I joined the growing mass of people on the lawn and wished that Father had come instead of me. I tried to be social and make polite conversation while feeling totally out of place. Even my green dress went against the standard white that everyone was wearing. For most of the afternoon, I tried to hide on the outlying fringes of the gathering and avoid speaking to anyone.

As the afternoon wore on, so grew my appetite. I was finally forced to join the crowd as the food emerged from the house. It was carried by waiters who deposited the dishes on long, cloth-covered tables. The valet, Mr. Whitlock, oversaw the proceedings. I found a spot at a table a few yards away from the head table, where Thomas sat with his wife. I noticed the coldness between them. It was the same as I had seen the other day when I made the delivery. They were polite to the guests and each other, but he and his wife clearly didn’t have the connection that he and I shared.

In the corner of the lawn, a photographer was setting up a camera.

After the food had been set on the serving tables, Mr. Whitlock conferred with the photographer, who nodded. Mr. Whitlock held up his hand to the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen, before dinner, we’d like to take a photograph to commemorate this occasion. The exposure will take twenty seconds. So, if you could please remain very still. Ready?” he asked the photographer who nodded from behind the camera. Mr. Whitlock turned back to us. “Here we go. One, two, three …”

The photographer pulled the shutter open and shouted, “Very still, now!”

The children, including the Carringtons’ daughter, continued to run around the edges of the lawn, but their parents were too afraid to move to stop them. They instead hissed at them to settle down.

I couldn’t help staring at him. He was such a striking figure. Powerful. A man who got exactly what he wanted.

The photographer snapped the shutter close. “That should do it. Thank you, everyone!”

Mr. Whitlock held up his hands, again. “Thank you, everyone! And now, dinner is served!”

I ate but couldn’t taste the food. I was wrapped up in my own misery. I wanted to leave but it would have been a spectacle to get up during dinner, go to the bicycle, and ride away. I was trapped.

It was then that I formulated a plan.

After dinner, everyone would go to the backyard to watch the fireworks. I would follow, but then slip away while everyone was watching the display. I no longer cared about seeing him, since he clearly didn’t care about seeing me.

The sun set and cake was served. People relaxed into their chairs, stuffed with food. Conversations slowed as daylight waned. Mr. Whitlock announced that the fireworks would begin shortly and that everyone should go to the backyard.