I keep thinking someday
I will make this all up to you
and maybe someday I will

- Ani DiFranco

Dear James,

I don't know exactly where to begin, so I will just say I am well and hope you are the same.

Actually, that statement isn't entirely true. I do know where to begin. I have never been talented in speaking delicately to avoid certain subjects, so I will be plain.

I felt a need to explain my reasoning for breaking my commitment to you. I'm sure you've deducted most of this yourself already, but I won't be at peace until I know for certain you are aware of my intentions.

I've known you since I was a small child, and, stemming from my belief that love grows from comfort, I believed myself very capable of learning to love you as our relationship developed. Socially, we are very well-suited for each other, and privately, I have always cared for you a great deal. But when I accepted your proposal aboard The Dauntless, I thought about marriage and all that it should entail.

Please bear in mind (and believe, for it is very much the truth) that I would do anything necessary to avoid hurting you in any way. Which is, in part, the reason I later refused your hand.

I do not love you.

Oh, I know that sounds callous and heartless. I'm not trying to be cruel, only as honest as possible.

I tried so hard to convince myself I didn't know enough of love to be certain I did not love you, but I knew I was lying to myself. I have known love for a very long time, James, and it was with Will.

So my reasons seem selfish. And they are, I suppose. I did not love you, I loved Will, so obviously I wouldn't want to marry you. (Let it be known that I am flooded with guilt every time I say, write or even think that.)

And yet I was torn. I've never considered myself a great risk-taker, and waiting for Will was certainly a risk. He very well may have never approached the idea of marriage to me. He is, after all, young and poor. A romantic pairing between us would never be taken seriously in society. He was afraid. You, however, were there, right in front of me, willing and prepared to love me and spend your life by my side. Nobody had ever made me an offer like that before. But those are selfish reasons, too, aren't they? I was considering marrying you only because I was flattered by the proposal. But let me get back to the point.

My rejection was not entirely self-concerned. I would not make you a good wife, James. I suffer wanderlust, and you're already so grounded. It's what makes you such an excellent Commodore. You need someone with her feet as firmly planted as yours are, to stand by you at all times and to have a family with. Oh, you'll be such a good father. You've a staggering capacity to love, and I'm glad I was one of the few to see that in you.

So you see, I was thinking of you, too, when I broke my word. We would make a good marriage, but not a happy one. Your contentment is as important to me as mine, and you would not have been happy, because my heart would not be with you.

I've stated my mind now. I was hoping writing this down would help ease my guilt, but I feel the same. Happiness mixed with a sad disappointment at my choice having caused anyone grief, particularly you. You have always been kind to me, and have my deepest respects.

I've just realized why I felt the impulse to write this letter. I do believe I want to beg your forgiveness. I think I've made it clear how sorry I am, and pray you'll find it in your heart to pardon me.

Thank you for coming to my wedding and sharing my joy, James. You are truly a good man.

Yours most sincerely,

Elizabeth Turner

Norrington fans: I know you're out there.

This was completely random and pointless but I had just watched Pirates again and felt a pang of pity for dear James, who is very decent and deserving. And so much more interesting than Will. And better-looking in a ridiculous hat.
I tried really, really hard to make this reader-friendly, but this site is being incredibly weird and displaying no team effort whatsoever.
Oh, and I don't own James or Elizabeth and blah blah blah.