He had spent a splendid morning, outfitting himself in such an outrageous rig that he dared not don it in front of the groomsman, for fear of being carted off to Bedlam. Still, he could feel the gay bandanna—an interesting confection of crimson shot with yellow—deep in his pocket. Under his sensible greatcoat, he had on a dark cape lined with a delightfully gaudy flamingo satin. It was trimmed with black fur to match his immaculate hessians. His sword presented something of a problem, for it was hard to tuck it into his faultless buckskins without having it noticed. Likewise, he could not mount his horse wielding the wretched thing—half his staff would have an apoplexy, fearing, for certain, an impending duel. He thanked the Lord his well-balanced pistols presented no problem. They were nicely hidden—thanks to a saddlebag more accustomed to carrying grouse than deadly weapons. Still, it served the purpose well, so it was now only the matter of the ruby-encrusted sword to worry about.
