Disclaimer: I don't own half of the characters in this story. But then again, I do own half of them.

A/N: Hey people! It's time for a POTC fanfic! And I'm getting much better at creating original characters (yaay! And there was much rejoicing!) So enjoy, comment, critique, or just read. Whatever.

SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT

Chapter 1: Jack and Camille

"Lady Camille, you have a visitor," a tired-looking butler said.

The redhead looked up from her dresser. "Thank you, Benjamin," she said in her slight Irish accent. "Do tell father I will be down in a moment." She got up and poked her head out into the hallway. "And Benjamin, take the rest of the evening off; you look terribly exhausted."

Benjamin nodded politely. "Thank you Miss Quartermaine. I think I shall. By the way, it is Mr. Black again."

Camille sighed heavily.

"I am sorry, Miss Quartermaine. I tried to turn him away, but your father has come home early and insisted upon his staying," Benjamin drawled.

"It's all right Benjamin, you did your best. Will see you tomorrow, then?"

Benjamin nodded snootily. "As always, Miss Quartermaine."

She moaned, descending the spiraling staircase of her father's magnificent home. She made her way to the front parlor, where an extremely handsome man was sitting with her father. He stood up upon her entering. His hair was short and blond, and his blue eyes revealed his shy (and horribly egotistical) personality.

He nodded, his hands folded in front of him. "Good evening, Camille," he said.

She cleared her throat. "Hello, Mr. Black," she said, emphasizing that she clearly did not feel close enough to him to refer to him by his first name. She was surprised that he'd been bold enough to say hers. She eyed her father, who was smiling. She impatiently sucked her teeth and gave her father a threatening look.

"I was wondering if you would care to take a walk," Mr. Black inquired.

"So late?" she asked. It was nearly 8:00! That was way too ungodly of an hour to be wasting her time with this man.

Her father cleared his throat loudly, standing up. "Nonsense. My daughter would be simply delighted to walk with you," he insisted as he eyed Camille warningly.

Mr. Black smiled, offering his arm to her. She grudgingly took it and they went through the back of the house to the garden. It was only beginning to get dark, and she could see lights begin to go on in surrounding far off windows. She had been ready to take down her hred hair and read a book, until she'd been rudely interrupted by this pompous idiot.

He actually wasn't the worst suitor she'd ever had. He did adore talking about himself, and was able to almost feign interest in her on occasion. At least he wasn't like that officer Gilette from the King's Navy in Port Royale. What a pain in the arse he was.

Mr. Black's voice shook her from her thoughts. "Camille, there is an issue I would like to discuss with you."

"Oh really, Mr. Black?"

"Camille, please. There's no need to be so formal with me."

She sighed. "I suppose so, Joseph. So what is it that you wish to discuss with me?" she asked calmly, like she didn't know what was coming next. She could see that he was becoming nervous. He was playing with the hem of his coat.

"Camille, I…Miss Quartermaine…I…would be honored if you would do me the pleasure of…Miss Quartermaine, would you marry me?"

She had to choke back a laugh. It never failed to amuse her to see how the men were going to propose to her. But this one seemed so afraid…almost like he had been pressured into it. She knew he wasn't ready. In addition to his egotism. Biting her tongue, she practiced her act, which she was getting significantly better at.

She held hr hand to her heart in "shock". She also made a slight gasping noise. "Why, Joseph! Do you really believe that we are ready for such a commitment?"

"I-I do, Camille. I know that we haven't known each other that long, but I have come to care a great deal for you."

Or at least for the fat sum of money my father is sitting on, she thought bitterly. "Well Joseph, I am…flattered," she said, searching for the right lie. "But I pray that you will give me a day or two to think on this?"

He nodded. "Of course, Camille. I think I shall take my leave now. Good evening," he said, the tone of his voice wavering slightly.

"Good evening, Mr. Black," she said with a finality for her tone. With her hands clenched into fists, she turned on her heel and walked into the mansion of the house that she lived in.

Captain Jack Sparrow was beginning to swoon a bit from his consumption of alcohol. Staggering along the emptying road, he received all sorts of odd looks from the citizens of Port Celebros. Not really having a lot of common sense prevalent, he stopped in some hedges, seating himself uncomfortably until he could manage to stop the scenery from swirling.

After making the mistake of dozing off for an hour or two, he finally was able to come to most of his sense. Now fully alert, he himself from the old man he could see exiting a house and approaching the gate.

Jack too this opportunity to look around. He was in some bushes that were in no need of attention. Above him were a group of small trees, and he saw that by climbing them he'd be able to get onto a small part of the roof. He started toward the tree, but hesitated when he remembered that he'd been pretty drunk. "Not wise," he uttered to himself.

He was interrupted from his contemplation by an inward slamming of a door. He ducked silently, fearing that he might have been spotted.

He could hear a woman's voice. She sounded tired. "Father, this has got to stop."

Then there was a man's voice. "Well, did he ask you?"

"Yes, and I almost accepted it out of pity, the poor man was so nervous!"

The man sighed. "Camille…you have refused every single suitor you have had for the past two and a half years," he said flusterdly.

