Chapter 3
Isabella stood at the entrance of the Wexley Country Club, adjusting the sleeve of her green silk blouse before pushing the ornate wooden door.
The Lowcountry Ladies Club’s monthly luncheon was her first official social event on the island.
Despite navigating years of high-pressure corporate functions, she felt a bit nervous.
The gleaming marble foyer opened into the Blue Heron Restaurant, where floor-to-ceiling windows framed a panoramic view of the Atlantic. Spanish moss-draped oaks swayed in the salt breeze beyond the glass, and Isabella could hear the distant cry of actual blue herons fishing in the tidal marsh.
Crystal chandeliers shimmered above round tables, covered with crisp white linens, each featuring a centerpiece with a carefully arranged selection of local flowers. The room buzzed with conversations among elegantly dressed women.
“Ah, Ms. Montgomery, you found us.”
Vivian Pierce walked up toward Isabella’s elbow, perfectly attired in her mint green linen dress and her steel gray hair swept up into an immaculate bun.
“Let me introduce you to everybody who matters on Wexley.”
There it was again - everybody who matters.
“Thanks for the invitation,” Isabella said, noting how Vivian’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting more of the community.”
"Well, bless your heart, I'm sure you have. We're very selective about our membership here, but we always make an effort to welcome... suitable newcomers."
The slight pause before the last word spoke volumes. Isabella assumed one needed money or stature to be a part of the club. She didn’t have a lot of either, but she needed these connections, one way or the other.
“This way, please.”
As Vivian guided her through the room, Isabella kept a professional smile—the one she had perfected during countless hotel openings and tough board meetings.
She had learned to read a room within minutes, identifying the power players, the followers, and the potential allies.
These skills had served her well in corporate boardrooms from Atlanta to Charleston, and they would serve her here too.
She caught fragments of little conversations that hushed momentarily as they passed.
"Buyin' that old inn without any island connections whatsoever..."
"I heard she used to be sweet on Thomas Langley back in college..."
"Corporate hotel background, probably gonna turn it into some modern monstrosity..."
Isabella kept her expression as neutral as possible.
She hadn’t expected her history with Thomas to come up so quickly, though she shouldn’t have been surprised.
Heat crept up her neck. Apparently, her private heartbreak had become public entertainment faster than kudzu overtaking a fence line.
The thought of these women dissecting her past with Thomas over their mimosas made her stomach clench.
Small islands, like luxury hotels, ran on the currency of information and gossip.
“Ladies, may I present Isabella Montgomery, our newest property owner?” Vivian announced to a table of women. “Isabella, these are some of our executive committee members.”
Isabella shook hands and exchanged the usual pleasantries, trying to remember any names and details. She had good experience, as she was used to recalling important clients. Most of the women stayed very calm and polite, but their curiosity showed through beneath their social masks.
“Now, this is Margaret Beaumont, our club president,” Vivian said, her tone carrying the slightest edge as she introduced a striking woman who had silver-streaked dark hair and warm brown eyes.
“Maggie, please,” the woman corrected, standing up to shake Isabella’s hand.
She seemed genuinely warm and kind. “It’s so lovely to meet you, Isabella.
I’ve been watching that beautiful old inn sit empty for far too long.
I can’t tell you how pleased I am that someone with your background has taken it on. Welcome to Wexley.”
Something in Maggie’s very direct gaze and genuine smile put Isabella at ease immediately.
“Well, thank you. It is quite a project, but I’m excited about the challenge.”
“And I imagine that you’ve already engaged Thomas Langley for the restoration?” Maggie asked, gesturing for Isabella to take an empty seat beside her. “He did marvelous work on my home last year.”
Isabella felt Vivian stiffen slightly beside her. “Yes, he’s preparing a detailed proposal now.”
“Well, he’s an excellent choice,” Maggie said. “He understands the soul of our island architecture better than anyone, and he restored the original heart pine floors in my library that three other contractors said needed replacing.”
“Thomas certainly has his admirers,” Vivian interjected, “though his insistence on historical preservation sometimes conflicts with today’s modern safety standards.
” It seemed Vivian had a problem with Thomas no matter what he did.
