Broken Faith
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Disney does. But I do own Henri (and his ship, come to think of it.)
OC/E, J/E, W/E, N/E
Chapter 11: Dead ends
Elizabeth bustled around her house, reassuring herself that everything was, in fact, in perfect order. Henri was slightly late, but he had sent a letter up saying that a business associate had urgent business and he would be up when he could.
Elizabeth went back into the dining room. It had been dusted off just for the occasion. She couldn't recall ever eating a meal in here. The kitchen had been fine for Will and her, and whatever guests they happened to have.
'None of that' she reminded herself silently. 'Will would want you to move on.' Of that she had no doubt, but somewhere, deep in her heart, she knew Will would not have cared for Henri, not even a little for her sake.
The garden gate slammed somewhat forcefully, and Elizabeth rushed as quickly as she could to the door, which was not quickly at all, considering the layers of petticoats and the corset that nipped at her waist. She reached the door as a knock thundered on the other side. Smoothing her skirt and plastering a smile on her face, Elizabeth opened the door, expecting her beau.
The sight that greeted her was anything but the one she expected. Jack Sparrow pushed past her and ran into the kitchen. Elizabeth stood, door propped open in one hand, mouth agape. Slowly, she shut the door and walked into the kitchen, a frown marring her face.
"Jack." She said, warningly. She stopped short when she saw him leaning on the table, catching his breath. "Jack, what is this all about?" she stood exasperated, hands on her hips.
"Henri." He wheezed, putting his hand up to ask for a moment. Elizabeth walked over to the cupboard, pulled out a glass, filled it, and handed it silently to Jack, who drained it in one large gulp. Setting it down on the table, he looked around himself, then motioned for her to sit down.
"Jack." She said again, questioningly.
"Henri." He began. "is not who you think he is."
"Jack Sparrow, what are you talking about?" Elizabeth demanded.
"Henri d'Alphonse is the man's real name, but it is not his only name."
"What other name would he have?" Elizabeth asked, confused.
"Adrian Lyon."
"That's absurd. Adrian Lyon is a French privateer."
"Exactly, love."
"Exactly nothing. I don't know what you have against Henri, but you will not come into my house and insult him, especially when he is expected for dinner any minute." Elizabeth stood frostily. "You may go, Mr. Sparrow." She turned abruptly and exited the kitchen. Jack sat there for a moment, at a loss. Elizabeth had never not believed him before, except when he told his stories, but everyone knew you had to embellish those. No, he came into this house and told her the truth, a truth that hurt him as much as it did her, and she flung it back in his face. Jack heard the door open and close, and heard Elizabeth's voice say "Henri! It's so good to see you!" at a ridiculously high pitch. Jack shook his head and sat back in one of the chairs. There wasn't much more he could do. For once, the great Jack Sparrow was utterly helpless, and at the hands of a woman, no less.