Title/Prompt: It's the Honest Ones You Want to Watch Out For
Rating/Warnings: G
Word count: 10,200
Summary: Burdened by his new knowledge of the supernatural, and still reeling from Miss Elizabeth Swann's rejection, Commodore James Norrington returns to London and attempts to regain his life.
Notes: Written in August 2016 for lynndyre as part of Rare Pair Fest 2016. This has been hosted on AO3 and I'm just now getting around to posting it here.
Set after The Curse of the Black Pearl for James, and I've imagined it to be pre-canon for Lizzie, with her younger than she is in P&P. I desperately tried to write this from Lizzie's POV first, because of all the delicious possibilities of being able to describe James in uniform and the sultry tones of his voice, but, sadly, it was James who ran away with this story instead.
The PotC timeline is a little sketchy, I've brought forward some of the events of the second movie to better suit my needs for James and Elizabeth Swann, perhaps even making it slightly AU, and I hope it still makes sense.
In regards to P&P, it's been several years since I read the book, but I recently watched the BBC miniseries again. Apologies for anything I might've gotten mixed up between those two versions of the canon, or for things I've just got plain wrong in my eagerness to complete this before the exchange deadline.
It was a damp, foggy morning with an overcast sky which convinced James Norrington once and for all that he had indeed been utterly homesick for London. He had denied it for some time — after all, it seemed foolish to prefer such a wash of colourlessness over the jewel tones of the islands, where the sun had glittered on water so blue he had, at times, been unable to believe the truth of it.
But there was something grand and solemnly impressive in the darkness of London — the height and narrowness of it all, the familiar clamour of horseshoes on stone, and the chill of each morning and each evening necessitating the closure of doors and windows. James thought it suited him very much, and resolved that there were few things which could tempt him away from it again.
He stood at the window in his office, which was finely situated in a corner room on the second floor, awaiting the arrival of his eight o'clock visitor. He had not realised the height of his anticipation until Edward Gardiner was finally shown into the room at ten minutes past the hour, droplets from the fog still showing on his coat, his hat tucked under his arm.
"Edward," James said, smiling at him.
"James, it's been far too long." Mr. Gardiner shook his hand and beamed at him, his face ruddy with the cold. "I could scarcely believe it when you wrote and said you were posted back in London again."
"Yes, I scarcely believe it myself," James said, gesturing for him to sit. "How is Mrs Gardiner?"
"She's very well, thank you. The children are growing like weeds, of course, and they keep us very busy."
How unfair it was that his friend's pleasures in life only seemed to salt the wounds James still felt so deeply. His engagement to Elizabeth Swann had perhaps always been ill-fated, even prior to the Black Pearl sailing into Port Royal, but he had allowed himself bright visions of marriage and children with her. Losing those hopeful images was a recipe for bitterness, which often threatened to overcome him in his idle moments.
"Sarah must be six or seven now, surely," James said, seating himself at his desk.
"Seven, and quite tall for her age," Mr. Gardiner said with a nod. "The others are following just as quickly. There is nothing quite like a child to make you feel like an old man." He smiled, and James smiled back.
Mr. Gardiner changed the subject. "Though I'm sure it's at a great loss to Port Royal, Mrs Gardiner and myself were glad to receive the news that you're stationed back in London. We were beginning to think you were settled out there."
"I very nearly was."
Mr. Gardiner lifted his chin, waiting for more, but James shook his head and laced his fingers together. "Some other time," he said. "Though I promise of all the stories I could tell you, a failed engagement is the dullest."
Mr. Gardiner laughed. "You must come for dinner," he said. "Or an afternoon tea, perhaps. The children would love to hear your stories of ships and seas, I'm sure. And my niece is staying with us, and she makes for very pleasant company."
James smiled. "I would be delighted."
In the years since James had been gone, London had somehow grown busier. Of course, realistically he knew the pace could only grow more hurried, but he found himself in constant surprise at how distanced it had become to his memories of it.
It was due to this he found himself arriving late in Gracechurch Street, feeling breathless and embarrassed by his tardiness.
"Forgive my lateness," he pleaded with Mr. Gardiner upon his arrival. "I found myself bamboozled by the traffic."
His friend laughed and clapped his shoulder. "There is nothing to forgive, James, you are most welcome. It looks as though you barely managed to beat the rain." He gestured him to follow him to the sitting room, where there was a cheerful fire lit, the drizzle slowly building and beading on the windowpanes.
Mrs Gardiner was on her feet at once, a happy smile on her face.
James reached for her hand and bent to kiss it gently. "Mrs Gardiner, motherhood suits you. You look very well."
She beamed at him. "And you, Commodore," she said. "Commodore. Goodness." She squeezed his hand affectionately before she let it go, and it was strange what the small amount of pride in her face did to set James feeling quite all right again.
Mr. Gardiner drew his attention again. "May I introduce my niece, Miss Elizabeth Bennet," he said, encouraging the girl closer with a quick gesture and a smile.
Her name hit him like a stone, and he found himself unable to prevent thoughts of Miss Swann. He wondered if the name Elizabeth would always carry such unfortunate connotations for him.
"I've heard a great deal about you, Commodore Norrington," Miss Bennet said, and he bowed and smiled at her.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Bennet, though I'm sorry to hear your uncle has not been able to offer you a better subject of conversation than myself."
She laughed. She was pretty, there was no denying it, but her face had none of the elegance he had so grown to love in the Elizabeth his heart still ached for.
"On the contrary, it is always a pleasant subject," she said politely, still smiling. "He speaks very highly of you. I understand you've just returned from a post in the Caribbean?"
"Yes, Port Royal." He sat, at Mr. Gardiner's urging, and a glass of brandy was pressed into his hand, welcome after his hurrying through the damp evening air.
"Did you get caught in the rain, Commodore?" Mrs Gardiner asked anxiously, sitting opposite him with Miss Bennet.
"Hardly, Mrs Gardiner," he answered her. "A light drizzle is of no concern, I can assure you."
