Though he tries to distance himself from it as much as possible, Tyson had an upper-class - highly privileged - upbringing that he can never truly get away from.
It’s always evident in the precise received pronunciation of his usual broad, yet posh, Cambridge accent; even more prominent as his stutter stretched out the vowels, further broadening his accent, and drawing attention to the sharp clipped edges of his consonants.
He may only believe etiquette and manners necessary to a point, but his upbringing is clear in the ways Tyson holds his cutlery, in the aborted movement of his arm to draw out the chair for his dining partner, and - if he always follows through on that reflex - in the manner in which he does so.
Tyson makes his distaste for the upper-class elite very clear, but he cannot escape the way he was shaped by his upbringing; endless tutors and schooling to groom him into the perfect heir for the Delaney family legacy.
He knows how fortunate he was, excluding the abuse from his father, but that doesn’t make Tyson resent that privilege any less. He hates the entire culture of it, the way he was an extension of his father rather than his own person, and he hates the feeling that none of his accomplishments will ever be his own; that he will always owe it to his upbringing amongst the elite.