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1
It was politics as usual. Or unusual in this particular case. Because tea maven Theodosia Browning had never hosted a tea party before where a superambitious, overcaffeinated politician had suddenly leaped from his chair to deliver a boastful, impromptu speech.
Of course, it was election time in Charleston, South Carolina, and politicians were thick as flies in a hog barn. Which is why Osgood Claxton III was rambling to an acutely bored audience about his prodigious accomplishments and why they should surely award him a seat in the state legislature. It was also why Theodosia hovered nervously at her tea table while her team readied scones and tea sandwiches.
“He’s trying to hijack Holly’s event,” Theodosia murmured to Drayton Conneley, her tea sommelier and trusted friend. They were gazing out at the dozen or so tables that had been set up in Charleston’s gorgeous new Petigru Park, getting ready to plop fresh-baked glory bee honey scones on all their guests’ plates.
“This has the makings of a train wreck,” Drayton agreed. He touched a finger to his yellow bow tie as if to punctuate his sentence.
Theodosia turned sharp blue eyes onto Holly Burns, the owner of the Imago Gallery, who was seated nearby. As Claxton droned on, Holly’s face turned blotchy and her jaw went rigid. Clearly, she wasn’t one bit happy.
Oh dear. This was, after all, Holly’s outdoor tea party in honor of the relaunch of her Imago Gallery. Dozens of art lovers, patrons, and artists lounged at the elegantly appointed tables while, all around them, large colorful paintings were displayed on wooden easels. A brilliant yellow sun shone down and a cool breeze wafted in from Charleston Harbor to stir the park’s newly planted native grasses. Hives from a community beekeeping project were stacked like bee condos a safe distance away.
“I’m going to go over there and try to disarm that walking, talking dictionary,” Theodosia said to Drayton. A self-made tea entrepreneur who’d made it on her own terms, Theodosia was confident, nimble at handling tricky situations, and unimpressed by boastful politicians. Her ice-chip blue eyes matched her tasteful sapphire earrings while masses of Titian red hair swirled around her lovely oval face. Theodosia also possessed a gracious manner that was poised yet purposeful.
“Watch your step with that fellow,” Drayton warned. “He’s powerfully...”
“Connected. Yes, I know he is,” Theodosia said as she grabbed a pink floral teapot filled with Darjeeling tea, fixed her mouth in a bright smile, and headed directly for the red-faced, overbearing politician.
Osgood Claxton III saw her coming and seemed to lose focus for a moment. He blinked, trying desperately to sputter out a few more words. But that tiny hesitation was all Theodosia needed.
“Mr. Claxton,” Theodosia said with a warm lilt to her voice. “Bless your heart for expounding on your many qualifications. Now that we’re all familiar with such prodigious talents, you must surely take your seat so my staff and I can begin serving our delicious luncheon of honey scones and tea sandwiches.”
Theodosia grabbed a quick breath, faced the forty or so guests, and continued, not allowing the startled Claxton a moment to jump back in. “As you all know, Holly Burns has recently upped the ante at her marvelous Imago Gallery.” She smiled as Claxton reluctantly slumped in his seat. “Along with a new partner, and a higher profile in Charleston’s thriving art scene, Holly now represents an amazing group of talented and well-known South Carolina artists.”
There was a spatter of applause and Holly half rose in her chair to wave and acknowledge her guests. She had long dark hair, was skinny as a wet cat, wore armfuls of clanking silver bracelets, and jittered with anxiety. With dozens of potential art buyers and a few wealthy collectors among her guests, today would prove to be a make-or-break day for her.
Theodosia continued. “And lucky for us, we have on display here”—she gestured at the paintings resting on their easels—“a number of intriguing and colorful paintings—works by Holly’s new artists that are here for your appreciation and careful perusal.” There was more applause and then Theodosia added, “So please sit back and enjoy this special Honeybee Tea as we fill your teacups with our house blend of Honey Child tea and serve our first course of fresh-baked glory bee scones. Following that, we’ll present a tempting array of tea sandwiches that will include honey ham on rye, shrimp with tarragon on crostini, and chicken salad on brioche.”
As Drayton poured tea, Theodosia and her young chef, Haley Parker, slipped from table to table, serving scones, dropping off bowls of Devonshire cream, and encouraging guests to drizzle some of their specially sourced raw honey onto their scones.
When the guests were all sipping and munching (even Osgood Claxton III seemed to be making short work of his scone), Theodosia wiped her hands on her apron and gazed about contentedly. This is what she did, after all—and she did it rather well. Yes, Monday through Friday you could find her at the Indigo Tea Shop, a devastatingly adorable tea shop on Church Street. But she also reveled in catering special event teas. And this Sunday’s tea, her themed Honeybee Tea, seemed to be going off without a hitch. The weather was gorgeous, Petigru Park was clearly the perfect venue, and there were already small red stickers on several of the paintings—which meant they’d been earmarked as either on hold or sold—a feather in Theodosia’s cap as well as Holly’s.
As a former marketing executive, Theodosia loved nothing better than to spin out new ideas. These included event teas, tea trolley tours, even catering gigs. She’d draw up a business plan, work out all the nits and nats, then bring the whole shootin’ match to fruition. Right now she was making plans for a line of organic, tea-infused chocolates that would be sold at the Indigo Tea Shop. Two of the brand names she was considering were Church Street Chocolates and Cacao Tea.
“This is going well, yes?” Drayton said to her. He’d just made the rounds pouring tea and looked elegant in his cream-colored jacket and matching linen slacks. Sixty-something and always projecting the manner and bearing of a true Southern gent, Drayton was a tea sommelier and a skilled orator and served on several boards of directors.
“I just got a quick read from Holly and she’s over the moon,” Theodosia said. “She believes she’s already made several sales to a few serious collectors and that the Imago Gallery is finally on the right track to success.”
“Holly was smart to hook up with that silent partner. Jeremy something...”
“Slade. Jeremy Slade.”
Drayton nodded. “Right. The one who gave her the infusion of cash.”
“She lucked out,” Theodosia said. Then she gazed across the tables and said, “Oh bother.”
“What?” Drayton said.
“Bill Glass just showed up.” Glass was the publisher of Shooting Star, a local tabloid that specialized in gossip, unfounded rumors, and glossy photos of the nouveau riche acting badly. Today, Glass was wandering among the tables, taking photos, and doing a skillful bit of glad-handing. His razor sunglasses were pushed up on his forehead and he wore a khaki photographer’s vest, sloppy brown pants, and red high-top tennis shoes.
“He’s not exactly the vision you want to see at a tea party, but he’s harmless,” Drayton said. “Besides, most people are thrilled to see their picture in his little rag of a magazine.”
“Maybe,” Theodosia said.
Haley nudged her and said, “Time to put out the sandwich trays?” Haley was twenty-six, petite, and blond with stick-straight hair. But underneath her sweet appearance, she was a little martinet. And it was woe to the baker or fishmonger who tried to deliver day-old goods to Haley’s kitchen.
“Let’s do it,” said Drayton. “While everything’s so perfectly fresh.”
