Celeste woke early. The sky outside her window was the same winter gray it had been all week, even and dull. She chose a simple breakfast and ate it at the small table by the window. She didn’t rush. The day would be long enough without hurrying.

At eight, the house stirred. Vans rolled up the drive. Florists carried in white lilies. The quartet arrived and tuned in short phrases that rose and stopped. Servants moved chairs and laid out place cards. The ballroom ...