to wear while working at the ice cream booth, her jaw had dropped.
The blue cotton material of the underdress was demure enough, but the snug fit of the bodice combined with a low cut neckline left little to the imagination. The skirt itself was full and very short. Elinor had stood in front of her mirror, gaping when the whole outfit was in place.
With the tiny waistline and full skirt, the dress was very flattering. She felt herself growing warm just thinking about Cole's reaction when he saw her in it. The little puffed sleeves sat perkily on her arms in defiance of gravity, because there were no shoulders to speak of, the scooped neck left the upper slope of her breasts bare almost past the point of decency. Even the tiny white apronlike pinafore didn't diminish the overall seductive effect.
Elinor had found herself laughing as she pinned on the little white cap that matched the apron. She couldn't imagine a milkmaid wearing this outfit unless she was planning to milk something other than cows.
Where had Mrs. Wilmington found these garments? The possibilities were so at odds with the woman's proper image that they boggled the mind.
But the thought that had tickled Elinor all the way to the festival was Daisy's reaction. If the milkmaid outfit was a requirement of all the women working the Ladies' Guild booth, Daisy would also be inflicted with one. This seemed only fair since she was the one who'd gotten Elinor into the situation in the first place.
The ice cream booth was situated on the avenue, some distance from the river. As she approached, Elinor could see a small, rotund woman of fifty behind the counter serving ice cream to two eager youngsters. She stifled a laugh when she recognized the minister's wife, a shawl knotted awkwardly over her provocative milkmaid outfit.
Mrs. Wilmington must have had it in for some of these ladies.
Entering the back of the booth, Elinor tucked her things down under the counter and started serving the clamoring customers. The Ladies' Guild always put up an attractive booth of white lattice walls with silk flowers woven in. Behind the serving counter stood a chest freezer loaded with homemade peach ice cream.
Within minutes, Daisy arrived to relieve the minister's wife. Relief was the operative word Elinor acknowledged after having watched the woman adjusting her bosom-protecting shawl a dozen times.
When the embarrassed woman hurried away, Elinor turned to her friend. "Hi there, fellow milkmaid. Feel like you ought to be doing a number from Gypsy? "
Daisy giggled glancing down at her trim figure. "No. I feel like I ought to be standing on a street corner. What on earth could that woman be thinking of when she bought these?"
Elinor paused in the middle of tasting a spoonful of ice cream. "I don't know, but my theory is that she didn't win the presidency of the guild last year and this is her revenge."
Choking back a laugh, Daisy handed bowls of ice cream to a teenage couple. Behind them were three elderly ladies. And then the rush was on. Elinor and Daisy found themselves scurrying around the booth filling orders with no chance to think, much less talk.
Half an hour later, they'd emptied six laige ice cream containers and broken open the second case of disposable bowls before there was a lull in business.
"Whew!" Elinor sat down on a folding chair. "Who would've believed that so many people liked peach ice cream?"