The invitation arrives on heavy cream stock, the crest embossed rather than printed, the handwriting confident yet understated. “Shooting Friday, stalking Saturday, dinner both nights. Bring boots - and something for the evening.” For those fortunate enough to circulate among Britain’s sporting classes, the true excitement of a country-house weekend is rarely the bag count or the driven pheasant. It is the ritual of gathering at dusk, mud still clinging to the hems of tweed, to transform - swiftly, elegantly - into company fit for a candlelit dining room that has seen three centuries of similar evenings.

These dinners occupy a delicious sartorial no-man’s-land. Classic black tie would be pompous; a charcoal business suit, funereal. The host expects neither the rigidity of Mayfair nor the slovenliness of the bothy. Instead, the dress code is implicit: polished, characterful, and quietly celebratory. One must honour the house without upstaging it.
For gentlemen, the solution lies in texture, colour, and the gentle subversion of convention. Favourbrook’s velvet dinner jackets and smoking jackets - emerald blue, bottle green, or a deep claret - are the modern heir to the smoking jackets of Edwardian house parties. The dinner jackets are cut with a softened shoulder and a nipped waist, they slip over a crisp white shirt and black trousers with the ease of a cardigan. The dinner jackets - both single-breasted and double=breasted - have a relaxed grandeur about them, with frogging details nodding to tradition. A silk shawl collar adds just enough lustre to signal that the day’s labours are behind you.




