(disclaimer and notes in 1st chapter)
~~~~~~~~
The next few weeks passed like a distant dream. Elizabeth wanted to marry as soon as possible and he agreed, still harboring a fear that this engagement would last hardly longer than the first. Before he knew it he was facing her in front of the altar, his wedding suit terribly stiff and uncomfortable, surrounded by what seemed like the entire population of the islands. She was beautiful in cream-colored linen and lace, and he could not keep love and wonderment from shining out of his eyes. He listened to the priest with half a ear, trying to gauge her emotions from her face. It revealed nothing; she smiled at him and blushed lightly as any young bride was wont to do. He had become quite adept at reading her, but her skill at farce had grown as well.
The governor beamed at them both from the front row. Although he had consented to his daughter's involvement with the young blacksmith, everyone in Port Royal knew that he was speechless with joy that Elizabeth's affections had turned to the Commodore. In fact, the only times Elizabeth had seemed genuinely involved during the whirlwind preparations was when she reacted to her father's happiness.
If she was doing this for him, Norrington reflected, that was a reason he could respect.
He mumbled his vows and Elizabeth said hers in a clear, steady voice. He kissed her for the first time, in front of all those people. For all that it was a brief embrace, he tried to impart his feelings for her. He had only time enough to register that her lips were warm and soft before it was broken and they turned together to face the crowd.
The reception was likewise a blur, Elizabeth now by his side and now at the other end of the room, laughing and chatting with their guests. As the afternoon dwindled into evening and the fort began to clear, a strange mixture of dread and excitement began churning in his stomach. Everything had happened so quickly, and he'd been so preoccupied with the fear that it would not go through, that he had spared very little thought for the wedding night.
And now she was standing before him at the foot of the bed, hands clasped behind her back, still in her expensive dress. One eyebrow was arched as if in question. She didn't look shy, but neither was she throwing herself into his arms.
"Well, James," she said, the hint of suggestion in her low voice, "shall we go to bed?"
He nodded, unable to speak. What little of his blood that hadn't fled south was flooding his face with color.
Leaving the candle burning for the moment, he came to her and reached for the fastenings on her clothing, but the intricate buttonwork was too much for his unsteady hands. It was Elizabeth who undressed them both, leaving herself in just a shift and him in his drawers, and her fingers did not shake. She pulled the covers back and lay down, stretching a slender hand up to him. He blew out the lantern, letting his eyes adjust to the moonlight that turned everything into shades of navy and silver. As he began to hesitantly caress her, she suddenly pushed him away and got to her feet.
"Elizabeth, what –" he began, knowing that he had done something to upset her but having no idea what it was.
She crossed to the window in quick, agitated little steps and pulled the curtains closed, shrouding the room in darkness.
"I'm sorry," he heard her whisper, sounding nearer as she returned to bed. "It's just – the moonlight – I don't like to sleep under it..."
"It's all right," he said as she slipped in beside him again, and they began where they had left off.
Norrington was not a complete amateur. He had been dragged to enough port brothels in his early Navy days that a woman's body was not exactly a mystery to him – or so he'd thought, because when he braced himself above Elizabeth he found that things were very different. Those women had been seasoned whores, while she was soft and slim and not responding to his fumbling touches in the least. He had wanted her to enjoy this, knew that she could if it was done properly, but he had never expected to feel so oversized and clumsy. Presently he began to think that it would be best to just get it over with and spare her any further indignity.
She made no sound, save for a small gasp as he entered her and knew that his fears about the intimacies she might have shared with Turner were unfounded. He paused, trembling, and asked her if she was all right. When she nodded, he still hesitated, and she murmured in a tight, strained voice, "I'm fine, James. You're not going to break me."
He tried to move with her rather than against her, but the problem was that she wasn't moving at all. All the guilt he felt over the huge disappointment he was delivering to her could not put a stop to his body's reactions, however, and he found himself hovering at the edge rather sooner that he had anticipated. Even then he thought he might redeem himself; as he was coming he pressed his lips to her neck and whispered, "I love you, Elizabeth."
It took him several seconds, as his breathing steadied, to realize that she had burst into tears.
Quickly rolling to her side, he pulled her in close and tried to soothe her, accidentally bumping her nose because he couldn't actually see anything in the dark bedroom. She lay against him, her body stiff and unyielding.
"I'm sorry," he said wildly, hearing the panic in his own voice. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to –"
"No," Elizabeth gasped, "it's all right, I'm just...emotional..." She buried her head in his shoulder, but still would not relax in his arms.
Thoughts tumbling through his head – this was a mistake, they could get it annulled, she could come up with some story that he beat her or was unfaithful and he'd let her go back to Turner on the Black Pearl – he heard himself saying frantically, "I won't say it again, I promise, I'll never say it again..."
That stopped her tears. He could feel her eyes on him and wondered if she could see any better than he could.
"Go...go to sleep," he managed, his own throat choked. He brushed her loose hair away from her face.
For a moment it seemed she would speak, but then she sighed and shifted onto her back, her face turned away from him. "Goodnight, James." Her voice was under iron control once more.
"Goodnight," he replied softly, wanting more than anything to draw her into his arms. He didn't, and she did not turn to him for comfort in her sleep – he knew, because he was awake for hours after she'd drifted off, twisting his wedding band around and around his finger.
~~~~~~~~
They're two lost little lambs, aren't they? But things, as they tend to do, will pick up.
