Strip
By: piperholmes
A/N: I am so very grateful for the reviews/comments/messages about this story. They have truly been touching and appreciated (and motivating!). I apologize for the delay between chapters. I meant to post this weeks ago, but I couldn't find the ending to this chapter but for some reason the muse started singing in my ear and I was finally able to finish. As ever, unbeta'd.
Part 5: and trembled in the voice—and some chance obstacle made futile.
"Can I ask you something?" Tom started, glancing sidelong to his brother-in-law as they ambled back to the big house from the garage.
Matthew frowned slightly, surprised by the request. "Of course Tom."
"Do you like living here?"
Matthew paused, again caught unaware. Tom stopped as well, turning to face him.
"Do I like living at Downton Abbey?" Matthew asked, seeking clarification.
Tom nodded.
Matthew's gaze dropped to his shoe, watching as he nudged a small rock over, and, as far as Tom could tell, stalling.
Suddenly worried he'd offended one of the few people he called friend, Tom quickly rambled, "Never mind. Stupid question, forget I asked."
Matthew's frown cleared as he waved his hand. "Not at all old chap. I just…I like living with my wife and my wife likes to live at Downton," he finally answered.
Tom smirked. "You're certainly a lawyer."
"What does that mean?" Matthew asked, trying to sound indignant, though the smile playing on his lips undermining his attempts.
"It means: have you ever considered a career in politics?" Tom teased.
Matthew shook his head. "I'll leave that to you."
The Irishman scoffed, before he turned to resume their path to the house.
"What about you?" Matthew asked, falling into step. "You must hate it here."
Tom shrugged. "I don't hate it here," he answered, though his hesitation was clear. "But I don't belong here."
An awkward silence stretched between them as both men retreated within themselves, looking to the hope they had buried and hidden; the idea that they had some control over their lives, their identities not consumed completely by the estate, the family.
"I've…adjusted," Matthew observed. Tom wasn't sure who he was trying to convince.
"Ready to abandon me already?" the young heir joked.
With a small, sad smile Tom simply said, "It's as you say: I like living with my wife, and she wants to live here."
A moment of true understanding passed between the future Earl of Grantham and the outcast Irish socialist.
Matthew clapped him on the shoulder. "Look at the bright side, we have luncheon to look forward to. And something tells me Mrs. Patmore's cooking is a bit more palatable than Cousin Sybil's."
This time Tom laughed outright. "A bit."
"I love my wife desperately, but I cringe to think what horrors she'd perform on a chicken," Matthew joked, causing the friendly laughter to continue.
"I admit I can't see Lady Mary cutting up a raw chicken," Tom added. "But you know Sybil got rather good at cooking some things. I'm not too good in the kitchen either but we worked together and figured it out. Some of my favorite memories…"
Tom trailed off, ending with a sigh before finishing, "Never mind. Doesn't matter now. You go on ahead. There's something I need to do. Will you let them know? I won't be but a moment."
"Of course."
Tom gave a grateful nodded before turning to jog off towards the gardens.
Sybil slowly pulled the nursery door closed, listening for the soft click before releasing the knob.
"She's asleep," she whispered to the newest maid Edna, offering the girl a thankful smile. "I'll head down now. Just come and get me if she wakes up."
The edict was useless, as this was the routine they'd been enacting for the past two weeks. Mrs. Hughes had allowed Edna to change the routine so she'd be up cleaning the rooms while the baby napped, listening for her, allowing Sybil to join her family for luncheon in the afternoons. As pointless as the instructions were Edna nodded just the same.
"And thank you," Sybil always added.
"Of course m'lady."
As the new mother moved down the grand staircase, her stomach rumbled. She hadn't eaten well that morning, her insides feeling knotted and worried, still upset over what had happened with Tom. She was still feeling confused and uncertain but the drain a feeding baby put on her body demanded she eat.
Her feet dragged as she thought of another meal with her family, another moment of pretending. In this spacious house unhappiness and happiness were treated the same; carefully hidden. How she missed the openness of their tiny flat.
She heard voices and wondered if the words meant anything. So often the conversations centered around the inane or ridiculous; important topics considered taboo. With a resigned sigh she entered the library where everyone was waiting for luncheon to be announced.
