I truly hope this chapter was worth the wait. My move back into Boston went rather smoothly and classes have gone well so far. Obviously I have less time to write (and I really should have been in bed an hour ago) but I was working on this chapter this evening and just decided I would finish it tonight. I apologize for the wait, and for the errors that are surely in this first posting. I will go through the chapter later this week, but for now please forgive any errors.
Without further ado, here is chapter 14, where things get awfully complicated.
The next few days passed comfortably for James as he began to outfit his new home. Adela had given him a set of sitting room furniture that, until it had been replaced the year before, sat in her own parlor. She assured him nothing was wrong with it, only that she had wanted a change in her own home. James took the offered furniture gratefully. Vitalia aided him in picking out fabrics and furniture for the other rooms, as well as wall coverings and paint. The bedrooms were, for the most part, fully furnished, with only the mattress in the master suite in need of replacement. All in all, James was more than pleased. Day by day, through cleaning by a household staff Adela had selected and interviewed for him, the old white house was slowly becoming hospitable once more.
James, who had a firm belief that respect was best earned through work, spent much of his mornings in the house with his staff cleaning and fixing the occasional door hinge or window. He had developed a profound appreciation for the man Adela had hired as his butler, an older man named Juan-Diego with graying hair, staunch opinions, and a quick wit. He had wasted no time in telling James that he needed to settle down with a wife and not worry about the running of his household. James was more than positive the man had once been in the military, the way he seemed to have the house already running like clockwork and with such efficiency James was positively speechless.
Not for the first time in his life, James thought that butlers must have some sort of magical ability. The older man also acted as James' valet, mostly because James could handle himself quite well. Juan-Diego never failed to remind James that should he need assistance shaving or readying himself, all he had to do was ask. James had a feeling that Juan-Diego did not think James' beard was all too fashionable
The housekeeper Adela had hired was a middle-aged woman named Anna who was homely as she was stern. Like Juan-Diego, she had the maids in line and the house sparkling by the third day. James was happily surprised by his staff, who seemed to like him just as he liked them. There was a young maid who seemed to blush and stammer uncontrollably every time James tried to speak with her, but Anna told him to simply ignore her.
"You really mustn't blame her," she'd told him, rather matter-of-factly, "you are quite imposing. And dreadfully handsome in uniform," she added, waving at James' current state of dress.
James had thanked his housekeeper for her rather backhanded compliments, stammering a bit himself. He had some idea that women found him appealing, but never had they been afraid to speak to him as his young maid.
He hadn't yet moved into the house—his mattress still needed to arrive—but James hoped to begin living there a week or so after the Governors Ball, which was to occur in a matter of days.
As he stood on the balcony attached to his now-furnished sitting room, staring out at the white sand and blue sea before him, James smiled. It was not an expectant smile, not one of anticipation or one that spoke of flirtation, just a smile. A pure, blissful smile, the likes of which had not graced James Norrington's hard face for some time.
He was simply and utterly content, as he had been finding himself for some time now. Slowly, he was getting used to the feeling.
---
James made his way back to Armand's mansion a short while later, dismissing his staff for the day to do as they like. Anna and Juan-Diego went off together to interview a local cook, while the little maid went off the opposite way with her two other fellows.
Tossing an orange in one hand, James walked up the driveway and let himself in through the kitchen entrance. Slinking off to the side and out of the way of the kitchen staff, who were preparing the midday meal, and into the hallway.
He eventually found his way into the parlor where Adela was seated, reading peacefully. Armand was currently down at the city hall, so James was not surprised that he wasn't with his wife, but he asked of Vitalia's whereabouts after seating himself across from Adela.
She looked up at him and smiled. "Somewhere around here," she waved a hand lazily in the air. "How goes everything with the new home?"
James smiled and used his gifted dagger to begin peeling the citrus in his hands. "Wonderfully," he answered truthfully. "I can't express my thanks for your help with the staff, Juan-Diego and Anna are amazing."
Adela smiled, her eyes twinkling. "Anna kept house for one of my cousin's before he lost himself if gambling and Juan-Diego worked for my mother in her last years."
