She rolled her eyes, even though something about his silliness was charming.

He jogged toward her. “Take a picture with us? S'il vous plait?”

She nodded and crossed over that path to them, then realized she hadn’t yet taken any pictures with her own phone. She got in the center of the men and smiled as they snapped picture after picture. She handed them her phone, and they took pictures for her too. “You sound British?” she said to Napoleon.

He nodded, “That’s right. Me and mates just come over here for this party. You American?”

“Yes. I’ve always wanted to go to this, ever since I first heard of it a long time ago. It took me a while to get here, though.”

“Well,” he took her fingertips and pressed a very wet and slightly unpleasant kiss into the back of her hand, leaving a lip-print on the back of her glove. “Enjoy the fantasy!”

She smiled as they staggered away, weaving in and out of the crowd and nearly spilling beer on just about everyone they met. As she looked around, she realized it was true. The clientele leaned toward the millennial side. Maybe that was all the type of guest this kind of extravagant party attracted—young foreigners who used it as an excuse to booze it up. There were a few older couples, but most were definitely closer in age to Diana’s children.

No matter, she told herself, as her stomach growled under her corset. She’d been too nervous to eat much all day, but now she was starving. Time for the buffet. At least I can get a good meal out of it.

The pre-party dinner buffet was outdoors on one of the many lawns. The line of food seemed to stretch on forever, and the tangy scent of citrus and the savory smell of cooked ham wafted to greet her, even before she’d walked around the privet hedge surrounding the dining area. There were round tables set up upon the lawn, and people were eating with plastic forks and paper napkins. Not exactly authentic, but it beats eating with my hands! she thought, going to the end of the line and taking a paper plate from the pile.

The website had advertised a “sumptuous buffet fit for royalty,” and the food on the serving trays, at least in appearance, lived up to that. A salade niçoise and escargot appetizer, along with all the French favorites—bouillabaisse, cassoulet, beef bourguignon—were there for the taking, as well as carving stations full of large cuts of fresh meat and plenty of sides like roasted carrots and gratin dauphinois. The dessert table was full of treats, including miniature containers of crème brulee and pots de crème, and there was a station making fresh crepes to order.

Let them eat cake! She thought to herself, smiling as she took her silverware. And I will. A lot of it. Until my corset bursts at the seams.

She’d just started to ladle a helping of coq au vin onto her plate when she looked up, across the buffet, to the balustrade of a garden folly.