"Particularly for a naval officer, I assume," Elizabeth added, and her eyes sparkled. "You must be used to all weather, Commodore."
He smiled at her readily. "Quite so. I am well accustomed to being slightly damp."
She laughed, and he felt quite at ease again. "Where are the children?" he asked Mr. Gardiner. They were living evidence of his time away from his friends, and he was eager to catch up on all he'd missed.
The children were called down, and James marvelled over how strong and well they looked, and how polite they were in their manner, and they in turn delighted in the shells he had brought them in a wooden box, taken from the beaches of Caribbean islands, white sand still caught in the deeper whorls and curves.
"Did you ever find any pirate treasure?" the eldest boy asked, bright blue eyes watching him hopefully.
"I did," James said, though he found himself uncomfortable with the answer, which had so clearly excited the children. How to explain what came with that chest of gold medallions?
"Did you get to keep it?" the boy asked. "Did you fight the pirates for it?"
"No, I didn't keep it," James said with a smile, and he chose to ignore the second question, which nobody asked again due to the obvious disappointment of the Commodore not having a second box with gold in it.
Upon catching some silent signal from their mother, the children thanked him and departed from the room, carrying the box of shells to examine them in private and divide them up and argue over them.
"Pirates?" Miss Bennet asked. "How exciting."
A nuisance, James wanted to say, but even that seemed too trivial a description for all that had followed with the arrival of the Black Pearl. He would never understand why pirates seemed to be included in the romantic notions so many people held about the sea. There is nothing romantic about pirates at all, he thought, trying to shut out some very vivid images of Elizabeth Swann on the deck of a ship flying a black flag.
"Less exciting than you might think," he answered Miss Bennet with a rueful smile. "Particularly with all the paperwork they caused me."
She gave a good-natured laugh, and he took the opportunity to change the subject and enquire after her instead. "Mr. Gardiner tells me you're visiting from Hertfordshire."
"Yes, until December," she said.
"How are you finding London?"
"Quite exciting," she said with a smile. "My aunt and uncle have been very accommodating when it comes to making sure I have plenty of choice in what to see and do." She glanced towards the window. "My only complaint is that the weather has been so unbearably bleak."
"I'm finding it a welcome change," James admitted. "Who could have thought clear skies could grow tiresome?"
"Certainly not me," Miss Bennet laughed, and her dark eyes sparkled in such a way that even James, in his determination to be quite immune to such things for a good long time, had to admit that she was a most agreeable sight.
James lay awake, bright moonlight showing through a gap in the curtains and running a silver stripe across the floorboards. He gazed at it for some time, convinced that at any moment he would be set upon by a thing made of bone and creaking sinew, dull teeth showing themselves through rotting flesh.
He shuddered and wiped a hand over his brow, fervently trying to wish back the cloud and fog that had been hanging over London these past few days. There were no swords being drawn in the dark and no monsters under the bed — this he knew. The gold medallions had been returned from whence they came, though that was little comfort with the likes of Jack Sparrow still sailing open waters.
James wondered if he would chase after Sparrow now, even if the opportunity presented itself. It was only in his bed on moonlit nights, when he was alone with his recollections, that he dared to consider that he was so very afraid. All of the knowledge he'd previously held — all of his training — was now entirely useless. How could he protect himself, or his men, from creatures immune to swords and pistols? How could he be sure that the curse which had plagued the crew of the Black Pearl was the worst of what was out there? That to overcome these things was always as simple — in relative terms — as returning gold to its rightful place?
He drew a breath and willed his heart to stop its rapid pounding, and he closed his eyes against the silver glow pouring through his window.
How he wished it weren't so alarming to be alone in such a well-lit room.
James glared at the stiff white card on his desk with as much distaste as he could muster.
Commodore James Norrington, and guest.
Formality in the navy was a welcome necessity. James liked order and structure. Formality in society was something he liked significantly less, and he was finding himself more and more reminded that life in Port Royal was not as formally structured as he had believed it to be.
How he missed Elizabeth. How eager he would have been to receive this invitation if it were possible to have her as his guest, to have her on his arm for the evening, her hair swept up in curls to expose her elegant neck and slender shoulders.
He was quite alone in London. Solitude he could handle, but there was a loneliness in not being able to share his past and in not being able to talk of what he had seen and experienced. The men within these walls had commonly forgotten what it was like to fight without structured ceremony; they had forgotten the salt spray of the sea on their faces. They were bound behind desks, concerned more with paper and ink, and James was worried he would soon join their ranks. It was one thing to lose the respect of the men on the front line — to lose respect for himself would be a terrible end.
He had been lucky to leave Port Royal with his title and his reputation mostly intact. To have Jack Sparrow slip through his fingers more than once could well have been his undoing, and he was grateful to have been provided the opportunity to return to London in good standing.
But a good reputation was little comfort when he had nobody beside him.
James was shown into a parlour at the back of the house — a small room filled with sunlight and neat shelves of books. An urn of lavender sat on the mantel, filling the room with a comforting scent he associated with his mother.
Miss Bennet rose to her feet at once. "Commodore Norrington," she said, greeting him with a smile. "This is a pleasant surprise."
"I'm not inconveniencing you, I hope," he said. He felt nervous, and resisted the urge to fidget. He was sure his sleepless nights showed in the shadows on his face, and he made effort to smile in order to brighten his complexion.
"Not at all, though I'm sorry to tell you that my aunt and uncle — and all of the children — are out this afternoon, attending the birthday party of a friend of young Sarah." She gave him a look which had a hint of mischief to it, or perhaps it was the way her eyes gleamed so. "I must admit there is some relief in not having attended it myself."
He smiled at her, though her joke had somehow made him more nervous than ever.
"Won't you sit down?" Miss Bennet asked, gesturing to a chair by the window. "Would you like some tea? I was considering calling for some myself." She reached for a bell cord by the fireplace.
