He commandeered the staff of the Knight’s Lily in Watlington and issued orders like a field marshal. He called for breakfast and coffee, for a bath and more towels, for yet more hot water, and for an assistant while he wielded the razor. Kyle submitted, and surmised that the inn’s servants did not mind the impositions. It allowed them to participate in the wedding that had the whole village excited. All the while, Jordan gave reports on the progress he had made in preparing the house in London for the future Mrs. Bradwell. Finally all was done. Jordan twitched a collar, smoothed a sleeve, and stood back to give an inspection. “Finished, and an hour to spare. The waistcoat was a superb choice, sir. That faint touch of deep rose in the gray is perfect with the blue superfine of the frock coat.” “Since the waistcoat was your choice, I am relieved that you approve. I still think the simpler gray would have been better.” “It is your wedding, sir. A touch of sartorial festivity—an extremely minor touch, I might add—is not only appropriate but expected.”
