“And you, sir. Any friend of Lord Stanley’s is a friend of mine,” Lord Fairport said, shaking Niall’s hand briefly, then letting it go. “Although Stanley here has so many friends that I’m beginning to lose track.” He laughed.
Niall’s heart sank all over again. It was as though he were riding in a train that kept speeding up, then abruptly slowing down.
He was spared having to come up with anything clever to say as the doors at the far end of the lobby were opened and the men and women waiting in the lobby drifted into the auditorium.
“Forgive me, gents,” Lord Fairport said with a short bow. “The wife gets a bit tetchy when I loiter too long before these things.”
They said their goodbyes and Lord Fairport strode off, leaving Niall and Blake to make their way into the auditorium at a slower pace.
“He’s a friend of my father’s,” Blake explained. “They went to university together. Which is encouraging, really.”
“Oh?” Niall glanced to him, both for an answer to whatever thought Blake had started and to try, once again, to judge his character.
“I like the idea that lifelong friendships can be formed at university,” Blake said, his smile widening as he met Niall’s eyes. That softness and brightness were back in his expression, as though nothing made him happier than being in Niall’s presence. “Don’t you?”
The man was going to be the death of him, that much was certain. He was just too charming, too perfect. And Niall couldn’t make heads or tails of him.
“Come on.” Blake touched his hand lightly once they’d handed their tickets over to the man at the door and made their way down the aisle between chairs that had been set up facing a piano at the front of the room. “I bought us excellent seats.”
There wasn’t a chance in Hades that Niall would be able to pay attention to a single note of the concert. The brush of Blake’s fingers against his hand was one thing, but the fact that he’d spoken as if he’d intended all along for Niall to accompany him to the concert was enough to keep his spirits soaring for weeks to come. Us. He’d bought us excellent seats.
Which was a preposterous idea, considering they’d only met that afternoon. Then again, Niall remembered and admired Blake from a previous concert, and Blake had apparently known and admired him for over a year. The whole thing was a blissful dream. Not to mention the way Blake’s gaze seemed to linger on him when they spoke.
But as the concert continued, Blake watched Miss Righetti sing with the same sort of absorption. Not only that, he seemed highly appreciative of the unknown young lady Miss Righetti asked to sing with her. Niall supposed it was possible Blake shared the same appreciation of both men and women, but he had yet to truly establish whether Blake had any interest at all in men—or rather, in him—to begin with.
His roiling discomfort and confusion over the issue only got worse when the concert was over.
“That was fantastic,” he said, leaning close to Niall and seeming to guide him through the crush of people, all leaving the auditorium at once. He rested his hand on Niall’s back again with a familiarity that usually came after years of friendship. “Miss Righetti has such a command of her higher register, don’t you think?”
“She was certainly singing through the notes instead of into them,” Niall said. It was probably a stupid observation, but Blake seemed to be impressed by the technical comment as they reached the lobby.
But before Blake could comment, he was distracted by a call of, “Lord Stanley. That was you I saw sitting in the front.”
Blake’s hand remained on Niall’s back for a moment as they both turned to see a tall, middle-aged gentleman waving to Blake from the center of a small cluster of elegant people.
“Sir Richard.” Blake burst into a smile and waved to the man, then tugged Niall’s sleeve to pull him toward the crowd. “Fancy seeing you here this evening.”
“I have to entertain my guests somehow,” Sir Richard replied jovially. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Douglas Cannon from New York, his lovely wife, Abigail, and his charming daughter, Annamarie. And you know my son, Edward, of course.”
“Good to see you again, Edward.” Blake shook Edward’s hand, then proceeded through a round of introductions to the Americans.
Niall felt completely and utterly out of his depth. Although he did know Edward Archibald, at least on sight. The unassuming young man was a classmate, though Edward was apparently bound for a political career, whereas Niall’s course of study was geared toward his future on the stage.
He blinked as a few pieces fell together. Archibald. Ian Archibald had auditioned for him that afternoon. And he’d mentioned the Cannons of New York. As soon as the connection was made, Niall had to hide a grin. Ian had been uncommonly proud of himself for knowing the wealthy Americans, and now Niall could see why. They were every bit the New World aristocracy that nobs in England were falling all over themselves to become acquainted with.
“Thank you for the invitation, sir, but I already have plans for the evening,” Blake said, drawing Niall’s attention back to the conversation he’d drifted away from. Apparently, there had been an invitation to supper that Niall had nearly missed.
“Some other time, then,” Mr. Cannon said. “It’s not every day that a railroad worker like me gets to meet a future duke.”
Everyone involved in the conversation laughed, but Niall failed to see the joke. He didn’t like the way Mrs. Cannon casually fanned herself as she studied Blake either, as if he were a piece of meat or a pawn on a chessboard.
“Enjoy your evening, then,” Blake said, gallantly extracting himself, and Niall, from the conversation. “I’m sure my father will be in touch with you soon.”
They turned to make their way out of the lobby.
“You could have gone with them, you know,” Niall said as quietly as he could and still be heard over the chattering crowd lingering in the lobby and just outside on the steps.
“I already said I’d take you to supper.” Blake shrugged. “And I’d much rather wile away the evening in a cozy pub than sit around some over-decorated table in a stuffy old townhouse.”
“I seriously doubt that,” Niall laughed. “Those were important people.” He glanced over his shoulder in time to see the Archibalds and the Cannons stepping out into the spring evening.
“I’m with an important person,” Blake argued, nudging Niall’s arm as they picked up their pace.
Niall’s heart fluttered into a confused mess. He thanked the growing dark for hiding the blush he could feel coming to his face. “I’m not that important.”
“You absolutely are,” Blake argued, his smile accented by the colors of evening. “You’re a future famous playwright. Someday, I’ll be telling everyone I meet that the two of us are friends.”
“But we’ve only just met,” Niall said, stilted, yet hopeful.
“It doesn’t feel like we’ve just met,” Blake said, pointing across Niall to indicate that he should turn down a side road. Niall knew there to be several pubs along that particular street, but more importantly, the gesture forced them much closer together. “It feels like we’ve been friends for ages.”