This is part 1 of a "secret" valentines prompt for the lovely Yankeecountess who requested Tom in a kilt. I wanted to do it justice and felt I needed more time to fully set this one up. So this is part 1, part 2(with the sexytimes) will be coming shortly.
I hope you like it!
It's tradition. That is what he was told by Robert when they arrived at the monstrous castle belonging to some cousin Tom couldn't keep up with. The Crawleys seemed to be connected and related to half of Europe and Tom couldn't keep them all straight in his mind, usually just nodding and politely smiling while the Dowager droned on about their distinguished family tree. Tom tried in the beginning to stay focused, wanting to make a good impression for Sybil's sake. They were stuck at Downton until the political tides shifted and they could go back to Ireland, which was looking quite promising from the papers he had sent from home. Times were changing and soon, they would be able to go home. For now though, he had to play the part. That is what Robert had said the night before, Matthew sitting idly by and offering no help whatsoever.
"The Gilly's Ball is a grand affair and we must all do our part. It's tradition, Tom." Robert had said with a look Tom was getting to know quite well. It was the same look he had worn the night of his granddaughter's birth.
Sybil's labor had been difficult. Robert had insisted on listening to the advice of his doctor friend. Thankfully Cora had intervened in time and Doctor Clarkson had rushed Sybil to the hospital, delivering a healthy, if small baby girl and saving the life of Sybil in the process. Robert had puffed up and postured around the house, making quite a display for an Earl and Tom recognized the very same stubborn look crossing his father-in-law's face now. It wasn't worth the argument.
Just last week they had gone to battle over Sybil's desire to help out with Isobel down at the hospital. She had been feeling restless these past few months while she recovered from the birth. She had never wanted to be stuck playing house and dressing for dinners. They had planned a life, and she had wanted to live that life as much as possible while they waited out their exile. She didn't plan on taking a room in town or anything that drastic. Just one or two days a week, helping out with whatever she could. Those cases the staff couldn't see due to resources or those patients that couldn't pay, she wanted to be of some use.
They had won in the end but Robert had been almost unbearable to be around since. This trip to Scotland was meant to be a balm on the hostility that had blanketed the house. For his sanity and that of his wife, Tom was trying to play along. He hated playing along. They had made many concessions for the family but Tom drew the line at putting on a skirt.
"You'll feel foolish without one!" Robert exclaimed at Tom's easy dismissal when asked which kilt he would prefer to wear to the ball.
"It wouldn't be the first time." Tom said under his breath. Matthew heard him and almost spewed his scotch all over the no doubt priceless rug with…was that gold stags embroidered along the edge? Of course it was.
The vein that appeared upon Roberts reddening forehead forced Tom to hold his tongue and the words he truly wished to speak, instead opting for a more polite route. "Look, I've already agreed to the tails, and the bow ties and the dancing. This though? I'm not one of you. I don't enjoy the dressing up and feeling like a damned peacock for the pleasure of whichever Duke or Lady may be attending. If it's all the same, I'd rather not." Tom thought that would be the end of it, how wrong he was.
"You wouldn't want Sybil to feel like a target of ridicule due to the stubbornness of her husband, would you?" Robert was pushing him to his limit. Bringing up Sybil in that way was dirty and underhand.
"Sybil's stronger that you give her credit for." Tom said, having been forced to sit through quite enough opinion about their life for one lifetime Tom made his exit, looking forward to a quiet evening spent wrapped in Sybil's arms.
For the second time that evening Tom found himself amazed at how wrong he was in his wishful thinking.
His strong wife was lain collapsed on their bed, sobbing her gentle heart out. Tom's heart clenched, unable to see her in any kind of pain. He ran to her, checking first for any sign of injury. When he discovered none he pulled her form into his arms, tucking her under his chin as she nuzzled into his chest.
"My darling girl, what is it?" Tom asked, reminded of the days when pregnancy hormones drove his love to weep at nothing and Sybil just wished to be held until the moment passed.
"It's silly, nothing. It's just something Rose said." Sybil brushed him off, wiping her cheeks and steadying her breath as she tried to push him away. She was embarrassed at something, she felt shame. Tom would have none of it.
"It's clearly not nothing, my love. Tell me, what did she say?" Tom asked pushing back the wild curls that had come undone from her elaborate style fashioned for that evening's dinner. She looked elegant all on her own, he never understood the need to dress her up any more than God had made her.
Sybil was much like her father in the way that he refused to show weakness, against all evidence he would remain steadfast and stubborn until the last. Sybil did so now, glaring up at Tom, urging him to drop his inquisition. Tom could also be stubborn in his own right, especially when it came to someone or something harming either one of his girls.
