I was in an 18th century gown and corset and underclothes again. Mrs.
Archon had given them to me out of the kindness of her heart, saying the
dress went well on me. It was a cream colored dress, the collar having a
flowing Celtic knot stitched into it with immaculate precision and beauty.
The dress was plain otherwise, though elegant if worn properly. Lace
rimmed the sleeves that came to the elbow, and when in the light, the dress
seemed to glow.
"You look very pretty tonight, Miss Fitzgerald," said Mrs. Mason as I glided downstairs in the dress and uncomfortable shoes that I was still breaking in. I had hired a young girl to do up my hair earlier, and now some hung loose from the bun at the back, natural curls. I felt like I could barely move in the corset and everything else I had on, but managed to smile and continue on to the Governor's mansion.
I wondered how Norrington and I would react towards each other over the course of the evening. More than once I considered turning back and sending my regrets, but stubborn pride took over and I continued.
There, you admit it, you have as much stubborn pride as he does, said my mind.
I never said I had as much as he did, I only admitted I have it, argued the other half of me.
Maybe if you will accept it and admit it to him, you might get along better. You know, you've almost broken his heart on several occasions.
Damn his heart! And why do I have to admit and apologize every time? Why can't he?
Maybe he will.
I sighed. Not in any likelihood would Captain Norrington stoop to my level and apologize. He knew his position in life was much higher than mine.
I stood in front of the door, stomach in knots. I hadn't been this nervous before in my life. Raising my hand, I quickly knocked, biting my lower lip. Running footsteps clattered across the floor, and the door swing open. Elizabeth beamed out at me.
"I'm so glad you're here, dearest Fiona," she said, pulling me inside.
"Why?" I asked, surprised.
"Well, I assume you know Norrington is here, and I was hoping you might keep him occupied. I don't want to speak to him – you know I can't stand him, much less the though of marrying him." My heart dropped. "Fiona? You're pale, what's wrong?"
"Nothing. How are you?"
"Couldn't be better. And you still owe me a lesson!"
"You know where I live. Come by sometime in the evening and I'll see what I can do."
"Miss Fitzgerald, how nice of you to come," said Swann, who appeared out of the parlor, a giant smile on his face. He placed a light kiss on my hand, and as I looked beyond him, I saw Norrington following slowly in a saunter, almost, his face impassive, eyes sad. He paused as he saw me. I inclined my head, and he made a small bow. At that moment I decided to try to be quite the lady for the evening. And I was – making polite conversation, yielding to my true 18th century self – for it was in the 18th century where I belonged, where many people thought I belonged. And I was happy – this life seemed so much more natural to me, not forced. It was as though the person who had argued with Norrington earlier in the day hadn't been me, just a derivative of me in another life.
Jokes, stories, anecdotes of England and America were told, and at about 11 pm, the party ended. Norrington and I had gotten along quite well, as one should in polite society – leave your problems at the door. As I stepped outside, breathing in the truly fresh air, he was at my side. We stood silently on the door step, staring up at the stars. I don't think either of us wanted to start a conversation for fear of it blowing up in our faces. So we were just quiet.
(switch to Norrington's POV)
She was beautiful, standing there in the lamplight, her face lifted to the sky at just the right angle. My heart had skipped a beat when I first saw her, when she arrived. I could barely keep my eyes off her the whole evening. Hopefully she didn't notice. She was quite different from the woman I had argued with earlier in the day. And yet despite the argument, I still found myself attracted to her, interested in her background. After my mind had settled, my blood had stopped boiling, I began to realize much we mirrored and didn't mirror each other. Indeed, she was much more interesting than Elizabeth – there was more to Fiona that was present on the surface and underneath, that one could only find by understanding the rest of her first. Elizabeth was just...there. She wasn't mysterious. Well, perhaps in her own way, but she wasn't my type.
Fiona turned her face to me, appearing as if she wanted to say something. Her perfect, blue-grey-green eyes stared up at me, speaking to me, it seemed. That face – it was so soft in this light, so beautiful. My eyes shifted over her, resting on the stone steps as I clasped my hands behind me.
"I don't have a 'never,' I don't have an 'always,'" she said softly. "I'm a poor man ready to love those who are like me. I don't know who you are. I don't give or sell thorns. I gave doves in repayment for vileness. I don't have a 'never' because I was, am, will be unique."
I was silent, thinking over her words.
