Grand Inheritance

When this story was published in 2014, it was missing context regarding Miles Brewton's role as a trader of enslaved people. We regret the exclusion.

For most people the first thing that comes to mind is the physical beauty of the place. The 18th- and 19th-century architecture has miraculously survived wars and hurricanes and today looks better than ever—but when you get there it's the atmosphere that takes over. The streets are full of smiles and pretty girls, and the fellow in a cigar bar springing up to offer your wife a light might turn out to be Justin Timberlake. (This really did happen, and my wife is still with me.) Would he have done it anywhere else? Of course he would, but the point is, Charleston puts everybody in a good mood.

So what do you do if you live in one of the biggest and most architecturally significant of Charleston's houses? Keep it friendly. Invite everybody over for a good dinner, give them a drink, and tell them to relax.

The house in question is called Miles Brewton, and it's one of the foremost examples of Georgian townhouse design in America. Named for Brewton, who made his fortune as a merchant and trader of enslaved people, it was completed in 1769. The home was co-designed by Brewton (who had been to Europe several times and knew what he wanted) and builder Ezra Waite. Today it is the home of one of the most charismatic single moms in the world, Lee Van Alen Manigault, and her daughters Gigi and India.

Their life there might be described as one part splendor and four parts high spirits. Example: There is a ballroom. In it, along with the famous azure coved ceiling and original unelectrified chandelier (the many candles of which are quite a project to light), are a boombox and a miniature disco ball, to make sure it gets used by somebody young.

The story of Miles Brewton begins almost 500 years ago outside Venice, with the villas created by Andrea Palladio. This big brick house—with its symmetrical plan and double portico—is a descendant of those villas, like the great British country houses built at the beginning of the 18th century that revived and celebrated the Palladian style in the Old World. Within a few decades, thanks to pattern books that made their way to America, Miles Brewton did the same in the New.

At Miles Brewton today, Lee Manigault is a natural hostess: relaxed, generous, and wickedly funny. She and fellow Charleston luminary Suzanne Pollak decided to make a business of what their city is best known for—hospitality—and two years ago partnered up to found the Charleston Academy of Domestic Pursuits, a "school" dedicated to teaching the techniques of entertaining they both were surely born knowing but that the rest of us require a little coaching to master. "It's a roving campus," Lee explains. "We do 'how to give a dinner party' classes in people's homes about twice a month, for as little as eight but sometimes many more." A recent oyster-roasting class attracted 60 people.

Together they're known as the Deans, and this mirthful institution offers instruction in how to entertain with confidence, élan, and—most important, no matter how proper the context—a sense of fun. (A book of recipes and lifestyle tips is coming next spring from Stewart, Tabori & Chang.) "In many ways this business, and my partnership with Suzanne, is the most exciting thing that's ever happened to me," Lee says. "But the most I can work on it is four hours a day. Because after that I lose my sense of humor."

Being the most magnificent house in town, Miles Brewton was occupied as a military headquarters in both the Revolutionary and Civil wars. The chimneypieces in the downstairs parlors have soldiers' graffiti, including a particularly beautifully drawn warship scribed into the marble. The secrets of these walls are endless, and the 18th-century interiors—Georgian millwork, rococo papier-mâché ceilings, heart pine floors—are completely intact. "The reason it looks so good now," Lee tells me, "is because there was no money after the Civil War to mess with it."

Born in Millbrook, New York, and raised in patrician WASP circumstances, Lee Manigault has a gift for raising the energy of any room she enters. Living at Miles Brewton for the past seven years has both challenged and added to her confidence. "One nice thing you wouldn't realize from the outside is there are only two bedrooms," she reminds me. It takes a moment for this to sink in. "In the 18th century everybody shared, and we do too." The house belongs to her ex-husband's family; her former parents-in-law, Peter and Patricia Manigault, comprehensively restored it from 1988 to 1992. Miles Brewton has generally descended in the female line, and after Lee and her husband separated (they enjoy a very amicable relationship today), she and her daughters took up residence.

All three of these ladies are right at home here, and each has a personality bigger than the double portico on the house's façade, but they are also stewards of an important building. This is a privilege, but very much a job, as well. It can be exhausting to be closely identified with a building of such significance and to receive so many visitors. (At the end of his life Sir Harold Acton was said to have confessed that showing people around the garden at La Pietra, his villa overlooking Florence, was the thing that killed him.) "There definitely is a sense of responsibility that comes with living here," Lee says. "And in a way I'm raising my children in a museum. But I do love the place, and I think it loves me. I feel like the house and I talk to each other."

There is a natural rapport here, perhaps because there is also a history of great houses in Lee's family. The Van Alen house in Newport, now part of Salve Regina College, was called Wakehurst, and it could hold its own with the best of them. Miles Brewton is well known but remains strictly private. There have always been blood descendants of the original owner (including Lee's daughters) in residence, and the house has remained in the possession of the family that built it for nearly 250 years. (Miles Brewton has changed hands, but it has never been sold.) This article marks only the second time this influential 18th-century American house has been featured in a magazine.

Since I can't enroll in a class, I have questions for one of the Deans. Like any gracious hostess, Lee is also a diplomat, and when I ask her to describe the worst dinner party she has ever been to, she demurs with a twinkle. "I think it's always good to keep it simple," she says, offering constructive advice instead. "I like to surprise people with a Dove Bar on beautiful china for dessert." I try to imagine how this approach might have gone over in 1769. "The kiss of death is too many courses," she insists. "That would have been my least favorite thing about the 18th century."