Huffing in annoyance Sybil finally gave in. "Rose said…She commented that it was always great fun to see the servants attend the ball since they didn't have the means to don the traditional kilt and her father would get ever so upset that they didn't attempt to play into the tradition. Then she asked if you planned to wear a kilt since not so long ago you were a servant as well and how your life must have been so harsh that the thought of owning an ornamental dress such as the kilt was extravagant. She said it would be great fun to see her father try and bluster at you since you were raised up and even though we could afford such luxuries you were still a servant at heart. She thought it would be great fun to see you try and justify not dressing like the rest of the men since none of the servants have ever been able to speak back to her father. It's like your one of those small monkeys on the streets of London that dance for money. I hate that they see you like that. Like some cannon about to explode into a brilliant show they can all delight in. I just…"
"I know, love. I know how they view me. I was just arguing with your father about it…proving young Rose's point I suppose." Tom was angry. He didn't want to play into their game, but he also didn't wish to be a point of entertainment, to dance as Sybil had said, like one of those poor unfortunate monkeys.
Soft touches and whispered love spirited them away into the night. The next dragged on, the women had a day visiting the grounds, which Tom had a sneaking suspicion were much the same as all the other grounds of all the other homes of the aristocracy. Tame, manicured, trained. Much like the people themselves. The men went shooting. Matthew begged Tom accompany them but he couldn't stomach anymore feigned interest in Robert taking credit for his and Matthews's ideas and subsequent success for the estate.
Tom felt his time better spent in the nursery with the only person in all of the house who had no opinion about his choice of dress for that evening's festivities. His daughter while very intelligent for her age had only two words in all of her vocabulary thus far. "Da" and "Ba". The first was said a week ago as he walked by the nursery and she had woken from a nap, scared and alone. Screaming over and over again "Da! Da!". It broke his heart to hear it, but instantly swelled it in the same instance. Sybil had tried furiously over the last week to force a simple "Ma" from their sweet babe's lips but unfortunately "Ba" was as close as she had come.
Tom had taken to spending his leisure time with her while Sybil spent any free time not entertaining her family's delusions in a quiet domestic life instead in the library reading texts brought by Isobel on modern medicine and new techniques being developed for surgery and care of the sick.
Tom spent the day inside of the nursery, watching their child sleep and play while he contemplated the night. His head told him it was foolish to put such importance on a simple garment of cloth, to stick to his ideals and not play into some notion about fitting in. His heart however, told him that anything he could to do to ease his wife's suffering would be in his best interest. Life had not been easy on her since fleeing their home in Ireland and trying to adjust back into life at Downton, wanting to work and be useful, wanting to please her parents, all at the same time. She was exhausted and just wanted one night without comment, without feeling less than her peers.
Sighing in defeat, Tom supposed he would play nice, for one night, if only to ease the burden on his sweet Sybil. Now determined in his path, Tom thought he would do to find someone who knew a little about the native dress he was to don that evening.
Entering the stables Tom called a quiet "Hello?" to the stalls of neighing horses and clapped hooves. "Halloo?" answered a thick Scot's accent.
A tall red-haired man appeared, a kilt about his waist and a rag between his hands, wiping the grime and dirt from his hard worked fingers. "I came from the house, I was wondering if you might…help me with something?"
"Of course, milord. What might that be, that I would be helping you with?"
"Call me Tom, please. I'm no lord. I am however in need of someone with knowledge of how to put on one of these." Tom produced the fabric that was given to him by a smiling Matthew that afternoon. A knowing smile on his face as he recognized the look of a man who would move heaven and earth for his wife. Matthew had worn that same look enough times to appreciate it in others and not tease as others might.
"Well then, you must call me Jamie. I've some knowledge in the wearing and donning of all manner of plaids. The easiest way is to have someone help you. Is your valet unknown in the art of kilt-wearing?" The man was even taller up close. Jamie reached out to inspect the dull colored fabric.
"I haven't got a valet. Is there no easy way to do it myself? It can't be that complicated, surely?" Tom asked, unwilling to budge at this. He would wear the costume but he wouldn't be dressed like a doll. He was a man, a common man, and he didn't need seeing to.
"Well, no. It isn't that complicated…it's just….if you don't mind me saying, not many highborns wish to make a fool of themselves in that way." Intrigued Tom took a seat on one of the stable stalls to listen. Amusement warred with embarrassment that he would need to do as the stable master had demonstrated.
Retiring to his and Sybil's bedchamber to dress before the ball Tom gathered his pride about him as he mimicked just like Jamie had shown him. Taking the long fabric Tom folded and pleated, trying to remember just as he was shown. Laying the finished product on the floor gently like a newborn babe Tom took one encouraging breath and laid down, lining his hips up with the top of the fabric line and making sure the length was long enough to cover the important bits when finished. He took the top edge that was lain closest to his right hip and tucked it against his side. Tom held the fabric close to his body and rolled himself to the left, gathering up the fabric as he went like a great rug being rolled away to be cleaned. Thanking God that no one had walked in while he did this Tom stood up, careful to keep the fabric pulled tight about his waist so that it wouldn't fall before he was able to belt it in place.
Feeling proud of his accomplishment Tom almost walked out of the room before giving it a good shaking to make sure everything stayed in place. As he reached for the handle sense intervened and he spun around just like one of the young dancers he had seen the last night out he and Sybil had in Ireland. Dancing girls with their hair sheared off and their ankles bare, the days of old were clearly over. Just try telling Robert that, Tom thought, shaking his head.
Ensured that everything remained as it should and no unfortunate parts were showing Tom decided it was best to get it over with. Besides, there would be alcohol below. That was something.