"Thank you, but it is a fleeting visit, I'm afraid," he said, terrified of committing to staying much longer, in case she rejected what he was about to ask. "I had come with the intention of asking you a favour."
"Oh?" She smiled and sat in the chair opposite him, her hands folded on her lap.
"I've been asked to attend a ball on Saturday," he said, feeling almost as breathless as he did when moonlight spilled through a windowpane. "An engagement I can't avoid, and I've been asked to bring a guest. Being away from London for so long, I've found myself out of touch with previous company, and… and so I was wondering if perhaps you would do me the honour." He felt lightheaded and flushed, like an idiot boy reciting such lines for the first time.
But she smiled at him, and she did so have a pretty smile. James almost wanted to resent her for crawling into all the Elizabeth-filled spaces in his mind, shining a little light where he felt there should only be shadow.
"I would be delighted," she said. "Though I must warn you that not having had the pleasure of being acquainted with any naval officers, I fear if I am to uphold any conversation during the evening, it is likely you will find yourself embarrassed by my complete lack of knowledge."
He couldn't help but laugh. "I don't mind keeping the conversation land-locked."
"I'm relieved to hear it." She looked up as the door opened, the maid answering the bell. "Are you sure you will not take tea with me, Commodore?" she asked. "I believe I know of some scones and raspberry jam, if you have the time?"
Staying with her was less scary a notion now that she had agreed to partner him to next Saturday's ball. "I fear the day I do not have time for scones and raspberry jam," he said, and she smiled at him again.
She was quick to smile and show her pleasure, and it made her enjoyable company. James found himself trying more and more to bring that expression to her face just so he could watch it light her features.
"I'm sure it must be a difficult adjustment, moving back to London after so long away," she said, once the maid had come and gone again and there was a tray of tea and fresh scones between them.
"A little," James agreed. "Though the change is welcome. I'm glad to be back." It felt like a lie, but he wasn't sure what the truth was, either. He had no desire to return to Port Royal. Nor did he feel the desire to be on a ship, chasing Jack Sparrow across the sea when he knew the rules had changed so, and that below the waves lurked more than empty wrecks.
London was the best place for him now, though that didn't mean he was happy about it.
"Has it changed much since you left it?" Miss Bennet asked.
"I'm not sure if London has changed, or I have," he admitted. "Perhaps I grew used to a slower pace in the Caribbean."
"It is exhilarating," Miss Bennet agreed, and she sipped her tea, her dark eyes very wide as she gazed at him over the rim of her cup. "I must admit there are moments I long for a slower pace myself, though I would never confess as much to my mother. I've spent many years convincing her that a slow and patient pace is rather a bore."
He laughed. "Your secret is safe with me, Miss Bennet."
When before he had glared at the invitation to Saturday's ball with all the hatred he could muster, James found himself rather looking forward to it once Miss Bennet had agreed to accompany him.
Edward Gardiner stopped by to express his pleasure at James having asked her, and James found it easy to pay compliments to her. "She is an excellent conversationalist," he said, only too glad to delay Mr. Gardiner with idle chit chat. The days passed so slowly when sat behind a desk.
"Yes, she's quite witty," Mr. Gardiner agreed. "A very bright young woman indeed. Mrs Gardiner and myself are always sad to see her go again."
James had been impressed by Elizabeth's skills at keeping conversation, particularly when he hadn't made it very easy for her. He had worked at diverting the subject away from himself, for the idea of discussing cursed pirates over tea and scones was most undesirable.
It was unfair, of course, to compare her to Miss Elizabeth Swann, but James found himself unable to prevent himself from doing so. He was loath to admit that conversation with Miss Swann had never come quite so easily, and instead put it down to his being so overwhelmingly in love with her, and therefore being a little nervous.
Though he had no intention of frequently seeking Miss Bennet's company through any sort of formal courtship, it was a relief to have Edward Gardiner come by and mention how pleasing their acquaintance was. Though he tried to give the impression of carrying enough authority to disregard such things, approval and reassurance were important to James, and he felt more settled having obtained them from Mr. Gardiner.
Saturday was a dreary day, which James was only too pleased about. Having had a good night of rest, for there had been no moonlight, he spent the day alternating between excitement and abject terror, until he found it too late to back out and it was time to take a carriage to collect Miss Bennet.
She greeted him in a pale dress which showed her dark hair and dark eyes to their best advantage. Her hair was pinned up with small pink roses, which released a sweet scent whenever she moved, and the pins which held them in place were adorned with pearls.
"You look lovely," he said, and for a frightening moment her first name threatened to trip from his mouth, for it was a compliment he had frequently paid before, and it appeared to have become an ingrained sort of thing.
"Thank you, Commodore," she said, looking modestly pleased. "And I must pay compliments as well, for you look very smart." That expression came upon her face again, the one that spoke so well of a wit she could barely conceal. "I am truly envious of how well your wig holds its curls."
He laughed, and she smiled and accepted his gloved hand to assist her into the carriage, drawing her cloak around her shoulders as she settled in her seat, for the evening was cold.
He sat opposite her, feeling tongue-tied and anxious. "Thank you for agreeing to attend tonight," he said, the words blurting themselves out in a near-incomprehensible rush. The carriage lurched forward and he gripped the cushion beneath him in fear he would topple forward into her lap.
"Not at all," she said, and he wasn't sure if she was smiling out of habit or at his unsteadiness. "I admit that when I accepted your invitation it was with the hope I would hear some exciting tales of the sea." Even in the dark, her eyes shone at him.
James had plenty of exciting tales of the sea, but to tell many of them would label him as a man insane, and he had no desire to disgrace himself this early in his acquaintance with Miss Bennet. He wondered how everything he had been through had not yet been discovered or made public knowledge; he wondered how London could remain so shuttered from what he knew to be out there. He wondered how much more there was, and he wondered if it could be found here. Were there ghouls hiding beneath the gold-trimmed uniforms of his fellow officers?