"Thank you," he said earnestly.
"Are you prepared for the ball?" she asked then, now sliding a silk marker between the open pages of her book and closing it softly, setting it in her lap.
James grinned. "Indeed, thanks to you. You picked out my outfit weeks ago, and I'm sure I'll be one of the best looking men there because of it."
Adela smiled. Then she opened her mouth and put a finger to her cheek and looked as if she'd just realized something. "What color are the pieces again?" she asked once more, apology in her tone.
James paused in bringing a slice of orange to his mouth. "Brown," he said and then drew his eyebrows together as he thought. He knew the other color was a silk light in color, but he couldn't put his finger on it…then he remembered: Vitalia holding the silk up and smoothing it with her fingers, her wistful expression. Unbeknownst to him, Adela watched the sparkle in his eyes and the curve of his lips as he remembered. "And that peach that Vitalia liked so much."
He looked back at Adela and found her grinning, though why he couldn't say. "Oh, that's right," she said, appearing as though she'd never really forgotten in the first place. "And you're escorting Vitalia?"
James set his orange down in his lap and raised an eyebrow. He was certain there was no way Adela had forgotten that. Her grin told him as much. "Yes," he answered her, eyebrow still raised, "I am."
"Good," she said, then regarded James with her shrewd eyes in a manner James couldn't place. She was silent for a moment, watching as James popped another slice of orange into his mouth. "James?" she asked as he finished chewing. He looked up at her, waiting for her to continue. "What are your intentions towards my niece?"
James was thankful that she'd waited for him to stop chewing because he was sure he would've choked.
His eyes wide, he coughed into his hand. "My intentions?" he asked, and she nodded. "Only the best, Adela, I assure you," he said, sounding a little more nervous than his usual calm and collected.
Adela said nothing for what felt like forever, watching James as he began to fidget under her eyes. Then she smiled and leaned over, resting her hand on his arm. "Good," she said again, then swiftly rose and departed then room.
James sat on the cushion, orange still in hand, his eyebrows drawn slightly and his mouth slightly open. He sighed after a moment and, popping the remaining orange slices into his mouth, went in search of Vitalia.
---
The morning of the Governor's Ball, Vitalia sat at her vanity and took deep breaths as she waited for her maid to cease the pulling, curling, and pinning of her hair. She felt like she'd been up for days, though she knew it was only around one in the afternoon, and she was desperate to save her energy for what she hoped would be a memorable night.
Despite the pain on her scalp, Vitalia smiled to herself—then quickly winced as her maid pulled hard on a handful of hair.
Tonight, James would be escorting her to the ball. She smiled again.
She couldn't quite find words to describe her excitement—though her feelings she was quite sure of. The past few days James had been nothing but attentive to her, seeking her out, asking her opinion on aspects pertaining to his new home, and even just sitting in a companionable silence with her as she sketched and he mapped out plans for his cadets. Part of her had been worried that when James was made a captain he would move on from the mansion quickly, but he did nothing of the sort. His days were slightly busier now, but he always seemed to have time for her.
Time not spent with James was spent with Adela and Isabella, both of whom seemed to have nothing better to do than tease her about the Englishman. Basilio would stop by every now and then, but he had been rather out of sorts the past few days, and wasn't as talkative as he usually was. Vitalia tried her best to make him smile, which she knew he appreciated when he'd quirk his lips in a small smile for her, but she couldn't cheer him up completely.
She shared this with her aunt and best friend and the two had exchanged rather knowing—and obnoxious, in Vitalia's opinion—glances and told her not to worry about it. So she didn't, or at least not as much as she usually would have. She spent her days helping with the last minute details of the ball, with James, and finishing the portrait of him.
She smiled again. She had finally finished the painting the day before, coating the entire canvas with a gloss that kept the paint fresh and made it shine in the light. She hadn't yet picked a date to give it to him, but she knew it would be soon, when he moved into his own house.
"I'm done, miss."
