You are standing on the gravel path that winds from the south terrace down to the water’s edge. The air is cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and late roses. Your slippers are in your hand.

From the open French doors behind you, the distant sounds of a harpsichord being tuned and the rustle of silk float on the evening air. A reminder. In a few hours, you will be in the Grand Hall, surrounded by them all.