"Commodore?" Miss Bennet leaned forward a little, her voice gentle.
"Forgive me," he said, shaking his head. "I was another world away."
"Preparing an exciting tale to tell?" she asked, arching her eyebrows a little.
He smiled. "Perhaps."
"Do tell me," she said. "Even if it's one you plan to tell later. To hear the same story twice is never a hardship if it is a story told well."
"I think you're overestimating my ability to be charming," James said ruefully, but she only gave a delighted laugh and shook her head, waiting for him to continue. He hesitated for only a moment, but it was enough to reveal him lost, and she came to the rescue with some gentle prompting.
"Tell me how you became Commodore," she requested.
That was an easy story to tell. Though it contained mention of pirates, they had only been mere men. "Through my duties to the Crown," he said, and then he allowed himself to elaborate, telling her of the Interceptor closing the distance over a heaving iron sea, a stolen shipment of goods safely recovered, and the pirates branded, gaoled or hanged.
"Goodness," Miss Bennet said breathlessly. "It all sounds awfully exciting."
"Well…" James was reluctant to label his duties as exciting, but Miss Bennet insisted.
"You have a talent for reciting a good tale, Commodore," she said. "Your voice is quite enchanting."
He found himself flustered by her praise, but was rescued upon the carriage's slowing, and Miss Bennet peering through the rain-flecked windows to confirm their arrival.
"Oh dear," she said. "I hope I'm not under-dressed."
"Absolutely not," he assured her, though he had seen none of the other guests. He had meant it when he'd told her she looked lovely, though some small part of his heart had tried to resist it due to the loyalty it stubbornly held for Miss Swann.
Why, he had no idea, for she certainly held no loyalty for him. To reject him would have stung enough — to join ranks with pirates, to stand against everything James himself stood for…
"Commodore Norrington." Miss Bennet touched his arm gently.
"My apologies," he said, mortified at once again having been discovered to be paying her no attention. He hurried to disembark the carriage and help her down, embarrassment colouring his face.
She tucked her gloved hand into his elbow, and her skirt brushed his leg as they walked. The scent of roses clung to her, though the buds in her hair were still mostly closed. James realised he was utterly delighted to have her with him, and considered they made a most handsome-looking pair.
He was a little out of practice when it came to dancing, though Miss Bennet had the good grace not to act embarrassed. She was elegant and light on her feet and, while not the finest-dressed in the room, certainly the most beautiful. She was not his partner for long — whisked away with numerous requests to partner others. James could not hold it against her, though he found himself slightly disappointed all the same, and watched with some jealousy as the other officers failed to miss a step or tread on the hem of her skirt.
He was engrossed in a conversation about trade routes when she appeared at his side again, her hand once again a light touch against the dark sleeve of his uniform. She smiled at him, her complexion having the most appealing glow after her turns about the room, and James found that the conversation no longer held any appeal, and that he would much rather converse with Miss Bennet instead.
"I suppose you're weary of dancing," he said.
"Perhaps a glass of punch?" she suggested.
He agreed, and walked with her to the table loaded with refreshments. He was measuring a drink for Miss Bennet when he glanced up and came face to face with a ghostly figure, through which he could see the rain pouring to the street outside.
He gave a start, the ladle clattering back into the bowl and the punch soaking into his glove. He would have felt foolish enough by causing the commotion — it was made worse when he realised he had been startled only by his own reflection in the window.
"Are you all right?" Miss Bennet asked anxiously, and her grip on his sleeve tightened slightly. "Shall we sit down?"
They found an alcove behind the main staircase, with a cushioned bench and a tall grandfather clock which ticked ominously over the music floating through from the ballroom. James sat gratefully, and Miss Bennet beside him, an anxious look on her face.
"Are you unwell?" she asked. "You have the most pale complexion…"
"No, I'm fine," he assured her. "I apologise, Miss Bennet — please, you should continue dancing —"
"I'm quite relieved for a chance to rest," she interrupted, eyes searching his with some concern. She bit her lip and looked down, making a soft tutting noise. "You've stained your glove," she said. She held her hand out, and James found himself wordlessly tugging it off and handing it over.
"I'll find someone to wash it out for you immediately," she said, rising gracefully to her feet. "Don't move." She gave him a sharp look and left him.
He felt clammy and overexerted, but above all, foolish. To have been frightened by his own reflection… He shook his head and slumped in his seat. What a terrible burden, to expect monsters lurking behind him at every step. Would it drive him mad, eventually? Would he become what he so feared — a rambling mess of nerves and anxiety, dependent on tonics and elixirs to get him through the days and nights? He tugged his other glove off and crumpled it in his pocket, sweat cold on his bare palms.
Miss Bennet returned sooner than he expected and sat beside him again, a glass of wine in her hand. "I thought this might steady you a little," she said, offering it to him.
He took it, but did not drink.
"Come now," she prompted him gently, and he obeyed, though later he couldn't say if it was the alcohol or the warmth in her voice which eventually steadied him.
She looked upset, and James felt utterly wretched for ruining her evening. "Please allow me to apologise, Miss Bennet," he said. "Just a temporary…" he trailed off, aware he had tried to come up with an excuse without thinking it through.
"There's no need to apologise." She appeared to consider her next words carefully. "Will you tell me what you thought you saw?"
"It was nothing," he said, and he tried to laugh it off. "Merely my own reflection in the lit window."
"Well, you are hardly a sight one should be afraid of," she said, and her eyes darted up and down the embroidery on his uniform. "Unless, of course, I were a pirate." She gazed at him with such a mixture of warmth and mirth he found himself transfixed.
"You would only need to look at me like that, Miss Bennet, and I would likely forgive you all your wrongdoings."
She laughed. "Would all the lady pirates be as lucky?"
Perhaps one of them, he thought. "Not at all," he answered instead, and it sounded and felt like the truth. "I don't believe any of them could match you."
"You must have been a fearsome sight," she said.
