Quentin was rather enjoying his time in Whitby. While it was nothing like the exotic locales he often preferred, it was a lovely small town with plenty of culture. A good reminder that Britain had something to offer, even if it wasn't the only society of merit in the world as some of his contemporaries in London seemed to think. 

The lord was currently enjoying a brisk stroll through the village simply taking in the feel of it. He caught more than a few eyes as he meanders for various reasons. His height, which was taller than normal. His attire, a three-piece suit expertly tailored that spoke of obvious wealth. The friendly smile and warm greeting he gave to all who passed. He certainly left an impression as he goes.

Turning a corner he enters what was, unknown to him, the rougher side of town. Not that this worried him in the slightest as he passes by narrow alleyways that could continue all kinds of nefarious ne'er-do-wells waiting for a naive walker to trap in a nasty net.