Her eyes scanned the room. She couldn't help it. She would always seek him. Her heart dropped when she couldn't find him; a moment of panic and sadness. She had ignored it in the past but this time she wouldn't let them ignore him.
"Tom's to join us, right Papa?"
Lord Grantham glanced up, confused. "I'm sorry?"
Sybil merely raised an eyebrow. "I asked if Tom was to join us for luncheon. You're not keeping him running about and missing luncheon are you?"
The Earl blinked at her, seeming genuinely surprised by her question. His eyes darted around the room, realizing his youngest son-in-law was nowhere to be seen. "I haven't—"
"Tom said he would join us shortly," Matthew interrupted.
"There you go," Robert said, waving off his daughter's concern.
Sybil wasn't sure why she was so upset, but her appetite was quickly dissipating and her desire to flee back to her room growing. She was spared having to comment further as the subject of their discourse entered the room.
All eyes turned to her husband, who hesitated at the door, one arm held firmly behind his back.
"I apologize for my tardiness," he offered sheepishly, sliding into the room awkwardly. She could see his ears pinking as he made his way towards her.
With a small, shy smile he brought his arm around, offering her the tiny bouquet of flowers.
Tom snuck up behind her. She'd heard him enter their flat but she was busy keeping an eye on the potatoes. She had burned more than a few meals in the month since their marriage, and she was determined to keep the potatoes their creamy beige color rather than black.
With a surprised gasp she suddenly found a small group of flowers under her nose as his other arm wrapped around her.
"What's this?" she laughed, leaning back into him, pulling the brightly colored flora into her own hands.
"Just something beautiful for my something beautiful," he said, wrapping her fully into him. She smiled down into the small bundle of wild flowers. Clearly not from a hothouse, nor did she assume from any florist, but a small batch of carefully picked blooms.
"They're not diamonds or the latest fancy dres—"
Sybil spun around quickly, pressing her lips to his, silencing his vulnerable words. "They're perfect," she told him, pulling slowly away. "Thank you."
The smile her husband boasted warmed her heart, filling her to bursting with love for him. It was infectious and beautiful, and she couldn't help but reciprocate.
Suddenly her eyes grew wide. "The potatoes!"
The corners of Sybil's mouth lifted at the memory. She carefully reached out and took the flowers from him, his petition for forgiveness clear on his uncertain face.
With a small, slightly mischievous smile, she whispered, "The potatoes" garnering her an appreciative chuckle from her husband. It was their tradition. There had been no real rhyme or reason to when Tom would surprise her with his hand picked offers of affection, and he could never resist teasing her about her reaction that very first time, her declaration of concern for the roasting vegetable, that it had become an endearment between them.
In the grand library of the grand estate, miles and miles away from their refuge in Ireland, they were reminded for a moment of who they really were as they smiled ridiculously at each other.
It was, of course, short lived.
"Did you pick those from the garden?" Lord Grantham interjected, reminding the couple that they were far from being alone.
Tom stiffened, his smile quickly fading as his eyes dropped to the floor. "I did."
"Well I do hope you spoke with Jonesy before hand," the Earl advised, referencing the kind if temperamental groundskeeper. "It would hate to see a gapping hole amongst the Chrysanthemums."
She watched as her husband withdrew into himself, his cheeks now matching the pink of his ears. "I did. He pointed out the flowers closest to the bottom, which wouldn't go missed."
She watched him swallow, pressing his lips tightly together before turning to her. "Sorry, love, they do look a little starved for sunlight."
"I think they're lovely," she told him, but knew the words couldn't sound true, not now, not after her father's interference.
"And such a lovely gesture," Lady Grantham offered, smiling sweetly at her daughter and son-in-law, ignoring her own husband's eyes rolling heavenward.
Tom nodded his appreciation, but Sybil knew it was gone. She could see him tense under the patronizing as all the women in the room offered smiles of agreement.
Without warning Sybil clenched the flowers tightly to her chest with one hand and grabbed his hand with the other, pulling him towards the door.
"If you'll excuse us, I believe I hear the baby crying. Please give our apologies to Mr. Carson for upsetting the table seating," she threw over her shoulder before quickly dragging her stunned husband out of the room.
To be continued.
Thank you for reading!