Plenty to Celebrate at the Inn at Perry Cabin : Maryland’s oh-so-very-English country inn is owned by Sir Bernard Ashley of the fabrics empire.

“It’s your birthday, so you decide where we should celebrate,” my husband declared as my 60th birthday approached.

I quickly forgot my momentary alarm at turning 60. I knew exactly where I wanted to go: the ultra-luxurious Inn at Perry Cabin, on the eastern shore of Maryland’s Chesapeake Bay.

Actually, we had been there once before. A year and a half earlier we celebrated my husband’s retirement from the Navy at the inn, a restored Federal-style mansion that’s owned by Sir Bernard Ashley, co-founder with his late wife, Laura Ashley, of the Laura Ashley fabrics and decorating empire.

How to describe the Inn at Perry Cabin. . . .

Think English gardens and heaps of flowered cushions. Think English country houses. Think scones and china teapots and you have it.

Even making the reservation is a gracious affair. By telephone, my husband and a British gentlewoman reviewed the rooms as if he were an advance agent for royalty--except when he reported the occasion of my birthday and asked if they offer senior citizen discounts?

Oh, tacky.

“At $285 a night, a little discount would be nice,” he retorted.

“Two eighty-five!” I never knew my voice could pitch that high. The last time we’d paid $160.

“It’s a special occasion, so I thought a terrace and water view would be nice. And, remember,” he added, “it includes breakfast.”

Well, breakfast wasn’t cheese Danish. It was Belgian waffles with warm Vermont maple syrup. It was freshly baked, flaky croissants; hot, crusty petit pain, and buttery-gold brioche . It was fresh orange juice in long-stemmed crystal; golden mounds of eggs Benedict napped with creamy sauce; pots of rich coffee, and thick cream in blue-and-white Spode china. It was Gourmet magazine and Martha Stewart. It was heaven.

The Inn at Perry Cabin is half a mile from St. Michaels, Md., a small port (population 1,500) on the Miles River, which flows into Chesapeake Bay. The town has been described as an upscale mecca for retirees and yachtsmen. But it’s a comfortable, old-shoe kind of upscale. The marina may be filled with sparkling yachts and sleek sailboats, but kids still dip crab nets off the town dock and diners crack their steamed crab claws with wooden mallets at tables covered with butcher paper in a rustic, water’s-edge restaurant.

The town’s main street is too cutesy-Victorian for me--all gingerbread trim, wrought iron and hanging baskets of geraniums fronting boutiques, ice cream parlors and gift shops.

But stroll the quiet side streets and you’ll think Norman Rockwell founded the town. There are picket fences, shady porches, wicker rockers, moss-covered brick walls, dogwood trees and tulip gardens.

There’s also a small but good museum, the Chesapeake Maritime Museum.

We arrived by car, down a long drive bordered by towering maple, oak and birch trees. We discovered later that, had we made “prior arrangements for the use of the west lawn,” we could have arrived by helicopter.

The inn’s unusual name comes from its origins as a farmhouse built in 1812 by a naval officer and named for his friend, Commodore Oliver Hazzard Perry, of the “we have met the enemy and they are ours” fame.

Some 170 years later, Sir Bernard Ashley spotted the house and immediately knew it could fulfill his dream of creating a small hotel with the comfort and discreet service of an English country home. He purchased it in 1989 for $3 million, according to general manager Ian Fleming, and put another $3 million into restoration and expansion. Ashley, who has homes around the world, shows up at the inn about four times a year, piloting his own helicopter.

“He spends a lot of time walking the halls and grounds, looking after what he calls ‘his clutter,’ ” Fleming says. “That is, the paintings, books, etc. He’s very possessive, really; he gets into it.”

Perry Cabin is a stately white mansion with 41 bedrooms, a drawing room, library, morning room, snooker room, conservatory and breakfast and dining rooms furnished with English and American antiques. It sits on a tree-dotted lawn on the banks of Fogg Cove on the Miles River. Its doors opened in 1990 to affluent seekers looking for the genteel English country life--and those of us celebrating a special occasion with a budget-be-damned fling.

A light rain fell as we arrived. Secretly, I welcomed it; it freed me from bike riding. At $285 a night, my husband believes that we should take advantage of everything, including the inn’s fleet of red bikes. At $285 a night, I believe we should devote every minute to serious lounging in the plump armchairs that are clustered around the inn’s numerous fireplaces.