Either she was criticizing his knowledge of historical preservation or his understanding of modern conveniences.
“Well, I found his knowledge to be quite impressive,” Isabella said, “but I value hearing any different perspectives during the renovation. Maybe you could advise me on which aspects of the inn are especially meaningful to the long-time islanders.”
This simple invitation, acknowledging Vivian’s status while gently establishing Isabella’s authority over her own home and project, seemed to soften the tension somewhat. Vivian’s smile became a fraction more genuine.
“Well, I’d be happy to share my insights. My grandmother used to attend social functions at the inn during its heyday. She spoke of the magnificent Christmas balls they hosted.”
As lunch was served, Maggie guided the conversation, bringing out various club members to share island stories and traditions with Isabella. Gradually, the initial frost began to thaw.
“So tell us, Isabella, what made you choose Wexley Island for your project?” asked an older woman named Charlotte. She learned that Charlotte was married to Gerald Stewart from the bank.
“While I was looking for a certain type of property - something with history and character in a community that values preservation - when my real estate agent sent me the listing for the inn, something about it just spoke to me.” Isabella left out the part where she had seen Wexley from afar decades ago.
“Had you visited the island before?” another woman asked.
Isabella took a sip of iced tea. “Many years ago, just briefly. I’ve always remembered how beautiful it was.”
She sensed there was an unasked question hanging in the air - about Thomas, about their past - but no one broached it. Instead, the conversation shifted to the challenge of renovations and island building codes.
As dessert was served, which was a delicate lemon tart with local berries, Vivian steered the conversation toward the upcoming Architectural Review Board meeting.
“Now, you’ll need to present your plans in great detail. The board is committed to maintaining the island’s aesthetic integrity and, of course, historical accuracy,” she said, being very clear. “I’m sure Thomas has explained the process.”
“Yes,” Isabella nodded. “It’s similar to the historical preservation committees I’ve worked with for hotel restorations in Charleston and Savannah. I appreciate the importance of maintaining architectural consistency.”
“Well, the difference is,” Vivian said with a thin smile, “that our board has the final say on what proceeds and what doesn’t. Even the most, let’s say, enthusiastic renovators have found that they need to adjust their visions to fit Wexley’s standards.”
Several of the women exchanged glances, and Isabella sensed that this was a line Vivian delivered to all the newcomers. Before she could say anything, Maggie intervened.
“What Vivian means is that we value our island’s unique character, but the board has always supported thoughtful restoration projects, especially for landmark buildings like the inn.
” She turned to Isabella with a smile. “I would be happy to review your plans before the meeting if you’d like.
I served on the board for fifteen years before becoming the club president. ”
“Oh, that would be so helpful,” Isabella said. “I’d value your perspective.”
As the luncheon wrapped up, Vivian made sure to introduce Isabella to the other Ladies Club members. The exchanges were brief but revealing, exposing some subtle alliances and factions within the island’s social scene. Isabella wasn’t quite sure what she had gotten herself into.
When she finally made her exit, Maggie walked with her to the veranda overlooking the ocean.
“Sugar, don’t let Vivian rattle you,” she said softly. “She’s been actin’ like the queen bee of this island for so long, she’s forgotten there are other flowers in the garden. But she doesn’t speak for all of us, not by a long shot.”
“Thank you so much for your kindness today,” Isabella said. “I do get the impression I’ve walked into a complex social landscape.”
Maggie laughed - a rich, deep, genuine sound.
“Oh my dear, that’s putting it mildly. Wexley is paradise in so many ways, but it’s also a tiny pond with fish who’ve grown accustomed to their pecking order.
Any newcomer with your credentials - especially with a connection to Thomas Langley - was bound to cause some ripples. ”
Isabella hesitated, but then decided to ask a direct question. “So everyone knows about my history with Thomas?”
“Oh, Vivian made certain of it,” Maggie confirmed. “Though I suspect she doesn’t know the full story, few do. But Vivian's not one to let sleeping dogs lie, especially when there might be something in it for her. Just keep that in the back of your mind.”
Something in Maggie’s tone made Isabella wonder precisely what the older woman knew, but before she could probe further, Maggie changed the subject.