so pleased to see you?”
“That is, unfortunately, his usual expression.” Graham sighed and shook his head. “I’m not the Lord Radcliffe he wants.”
“Ah.” Tyrone clasped his hands behind his back with a wince. “None too pleased with the spare on the throne, is he?”
Graham smirked at his friend, raising a sardonic brow. “I’m none too pleased to be here, myself. I rather enjoyed being the second son. The relatively unfortunate one. But there is nothing for it, is there? No matter how much any of us wishes Matthew alive and well and fully in possession of the title, it cannot be.”
“True enough,” Tyrone grunted, rocking on his heels. “Only glad my brother James is engrossed in his role as Lord Eden and already has his heir. I find myself content to be relegated to the background and ignored. I shall endeavor to make the most of it for us both.”
“Thank you,” Graham replied dryly. “Most kind. Really.” He exhaled and fidgeted with his cravat once more. “Shall we go? The sooner we get there, the sooner it can all be over.”
Tyrone chuckled in his deep, low way and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Hastings, you sound like a cantankerous hermit of seventy rather than a strapping man of nearly thirty. Shall I warn your valet that your cravat may double as a noose in the hallowed halls of the theatre?”
Graham scowled as they turned from the room and headed out to the carriage. “Don’t tempt me. And I don’t think you can call me Hastings now.”
“Someone has to remind you who you are beneath the title. Might as well be me.”
Fair enough.
They loaded into the coach and were soon rattling off towards Covent Garden, and Tyrone distracted Graham from his foreboding thoughts, stupid though they were. It was only a night at the theatre, and he was not exactly being swarmed by desperate misses and their more desperate mamas to be matched up. He wasn’t surrounded by fools and peacocks vying to appear part of his circle either.
Additionally, he wouldn’t have to converse at all once the play began. He could safely admit that the theatre was a good deal better than a ball. If he could survive the more social aspects of the evening, the rest of it would be simple. Perhaps even enjoyable.
Not likely, but perhaps.
It wasn’t far to the theatre itself, but the line of carriages once they were there was abysmal. Yet another reason Graham rarely ventured there, or to any great Society gathering.
Rather, why he’d previously rarely ventured.
The title needed to be taken seriously now that the mourning was over, and the self-imposed tutoring of his responsibilities was at an end. Part of honoring and upholding the title was sustaining worthy connections and crafting new ones, none of which were things with which Graham could say he was comfortable.
Why shouldn’t he have become a hermit of sorts? Stayed away from London and Society as a whole? He could write letters and missives to all who might need them, acquaintances and connections, matters of business, as well as those of a more social nature. He was excellent at letter composition and would do the job creditably.
Was his presence really necessary when he was not inclined towards engagement?
“You can’t run away,” Tyrone murmured. “They have rules for that.”
“Did Eden tell you that?” Graham asked with as much mildness as a man strangled by his own cravat can.
“He might have mentioned it. Once or twice. Every family gathering.”
Graham sniffed a laugh as their carriage finally reached the entrance to the theatre. “You enjoy giving him grief over it, then?”
Tyrone flashed a rare grin in his direction. “Thrive on it, mate. I pride myself on preparing the best barbs in advance and seeing just what I can raise in him.”
It was astonishing that the pair of them were friends at times, though they both shared a reserved, more serious nature. Graham would never have poked and prodded at Matthew over his title, though he had played a trick or two on him over the years. Graham was more droll than witty, while Tyrone possessed an abundance of wit, even if he also possessed reluctance to share it.
“So, this is why your father wishes you to find an occupation,” Graham mused aloud as he followed Tyrone out of the coach.
His friend gave him a dark look. “That will be the end of your opinion on the subject, thank you very much.”
Graham held up his hands in surrender. “Understood.” He