"That's from a poem by Pablo Neruda, a Chilean poet," she said, staring out at the town. "There's more to it, much more that is important to me. Whenever I'm sad, I just say that poem over and over to me, the whole thing."
"We...were both a bit hasty in our words this afternoon," I replied slowly, my hands in front of me now, something I could focus on.
"Yes. But I think it may have done some good."
"Perhaps." In my mind's eye I reached out for her, touching her arm, taking her hand, yearning to comfort her. But I remained still, keeping a respectful distance.
"I'm running, Captain," she confessed, fully turning to look at me.
"Running?" My brow furrowed.
"From an old life, which was not worth living. You know what I'm talking about." I did. Then her words, the poem, made sense. I suddenly had a violent urge to take her into my arms, tell her it would be all right in the end, something I had never felt before. Don't be weak, I told myself. You are still at the Governor's home.
"But I'm sure we can find something else to talk about," she continued. "I just needed to tell you that I am running."
"Let me walk you home," I offered. "The streets of Port Royal, especially in the direction you are going, are not always kind." Her eyes met mine, and a faint smile appeared on her face. She took my arm, and we headed towards the Hunsford Inn.
"Sir, I have inherited a stubborn pride from my parents that may have helped incite the argument earlier," she said, breaking the silence.
"Nonsense."
"No, it's true. I wanted a chance to prove a point."
"In that case I suppose I am as guilty as you. Perhaps we were making rather rash judgments without knowing enough about each other first."
"Rash judgments? I thought that was your forte, Captain." I detected the tease in her voice, and she squeezed my forearm. I smiled. "Only a joke, sir, you understand. Yes, our judgments were a bit hasty, but well founded at the time, according to ourselves."
"I agree, but I still hold to what I stated about my upbringing."
"Understandable. The way one is brought up affects the way one lives." I had nothing to say in response to that. We reached the Inn, stopping at the door.
"So, are we on better footing now, sir?" she asked, gazing at me with a half-smile.
"I believe so, yes." Against my better judgment, I took her hand, stroking its back with my thumb. She pulled back, the smile gone. "What?"
"Nothing. A passing memory." She swallowed. "Would you care to come upstairs, for a glass of wine, maybe?"
"No, thank you. I must return to the fort. Duty, you understand." She nodded.
"Goodnight, Captain," she said, beginning to open the door.
"Goodnight, Miss Fitzgerald," I replied. She disappeared inside the door, and I took my time getting back to the fort, thoughts of her beautiful eyes and face fluttering through my mind.
"You look very pretty tonight, Miss Fitzgerald," said Mrs. Mason as I glided downstairs in the dress and uncomfortable shoes that I was still breaking in. I had hired a young girl to do up my hair earlier, and now some hung loose from the bun at the back, natural curls. I felt like I could barely move in the corset and everything else I had on, but managed to smile and continue on to the Governor's mansion.
I wondered how Norrington and I would react towards each other over the course of the evening. More than once I considered turning back and sending my regrets, but stubborn pride took over and I continued.
There, you admit it, you have as much stubborn pride as he does, said my mind.
I never said I had as much as he did, I only admitted I have it, argued the other half of me.
Maybe if you will accept it and admit it to him, you might get along better. You know, you've almost broken his heart on several occasions.
Damn his heart! And why do I have to admit and apologize every time? Why can't he?
Maybe he will.
I sighed. Not in any likelihood would Captain Norrington stoop to my level and apologize. He knew his position in life was much higher than mine.
I stood in front of the door, stomach in knots. I hadn't been this nervous before in my life. Raising my hand, I quickly knocked, biting my lower lip. Running footsteps clattered across the floor, and the door swing open. Elizabeth beamed out at me.
"I'm so glad you're here, dearest Fiona," she said, pulling me inside.
"Why?" I asked, surprised.
"Well, I assume you know Norrington is here, and I was hoping you might keep him occupied. I don't want to speak to him – you know I can't stand him, much less the though of marrying him." My heart dropped. "Fiona? You're pale, what's wrong?"
"Nothing. How are you?"
"Couldn't be better. And you still owe me a lesson!"
"You know where I live. Come by sometime in the evening and I'll see what I can do."
"Miss Fitzgerald, how nice of you to come," said Swann, who appeared out of the parlor, a giant smile on his face. He placed a light kiss on my hand, and as I looked beyond him, I saw Norrington following slowly in a saunter, almost, his face impassive, eyes sad. He paused as he saw me. I inclined my head, and he made a small bow. At that moment I decided to try to be quite the lady for the evening. And I was – making polite conversation, yielding to my true 18th century self – for it was in the 18th century where I belonged, where many people thought I belonged. And I was happy – this life seemed so much more natural to me, not forced. It was as though the person who had argued with Norrington earlier in the day hadn't been me, just a derivative of me in another life.
