I went swimming in my underwear at Keswick Hall. Too much information, I know. But stay with me and you'll see how wonderfully discreet a well-trained hotel staff can be.

In my own defense, when I realized I'd forgotten my bathing suit I tried to buy one at the resort shop, but all they had were golf clothes. What to do? There was the infinity pool shimmering in the sun, mirroring the cloudless blue sky. I had to get in there. When my traveling buddy suggested I use his long, dark gray T-shirt as a combination bathing suit/coverup, I thought it over for, oh, about five seconds and jumped in.

So I wasn't exactly the classiest guest they've ever had.

To their credit, the staff reacted not with horror at my tacky ensemble but with perfect aplomb. When I climbed out of the pool to order a snack, the bow-tie-clad waiter flicked an appraising glance my way, then recovered almost instantly and asked whether I wanted truffles on my french fries, and would that be a regular or a double espresso, ma'am? (I went with the double shot, no truffles.)

I do like a nice hotel. And while I'm not the type to ordinarily spend $400 a night on a room, I managed to rationalize my stay at Keswick Hall thusly: Europe is not in the cards this summer. Just can't afford those $1,300 airfares and the crushing costs of food and lodging.

But I could manage the $500 package deal for one night's lodging at Keswick, plus gourmet dinner and breakfast for two, along with the tank of gas for the 220-mile roundtrip to Charlottesville. The country-house hotel is set on 600 acres in Virginia's hunt country, in a 1912 Tuscan-style mansion that has been expanded and renovated over the years. Its 48 antiques-filled guest rooms overlook formal gardens or rolling fields; public spaces feature wood-burning fireplaces, overstuffed sofas and tables piled with art books and first editions.

What with all the Italian imagery floating around in my mind, I was a little disappointed to drive up to the hotel on a sunny Sunday afternoon and not find a backdrop of cypress trees. The building does, however, have the requisite red tile roof, Palladian windows, archways and weathered tile floors. And the view from the terrace was a knockout: green hills, ancient oaks, a pond, a classic white farmhouse, sand traps. Our room was spacious and pleasant; the fireplace and antique armoire added character, and the enormous bathroom featured a heated towel rack and oversize tub, complete with plush robes. All was forgiven.

We could have played tennis, or fished, or hiked. But we couldn't resist the bicycles propped on the front porch, and hopped on a bright red two-seater to explore the grounds. A little swimming, a little reading, and it was time for dinner. Our package deal included a five-course chef's tasting menu for two in the Fossett Room, a casually elegant space with yet another killer view. As the sky turned to indigo, we savored tiny cups of lobster bisque, heirloom tomato salads, grilled salmon with lobster ravioli and asparagus, fresh berry sorbets and pecan pie. The wine, a chardonnay from nearby Blenheim Vineyards, went down easy.

It was all very nice: the friendly service, the exquisite surroundings, the innovative meal. But the highlight was still to come. The next morning, after a breakfast of fresh fruit and pastries, I took my coffee out to the lawn, found a rocking chair overlooking the green hills and simply savored the view. It wasn't Tuscany, but it would do.