"Oh, yes," he said dryly. "They told their stories of me. Common descriptors included both prideful and pompous, along with more colourful language I dare not repeat in company such as yourself."
Laughter lilted in her words. "Sir, you are too hard on yourself. I would not describe you so at all."
"I am," he said. "Though not as much as I was, perhaps. I've had my share of humble pie lately."
Elizabeth moved to speak again, but made a light noise of irritation and reached to her hair, where one of the flowers had fallen loose. Her gloved fingers sought for the pin amongst her dark locks, but she succeeded only in freeing a curl so it spilled out of the carefully tucked arrangement.
"Oh dear," she said.
"Allow me." He set his wine down and reached for her. He would not have dared assist Miss Swann with such a task, and he thought she would not have let him, but Miss Bennet only inclined her head forward so that he may better see what he was doing, the alcove behind the staircase rather dark.
Her hair was soft and fine beneath his fingers, and the scent of roses was caught within it. James found his mouth was dry as he carefully tucked the curl back into place and secured it with a pearl-adorned pin, the rose set neatly behind it. He glanced towards the ballroom, but they remained alone. As out of touch as he was with how things worked in London these days, he was sure it was unwise to be so alone with her and touching her so intimately.
"Thank you," she said softly.
"Of course." He felt quite breathless again, though somehow it was an entirely different experience to what he'd felt after his reflection had startled him.
Miss Bennet slipped her hand lightly into his, and his blood felt very hot beneath his skin. The soft material of her glove was thin enough he could feel the warmth of her palm, and so pleasing to touch he couldn't help but run his thumb gently back and forth against the back of her hand.
"I would have thought a Commodore would have a better command of his nerves," she remarked.
He found himself quite unable to answer. If he weren't so afraid to truly believe it, he would have thought she held magic in those dark eyes, hypnotising him and rendering him helpless.
But no, there was no magic, other than that of a very pretty young woman giving him her full attention. When she looked at him so, he felt the urge to confess all of his burdens, as ridiculous as they might seem. His knowledge was a heavy weight and he was growing so tired of carrying it alone.
This time, when Miss Bennet gently drew his attention again, she spoke his name. "James."
It sounded so fine a name when spoken in her voice.
"You do keep disappearing somewhere," she said with a smile. "It makes me think that you are vexed, somehow. Are you not enjoying yourself?"
"Please don't take offence, Miss Bennet," he said apologetically. "You are the most pleasant company I've had the honour to enjoy in some time, but I'm afraid since my return to London I've found myself with a surplus of thoughts I'm unable to express."
"It must be a difficult adjustment," she acknowledged. "I thought as much when you first said you preferred the rain. How dreadful to have been away from it so long that ill weather seems favourable." Her eyes twinkled at him, and he laughed.
"Quite," he agreed. He hesitated, but was encouraged by the gentle pressure of her gloved fingers on his hand. "I find myself much more afraid of things now that I have the time to think upon them."
"I think that's quite common," Miss Bennet assured him. "When we're children, it's the unseen things in the dark which frighten us, after all. The imagination is a powerful thing, and you have time on your hands now to exercise it. It is easy to consider what may have happened, or to dwell on narrow escapes, without the immediacy of action to clear away those fears."
Her empathy brought a great sense of relief, and he nodded, not wanting to speak anymore lest he start spilling less understandable thoughts about skeletons rising out of the sea.
"There is no shame in needing time to adjust," she assured him. "I do hope you will allow yourself to be happy here in London, Commodore."
He nodded again. His heart had slowed and he found the touch of her hand in his quite soothing. He stroked his thumb over her gloved knuckles again, feeling each vulnerable indentation and the hard curve of her bones. When he stopped, self-conscious about touching her so intently, she sandwiched his hand between her own, trapping him there with soft satin.
He cleared his throat softly and glanced towards the door to the ballroom.
"You are the most nervous man in uniform I've ever met," Miss Bennet remarked. She withdrew her touch, and James felt the loss sharply.
"Forgive me," he said. "I — I have forgotten when it's like to be in company such as yourself, and you have overwhelmed me." He found it easy to smile at her when she looked at him so.
She laughed and sat a little straighter. "Well, Commodore, if you are feeling quite recovered, I should like to dance my next two dances with you."
"Are you quite sure?" he asked, rising to his feet and gently pulling her with him. "Have your toes recovered from my last effort?"
"Oh yes," she said, looking down at her feet. "Allow me to find the maid I assigned to the task of removing the stain from your glove, and then we will take our turn on the floor, inducing the jealousy of the other guests — for I know every woman here wishes you were dancing with her."
"You tell the kindest untruths, Miss Bennet," he said with a smile, and she laughed and reached for his hand once more, so that he could raise it to his lips and press a gentle kiss there.
James was pleasantly tired. He lay in bed, listening to the rain quietly pattering against his window, and allowed himself to indulge in recollections of his evening with Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He was glad he had asked for her company — she had again proved herself easy to talk to, and she had excelled herself in the often sombre company of the senior officers. She had been the most beautiful woman in the room, of that he had no doubt, even if he was still stubbornly trying to resist the allure of any woman who wasn't Miss Swann.
And this was how Miss Swann invaded his thoughts again.
She showed you no true affection, he thought, and the realisation stung. He could only understand this now, faced with Miss Bennet's warm attention. Had he really been away from women so long he had failed to recognise whether or not Miss Swann was interested? Or had he simply tethered himself to her in the hopes her affection for him would grow once they were married?
He could remember the moment he had fallen in love with her very vividly. He had known her since she was a small child, and so for a great length of time he had simply seen her as a well-dressed, politely-spoken shadow to the Governor. He certainly hadn't predicted that a stormy afternoon would bring such a sudden infatuation with her — but there she had stood, on the balcony of her father's house, watching the clouds roll in over the ocean, her eyes wide with delight. He had known then that he belonged with her, and he had craved to spend the rest of his life with her.
