Across the room I spied Edwin and Lady Elizabeth, nuzzling while chatting to a balding man I recognized as the famed theater producer behind the gymnastics musical Perfect Ten. Freddie was introducing Daphne to Bea’s mother, Lady Pansy Larchmont-Kent-Smythe, once Emma’s best friend and a person I’d never seen smile (admittedly on-brand for that family). I tried to make contact with Nick, or pass him by so we could at least brush pinkies the way we often did when we wanted to say a silent hello at public events, but he either was flanked by Dutch dignitaries or just never turned my way. I felt profoundly alone.

“And then you swipe right if they’re sexy, and left if they’re a tosser,” I heard a voice say, and turned to see Agatha huddled over her cell phone with a silver-haired dowager type in a gray lacy dress and five strands of pearls, and her trussed-up daughter, everything too snug and too short for no apparent reason.

“This one’s handsome,” Agatha said, peering at her screen. “And an international financier.”

The woman swiped left for her. “No one calls themselves that unless they plan to rob you.”

“What about him? He’s a lord,” Agatha tried. “He likes horses, and to ‘Netflix and chill.’ Sounds fun?”

“It means he wants a fuck,” said her daughter plainly. At her mother’s strangled noise, she jerked her head up, then looked right at me and gasped.

“It’s you,” she trilled. “I’ve been dying to meet you. I’ve so much to ask! How do you like being British? Is it terribly dull compared to America? We get so much rain. Is that thing heavy?” She lowered her voice to what could best be described as a mini-scream, and went on: “Ooh, and did you really get a leg over ’em both? I would.”

Agatha frowned at her phone. “This man is using a photo of Roger Moore,” she said, swiping left with gusto. “I cannot be fooled.”

“And whatever are you wearing?” the girl railroaded on as interested heads started to cotton to our conversation. “That dress is fascinating.”

Something about her profound directness struck me as incredibly funny. I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

“It’s McQueen,” I managed, grateful that the final question had been one I could answer. “You’ll be seeing these everywhere come spring. Lovely to meet you.”