Windswept Way (Hope Harbor #9)(6)
Author: Irene Hannon

 

There was no dancing around her reference to the scandal.

 

“I read about your husband’s conviction. I’m sorry.”

 

Rose’s expression remained impassive, but pain shimmered in her eyes. “Finding out he’d bilked people of their nest eggs, robbed them of their security, was shattering. We’d grown apart over the years, but I still couldn’t believe he would do such a terrible thing.” Rose slowly returned to her chair and sat. “After it all came to light, I was tainted by association. Once he was convicted, our so-called friends deserted me and our son.”

 

Ashley stared at her.

 

Son?

 

Rose had a child?

 

Why hadn’t her diligent research uncovered that fact?

 

“You didn’t know about Mark.” Rose’s comment was more statement than question.

 

“No.”

 

“Not surprising.” A shadow passed over her features, and for the first time she appeared closer to her age. “Mark was a late-in-life child. He also had Down syndrome, which was an embarrassment to my husband. After the scandal, I set divorce proceedings in motion, moved across the state, and retook my maiden name. I also changed Mark’s last name and tried to shield him from the mess. But all the disruption was too much for him. He became depressed, and within a year he . . . he took his own life.” Her voice choked, and she tugged a tissue from her sleeve. Dabbed at the corners of her lashes. “That was when I came back here. Seven years ago now.”

 

Ashley took a deep breath as she digested Rose’s story.

 

The Fitzgeralds and Edgecliff had known far more than their share of tragedy. More than even her diligent research had revealed.

 

And that raised a very important question.

 

Did she really want to be part of a place that was plagued by misfortune?

 

“We’re not cursed, you know.” Rose locked onto her gaze, as if she’d read her mind. “Nor is this place haunted, despite the rumors.”

 

Warmth spilled onto Ashley’s cheeks. “I don’t believe in curses or hauntings.”

 

“I’m happy to hear that.” Rose wadded the tissue in her fingers and leaned forward, her posture intent. “Edgecliff has seen sadness, but it was built in love. For a bride. There was also much happiness here. I have many wonderful memories of this place. I’d like for love and joy, not tragedy and grief, to be its legacy. That’s why your note seemed providential. I was struck by how you picked up on my passing comment in the article, about wishing to preserve the history in this house and bring the place alive again. It made me think you could be the person to help write its next chapter.”

 

She’d thought so too. But all at once, it felt like a tall order.

 

“I don’t know about next chapters, but I do have a few ideas that could help accomplish your goal.”

 

“And I like all of the ones you’ve shared.” Rose leaned back. “I knew from the credit check and the bank statement you provided that you had the financial wherewithal to enter into an agreement, and your correspondence certainly brimmed with enthusiasm, but words and numbers on paper don’t provide a total picture. That’s why I asked you to come out here. Tell me again about your vision for Edgecliff.”

 

Ashley glanced at the page of questions she’d prepared for this meeting.

 

Looked like they’d have to wait while she rehashed the ideas she’d laid out in her proposal.

 

She closed the notebook and folded her hands on top. “Most of the concepts aren’t original. I adapted many of them from my experience at my previous job. Since the property where I worked wasn’t as well preserved as yours or furnished with original pieces, there was less emphasis on historical interpretation there. It was primarily an events venue. Edgecliff has much more to offer.”

 

As Ashley gave voice to her ideas—tours of the house, programs featuring speakers knowledgeable about the era’s architecture and customs and clothing and food and landscaping, hands-on educational opportunities for school groups in addition to the use of the house and grounds for weddings and other gatherings—the sense of excitement she’d experienced as she’d put her plan together again bubbled to the surface.

 

If the animation on Rose’s face as she finished was any indication, her passion was contagious.

 

The woman’s next comment confirmed that.

 

“All of those sound wonderful.” Rose’s lips curved up. “As my father used to say in happier days, there’s nothing like a new project to stir the blood. I believe he would approve of this one. It has tremendous possibilities.”

 

“I agree. The property in Tennessee was very successful, and it didn’t have nearly as much to offer as Edgecliff. The setting here will be a bride magnet.” Ashley paused, tempering her enthusiasm, because there were some caveats.

 

Rose tipped her head. “I sense a but there.”

 

Age hadn’t dimmed the woman’s acuity.

 

“Beautiful as the house and property are, changes would be necessary to accommodate special events. Like putting quite a few pieces of the furniture into storage to make room for crowds and updating the kitchen for commercial use. From what I could tell as I drove in, the grounds could also use attention.”

 

“I’m open to all of that. The grounds in particular. They’re a shadow of what they used to be. I remember when they were glorious. My mother loved planning the gardens each spring, drawing elaborate diagrams for each one. I have all of those, along with various journals and ledgers that may prove useful to you.”

 

“I’d love to see everything. Your mother’s diagrams could be very helpful during the restoration.”

 

“So you’re still interested in exploring the possibility of a partnership?”

 

Ashley hesitated, but only for a moment. While the news about Rose’s son was a surprise, nothing else she’d heard or seen today—other than that masked man at the entrance—raised serious concerns.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Excellent.” Rose picked up a folder from the table beside her. “I think we’ve talked enough for today, and I’m in need of a nap. We can meet again Thursday afternoon. That will give you a few days to get the lay of the land, see the town, arrange for any inspections you may want to have done. You’re staying until Friday, correct?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then here’s what I propose. Wander through the house at your leisure, beginning today if you like. My bedroom is on the second floor, first door on the right. Other than that, the place is yours to explore. Take a walk around the grounds. You’ll see where the gardens used to be, and the remains of the gazebo. And read through this.” She held out the folder.