Vitalia jumped slightly and then smiled at her maid. "Thank you." She rose then and stretched her sore shoulders and looked around the room. "I think that will be all for now," she said with a smile and her maid quickly curtsied and left the room.
Turning, Vitalia scrutinized her reflection in the mirror on her vanity. Her hair was tightly curled and—looked—loosely pinned to her head in elegant bunches with curls dusting her collarbone. She had yet to add jewelry and ornaments to her hair, and her face was completely devoid of face paint and rouge. But, looking at herself, head held high and eyes alight with anticipation and excitement, she couldn't help thinking she looked beautiful.
A soft knock at her door broke her from her reverie. Turning, Vitalia watched her aunt enter the room, a large parcel in her arms.
"What's that?" Vitalia asked as she watched her aunt place the box on her bed.
Adela raised an amused eyebrow at her. "Your gown, of course."
Vitalia smiled slightly. "Oh—of course." She had rather forgotten the gown—beautiful though it was. She just didn't feel as radiant as she would have liked in it. Not to mention, she thought as she recalled what exactly James was wearing, they would clash quite wonderfully. Her heart sank a little bit more.
"Preciosa," Adela said, coming to stand by her niece's side, "what is the matter?"
Vitalia looked at her aunt and smile apologetically. "It's stupid," she said lamely. Adela gave her a look that said she didn't care. "James and I will clash," she said, motioning to the parcel on her bed.
Adela smiled slightly. "Are you sure?"
"My dress is blue and lavender."
"Blue and brown go together," Adela supplied.
"But blue and lavender and brown and peach?" she said, rather helplessly.
"Why don't we look at it again?" Adela said, stroking Vitalia's cheek gently.
Vitalia sighed then nodded.
"You do the honors," Adela said and stepped out of the way so Vitalia could open the parcel.
Vitalia took a breath and pulled the ribbon circling the box out of its tied bow and set it aside, then pulled the top half of the box off with slow hands. Setting the top down on the floor so that it leaned against her bed, Vitalia parted the tissue paper surrounding the gown.
She nearly gasped as a rich peach filled her eyes.
"What?" was all she managed to say as she looked from her aunt to the gown—the same gown she'd envisioned herself in when she had first picked up the fabric the day she had gone with James to the seamstress'.
Adela smiled widely at her and Vitalia immediately knew her aunt had been planning this for some time.
"Do you like it?" Adela asked as Vitalia drew the garment out of the box and held it up to herself in the mirror.
The style was similar to that of Vitalia's original gown, a sheer white in place of the gossamer lavender on the skirt, albeit with a different neckline and bodice.
"I love it!" Vitalia exclaimed, turning back to her aunt and smiling so widely her cheeks began to ache. "When? How?"
Adela raised a haughty eyebrow, "Since I saw you pick the silk up," she said rather matter-of-factly. "Why do you think I had James get the suit with the peach accents even when I said it was too pale for him?"
Vitalia shrugged. "But—how did you know?"
Adela did not need elaboration, but stated the obvious anyways. "How did I know you and James would come together?"
Vitalia nodded, still admiring the gown.
"It was obvious—to me, at least," she said with a grin, "from very early on."
"I wish I had your talent for that," Vitalia said, turning away from the mirror and folding the gown delicately back into the box atop the paper. She looked at her aunt then, who was still smiling widely at her, and then crossed over to her and threw her arms around Adela's shoulders.
Adela returned the embrace, holding Vitalia to her with strength one wouldn't think a woman as slim and delicate as Adela would posses.
"Thank you," Vitalia said, nearly whispered.
"You're welcome, Vitalia," Adela said, releasing her and stepping back to admire her niece. She could only think it was just yesterday that Vitalia had come to live with her and Armand, an orphan who didn't yet know how to make sense of what had happened, and now she was standing before her, grown up and so clearly in love. "I will miss you, you know," she said softly.
Vitalia looked alarmed. "Where am I going?"
Adela smiled again. She knew she would never miss the way Vitalia seemed not to realize the most obvious. "When you get married and move away," she said softly.