He gazed up at the ceiling, and Elizabeth Bennet's smile was so vivid in his mind he could scarcely believe she wasn't there with him. Strange how few times he had seen Miss Swann smile so genuinely. He regretted each and every time he had convinced himself that he had a chance to win her heart. The years seemed long and lonely now that they were behind him as wasted time. In the end it hadn't mattered that he had loved her at all, for she showed only contempt for him when she took to the sea under a pirate flag. She had not even afforded him the courtesy of a mere broken heart; she had broken the very belief he'd held in her character.
He rolled over and slipped his arms under his pillow, fingers carefully folding themselves around the ivory handle of the knife there. He worried about her on the sea — he worried about monsters and magic and curses. He worried that he would never see her again and her face would fade from his memory. He worried that she had not had a single thought of him at all since she had left Port Royal.
He was almost resigned to falling asleep under the blanket of his own misery, but when he closed his eyes it was Miss Elizabeth Bennet he saw, his recollection of her so radiant she banished all thoughts but those of herself.
James called on Miss Bennet the very next day, arriving just as she had closed the front door behind her. She greeted him with delight.
"Good afternoon, Commodore."
"Good afternoon, Miss Bennet." He took her bare hand and kissed it, finding it most difficult to let go of her again. "Have I caught you at a bad time?"
"On the contrary," she said, "I was to take a walk. Would you join me?"
He glanced at the house, but the Gardiners were nowhere to be seen. Satisfied he had escaped their notice for now, and so he could exit without first stopping to greet them, he offered Miss Bennet his arm, and they began to stroll down the street together.
"Did you enjoy last night?" he asked, anxious that perhaps she had not, and all she would remember was that he had trodden on her toes and spilled punch upon himself.
"Very much," she answered. "In fact I have written you a card to thank you." She smiled at him, a delicate flush on her cheeks. "I suppose I can hand it to you when we return to the house."
He could not resist smiling back at her. "I look forward to it."
They strolled in silence for a few minutes. The breeze was cool, enough so for Elizabeth to be wearing long sleeves, but the sun still contained enough warmth to keep things pleasant, and the sky was clear.
"May I ask a personal question?" Elizabeth asked, sounding slightly hesitant. "You may choose not to answer, of course."
"Of course," James agreed, though he felt nervous.
"You mentioned last night that there were fears you dwelled upon," she said, looking up at him. "I have grown anxious at the thought of you being unhappy here. Is there something I can do to assist somehow?"
"Oh, please don't concern yourself," he said, feeling embarrassed for having mentioned it at all. "I didn't ruin your enjoyment of the evening, did I?"
"Not at all," she said truthfully. "Quite the opposite, I assure you. But it goes without saying that a burden shared is a burden halved. I know when something troubles me I always feel better after I have discussed things at length with my dear sister, Jane."
"And you're offering to be my confidante?" he asked, smiling at her.
"If it would help."
"It is a gracious offer, and one I would take up under any other circumstance," he said. "But the matters I find myself concerned with are difficult to voice, and I fear you would only end up thinking me mad. Or a halfwit."
She laughed. "Quite impossible, I'm sure. You seem very sensible, Commodore."
"I know several people who would be eager to prove you wrong."
"Well, perhaps I am not completely of sound mind either," she said, and she let go of his arm to take two running steps, launching herself over a wide puddle in the road ahead of them. She stopped and looked back at him with a pleased smile, and she had the same sort of happy excitement in her eyes that he had noticed when Miss Swann had stood in the path of the thunderstorm.
He circled the puddle and she took his arm again when he came alongside her, walking at a more respectable pace again, and he had the distinct impression she would not have acted so exuberantly if he were not so sombre. He tried to resist finding her boisterousness so delightful, until he recognised that he appeared to have a certain inclination towards young women with adventurous spirit.
James found himself turning her offer over and over in his mind. As much as he wanted to confide in her and confess his true fears to someone, he was too afraid that she would lose respect for him, and withdraw entirely.
"I do so miss the parks at Longbourn," she said suddenly, interrupting his thoughts. "I miss the green hills and the trees. There is much freedom in open space, don't you think?"
"I couldn't agree more," he said, thinking wistfully of open horizons and endless blue skies. "The sea has always held such notions for me."
"Of course," she agreed. "Though I'll admit there is so much vastness to the sea it frightens me a little. I think I would be afraid on a ship."
"Never," he said with a smile, hardly able to believe she could fear anything.
"I like to have the option of any direction I choose," she explained. "I would be bound to the ship, and if anything were to go wrong, the only direction is down."
"How morbid," he said with a laugh. "You should consider that the ship is bound to you, and so will go where you choose it to go. If you respect the sea you have few things to fear from it, Miss Bennet."
"Except for whatever lurks beneath," she added, and for a moment he thought she must know somehow — that she had heard, and that she wanted to give him the chance to confirm it. Before he could ask her, she spoke again.
"I had my toe pinched by a crab at the shore, once, and I have never squealed so loudly."
It was such a contrast to what he expected her to say he laughed until he was breathless.
"I hardly think it's so funny," she said, though she was laughing with him.
"I'm sorry." He shook his head and tried to bring himself under control. "I simply didn't expect it, that's all."
"You have no fear of pinching sea creatures, I take it?"
He wiped his eyes and cleared his throat, still exerted. "Crabs, no. But the sea hides many things under the surface, and I am clever enough to hold some fear of the things I do not properly understand."
"An excellent tactic, I'm sure." She glanced sideways at him as they entered a green park, small white flowers showing their heads through a neatly-kept lawn. "Do I sense another exciting tale of the sea, Commodore?"
He hesitated. "Well…"
Her hand squeezed his arm. "I can hardly believe I have to pry them out of you!" she exclaimed. "I can appreciate modesty in a man, but not as much as I appreciate a good story — particularly when told in a voice as pleasant as yours."
He smiled at her, embarrassed. "You flatter me, Miss Bennet."
"For my own self-interest," she said. "And I will continue to praise you until you give in and tell me more about your fight against pirates in the Caribbean."
