30 Days Before
Signing the paper ought to be enough, Elizabeth thought, bent over the notary's desk, scribbling her name below the full names of her parents. Her birthday, their birthdays, her birthplace, their birthplaces—full lives reduced to calendar dates. She sighed, writing out her mother's death date before turning the paper and quill over to Will. At least he would know the same pain, she thought, watching him adjust his grip on the quill and pressing it to the paper. More pain, actually, since his father wouldn't be able to attend. It was something Elizabeth had pondered many times over in her mind, the shock and discouragement Will initially showed upon learning his father had been a pirate, and a cursed one at that. She had gazed at Will dropping the blood-soaked coin into the chest with nothing but relief and pride, the realization he had just killed his father not dawning upon her until hours later.
"What if I don't know my father's death day?" he asked the notary, responding to the raised eyebrow and clucked tongue with an aloof stance.
"Will." She took his hand and nodded at him. "You know what day it was."
"No, I really don't."
"Just put 'unknown,'" the notary grumbled, rolling his eyes at them and returning to his book. "When you're done debating about it…"
"Elizabeth, I've been thinking about it and the more I think about it, the more I know he might be alive." Will scratched out the rest of his information. Clearing his throat, he waited for the notary to put his book down again and prepare the document for his signature and seal.
"Usually if you can afford a marriage certificate, you know what date your father died," he mumbled to himself.
"I'm not sure that he is dead," Will blurted, pursing his lips and then turning back to Elizabeth. "He was already cursed when Barbossa strapped him to that cannon. He would have survived being sent to the depths! Don't you see? That was ten years ago. That's more than enough time to find a way to free himself and get back up to land. He would have gone home, I'm sure, figuring he wouldn't have any friends left on the Black Pearl. He'd figure Jack would be dead and he would have nowhere else to go. I'd already gone looking for him, though." He paused, thanking the notary for the certificate and stuffing it into a folder, his eyes lit up like a child's, Elizabeth noticed. "Don't you see?" he asked again. "There's no definite way of knowing he died. He could still be out there somewhere, maybe still pirating." He laughed, looking out in the direction of the harbor on their way out the door. "Wouldn't that be something?"
"It certainly would be," she breathed, taking his offered arm and batting the blinding sun out of her eyes. Adjusting her hat, she pulled him towards the square. "I hope that's what happened."
"He won't come to the wedding," Will said with as much authority as he excised during fighting lessons. "He wouldn't know about it. But maybe one day we'll cross paths. I always wondered if I would be able to recognize him, or maybe he'd know me first." His free arm crossed over his body and rested on Elizabeth's hand, securing their linked arms together.
Or he might be dead, she thought, but leaned her head on him instead. This would be the perfect moment to say the perfect thing, she told herself, some statement of reassurance and support.
"I can't imagine how proud of you he would be."
"Only because I would have you," Will said, kissing her cheek. "Why are we stopping here?"
"This is where we're going to have the wedding!" she laughed, pushing open the door to the church and pulling him down the aisle, the outside light catching the suspended cross at the altar, leaving the long oak pews in shadow.
"Most people do."
"No, not in here. Out here." Leading him through the small side room where the reverend hung up his robes and stored the Communion wine, they winded down the stone corridor that led to the field in the back, overlooking the sea. "Isn't it beautiful? I'll come out of that door there." She pointed to one of the doors. "There will be chairs here." She ran down the field, skirt hitched up, the gentle sea breeze kissing her face. "And here, with the aisle here. Of course, Father will have some musicians here and he expects there to be gate-crashers, but they'll just have to stand over the awning. What do you think?"
"It's lovely." He circled the imaginary perimeter she'd created, careful to not knock over her imaginary chairs, she supposed. Stopping at the edge of the hill, Will sat and let his legs hang over. "What if it rains?"
"We say 'I do' very quickly and enjoy our first married kiss soaking wet."
"That has more than its share of charms," he laughed, shuffling back to his feet. "What made you decide to have it outside?"
"Everything's too small," Elizabeth sighed, willing her eyes to focus on the path ahead of her, shaking off an oncoming trance, hoping Will wouldn't ask her what she meant. At first, the wanderlust washed over her without method, no more deliberate than a tide crashing onto a mollusk. But it ebbed, slightly, when she would go outside, when she would see the ocean staring back at her, daring her to cast herself into an uncharted course with only her heart and the wind telling her where to go.
They left the church, tiptoeing back through the sanctuary and back into the busy square.
"Ah, the lovebirds out and about. Just how long is it before the big day?"