Vitalia was silent for a moment, searching her aunt's eyes with her own, before she drew Adela back into a hug. "I will miss you too," she said.
The two women were silent for a moment then Adela said, with a smile on her face, "Hopefully he'll ask you."
Vitalia nearly groaned, both in anxiety and annoyance. Her aunt would never change.
---
James stared at himself, hard, in the mirror attached to his armoire.
He had just shaved, his face was smooth, his beard and moustache neatly trimmed. He'd had Juan-Diego trim his hair the day before (he'd had to keep the man's hands away from his beard), and it was pulled smartly back into a small tail at the nape of his neck. His shoes had been polished. His suit, jacket, shirt, vest, and cravat had been pressed. He had just taken a bath, his skin was clean and his cologne—a scent suggested and given to him by Armand—smelled quite nice.
Despite all his preparations, however, he was still very nervous, an emotion and feeling James was not at all very familiar with.
He had decided to get ready at his new home, both to keep his cool as well as to make his escorting Vitalia slightly more normal. What was he supposed to do if he was dressing at Armand's mansion—get ready, then meet her at the bottom of the stairs after he came down? Pick her up at her room? James scoffed as he began tucking in crème chemise to his dark breeches. That wouldn't do. He thought that arriving separately and escorting her from there would be much more acceptable. And less of a weight on his nerves.
Up until recently, James wasn't all too sure he even possessed nerves—the type he was feeling now, at least. Never in his life had a person—a woman—made him so nervous. He began to do up the rest of the buttons on his shirt and smiled as he though of the woman who made him so nervous. To say he was excited about the evening would be an understatement.
He could not wait to have Vitalia on his arm, to see her walk down the stairs. His thoughts drifted to a few days before, when she had been worrying about her dress. He resisted the urge to chuckle. The thought of her looking anything but stunning bordered on ridiculous in James' mind.
He slid the peach vest on over his shoulders and deftly did up the buttons. He'd told Armand he'd arrive as soon as was acceptable which, according to the clock on James' mantle, was in twenty minutes. He'd decided to walk to Armand's house, it wasn't far and he didn't yet have a horse of his own. He enjoyed the fresh air; the smell of the ocean helped calm him. And now that he had nerves, he thought it was a very good idea.
---
James found himself in Armand's marble entryway nearly half an hour later. Guest had already begun to arrive, decked out in riches and finery. James had thought he'd looked rather plain, but he had a distinction that many of the guests could not boast. The day before, Armand, in front of his trainees, had presented James with a small broach with the Spanish Navy's insignia. The broach marked him as a captain, a small star beneath the insignia, and James took pride in wearing it. He adjusted the sleeves of his elegant and simple coat as he waited to shake hands and greet Armand and Adela.
Armand nearly rolled his eyes as James reached them. "Why didn't you just slip in through the back instead of standing in the God forsaken line?"
Adela attempted to hush her husband with an air of amusement, but Armand brushed her off.
"Despite the fact you seem to believe otherwise," James said with a grin and he took Adela's hand and bowed over it, "I take my duties seriously. And properly greeting a host and hostess is one of those duties."
Adela smiled. "We are glad you're here James. Armand was disgruntled that there was no one here to waste time with today."
"That I was," Armand replied swiftly, holding his hands behind his back. "I should've come over and made myself useful at your house." He still looked relatively annoyed.
James smiled. "In the next few days, you're more than welcome to."
"Good," Armand said rather stiffly. But then a smile broke through his face and his austere air was immediately broken. "Shall I have a maid fetch Vitalia?" he asked then, smiling in what James thought was a mix of amusement and cunning.
James quirked an eyebrow at Adela, but she just smiled and shrugged. "I'll find the maid, you stay here and greet your guests," she told her husband then disappeared before he could protest.
Armand looked rather disgruntled. "I hate being the official host. Who wants to meet me anyways?"
James laughed and clapped his friend on the shoulder then stepped off to the side so the rest of the guests could pay their respects. He moved himself farther into the entryway, into a small corner where he could see the stairwell clearly. His pulse began to quicken as he saw Adela nod at him as she resumed her place at Armand's side. Vitalia would soon be walking down those stairs.