~~~~~~~~
The next few weeks passed like a distant dream. Elizabeth wanted to marry as soon as possible and he agreed, still harboring a fear that this engagement would last hardly longer than the first. Before he knew it he was facing her in front of the altar, his wedding suit terribly stiff and uncomfortable, surrounded by what seemed like the entire population of the islands. She was beautiful in cream-colored linen and lace, and he could not keep love and wonderment from shining out of his eyes. He listened to the priest with half a ear, trying to gauge her emotions from her face. It revealed nothing; she smiled at him and blushed lightly as any young bride was wont to do. He had become quite adept at reading her, but her skill at farce had grown as well.
The governor beamed at them both from the front row. Although he had consented to his daughter's involvement with the young blacksmith, everyone in Port Royal knew that he was speechless with joy that Elizabeth's affections had turned to the Commodore. In fact, the only times Elizabeth had seemed genuinely involved during the whirlwind preparations was when she reacted to her father's happiness.
If she was doing this for him, Norrington reflected, that was a reason he could respect.
He mumbled his vows and Elizabeth said hers in a clear, steady voice. He kissed her for the first time, in front of all those people. For all that it was a brief embrace, he tried to impart his feelings for her. He had only time enough to register that her lips were warm and soft before it was broken and they turned together to face the crowd.
The reception was likewise a blur, Elizabeth now by his side and now at the other end of the room, laughing and chatting with their guests. As the afternoon dwindled into evening and the fort began to clear, a strange mixture of dread and excitement began churning in his stomach. Everything had happened so quickly, and he'd been so preoccupied with the fear that it would not go through, that he had spared very little thought for the wedding night.
And now she was standing before him at the foot of the bed, hands clasped behind her back, still in her expensive dress. One eyebrow was arched as if in question. She didn't look shy, but neither was she throwing herself into his arms.
"Well, James," she said, the hint of suggestion in her low voice, "shall we go to bed?"
He nodded, unable to speak. What little of his blood that hadn't fled south was flooding his face with color.
Leaving the candle burning for the moment, he came to her and reached for the fastenings on her clothing, but the intricate buttonwork was too much for his unsteady hands. It was Elizabeth who undressed them both, leaving herself in just a shift and him in his drawers, and her fingers did not shake. She pulled the covers back and lay down, stretching a slender hand up to him. He blew out the lantern, letting his eyes adjust to the moonlight that turned everything into shades of navy and silver. As he began to hesitantly caress her, she suddenly pushed him away and got to her feet.
"Elizabeth, what –" he began, knowing that he had done something to upset her but having no idea what it was.
She crossed to the window in quick, agitated little steps and pulled the curtains closed, shrouding the room in darkness.
"I'm sorry," he heard her whisper, sounding nearer as she returned to bed. "It's just – the moonlight – I don't like to sleep under it..."
"It's all right," he said as she slipped in beside him again, and they began where they had left off.
Norrington was not a complete amateur. He had been dragged to enough port brothels in his early Navy days that a woman's body was not exactly a mystery to him – or so he'd thought, because when he braced himself above Elizabeth he found that things were very different. Those women had been seasoned whores, while she was soft and slim and not responding to his fumbling touches in the least. He had wanted her to enjoy this, knew that she could if it was done properly, but he had never expected to feel so oversized and clumsy. Presently he began to think that it would be best to just get it over with and spare her any further indignity.
She made no sound, save for a small gasp as he entered her and knew that his fears about the intimacies she might have shared with Turner were unfounded. He paused, trembling, and asked her if she was all right. When she nodded, he still hesitated, and she murmured in a tight, strained voice, "I'm fine, James. You're not going to break me."
He tried to move with her rather than against her, but the problem was that she wasn't moving at all. All the guilt he felt over the huge disappointment he was delivering to her could not put a stop to his body's reactions, however, and he found himself hovering at the edge rather sooner that he had anticipated. Even then he thought he might redeem himself; as he was coming he pressed his lips to her neck and whispered, "I love you, Elizabeth."
It took him several seconds, as his breathing steadied, to realize that she had burst into tears.
Quickly rolling to her side, he pulled her in close and tried to soothe her, accidentally bumping her nose because he couldn't actually see anything in the dark bedroom. She lay against him, her body stiff and unyielding.
"I'm sorry," he said wildly, hearing the panic in his own voice. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to –"
"No," Elizabeth gasped, "it's all right, I'm just...emotional..." She buried her head in his shoulder, but still would not relax in his arms.
Thoughts tumbling through his head – this was a mistake, they could get it annulled, she could come up with some story that he beat her or was unfaithful and he'd let her go back to Turner on the Black Pearl – he heard himself saying frantically, "I won't say it again, I promise, I'll never say it again..."
That stopped her tears. He could feel her eyes on him and wondered if she could see any better than he could.
"Go...go to sleep," he managed, his own throat choked. He brushed her loose hair away from her face.
For a moment it seemed she would speak, but then she sighed and shifted onto her back, her face turned away from him. "Goodnight, James." Her voice was under iron control once more.
"Goodnight," he replied softly, wanting more than anything to draw her into his arms. He didn't, and she did not turn to him for comfort in her sleep – he knew, because he was awake for hours after she'd drifted off, twisting his wedding band around and around his finger.
~~~~~~~~
They're two lost little lambs, aren't they? But things, as they tend to do, will pick up.