*Ella*
The picnic and punting take place in the late afternoon, in the gardens stretching behind the castle. The gardens are laid out very formally, stretching from the bottom of a vast flight of white marble steps. There’s a hedge maze, and a lake with swans, and everything imaginable a self-respecting castle’s garden should have, including an orchestra, scraping away on a marble terrace.
I wear a cherry-tinted wig to match my gown, a lovely tunic with overskirts in cherry, cut back to reveal two layers, one in a paler cherry and another in cream. I have a little argument with Rosalie over the wax inserts, but my maid insists that the cherry dress would be disgraced by my natural shape. Or, more to the point, by my lack of natural shape.
“They may melt, and then where would I be? What
