Scandal of the Century?

That's the title I'm sort of settling on until someone suggests another. I suppose my brain is less like a dead pigeon today.
Also, this line from "Animal" by Keisha goes well with these two:
"I am in love with what we are, not what we should be

Sybil Wright had never been much of a lady. She played only with her brothers and the other boys, as she tended to be too rough with other girls if they even wanted to play any games she enjoyed in the first place. Any dolls that were given her were placed on the shelf above with great care and left to collect dust. Dresses were soon tattered, mud spattered, and her mother gave up the venture for the duration of Sybil's younger years. No one bothered to braid her hair; most of the time it was tangled up enough to keep to itself, and every year or so when summer came around, either Sybil or her brothers managed to get their hands on a pair of scissors and lop the whole mess off. In the years just before Sybil crested womanhood, she began nicking her brothers' clothes and, to everyone's surprise, it actually had a calming effect on her personality. When confined to a little girl's petticoats and fine buckle-up shoes, Sybil was wild as a stray pig. Once she donned a boy's trousers, vest, and shirt, though, she became a perfect little gentleman.
Something changed, though, in the years of tumultous puberty. Her father put his foot down. He threatened to marry her to callous old Horace, the mill man who lived the next township over, if she did not tame her boyish ways. Sybil was furious when he did so--she did not throw a tantrum like a proper girl, screaming and crying and stamping her foot. Instead she went out to the barn, saddled a horse, and went off into the moor.
She rode about for a day and a night, and though her father sent out friends to search no one found her. Sybil knew the moors by heart after her childhood of running about them with her brothers, and she knew just as well how to live out on one at night in the summer when she had a horse to keep her warm enough.
When Sybil came back, she acted like a different woman. She said little to anyone and did as she was told. She wore her dresses, sang the high notes in church, and day in to day out she tended the sheets of the governor's household.
That is to say, absolutely nothing about Sybil herself changed. She just didn't get up to her boyish antics in public anymore.
"No, no, turn it round this way. ...Sah," Sybil added as she corrected John Griffith's attempt at repositioning the bloomers. He'd had them on backwards originally, and it was all Sybil could do not to snicker. Even more laughable was his expression, as if he really just could not believe this was actually happening.
He'd tried to make her leave again, but Sybil had prevailed. It wasn't difficult, really--she knew from the moment she'd entered the room and seen what she'd seen that he was just like her. And Sybil had a theory. If she was a woman who somehow possessed the personality of a man, why shouldn't he likewise possess the personality of a woman? And if he did, he ought to be submissive like one, shouldn't he?
And he was. After a little more protesting he relented to her insistence on assisting him, and stood tamely as she pointed out the flaws in his attempts at ladywear. He obediently did as he was told, all the way up to the point where Sybil was pulling the corset back out of the trunk for him.
"Hold on a moment, now," John said. "You don't mean to say you'll help me put it all on, do you?"
"And why not?" Sybil asked, turning back to him with the corset in her hands. "If you can't even get bloomers right I hardly expect you to get it all on right yourself. ...Sah."
"But...why?" he asked. "You...you shouldn't even...I've been caught at it once before, you know, and the woman--she's supervisor of the maids now or something--she almost had a fit. She screamed, she did. And then she went and had to have a lie, and then the doctor even had to come see her and give her a tonic--you are taking this all awfully well."
Sybil smiled. Then she lifted up her skirts.
"Wait, what are you--" John's voice dissolved into a yelp of astonishment. "Those--those are men's trousers!" he exclaimed aloud, pointing at them.
"Shhh," Sybil hissed, frowning. "Not so loud, or you'll bring the whole house running! Sah."
"Those are men's trousers," John whispered loudly, his eyes round and wide like a doe's.
"Those are lady's bloomers," Sybil pointed out, letting her skirts fall back. John flushed bright red again. "...Sah," Sybil added.
"Well, yes, but--"
"Yes, sah?"
"But...they're..." John's voice trailed off as he realized he had no grounds for argument. And he flushed a third time.
Sybil couldn't help but feel sympathetic towards him. He was clearly ashamed of his "problem" while she had never felt so about hers. But for the life of her, she really couldn't think of a thing to say to him. In the way men rarely know what to say to emotionally distressed woman, Sybil had no idea what to offer in the way of comfort to the governor's son.
"We really ought to hurry this along, if you do want to finish dressing. I've other chores to get on to, and I'll be missed. ...Sah."
"You can stop saying it like that now, you know," he said with a sharp look, the flush fading beneath his irritation. "I get what you mean."
"What d'you mean, what I mean?" Sybil asked, blinking.
"What you mean by saying it like that. Like I'm not...not really a sah."
There was a moment of silence in which the lady's bloomers on John Griffith's body stood out in both their minds. Sybil tried not to smirk.
"That's not at all it," she said. "I don't mean anything by it, it's just that...well, sah, I can't help but think of us as the same, now, even if you are my...my better."
"Oh." Another moment of silence passed as John considered this. "Well...in that case, you might just not say it at all. I don't mind if you don't, not really. You can just call me John. If you like."
"Can I?" Sybil asked, a bit of suspicion in her voice.
"Yes," John said. He smiled timidly. After a moment of contemplation, Sybil suddenly returned a broad grin.
"I would like that," she said. "And I'm--I'm Sybil. Sybil Wright." She offered her hand to shake, a formal, manly greeting.
"It's nice to meet you," John began, taking the hand, but yelped again as Sybil made a mock bow and tried to bring his hand up to her mouth for a kiss, like a proper gentleman acquainting himself with a lady. John yanked his hand away as if he'd been burned.
"What're you doing?!" he exclaimed.
"I was just playing along," Sybil said defensively. "No need for you to shout like that."
"Well--you startled me," he said.
"I thought you might have liked it," Sybil said. "I wouldn't have done so otherwise. Here now, I'm sorry. I shan't do it again."
"It's alright," John conceded, hesitantly. Yet again, awkward silence squatted between them. "Were...were you really going to help me get the rest of this on?" He gestured to the dress hanging out of the trunk and the corset in Sybil's hands. Sybil grinned again.
"Certainly. But like I said, we ought to hurry. Mistress Wood's like to notice if I don't get my chores done by dinner bell."
Still wary of being made a fool of at any moment, John reluctantly surrendered himself to the confident young woman's hands.