You moved lightly among the clusters, unobtrusive, your presence unremarkable. That was exactly how you wanted it. No one knew your name. No one would recognize you from Britain. You barely visited, and when you did, it was fleeting, discreet.

Today, the château had been lent to a friend for the event, and you had wandered along the garden paths, curious but careful not to intrude. A group of horses grazed near a low fence. You stepped closer, letting your fingers brush the fence absentmindedly.

Movement caught your eye: a small boy, no older than five, was coming toward you. He moved with purpose, a mixture of curiosity and assurance. Pale blond hair, grey eyes, a miniature replica of aristocratic composure.