"Sir Beckett," Elizabeth purred with enough bite to twist it into a growl. "You have a lot of nerve to show your face to me. You did notice you didn't merit an invitation to the blessed event, didn't you?"
"Miss Swann," he tsk-tsked her before resuming his smug smile. "Has it occurred to you that I just happened to be passing by and wished to pay my respects to the happy couple? It's about time fate decided to smile on your family, and it finally looks as though it is doing just that. Your father's position did not even need to be restored and in a short matter of time he will be giving away his only child to the most prominent blacksmith in the Caribbean."
"And yet you look like the cat that caught the canary," Will snapped, his fist tightening under Elizabeth's hand, eyebrow raised.
"You have no idea how right you are. Actually, Miss Swann…" He turned to face her with his whole body, butting Will out of the conversation. Conversation, she grunted, smoothing her skirt so more of it could stand between Will and Beckett. "I was wondering who was acting as the Mother of the Bride so I would know to whom to entrust my gift to you."
"That will be the last thing you say to her." Will stepped forward, hand on his sword.
"Come, come, Mr. Turner, it is an innocent question."
"I don't want anything you have to offer," she said, keeping her tone low and steady.
"You mustn't say such things. You'll regret them later. If you are then planning your own wedding I suppose since I did not receive an invitation that I am barred from seeing who else may or may not be invited?"
Elizabeth's eyebrow twitched, her lips itching to speak, but she folded her arms and glared, envisioning flames surrounding him. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Will begin to unsheathe his sword.
"No matter," Beckett said, swinging his hands behind his back and stepping away from them. "Enjoy the remainder of your engagement."
"Odious villain," Elizabeth snorted, not blinking until Beckett had disappeared back into the crowd. "It's a wonder he didn't just leave town after his plans didn't work out the way he'd wanted. Will." Her fingers curled around the grip of his sword, sheathing it back, not releasing it until feeling his own grip subside. He bent his head down and locked eyes with her, Elizabeth unable to read anymore but sadness and…pity on his face. Pity? "Will, I don't care that he's still around making trouble. I stopped caring what anyone thought a long time ago."
"You, you do so much on your own," he said, taking up her arm once again and leading her through the square back to the house.
"What do you mean?"
"It's been such a hard year for you and with all you've been through, you've had to be responsible for a wedding on top of it all, with no….with very little help from anyone."
"The boy with no father feels sorry for me?" she snapped, stopping dead in her tracks. "I'm so sorry."
"No, don't be." Will stopped and cupped her cheek, his fingertips brushing a few tendrils of her hair, the acceptance, the love, the pity radiating off his face boiling her blood. She could feel her nostrils flaring. "It's been such a strain. It's a wonder it doesn't frustrate you more."
Exhaling, she took in another deep breath. Closing her eyes, she leaned into his hand, taking in the full effect of his touch.
"I'm sorry if I haven't been helping as much as I could be," Will whispered.
"I don't need you to feel sorry for me," she whispered back, clutching his fingers. "I have more than most people could ever hope to have." Her eyes drifted down to the cold pebbles on the street. "I have more than most people could ever hope to have," she repeated to herself, so softly it was barely a breath, a mantra for herself. Her home and station were far above that of most women in the world, her fiancé stellar, her father devoted, her skills and intellect enviable…at least to her—anything else was ungrateful, aiming for the stars when she already had everything else.
"King me," she said, tapping the black draught at the end of the board. Her father sighed and placed another black draught on top of it. Laughing, she placed her elbows on the table and awaited his turn.
"Mr. Turner is here," Fisher said, knocking on the sitting room door.
"Oh, and just when you were making a comeback." Governor Swann stood.
"I've been winning ever since we started!"
"Perhaps Will would like to take over and salvage what few draughts I have left." He stretched his arms and shot a loving smile at her before going to the door. Scampering to her feet, she caught up with him.
"Perhaps I shan't go backwards with my crowned piece now," she sighed, twirling around the foyer. "It would give either you or Will a sporting chance, which is, after all, the real object of the game, sport." She grinned. "Winning can only be the object if it is over a worthy opponent."
"No need to get malicious about it," he laughed, wagging a finger at her before answering the door.
"Governor Swann. Elizabeth."
"Come in, Will. I'm surprised to see you here at night," Governor Swann said, motioning for Will to enter, glancing back at Elizabeth when Will remained stationary. "Is something the matter?"
"Well, sir, I, I came by with a purpose…if I could see Elizabeth outside first?"