But not before we explored the inn. As we did, I felt engulfed in adjectives: flowered, tufted, ruffled, fringed, tasseled, flounced, gathered, shirred, smocked, beribboned. Plump cushions and porcelain cache pots were everywhere. It’s very, very Laura Ashley. Lush blossoms cascade over wallpaper and slip covers. Swagged and festooned drapes are tied back with silk rosettes. One guidebook warns against being “Laura Ashley-ed out.” But somehow it all works. Even we L.L. Bean types succumbed to its charms. Looking around, we saw a mixed group, casually but neatly dressed: several retired couples who put us all to shame with their bike riding, a mother and two teen-agers, a young couple.

Our room, as promised, had floor-to-ceiling French windows and doors that opened onto a flagstone terrace bordered by slim junipers, jonquils and pansies. The impeccable lawn sloped gently to Fogg Cove, where two of Sir Bernard’s spit-and-polish motorboats bob beside a weathered pier.

As if to the manor born, I lounged in a carved rococo armchair and nibbled the chef’s welcoming chocolate chip cookies. I surveyed what was mine for a night: two four-posters with flounces, underskirts, ruffled pillows and crisp 100% cotton bed linen; a slender pedestal table holding the makings of a still-life painting; fresh fruit, mineral water and ice; sparkling glassware on starched white linen; a goose-necked pitcher and goblet in cranberry red Venetian glass, and a few cookie crumbs. An antique armoire the size of Connecticut dominated one wall. There was a cheval glass, a writing desk with dark red inlaid leather and, for bedside reading--what else?--the selected poems of Federico Garcia Lorca.

In the bathroom, more luxuries: heated towel racks and snowy-white, hooded terry-cloth robes. Everything was awash in deep pink blossoms. The only things to escape decoration were the robes and complimentary shoe-polishing cloth.

In the two hours before afternoon tea (included in the tariff), as we browsed and nodded genteelly to the half a dozen other guests curled in armchairs with books and board games, I felt as if Masterpiece Theater was about to start. (I half expected Alistair Cooke to peer out from the deep leather wing chair by the fireplace in the library.)

The refined click of a game of snooker drew us to the inn’s “playroom,” a nostalgic room where antique toy trains and tin soldiers march across the mantelpiece and spill from an old toy chest. A cluster of dulled silver athletic trophies on a shelf reminds one of bygone days of glory.

The adjoining sky-lighted conservatory holds masses of potted plants and heavy wicker furniture cushioned in bright floral prints. A worn straw gardening hat rests against an old copper watering can as if the lady of the house had just tossed it there and gone in to tea.

Tea is served from 3 to 5 in the afternoon. Just settle anywhere in the library or drawing room and one of the staff, crisply uniformed in black and white, will bring around a handsomely appointed tea tray along with warm, currant-studded scones as big as your fist and gobs of whipped cream and homemade preserves.

We chose to take our tea from a deep, high-backed settee in the library, where a brass-bound antique trunk serves as a coffee table.

An hour of reading Tom Clancy (sorry, Garcia Lorca) and watching the boats bob in the rain-spattered cove, followed by a nap and leisurely bath, and it was time to dress for dinner in the Miles Room.

With murmurings of birthday congratulations from the staff, we were shown to an intimate table for two next to the fireplace.

Vowing to exist on grapefruit and defatted chicken broth for the next month, we tucked into the five-course dinner (at a fixed price of $50 per person, exclusive of beverages). When in an English country home, dine in the spirit of the place, we agreed. So onward to the salmon mousse tartlets, hot sea scallop salad, Mediterranean fish soup with dollops of rouille (garlic mayonnaise), a rosette of lamb with baby vegetables and Atlantic salmon with asparagus al dente . Then, a delightful cleansing of the palate with raspberry sorbet, and it was on to glazed lemon tart with raspberry coulis and fresh berry mille feuille with vanilla cream sauce. And finally, coffee and a tray of petits fours garnished mith a huge strawberry into which was stuck a discreet birthday candle. Waiters and waitresses did not gather around to sing “Happy Birthday.” Rather, a floral card from the staff was placed gently on the damask tablecloth next to a small vase of fresh-cut flowers.