James waited for what seemed like forever until finally a rippling of silk at the top of the stairs caught his eye. As if in slow motion, Vitalia came into view and down the stairs, and James Norrington's breath caught in his throat.
Vitalia looked like a goddess, bathed in the same peach silk of his vest, something he would later put together as Adela's work, but at the moment he was too immersed in the beauty that was heading towards him.
The gown was not as wide as most court gowns, but slim and elegant with capped sleeves and a flowing skirt that fell perfectly from the swell of her hips. Embroidery dusted the bodice along with what James thought were diamonds or something very similar. Vitalia's hair was curled and framed her face, what looked like silver thread woven through her elegant up-do, and one curled lock rested almost teasingly along her exposed collarbone, subtly drawing James' attention to the swell of her bosom. She wore no jewelry save for a small pair of diamonds in her ears. And she looked positively radiant.
Her eyes were on James as she came down the steps, a small almost nervous smile on her lips. James remembered to breath again once she had touched her slippered feet to the floor before him. Before he could stop himself he smiled broadly.
"You look amazing," he said, almost whispered as he took her hand and bowed over it, kissing the top of her gloved hand.
"Thank you," she replied almost uncertainly as he righted himself, dipping into a curtsey. "So do you," she said with a grin.
James smiled and held out his arm. "I assume you don't need to greet your aunt and uncle?"
Vitalia laughed. "I think Armand would kill me."
"He nearly did me," James admitted as he slowly led Vitalia through the now crowded entryway. Armand and Adela both nodded at the pair as they passed. Both were positively beaming at them.
"You waited in line?" Vitalia laughed again. "Somehow, I'm not surprised."
James faked annoyance as he steered her toward the same gallery that he and Armand had sparred in many-a-time before. It was now alight with elaborate candle-fixtures and tables of refreshments. A band, larger than the one that had been at Adela's party, was situated in a corner that usually held a rack of fencing swords. The ballroom was nearly half full and couples had begun dancing.
James had made it his duty to learn more of the Spanish dances before the ball, something he had not shared with Vitalia. Adela had been giving him lessons at his home the past week and he was more than eager to surprise Vitalia. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye as she watched the couples twirl around the marble floor.
He smiled and leaned in closer to her. "Would you like to dance?"
She glanced at him, smiling slightly. "I thought you didn't know any of our dances," she said.
James raised an eyebrow. "I didn't," he said, grinning, "Something I remedied since the last party."
Vitalia could not keep the happy smile off her face. "I would love to."
"Good," James said with a genuine smile, and with that, led her out into the throng of couples. Vitalia settled her hand on his shoulder, secretly enjoying the closeness that the dance would allow them and the feel of James' muscles shoulder under her gloved hands. James placed his hand lightly on her waist, just before the flare of her hips, and then the pair began what was the first dance of many in an evening that James was sure to never forget.
---
Hours later, James was more than positive that indeed, he would never forget the evening. He sat now, not in a chair on the side of the ballroom or even in one of the private parlor's in Armand's manse, but it his own study, nearly empty of furniture save an old desk and equally old chair. The doors to the balcony that wrapped around his home were thrown open, a rather harsh sea breeze passing through them. An open bottle of brandy sat on his desk and James clutched a snifter in on hand, its contents half gone. He was now more than positive that he had the worst luck with the opposite sex than anyone in the world. Don Juan was rolling in his grave with laughter at him.
He was still dressed in his evening clothes, though his cravat had been loosened in a rush and it was pulled awkwardly to one side. He had his booted feet on to the top of his desk and he glared at the darkness as he took a deep drink from the glass in hand. Reluctantly, James relived what was supposed to have been a magical evening.
He and Vitalia had danced two danced before Adela and Armand had joined the party. He and Vitalia had joined them on the far side of the ballroom, conversing contentedly with one another. Basilio had joined them at one point, ever polite with his customary glass of wine in hand, and James even enjoyed the Spaniards' company. Isabella also joined the group, looking stunning in a gown of deep red that caused more eyes to stray towards her than half the women in the room put together. Still, James had eyes only for the woman at his side.
