Garrett McElliott, nattily dressed in a manner to which he had become accustomed, although not necessarily comfortable, stepped down and glanced to his left and right. A footman had promptly opened the door and put down the step, another opened the door to the men’s club and yet another saw to his top hat and great coat. Dressed more formally than usual, Garrett felt it best to look as if was going to attend the theatre or a soirée when he asked the questions he was about to of the patrons he found inside. Several bade him greetings, a few merely nodded and some ignored him completely. He wasn’t a titled gentleman, after all. “McElliott, where the hell have you been?” an older gentleman called out, hurrying to shake hands with him. “Lord Torrington?” Garrett said in shock, noting the elder’s surprising youthful exuberance and rather fashionable clothing. Looks like he’s hired Weston to do his tailoring! “My God, what have you done?