"Oh, the pirates." He shook his head. "The pirates are the tame stories, Miss Bennet. The truly exciting ones contain things much more unbelievable."
"Dare I hope for a mermaid or two?" she asked.
He gave a short laugh. "Would you mock me for my firm belief that they exist?"
"I would not mock you," she said. "Though I would argue that the evidence for such creatures does not satisfy me enough to believe in them myself." She stopped beneath a wide oak tree, with leaves beginning to turn yellow, and a wooden bench beneath it only slightly damp from the earlier rain. "Shall we sit?"
He sat beside her. Though they had stopped walking, she kept hold of his arm, and they looked out across the park in comfortable silence for a moment.
"So if you were to see a mermaid…" James trailed off.
"I suppose then I could hardly deny their existence," she said. "I do not doubt that the ocean holds many mysteries, Commodore, and that there are things within its depths which will remain undiscovered for many years, even after my lifetime, but there is something too fanciful about mermaids for me to accept them as a possibility."
"Much like other magical creatures. Like fairies, for example."
"I suppose." She looked concerned. "Do you believe in fairies?"
"Well, I have never seen a fairy, to my knowledge," he said. "But I cannot say for sure they don't exist." He drew a breath, and did his best to keep the same indifference in his voice. "I have seen things I can barely believe. I've seen things with my own eyes, and yet my good sense endeavours to call it all an elaborate joke. Of course, matters are more complicated than that."
"Mermaids?"
"No. Though any mermaid worth her salt would not allow a sailor to escape. Once you hear her song, you're hers to keep forever, and so I must be glad I've never confirmed their existence."
Elizabeth shuddered, and he shook his head.
"Forgive me, this is a terrible subject."
"Oh, not at all," she said. "I'm very much enjoying it." She looked up at him with those deep eyes, which once again rendered him helpless. "Tell me what you saw," she requested. Her hand slipped into his, and he looked down at it, so small and fine in his large palm, and so effective at crumbling his resolve.
"I'll tell you," he confirmed. "Though it is a long story. Are you comfortable here?"
"Yes," she answered.
He swallowed and looked out across the park again. "To tell the story, I must tell you about one Miss Elizabeth Swann, for the tale is incomplete without her, and… I must confess to you that it's possible I may recount her choices unfairly."
"I will not hold it against you, I promise," she said with a kind smile.
And so he told her. He could barely look at her as he spoke, for he still felt ashamed, reciting tales of monsters and ghouls, no matter how real he knew them to be. Society would laugh at him and label him an imbecile, and then he would be more alone than ever, with only this terrible knowledge for company.
Miss Bennet did not laugh, and she did not label him an imbecile. She stroked the back of his hand in a comforting sort of way and listened attentively, not interrupting him once — not even to ask questions when he thought perhaps he must be confusing her.
"I had the noose around his neck," he said finally, still feeling bitter about Jack Sparrow's escape. "Turner — and Miss Swann — assisted in his release at the final second, cutting him free and allowing him to escape to the Black Pearl. It was only Governor Swann's standing which prevented Turner and Elizabeth from being arrested. But they soon followed Sparrow in the days after, aware that even Governor Swann could not protect them from Lord Cutler Beckett. I believe he's still chasing them." His voice was soft as he added, "Perhaps he's finally caught them."
Still, Miss Bennet still did not speak. She looked at him, apparently deep in thought.
"There you have it," he said, confirming the tale finished. "The ramblings of a mad sailor."
"I do not think you are mad," she said. She shook her head, unable to look him in the eye. "I am fighting myself… I am unsure what to believe."
"I know." He still had his hand within hers, and he curled his fingers gently around hers, hoping she would not pull free.
"The shock on your face last night, when you caught your reflection…" She frowned. "Goodness, I simply must believe you. I have never heard a tale like this one and I cannot think of your motivations for inventing it." She finally looked up at him. "I know it pained you to recount it."
"It did," he agreed, "but it was also a relief. However, I fear now that you have a share of my burden, and I do not wish to leave it with you, Miss Bennet. Perhaps it was inappropriate of me to tell you everything."
"I'm glad you told me," she said. "I understand you better now." Her smile was kind. "I like you more for it." She laced her fingers through his and got to her feet. "I fear we must return to the house," she said. "My aunt and uncle will be wondering where I am."
"Of course." He stood with her, and she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow again. They walked back to the Gardiner household in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.
"You must come in and say hello, Commodore," Miss Bennet said as they approached the front door.
"Of course," he said again, but he halted her. "Miss Bennet, would you do me a kindness?"
"Oh, your secret is safe with me," she assured him.
"No, I mean — rather, would you call me James?" He gave her a helpless sort of smile. "Unless it would make you uncomfortable. You know my deepest secrets now, after all."
"There you are, Lizzie!" Mrs Gardiner threw the front door open. "Goodness, we were starting to get worried!"
"It's my fault, Mrs Gardiner," James said, greeting her affectionately. "I delayed her."
"Well, we shall forgive you if you stay for tea," Mrs Gardiner said, ushering them both indoors. "Come now, it looks like rain."
James was relieved to find his ability to converse with Elizabeth had not suffered as a result of confessing his unbelievable tale to her. Rather, it had seemed to bond them, and whenever he chanced to look upon her, she was already watching him, quiet and thoughtful, but still quick to smile.
As he was preparing to bid her farewell, she urged him to wait. "I have your envelope upstairs," she reminded him. "A brief note of thanks for last night. But I should like to add something to it, if you would so kindly wait a few moments?"
"Of course." He watched her go upstairs, and was aware of Mrs Gardiner watching him.
"She did so enjoy herself last night," she told him with a smile. "She could hardly cease talking about it all this morning. It was most unlike her — one could have thought her sister Lydia was at the breakfast table instead."
James smiled back at her. "The only reason my evening was so pleasant is because she was with me," he said honestly, knowing quite well he would only be adding fuel to the fire gleaming behind Mrs Gardiner's eyes.