Vitalia was always close by him, if she wasn't in his arms dancing, she was on his arm at his side, the subtle pressure of her hand on his arm a constant reminder of her presence. And the way her presence made him feel.
James felt as if he was walking on air. Never could he remember being so completely happy. It was soon after he and Vitalia had rejoined the crowd of dancing couples, that he realized it.
He loved her.
He loved everything about her. He loved her voice, her handwriting, her eyes, her subtle and quick wit. He adored the way she's raise her eyebrows at him, the way her laugh seemed to float in the air after it left her lips. He couldn't get enough of her. It was then, when she was smiling in his arms as he whirled her around the dance floor that he realized that he loved her, and he wanted her by his side. Always.
James couldn't explain the rush of emotion he'd felt, but he was sure of one thing: that he needed the wonderful young woman before him to be his, and only his, for the rest of his days. And it was then that he decided to tell her.
Not, however, in the middle of a packed ballroom. While James was not a hopeless romantic, he did have enough common sense to know that any young woman would not want to have such a think blurted out in front of hundreds of others. And seeing as he'd already caused a scene by asking her to the ball at the last ball, he thought he owed her some privacy.
"Vitalia," he said as the dance ended. "I need to speak with you."
His serious tone alerted her somewhat and she looked at him questioningly.
"Nothing is wrong," he assured her with a smile, and squeezed her hand, which he was still holding, gently in reassurance.
She looked at him for a moment, and then smiled. "I have something to show you," she said.
James cocked an eyebrow. "Really?" he asked despite himself.
She laughed, "Yes really." She glanced around the room. James knew it was highly improper for them to leave the ballroom and speak alone, but he was determined to do so anyways. Apparently, Vitalia was just as determined to show him whatever it was she wanted to show him.
Armand and Adela were currently caught up in a large group of diplomats and politicians from around the Spanish empire, and the rest of the ball was immersed so fully in the festivities that they were sure not to notice the disappearance of one couple.
Vitalia turned back to him, her eyes alight. "I will meet you in five minutes, in my studio?" she asked, then added in response to James raised eyebrows, "It will be less obvious if we sneak away separately."
"Have you done much sneaking?" James couldn't help himself asking.
Vitalia swatted his arm. "No I haven't. Five minutes?" she asked, and James nodded.
The brilliant smile she flashed him then, as she turned on her heel and headed for a doorway, was a smile James could still feel deep in his heart. A heart that was now thoroughly torn.
He had waited his five minutes before heading out of the same door. He expertly wove through the crowd, nodding to those whom he'd come to know, spotting a few of his cadets here and there before he finally crossed the threshold into the deserted hallway.
It was lit, dimly, by a lamp on the wall and James looked both ways before he silently padded down to the door of Vitalia's studio.
He took a deep breath then, straightening himself and adjusting the sleeves of his coat.
Never before had he confessed his love to a woman. He had told Elizabeth he cared about her, but never had he gone outright and told her he loved her. Which, he thought now, was a good thing because while he had cared about her, he certainly had not loved her—at least not in the way he loved the woman who was through the door before him.
His newly acquired nerves were on fire, his heart was in his throat. His hands, now at his sides, were beginning to shake.
Slowly, taking a calming breath, James turned the handle on the door and pushed it open. What he saw before his eyes tore his thumping heart from his chest.
Vitalia stood in the center of the room, lit by the oil lamps, a covered canvas behind her, and in front of her stood Basilio. In front of her was not the correct term, James thought bitterly as he tossed the remains of the brandy in his glass back, reaching for the bottle and refilling it.
Basilio stood, holding Vitalia to his chest, tilting her head towards him with one hand, and his lips firmly on top of hers.
James began shaking with anger once more.
The pair had broken apart once James had opened the door, but he had seen all he'd needed to see.
