Like my life, I thought.
Later, we dressed for dinner in our respective guest rooms and met at the top of the stairs. George was wearing a handsome blue suit, white shirt, and burgundy tie. I wore a simple black sheath that I affectionately call “my traveling uniform.”
“Ready?” he asked.
“Ready as I’ll ever be for cocktails and dinner the day after the man of the house has died. These are very weird people,” I whispered.
“Bloody bonkers is the way I’d put it. You look beautiful, Jessica, as usual.”
“Thank you.”
He held out his arm, which I took, and we descended the wide staircase together. I glanced over and saw the trace of a smile on his lips, which made me smile, too. He was enjoying this in a pixyish way, a side of him I found appealing, among many things.
It turned out to be a week I’d never forget.