“Oh, he owns it, does he?” Gemma is perhaps too drunk to notice that Edward looks irritated. “And do you want to tell her the story about the countess? It’s really my favorite.”

“That’s about enough, thanks.”

“So how do you two know each other?” I say, sensing that a subject change is in order. I can’t tell if they’re a couple or not.

“We’ve known each other since we were babies! Which was many decades ago.”

“Out our age just like that, Gem?”

I try to get a read on Edward. He seems unlike those of his contemporaries that I know back home. There are the coaches and equipment guys who have wives and families and drive practical cars with room for offspring and gear, and then the eternal ski bums, who still live like twentysomethings despite the fact that they’re more likely to shred their ligaments than anything else.

“We should embrace forty, Edward. We wear it well. Our fathers were dearest friends at Oxford,” she continues, “but then Edward’s father moved to New York City to seek his fortune. He married an Argentine who had decamped to Paris during the junta. It’s all very Continental. Thank goodness they came back to England all the time. Edward was my first crush!”

“Still not quite over me, are you?” Edward sips his champagne and smiles, sending charming crinkles fanning out around his eyes.

“So you have family here?” I say.

“My aunt and uncle and a very beloved cousin, Camilla, though she travels so much she can scarcely be said to live here. She’s here tonight though, home for the holiday.”

I look out into crowd. The party is more densely packed every time I turn around, as though it’s an organism whose cells are multiplying.

“I invite a few friends and they invite a few friends. I’ve been having these parties for a while now. What’s the point in having a house like this otherwise?” he says, looking around as though only now noticing the ruckus. “I suppose the word is out.”

“And you really don’t mind having all these strangers in your house?” I ask.

Edward shrugs and looks at the bustle as though observing adored children in a sandbox. “I enjoy it. Think of me as a social anthropologist.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days, Edward?” Gemma snorts.

He shakes his head. “Gemma will have you believe I’m an insufferable Don Juan, but my heart was shattered too. But that’s more than enough about me. What foolish man broke your heart back in the U.S.?”

“I was with my boyfriend for about a decade. Then I had some family drama. I don’t know, things got messy.” I think I see something flicker in Edward’s eyes, some recognition, but I know I’m probably being paranoid.