Page 31 of The Wexley Inn
They were greeted at the door by Maggie herself, wearing a green dress that perfectly complemented her silver hair. “Isabella, Daphne, welcome, dears. Everyone is out in the garden. We’ve set up a display area for your materials on the east terrace, as we discussed.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Vivian arrived early with her three closest allies, but I seated them as far from your presentation area as humanly possible.”
“Thanks so much for arranging this,” Isabella said. “Your support means more than I can express.”
“Oh, nonsense.” Maggie waved away the thanks. “I’ve been waiting years for someone to properly restore that inn, and I’m not about to let Vivian’s petty power plays interfere now that we finally have the right person for the job.”
She led them through the house to the back gardens, where approximately thirty women were gathered in elegant little groups, sipping champagne and nibbling on canapés served by the staff. Isabella recognized many of the faces from the Lowcountry Ladies Club luncheon, though there were several new women as well.
As they moved through the garden, Isabella recognized the intricate social dance at play - alliances as clearly marked as battle lines, with some women asserting dominance. Meanwhile, others acted as diplomatic messengers between groups. It was corporate politics played out with tea glasses and pearls, but politics nonetheless. Vivian held court near a stunning rose trellis, her perfectly styled hair and designer dress cementing her status as one of the fashion leaders at the garden party.
“Thomas hasn’t arrived yet,” Maggie said, “but he texted that he’s on his way. Charlotte Stewart is by the fountain. She’s Gerald’s wife and sits on the Historical Society Board. You want to speak with her first, for sure.”
For the next hour, Isabella mingled with the guests alongside Daphne, discussing their renovation plans and responding to questions about the inn’s future. To her pleasant surprise, most of the women appeared genuinely interested and supportive, asking about historical accuracy and preservation techniques.
“My grandmother used to attend dinner dances at the inn back in the fifties,” one elderly woman said. “She always said the ballroom had the best acoustics on the island. Are you going to preserve that space?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Isabella assured her. “The original ballroom is going to be fully restored, including that sprung dance floor. We found photographs from the era that show the crystal chandeliers and wall sconces, and we’re having those reproduced by a historical lighting specialist.”
The woman beamed with approval. “Wonderful. I do hope you’ll revive those dinner dances. They were quite the social highlight of the season.”
This pattern repeated with many guests, as each shared their personal connection to the inn’s history and showed their excitement for the restoration. Isabella started to realize that the inn wasn’t just a building to these women - it was a store of their memories, their courtships, their celebrations. Every room told stories that linked generations, and she wasn’t just restoring the architecture; she was bringing back the soul of their community.
She was deep in conversation with Charlotte Stewart about kitchen designs when she suddenly sensed a subtle shift in the garden’s atmosphere. Looking up, she saw Thomas arriving and heading toward them. He looked different outside the construction site, more polished in his pressed khakis and blue button-down shirt that highlighted the color of his eyes. His hair was neatly combed, though a rebellious strand had already fallen across his forehead, which Isabella found both familiar and disarming.
She caught herself marveling at details she shouldn’t have noticed - how the afternoon light highlighted the silver in his hair, how his smile changed his entire face when he greeted the ladies, and the confident way he navigated through the social scene she was still trying to learn.
“Thomas, dear,” Charlotte greeted him warmly. “I was just telling Isabella about how impressed Gerald is with the structural work you’ve done at the inn. He says it’s some of your finest restoration to date.”
“Well, that’s high praise coming from Gerald,” Thomas said, smiling. “He’s never been one to offer compliments lightly.”
“Isabella was showing me the kitchen plans,” she continued, “such a thoughtful balance of modern functionality and historical aesthetics.”
“Well, that’s been our approach all along,” Thomas said. “Isabella understands that preservation isn’t about freezing a building in time but allowing it to serve a purpose with appropriate updates.”
Isabella didn't want to admit how much his unwavering support affected her - how it felt like having an anchor in unfamiliar waters, how his confidence in her vision made her believe in it even more fiercely. It was dangerous territory, this gratitude that felt suspiciously like something more profound. She noticed how Thomas effortlessly navigated a conversation with Charlotte, addressing any practical considerations along the way.
When Charlotte moved on to greet other guests, he turned to Isabella with a slight smile. “So how’s it going so far?”
“Better than I expected,” she said. “There seems to be actual support for the project among many of the women here.”
“Well, don’t let that surprise you too much,” he said. “Despite Vivian’s influence, most of the islanders have wanted to see that inn restored for years. They just needed someone with the right vision and commitment to make it happen.”
She was about to respond to the unexpected compliment when she was interrupted by Vivian Pierce, approaching with a tight smile.
“Isabella, Thomas, how lovely to see you both,” she said. Her tone suggested the opposite of what she was saying. “I’ve been hearing quite a lot about your renovation plans today.”
“I hope you’ve had a chance to review our detailed presentations,” Isabella said, trying to sound pleasant. “Daphne has done a wonderful job showing how the modern updates will complement all of the historical elements.”
“Oh yes, your designer has a contemporary perspective,” Vivian said, her slight hesitation revealing her clear disapproval. "Although one does wonder if someone with deeper roots in our island's heritage might have made more... traditional choices. We do have such a distinctive aesthetic here."
Thomas stepped in. “Actually, Vivian, Daphne’s approach aligns perfectly with the guidelines established by the National Trust for Historic Preservation. Her work on the Dillon House in Charleston won recognition from the South Carolina Historical Society just last year.”
Vivian’s smile tightened. “Well, Charleston isn’t Wexley Island, is it? We have our own standards here.”
"Standards that our own Architectural Review Board established using nationally recognized preservation principles," he said firmly. "The same proven methods that have successfully restored buildings throughout the historic South."
Isabella watched the exchange with fascination, impressed by Thomas’s calm but unyielding defense. He understood the island’s political dynamics intimately. That much was clear. He knew exactly how to counter Vivian’s objections without appearing to be confrontational.
“I understand your concern for maintaining the island’s character, Vivian,” Isabella said. “It’s something we all value. But that’s why I’ve been so careful to document and preserve any original elements when possible.”