"Will, what's this all about?" Elizabeth stepped out onto the porch, the lanterns providing just enough light to catch a nervous smirk on his face. He moved to one of the palm trees framing the house and brought forth a tall, middle-aged woman in a slightly rumpled blue tea gown.
"Elizabeth, this is Mrs. Primrose York. She runs the milliner's shop next to the smithy."
"How do you do, Miss Swann?" Mrs. York took her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I understand we'll be neighbors soon enough."
"Yes, yes, we will. To…to what do I owe the pleasure?" Her eyes darted from her to Will and back.
"Mr. Turner said your father was in need of a hat for your wedding. I do men's hats as well." The slight inflection in her voice grasped Elizabeth and forced her to turn back to Will, who just shrugged. "He said it had to be tonight. That's why I brought my measuring tape and some fabric samples." She gestured to a small trunk at her feet.
"Oh, well, of course. Go on in. Father!" Elizabeth stretched to the threshold and poked her head into the door. "Mrs. York is here to measure you for a hat."
"At this hour?" he yelled back to her, his footsteps nearing.
"This doesn't seem like a good time after all, Mr. Turner," Mrs. York sputtered, picking up her trunk.
"Nonsense. Governor Swann is a humorous fellow, isn't he, Elizabeth?"
"Only when hats are involved."
"My apologies," Governor Swann said, coming out into the night air. "I thought Will was Elizabeth's only guest. How do you do?" He shook Mrs. York's hand. "I suppose we could do it here in the foyer. That's where the light is best at night, I'm afraid. Fisher, come and take Mrs. York's trunk and materials, please. Right this way."
"Will, what's all this about?" Elizabeth asked again, closing the door behind her father after he ushered the woman inside.
"She's a widow. The shops are so close I could hear her telling one of her friends she would turn forty-nine this year. I wasn't eavesdropping, just…the slats in the walls…" He kicked the ground.
"I remember you once said she chased Mr. Brown out of there with a broom."
"The day you taught me to dance," he brightened.
"Yes." She nodded slowly, reminding herself to give him a chance to explain.
"You'll like her very much. She's well-read, cheerful, and beautiful. Girls younger than she ask her for tips on how to brighten their skin and make it smooth… She's a widow," he said again, his gaze again avoiding hers. Bringing his hands together, he wrung them, jolting a fraction when she gasped in realization.
"So you decided to take her to see where she would become the lady of the house, is that it?" She brought her fist up to her mouth and bit her lip, stifling a giggle. She let out a disciplinary cough.
"I, well, your father…not that Beckett of all people has any sway over my thoughts, but he did bring up the fact that you've done so much all on your own, no mother for so long…"
"Will!"
"She's of a higher class than I am, Elizabeth, not an aristocrat by any means, but well-bred, educated formally, and her shop does very well. It would sell for a reasonable price and bring some money into the arrangement."
"Well, my father doesn't have any tracts of land to offer, so I'm afraid our medieval practices will have to be revised somewhat," she laughed, exhaling and relaxing her shoulders. "Who told you Father was interested in remarrying?"
"I, no one," he blurted. "It just occurred to me there might have been a number of things that happened to you this year where a mother's care and wisdom might have been some comfort to you."
Elizabeth unleashed a great laugh, holding her sides, her eyes brimming with tears that could no longer be restrained. Seeing Will turn towards the street, she threw her arms around him and embraced him.
"I never imagined you as a matchmaker."
"I didn't mean anything by it."
"No, no, no one ever said you did," she soothed him, messing some of his hair. "It's adorable. And measuring for the hat he would wear to his daughter's wedding. It is a wonderful story they could tell the grandchildren, I suppose. Mrs. York also isn't privy to your ulterior motive?"
"No, a business venture, and a chance to meet you," he sighed, cocking his head. "She wanted to see the woman I'd be sharing the upstairs with. You're not angry? I would never try to replace your mother."
"That's something my father ought to be reassuring me, not you. No, I'm not angry. Do you think you're the first person to suggest Father remarry? A governor raising a girl with only maids to assist?" She grinned at his baffled expression. "But, of course, if that is true love going on in there, I won't stand in the way of it, and if nothing else, Mrs. York gets paid and my father gets a hat."
"I did take that into account," Will said, finally sharing in her laugh. She kissed his forehead and opened the door for them to go back inside.
A/N: Yes, I did include "tracts of land" in this. If you know where that comes from, you are as big a nerd as I and I salute you for it! Hmm, Beckett doing some fishing around…that can't be good, can it?