Vitalia looked stricken, one hand covered her mouth, and her eyes were wide. Basilio's own chocolate eyes were glazed, with what James could not say, but he looked, if possible, more surprised.
It took James a full five seconds before he could find words. "This," he croaked, "This is what you wanted to show me?"
"James!" Vitalia cried out, her voice catching in her throat, but James had already turned and was halfway down the hallway.
He literally had no words. He'd left Armand's mansion, ignoring that propriety bade him to say farewell to his hosts; he'd have to apologize later. Right then, all he could do was carry himself as far away from Vitalia and Basilio as he could before he lost his temper—which would surely result in his punching Basilio…or worse.
James had never had his heart broken before, and he rather thought he'd prefer being back in the clammy rowboat, on his way to the afterlife. Never had he felt so much pain.
The pain of loss, or betrayal…it was too much for him bear. He had never once thought that Basilio and Vitalia had an understanding. He knew, certainly, that Basilio liked her, but he had never gotten the impression that Vitalia truly returned the feelings. She had always been very open with him, allowing him to hug her in public and such, but never had James thought that she'd felt the same.
He felt like an idiot.
He was amazed at her cruelty, allowing him to walk in on her and Basilio; while he was surprised ant outraged at the happenings in general, he was surprised that she possessed such a mean streak. He'd never detected it.
But, seeing as how he'd completely missed that she and Basilio were a couple, albeit a secret one, for he was sure her family did not know, he figured he shouldn't be that surprised. He had been fooled, tricked worse than he'd ever been tricked in his life.
A knock broke James from his angry reverie and Juan-Diego strode in, a letter in his hands. Juan-Diego had asked his master no questions when he'd stormed in early from the party, and only raised his brows slightly when James asked for a bottle of brandy and a single glass.
James watched rather warily as his butler approached, holding the letter out to him. He knew where it was from, and from whom; he'd know the elegant script anywhere.
"A letter for you, sir," Juan-Diego said.
"I can see that," James said with no emotion what so ever in his voice. "Please burn it."
Juan-Diego looked aghast. "I most certainly will not. It is you duty to read this correspondence, sir, I will not aid you in shirking it."
James looked at his stubborn servant before he nodded gruffly. Juan-Diego handed him the letter, then left the room. James watched him go then looked at the envelope in his hand. Vitalia's handwriting jumped at him from the envelope.
'James' was all it said, and it looked as though it had been written in a hurry.
James glared at the envelope, the opened a drawer in his desk and threw the letter in with the deeds to the house. After slamming the drawer shut, James took another hearty swig from his glass of brandy.
Moments later, Juan-Diego re-entered the study, another envelope in his hands.
"Not another one," James muttered.
"This isn't from Miss Marinella," Juan-Diego informed him, his voice almost rushed. James vaguely wondered how Juan-Diego has known the first piece of correspondence was from Vitalia, but the urgency in his butlers voice stopped him.
"Who is it from," James asked, rather perplexed.
"The shipyard," Juan-Diego said, handing James the letter, which he realized now was already opened. He ignored this as well; he trusted Juan-Diego's judgment. "You are to report, with your crew, to the docks in half an hour. There's been a large attack on three vessels not far from the island."
"Pirates?" James asked, hoping that his excitement and hope did not come through his voice.
"Yes," Juan-Diego answered.
"Wonderful," James said and stood quickly, dropping his glass to the desk, sloshing brandy over the side, and made for his room to change into his uniform and grab his necessary items.
He was quite sure there was nothing like a pirate attack and chase to work out his anger and get his mind off of the turn of events that had occurred that evening.
...Well? I'm sure a lot of people are very upset with Vitalia right now, and probably want to kick Basilio's ass...or crawl in bed with James and give him a hug. I know I do.
As I said before, I apologize for any errors, I will re-edit this hardcore later this week, but for now, just make like you didn't see any :D
In chapter 15 you can look forward to: both sides of the story, some sword fighting, lots of remorse, shipwrecks, and a cameo by someone we all know and love.
As always, please review, ESPECIALLY if you favorite or alert this story!!!
-Elle R-M.