CHAPTER THREE
Sir Anthony Headley walked into the library at Lynche House and looked with astonishment at the Marquis sprawled in a chair with a glass of brandy in his hand and still wearing the clothes that he had driven back from Newmarket in.
“Good God, Valdo, you will be late!” Sir Anthony exclaimed. “And what the Devil is the meaning of this? You never said a word to me about it.”
He held up a large card as he advanced across the room, looking the very Tulip of Fashion.
His elegant satin coat could only have been cut by a Master hand and his snowy-white cravat fell in intricate folds such as had indeed taken his valet over an hour to achieve.
The Marquis looked round at his friend with a jaundiced eye, glanced at the card and away again.
“So you have been invited,” he said surli
