Author's Note: I know it's been a long time since I posted an update on this story. I've been at a complete block with it the past two or three years, during which time I was also in graduate school and started a new job. I just don't have a clear idea where I'm going with this, so it's rambling a bit and I don't like that. I can't promise more than a couple of chapters right now, but thanks to everyone who is reading or bookmarked this.
~BD
Aftermath ~ it's going to take some time
September 1922
Dickon stands before a mirror in a shop in Leeds, trying hard not to frown at his reflection. Colin's brow is furrowed as he silently debates the cut of the tails, his hand at his chin and his finger against his lips in thought.
"It is the latest style." The shop owner looks anxious to please the lord, even if the lord is requesting a tuxedo for a gardener. "Straight from London, sir."
Dickon refrains from stating that he doesn't give a damn about the latest style. The stiffness of the fabric cuts into his neck and restricts the movements of his arms in a way that he is not accustomed to. It reminds him of his old uniform.
"Well, I like it," Colin announces with finality. He meets Dickon's eyes curiously. The unspoken question is whether Dickon likes the set of tails.
"Bit stiff," Dickon responds quietly, trying to use proper English so the shop owner won't think him the laborer he is.
"Killjoy." Colin looks bemused, and then adds bracingly, "It looks right smart on you."
Dickon sighs and looks at his reflection again. When he agreed to help Colin manage the estate, he didn't quite realize what that entailed, and Mary didn't think to mention tails, or learning proper silverware usage, or using gentlemen's English.
The shop owner, delighted that he has made a sale, bustles off to get a box for the set. Left alone, Dickon gives Colin a grim look.
Colin tries not to smile and fails. "You will get used to it, eventually. I promise. But you absolutely must have a set of tails if you're going to be a co-manager of the estate. Dinner parties and all of that, you know."
"This get-up won' hide th' fact tha' I'm a gardener," Dickon responds flatly. "Or th' dirt under me fingers. An' all thy friends will be able t' see I canna use silverware th' way you, Mary, an' Cindy do…let alone th' way I talk!"
"I know it's a lot." Colin sobers, the smile fades, and he looks anxious. "But I need you to do this. I can't do this alone and it doesn't feel right unless we're all in it together. You, Mary and I have always done everything together, and with father gone, it's more important than ever, it seems."
Dickon says nothing, for the shop owner has hurried back into the dressing room with his assistants. They help Dickon take off the tuxedo to box it up properly, and Dickon resolves to tell Colin that he doesn't need a servant to help him dress or undress once they're back home. Besides, he doubts that anyone at Mistlethwaite would be willing to do such a thing, anyways.
