The Rose Bargain

Kensington Park has been transformed into an enchanted garden. Dotting the lawn are floral displays as big as people, and baskets artfully arranged and overflowing with blooms. Gardeners have been hard at work on the eaves of the palace, giving the illusion that flowers are spilling from the roof and windows. Sparkling chandeliers hang from the branches of ancient trees, their crystals jingling in the gentle breeze.

Below the stone steps of the palace, in the middle of the festivities, is a maypole, a thin post about as tall as a streetlamp, topped with a rainbow of ribbons trailing down the side and fluttering in the wind.

Lords and ladies of London high society mingle in their tails and silks, draped in diamonds and wearing hats piled high with organza flowers. It’s a Pact Parade tradition, this garden party. The ton gather to drink champagne and wait for the girls of the season to emerge and show off their new bargains. It marks the official start of the season, the gunshot that signifies the beginning of the marriage hunt.

The crowd goes still and silent as we step outside. We shouldn’t all be appearing at once like this. There’s a ripple of shocked gasps as people spot the two dozen girls with blood smeared across the skirts of their white Pact Parade gowns.