Jokes, stories, anecdotes of England and America were told, and at about 11 pm, the party ended. Norrington and I had gotten along quite well, as one should in polite society – leave your problems at the door. As I stepped outside, breathing in the truly fresh air, he was at my side. We stood silently on the door step, staring up at the stars. I don't think either of us wanted to start a conversation for fear of it blowing up in our faces. So we were just quiet.
(switch to Norrington's POV)
She was beautiful, standing there in the lamplight, her face lifted to the sky at just the right angle. My heart had skipped a beat when I first saw her, when she arrived. I could barely keep my eyes off her the whole evening. Hopefully she didn't notice. She was quite different from the woman I had argued with earlier in the day. And yet despite the argument, I still found myself attracted to her, interested in her background. After my mind had settled, my blood had stopped boiling, I began to realize much we mirrored and didn't mirror each other. Indeed, she was much more interesting than Elizabeth – there was more to Fiona that was present on the surface and underneath, that one could only find by understanding the rest of her first. Elizabeth was just...there. She wasn't mysterious. Well, perhaps in her own way, but she wasn't my type.
Fiona turned her face to me, appearing as if she wanted to say something. Her perfect, blue-grey-green eyes stared up at me, speaking to me, it seemed. That face – it was so soft in this light, so beautiful. My eyes shifted over her, resting on the stone steps as I clasped my hands behind me.
"I don't have a 'never,' I don't have an 'always,'" she said softly. "I'm a poor man ready to love those who are like me. I don't know who you are. I don't give or sell thorns. I gave doves in repayment for vileness. I don't have a 'never' because I was, am, will be unique."
I was silent, thinking over her words.
"That's from a poem by Pablo Neruda, a Chilean poet," she said, staring out at the town. "There's more to it, much more that is important to me. Whenever I'm sad, I just say that poem over and over to me, the whole thing."
"We...were both a bit hasty in our words this afternoon," I replied slowly, my hands in front of me now, something I could focus on.
"Yes. But I think it may have done some good."
"Perhaps." In my mind's eye I reached out for her, touching her arm, taking her hand, yearning to comfort her. But I remained still, keeping a respectful distance.
"I'm running, Captain," she confessed, fully turning to look at me.
"Running?" My brow furrowed.
"From an old life, which was not worth living. You know what I'm talking about." I did. Then her words, the poem, made sense. I suddenly had a violent urge to take her into my arms, tell her it would be all right in the end, something I had never felt before. Don't be weak, I told myself. You are still at the Governor's home.
"But I'm sure we can find something else to talk about," she continued. "I just needed to tell you that I am running."
"Let me walk you home," I offered. "The streets of Port Royal, especially in the direction you are going, are not always kind." Her eyes met mine, and a faint smile appeared on her face. She took my arm, and we headed towards the Hunsford Inn.
"Sir, I have inherited a stubborn pride from my parents that may have helped incite the argument earlier," she said, breaking the silence.
"Nonsense."
"No, it's true. I wanted a chance to prove a point."
"In that case I suppose I am as guilty as you. Perhaps we were making rather rash judgments without knowing enough about each other first."
"Rash judgments? I thought that was your forte, Captain." I detected the tease in her voice, and she squeezed my forearm. I smiled. "Only a joke, sir, you understand. Yes, our judgments were a bit hasty, but well founded at the time, according to ourselves."
"I agree, but I still hold to what I stated about my upbringing."
"Understandable. The way one is brought up affects the way one lives." I had nothing to say in response to that. We reached the Inn, stopping at the door.
"So, are we on better footing now, sir?" she asked, gazing at me with a half-smile.
"I believe so, yes." Against my better judgment, I took her hand, stroking its back with my thumb. She pulled back, the smile gone. "What?"
"Nothing. A passing memory." She swallowed. "Would you care to come upstairs, for a glass of wine, maybe?"
"No, thank you. I must return to the fort. Duty, you understand." She nodded.
"Goodnight, Captain," she said, beginning to open the door.
"Goodnight, Miss Fitzgerald," I replied. She disappeared inside the door, and I took my time getting back to the fort, thoughts of her beautiful eyes and face fluttering through my mind.