Laura Childs - Shades of Earl Grey

“Of course we should,” said Drayton.

Rain swept down in vast sheets, a cold, soaking late October rain that lashed in from the Atlantic. Spanish moss, heavy with water, sagged and swayed in the branches of giant live oaks like flotsam from the sea. Heroic last stands of bougainvillea and tiny white blooms from tea olive trees were mercilessly pounded, their blossoms shredded then pressed into the damp earth as though some careless giant had defiantly strode through and flattened everything in his wake.

Out in Charleston Harbor, waves slapped sharply against channel buoys as the Cooper and Ashley Rivers converged in Charleston Harbor to confront the driving tide from the Atlantic. The mournful sound of the fog horn out on Patriot’s Point moaned and groaned, its low sound carrying to the old historic homes that crowded up against the peninsula, shoulder to elegant shoulder, like a receiving line of dowager empresses.

The lights inside the old stone headquarters of the Heritage Society glowed like a beacon in the dark as ladies clad in opera capes and men in tuxedos splashed through puddles in their evening finery and struggled frantically with umbrellas blown inside out.

Standing in the entryway, Theodosia shrugged off her black nylon raincoat, gently shook the rain from it, then handed it off to a young volunteer, who seemed at a complete loss as to what to do with all these wet garments.

Patting her hair and smoothing the skirt of her black taffeta cocktail dress, Theodosia composed her serene face in a natural smile as she made her way down the crowded hallway, trying to push her way through the exuberant throng of Heritage Society members.

“Theo!” cried an excited voice. “Hello there!”

Theodosia turned to see Brooke Carter Crockett, the owner of the estate jewelry store, Heart’s Desire, smiling and waving at her.

“Brooke . . . hello,” she responded. But then she was carried along by a crowd of people and eventually found herself at the end of the great hallway in the suite of rooms the Heritage Society used for receptions such as this and as galleries to showcase items pulled from their vast storage vault in the basement.

Making a mental note to get back to Brooke later when some of the initial hubbub had died down, Theodosia gazed around appreciatively at the interior of the building.

The old stone building that housed the Heritage Society was definitely one of Theodosia’s favorite edifices. Long ago, well over two hundred years ago, it had been a government building, built by the English. But rather than exuding a residual bureaucratic aura, Theodosia felt that the building seemed more contemplative and medieval in nature. An atmosphere that was undoubtedly helped along by its arched wood beam ceilings, stone walls, heavy leaded windows, and sagging wooden floors.

It was, Theodosia had always thought, the kind of place you could turn into a very grand home. Given the proviso, of course, that you owned tons of leather-bound books, furnished it with acres of Oriental rugs and overstuffed furniture, and had a passel of snoozing hound dogs to keep you company.

It would be a far cry from her small apartment over the tea shop, she decided, which she’d originally decorated in the chintz-and-prints-bordering-on-shabby-chic school of design, and was now veering toward old world antiquities and elegance.

On her way to the bar, which turned out to be an old Jacobean trestle table stocked with dozens of bottles and an enormous cut-glass bowl filled with ice, Theodosia met up with Drayton. He was chatting with Aerin Linley, one of the Heritage Society’s volunteer fund-raisers and cochair of the Treasures Show.

“Theo, you know Aerin Linley, don’t you?” he asked.

“Of course,” said Theodosia as she greeted the pretty redhead who looked absolutely stunning in a slinky scoop-necked, cream-colored jersey wrap dress and an heirloom emerald necklace that matched her eyes. “Nice to see you again.”

“Besides cochairing the Treasures Show, Aerin authored the grant request that helped secure funding to bring in the European Jewel Collection,” Drayton told her.

“I’m impressed,” said Theodosia as the two women shook hands. “I’ve tried my hand at writing a few grant requests myself, mostly to try to obtain program support for Big Paws, our Charleston service dog organization, so I know grant writing is a fairly daunting task. Lots of probing questions to answer and hurdles to jump through.”

“It’s awfully tricky,” agreed Aerin Linley. “And there does seem to be a language all its own attached to it, one that’s slightly stilted and bureaucratic. Not really my style at all,” she laughed. “I think I just got lucky with this one.”

“You’re still working at Heart’s Desire?” asked Theodosia. She remembered that Brooke Carter Crockett, the shop’s owner, had mentioned something about Aerin being her assistant.

Aerin Linley fingered the emerald necklace that draped around her neck. “Can’t you tell?” she said playfully. “This is one of our pieces.”

“It’s gorgeous,” said Theodosia as she peered at it and wondered just how many cups of tea she’d have to sell to finance that little piece of extravagance!

“Never hurts to show off the merchandise,” laughed Aerin. “You never know when somebody’s in the market for a great piece. But to answer your question, yes...and I’m absolutely loving it there. And now that I’m handling most of the appraisals, Brooke has been freed up to focus more on acquisitions and sales. She just returned from a sales trip to New York, where she made quite a hit with some of the dealers at the Manhattan Antique Center. They went absolutely crazy over our Charleston pieces. I think they were thrilled to get some pieces with real history attached to them as opposed to flash-in-the-pan nouveau designer pieces.”

“Of course they were,” said Drayton, the perennial Charleston booster.

“I also turned Brooke on to some rather prime buying opportunities for heirloom jewelry down in Savannah,” said Aerin. “There are so many old families who have jewel boxes just brimming with fine old pieces. To say nothing of all the secret drawers and panels built into the woodwork of those old homes.”

“Did you grow up in Savannah?” asked Theodosia. Savannah was just ninety miles south of Charleston. That great, vast swamp known as the low-country was all that separated the two old grande dame cities.

“I did,” said Aerin. “But I moved here a few months ago after my divorce.” She flashed a wicked grin. “Savannah’s really an awfully small town when you get right down to it. And it certainly wasn’t big enough for the two of us, once we called it quits.”

“Then you know the Buchanans,” said Theodosia.

“Quite well, actually,” Aerin replied. “And such a tragedy about poor Corey Buchanan. Drayton’s been filling me in. Brooke, too.” She lowered her voice. “I can’t say we’re thrilled by these whispered allegations of a cat burglar. Heart’s Desire has a well-earned reputation for offering a stunning array of estate jewelry, so we do make an awfully broad target,” she said, widening her eyes in alarm.

“There you-all are!” Delaine Dish, with Cooper Hob-caw in tow, edged up to the group. “Look, Coop, here’s our dear Theo and Drayton. And Miss Linley, too. Hello,” she purred.

“Good evening,” Cooper Hobcaw said politely. “Hello, Miz Browning, Drayton, Miz Linley.” He executed a chivalrous half-bow in their general direction.

Delaine gazed up at Cooper Hobcaw with studied intensity, then actually batted her eyelashes at him. “Don’t you just love a real Southern gentleman?” she cooed, seemingly entranced by his presence.