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Orange, and Autumn Magic, which was a blend of white tea, apple bits, and black currants.
    Her own line of T-Bath products lined the bottom two shelves. Her Chamomile Calming Lotion was by far thebiggest seller, but they also sold lots of jars of White Tea Feet Treat as well as their T-Bath Bombs.
    When everything looked perfect and organized, Theodosia glanced around the tea shop and smiled. The little shingled carriage house that she had freshened, decorated, and cozied up was her pride and joy. The tea-stained wooden floor lent rustic charm, while the candles, bone china, and fancy linens imbued it with a Victorian feel. Oh, and there were the decorated grapevine wreaths and swags hanging on the walls, too. Wild vines she’d collected and dried at Cane Hill, her aunt Libby’s plantation, then laced with velvet ribbons and hung with delicate floral teacups. So the whole shop projected a kind of rustic-Victorian-boho vibe, if there really was such a thing.
    â€œTheodosia?” Drayton was calling to her, so she ambled over to the front counter, where he was chatting with a newly arrived guest. A man who was dressed almost on a par with Drayton. That is, a tweed jacket, pocket square, tailored slacks, and horn-rimmed glasses. But no bow tie, just a regular tie.
    â€œTheo,” Drayton said. “I’d like you to meet Lionel Rinicker.”
    Theodosia shook hands with a smiling Rinicker and said, “But I kind of know who you are already. You’re on the board of directors with Drayton. At the Heritage Society.”
    Rinicker, who was six feet tall and thin bordering on storklike, beamed down at her. “That’s right. And I have to say I’m loving it, even though I’m relatively new to Charleston.”
    â€œLionel moved here six months ago,” Drayton said.
    â€œAnd you’re already on the board,” Theodosia said. “That’s very impressive. Drayton and his merry band must think quite highly of you.” She decided that Lionel Rinicker did look rather cultured and urbane.
    â€œLionel and I have very similar tastes in art,” Drayton said. “In fact, he used to teach art history when he lived in Bous.”
    â€œAnd that city is where?” Theodosia asked. She gave him a rueful gaze. “Sorry, geography was never my strong suit.”
    â€œIt’s in Luxembourg,” Rinicker said. “The southern part of the country. Though I’m afraid Luxembourg itself is only some nine hundred and ninety-eight square miles in total.”
    â€œAnd you were born there?” Theodosia asked. She’d never met a Luxembourger before. If that’s what they were called.
    â€œNo, no,” Rinicker said. “I’m not a native. I was born in Hollenburg, Austria, just outside of Vienna. I moved to Luxembourg some years ago so I could teach at the university just across the German border. The University of Trier.”
    â€œWow,” Theodosia said. “You’re a regular citizen of the world.”
    â€œHardly,” Rinicker said as Drayton began to steer him toward an empty table.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Theodosia said. “I’m standing here gabbing away and you’ve come to eat lunch.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “What can I bring you? Did Drayton show you our menu?”
    â€œWhy don’t you bring him a cup of chowder, a scone, and a chicken potpie,” Drayton said. “If there are any potpies left.”
    â€œOf course, there’s one left,” Theodosia told Rinicker. “And I’m pretty sure it’s got your name on it.”
    He chuckled. “Lovely.”
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    Theodosia cleared two tables, rang up tabs for departing guests, and handled a half-dozen take-out orders. Then, when everything seemed fairly copacetic, she plopped into the chair across from Lionel Rinicker. He was just finishing the last bits of his scone.
    A smile lit