The after-dinner wine list offers $800 bottles of Chateau d’Yquem, Sauternes, 1982. “Pudding wines,” they’re called. “To complement dessert . . . full of honeyed richness . . . don’t overlook them,” the menu gently suggested. But, alas, we did--and selected a California port at $4.75 a glass.

The morning brought sunshine and the flinging open of the French doors that face the cove. The blossoms and vines that cascade over the walls, draperies and upholstery are echoed out-of-doors in rose and herb gardens, in pots overflowing with geraniums, silver-dust English ivy and flowering viburnum bushes that drench the air with spicy sweetness. Fueled by our Belgian waffles, we strolled the grounds slowly and listened to the high call of sea gulls, the boats’ riggings clinking gently in the breeze, the water lapping the pier and the soft crunch of gravel underfoot.

For the more energetic (and financially carefree) guests, the inn will arrange a variety of off-site activities, everything from clay pigeon shooting, golf and tennis, to private “nature cruises” through the marshes and inlets of the Miles River. Fleming recommends chartering a plane to a small island in the bay. “We send you off with a highly qualified pilot in a single engine plane . . . the two of you and a picnic hamper. It’s a wonderful getaway day,” he says.

But of course.

We learned that the Inn at Perry Cabin is the first of 10 inns that Sir Bernard plans to restore and operate as intimate house/hotels in the United States. The second one, under way near Charlottesville, Va., and scheduled to open next spring, is supposed to have the ambience of a stately English home rather than a country house. In Wales, Sir Bernard’s Llangoed Hall is also a stately English home, with 24 rooms, and is the so-called flagship of the Ashley inns.

The Inn at Perry Cabin, rated four-star by the “1992 Mobil Travel Guide,” has just added a 28-person conference room, complete with international teleconference facilities. According to Fleming, that will soon be joined by an indoor swimming pool and small fitness center for the exhausted executives.

One wonders what will happen to the inn when conferees start conferring and swimming laps and pumping iron there? Will the peaceful passageways be filled with brisk executives and their fitted eelskin briefcases?

I fervently hope not. Perhaps I should return to the inn in a few weeks. Just to make sure.

Tasters’ Choice

For assessments of Missouri wines, see L25.

GUIDEBOOK

Chesapeake Charmer

The inn: The Inn at Perry Cabin, 308 Watkins Lane, St. Michaels, Md. 21663, telephone (800) 722-2949 or (410) 745-2200 or fax (410) 745-3348, is about 85 miles from Washington, D.C. The room rates range from $205-$500 (for two-level suites) plus 5% state retail sales tax and 3% county room tax. Price includes daily newspaper, full American breakfast, afternoon tea and fresh fruit and flowers. For weekends and the high season (May through August), reservations should be booked a month in advance. Children under 10 are not permitted.

Getting there: From Washington, take Maryland 50 east, cross the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, then take the Easton bypass (County 322) to County 33 into St. Michaels. Drive through the town on Talbot street (County 33) until you’re just beyond the town limits, about half a mile from the heart of town. The inn is on the right, fronted by a huge lawn and tree-lined Watkins Lane.

Where to eat: There are several seafood restaurants in town. We like the Crab Claw on Mill Street--casual, decorated with fishnets and red-and-white-checked tablecloths. Crab is cooked a dozen different ways.

Other things to do: The Chesapeake Maritime Museum, on Mill Street, tells the history of Chesapeake Bay. It consists of several small buildings, turn-of-the-century houses, boat sheds and an 1879 lighthouse. Exhibits include various bay craft, decoys and waterfowl hunting guns, and excellent explanations of oyster and clam harvesting. Adults, $5; children 6-17, $2.50.

From mid-April to mid-November, there’s a l 1/2-hour narrated tour of the Miles River aboard the Patriot of St. Michaels. Adults, $6; under 12, $3.50. (The Crab Claw, the museum and the dock from which the river cruises depart are conveniently clustered together at the foot of Mill Street, off County 33, in the heart of town.)

Of special note: In the fall, millions of migrating ducks and geese stop to rest and feed on wild rice in marshlands throughout the area before continuing south. Talbot County is known as the goose capital of the world. The birds are an incredible sight. Camera and binoculars are a must.