Two and a half years of suitors? This girl had either been beaten with an ugly stick or was a total wench, Jack thought.

"Yes, I have. And I will continue to do so," she said firmly.

"Camille sweetheart, you are 21. You must settle down and…you should consider yourself lucky to have so many opportunities-"

"Lucky? Father, are you daft? I have only had to deal with proposal after proposal because I am heiress to your huge fortune!" she said, raising her voice.

Jack blinked. Had he just heard correctly? The young lady of this household was set to inherit a fortune…as in, money? He grinned, rubbing his hands together greedily.

He stood up, brushing himself off inconspicuously. "Well, I believe my work here is done."

"Father, I am tired of these men PRETENDING that they actually care fore me. They are only concerned with the money that they will be entitled to if they are added to the will. Would you be necessarily happy if you married me off to someone like that, Father?"

She took a seat on the sofa, calming down a little. "Do you think that…Mother would have wanted that?"

At the mention of this, Dorian Quartermaine's hardened features went soft. He ran his hand over his gray hair, adjusting his ponytail. He sat down beside his only daughter and placed his hand on hers. "Of course I don't, Camille," he said gently. "Darling, you know that I will not be around forever. I only want someone to care for you after me."

"I am not exactly incapable of caring for myself, Father."

He looked into her radiant green eyes. "I know that, darling."

Sensing that this conversation was going to die down and an argument start in its place, Camille decided to kiss her father on the cheek and ready herself for bed.

"Well hurry up there child, the water ain't going to stay hot forever!" her maid said impatiently as she collected Camille's layers for her and set out her bedclothes.

"Oh, Annie," Camille said as Annie helped her undo her corset.

"So who'd ye refuse this time, eh? I'll suppose it were another one of the mayor's sons."

"The youngest, I'm afraid. I had to refuse Joseph," she admitted, starting to feel a small pang of guilt.

Annie stopped undoing the corset and looked at Camille, aghast. "Why, girl I could just slap you! What's gotten inta yer head! That young Mr. Joseph Black has been chasin' ya ever since he graduated from the university. She huffed, continuing on the corset. "Honestly, Miss Quartamaine…" she grumbled.

"Annie ye should've seen how he's changed the past couple o' years! Ever since he found out about me dad's lump o' money, e's been at it, just like the lot o' them!" Camille said, her Irish accent becoming stronger like it always did around Annie. They were very careful that Dorian had never overhead his daughter revert back to her Irish accent.

"Tha's just another grey hair yer givin' to Master Quartamaine now, young lady. Can't say he's tryin' to hide 'em…" (Annie's Jamaican, btw)

Camille giggled. "Annie, you know 'e would never wear one o' those ridiculous-looking wigs. Silly Brits and their odd traditions," she scoffed. Annie, Benjamin, and Camille's father were all American living in the British colonies.

With the corset and everything underneath finally off, Camille eased into her bath and eventually underneath the sheets of her own bed. She wasn't tired, and was rather angry about her umpteenth insincere marriage proposal. She reached under her pillow and slipped out her little book of poetry, which she read religiously. She'd had to buy it in secrecy because her father absolutely would not hear of Camille reading such rubbish and putting such wild thoughts into her head such as "true love".

She started as the door opened, but it was only Annie. "Forgive me Camille, but… she spied the book and put her hands on her hips. "Oh, so we're readin' those again, are we? Who is it this time?"

Camille laughed. "William Wordsworth."

Annie playfully snatched it up and began reading it in a mocking tone. "She Was A Phantom of Delight." She cleared her throat comically, throwing Camille into a fit of laughter. She continued to read, and as she did so pretended to wipe her eyes on her apron.

"She was a phantom of delight

When first she gleamed upon my sight

A lovely apparition, sent

To be a moment's or ornament;

Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;

Like twilight's too, her dusky hair;

But all things else about her drawn

From May-time and the cheerful dawn'

A dancing shape, an image gay,

To haunt, to startle, and waylay." She continued to read the next two stanzas and closed the book. "I think that if any man said these here words to me, I'd 'ave to question his sanity," she said, tossing it back to Camille. "Ye ain't waitin' fer a man to lay that load of nonsense, are ya?"

Camille slipped the book, back beneath the pillow, looking up at her mentor. "It would be nice."

"Girl you are going to be waitin' for a long time."

"Annie, I'm not saying that a man has to read and write poetry," she explained, her voice suddenly going proper again. "I mean, if any one of those men…just one-had shown that they even cared about the menial fact of my love of poetry…Annie, all they want to do is tell me about themselves; how rich they are, how pointless their accomplishments are. I don't think that any man has-has ever even stopped rambling on about himself to ask ME what MY favorite color is, or why I have a bit of an accent to my voice, or if I'm ever ale to sleep at night without hearing my song, or…" she took a deep breath. Her rant was over. "…or if I like the rain, or any of those questions. Do you know what I'm talking about, Annie?"

Annie nodded understandingly. "All too well hun; all too well. And it never did anyone no good to dwell on dreams like that." She began exiting the room, pulling the door shut. "Goodnight, Miss Camille."