“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 looked up at the theatre with a reluctant sigh. “Gads. Why are we doing this?”
“Because we’re gentlemen,” his friend replied without any enthusiasm or pride, “and someone at some time decided that gentlemen go to the theatre.”
“Not well done, there.”
“Not at all.”
Nearly as one, they strode forward and moved into the theatre itself, their hats and cloaks being taken by the staff as they were directed to the elaborately furnished corridors where every other patron was currently milling about.
Graham fought to ignore the rise of perspiration forming on his brow the further within the bowels of Society’s cradle he ventured.
It was fine. This was fine. People were fine.
Fine. Fine. Fine.
“I am well aware that you are just as reticent as I, Hastings,” Tyrone said quietly, his mouth quirking as though he would smile, “but is it necessary to look so murderous? People will start to comment.”
“Smiling is unnatural under such circumstances,” Graham grunted by way of reply.
Tyrone made a low sound of amusement. “Did I say smile? If you will see, I neither smile nor frown. I simply exist. Yet, no one would fear me.”
“Congratulations.” Graham almost shook his head. His friend was not only just as reserved as he was, but he was oftentimes less prone to attending social events than Graham. How could he possibly have any commentary on Graham’s expression, activity, or behavior in public?
The whole thing was ridiculous.
Why were they even here?
“What miraculous act has brought my cousin to the theatre?” a feminine voice said near them.
Graham felt himself smirking as Janet, Lady Sterling, crossed their path, her dark eyes flicking between the two men, her lips quirking in a smile.
“Lady Sterling, what a pleasant surprise.”
“Pleasant is a matter of taste,” Tyrone muttered, grimacing in the presence of his lovely cousin. “Shouldn’t you be at home with the baby? Surely, it is too soon for you to reappear in Society.”
Janet smiled pleasantly as though her cousin’s surly nature amused her. “I am feeling quite well, thank you, Tyrone.” She turned the smile up to Graham. “Good evening, Lord Radcliffe. Would you be so good as to explain the proper manners of a gentleman to my cousin? He seems confused on the subject.”
Tyrone blustered beside him. “Janet, for pity’s sake. Where is your husband?”
“Likely hiding from your thunderclouds, dear. They are really quite ugly this evening.”
Graham bit back a snort of laughter at the bickering between the cousins, knowing full well that the Demaris family, extensive as it was, had some very strong bonds of affection. His own family was a small bunch, even all branches together, and their ties were not especially strong.
The fact that he and Matthew had maintained their connection as well as they had was something of a family anomaly.
And now that, too, was gone.
“Won’t you join us in our box?” Lady Sterling offered with a faint gesture in the direction before them. “Francis isn’t thrilled to be here, so the three of you can keep each other company while I enjoy myself.”
“Why should tonight be any different?” Tyrone offered a heavy sigh and extended his arm to his cousin. “Lead the way, cousin.”
Janet looped her arm through his, lifting a brow. “So gallant. Really. Quite touching.”
Graham fell into step behind the pair as they continued their dry bantering while maneuvering through the crowds mingling on the outskirts of the theatre seats. They made their way to the box, and Janet paused just prior to entering, her attention drawn to something just beyond their box.