He decided he didn't mind.
Elizabeth returned shortly with an envelope in her hand. It was thick, containing several sheets of paper, he thought — or expensive card.
"Please don't read it here, it will only embarrass me," she said with a smile.
"You have a long way to go before you can outshine me in any potential embarrassment, Miss Bennet," he assured her. He nodded to her and gave her a gentle smile, hoping she saw his thanks there. "Good afternoon."
"Good afternoon, James," she answered warmly.
James waited until he was home before he opened the envelope, sitting in his favourite armchair with the wind blowing clouds in across the sky. There were only two sheets of paper inside — what had caused the envelope to be so thick was the inclusion of a single pink rosebud, crushed and wilted, but still strong with the scent Miss Bennet had carried with her the previous evening.
He placed it carefully on the arm of his chair and opened her letter. Her hand was neat and delicate, and the first page had obviously been written as soon as he had returned her home the previous evening. It was a simple note of gratitude, expressing the hopes that he was well, for she had been alarmed at how pale he had seemed, and that dancing with him had been her most pleasurable evening in London so far this year.
He smiled and opened the second page — the Post Script she had hastily added that afternoon.
James,
We have just now returned from the park, where you engaged me with the most astonishing tale. I know not what to make of it, but I can promise you I will meditate upon it most urgently, for I at least owe you this. I will admit that tales of ghouls and the supernatural have long engaged my interest — but as fiction only. To consider them in true existence is thrilling, but against my natural sense.
I believe you are a man of your word. I believe the only word I can trust more is that of my dear father. And so I will not dismiss your claims, nor will I reveal your stories to anyone, until we can talk again and I can understand better what it is you have been through.
Until then, I do wish you moonless nights and sound sleep.
Yours,
Elizabeth Bennet.
The night was not moonless, but James replaced the knife beneath his pillow with Miss Bennet's letter instead, rose included, and he found he slept more soundly than he would have had he taken a glass of brandy.
James found himself slightly bothered by how quickly Miss Bennet had invaded his senses. He had returned to London completely heartbroken and almost convinced that he would never be happy again, and yet he was forced to admit he was utterly delighted by her mischief and her enchanting looks. She was so very different to the Elizabeth to whom his heart had previously belonged, and he considered whether or not this was for the best.
When he was alone with his thoughts — which was quite often these days — he would find himself wondering if perhaps he had only been in love with Miss Swann because she was the best match for him at the time. It was difficult to admit that perhaps he had been in love with the idea of her, rather than who she really was, until he remembered that he had known her so poorly that all of her personal choices had surprised and hurt him.
He was ready to release her, he decided, though of course it was more difficult to do than to think. He was attached to the idea of loving Miss Swann, even if it seemed ridiculous now. Not the woman she had become, but the woman she had been before. It was easy to compartmentalise his memories of her and allow them to grow more fond over time.
Rather, it would be, if Miss Bennet were not so invasive to his thoughts and his heart with her graceful dancing and her puddle jumping.
It was almost a week before James had the occasion to call upon Miss Bennet again. He travelled to Gracechurch Street much earlier than was required, though he did not go to the house. Instead, he took advantage of a break in the rain to wander to the park where he had sat with Miss Bennet the previous Sunday, in the hopes that she might consider doing the same, and they might meet.
It seemed like a dream now, and he could hardly believe he had revealed his thoughts to her. It seemed foolish, for he had been sleeping so well these past few nights, and it was easy to forget just how difficult it had been for him to adjust to London life. He considered that the past week had been so much easier on him due to the sharing of his burden, and he fervently hoped he had not disturbed Miss Bennet's sleep with his tales of ghosts and bones.
To his delight, Miss Bennet soon came into view, looking very well, to his great relief.
She gave him a radiant smile when she spotted him. "I had dared to daydream of meeting you here," she said. "I thought it silly of me — I am so scornful of my younger sisters when they indulge in such fantasies — but I am glad to see it come true."
"As am I," he said, kissing the back of her hand. "Shall we keep walking together?"
She strolled with him, taking his offered arm. "Are you well?"
"I am," he said. "I should thank you for allowing me to unburden myself, Miss Bennet. It has eased my mind greatly."
"I am relieved to hear it."
"I hope the relief of my troubles has not come at the price of your own."
"No, not at all," she said, and when she looked at him her eyes were clear and bright. "Though I will admit I have been puzzling over it a great deal."
"I was sure you must be," he said. "I can only promise you that what I have recounted is the truth. I do not take pleasure in tall tales, Miss Bennet, even if they seem entertaining."
"I know." She leaned against his arm just slightly as she walked beside him. "I pride myself on being a good judge of character, and I believe you are a man of scrupulous honesty. Even prior to our meeting, my aunt and uncle described you as a good man, and I can see for myself that you are indeed." She smiled at him.
"So you believe me?"
"I must," she said simply. "It is far more upsetting for me to believe that you were telling an untruth than it is to believe that there are monsters lurking in the dark."
He was unsure how to express the wave of gratitude he felt. "You are too good to me," he said.
"That is no compliment," she laughed, "for it is easy to be good to a man who is good in return."
"If you are not careful," he said, "I shall want to keep on being good to you for a very long time."
Her eyes sparkled at him. "I should only be so fortunate, James. Though I must warn you, there is a chance you will begin to find me most tiresome."
"I find it unlikely."
"Truly," she insisted, "for now that you have convinced me there are such terrible dark things in the world, it is only right for me to search for the good. So I believe we must find a toadstool circle and leave a sugar cube for the fairies, and I fear I cannot return home until we have done so."
She looked up at him, bright with amusement, and James was relieved to find that despite his recent aversion to magic, there was still something to be said about a spell cast by a pretty smile and a pair of very fine eyes.
"I expect we will not need to go far to find good magic," he said, folding his hand over hers, "as you do so have a tendency to bring a pleasant sort of enchantment upon me, Miss Bennet."