Author's Notes: I am successfully moved onto the campus of Georgetown Law, complete with a finally-working internet connection! You'll be glad to know that in the interim I've wound up several chapters ahead, so even when schoolwork hits hard, there should still be a few extra updates.
Also: I have decided to follow the example of many other fine authors in showing my appreciation for reviewers with individual responses. See the following chapter for my thanks and reply to your reviews!
Dedication: I have chosen to dedicate this fic to the fan whose wonderful website provided the information that inspired my muse: ErinRua. See next chapter for details!
Without further ado…
Chapter Two: The White Sword
The following Sunday…
If the lowly blacksmith had been surprised to find an ally in the eminent Commodore at dinner, he was nothing short of astonished when an invitation arrived to said Commodore's high society wedding. At least this time, he had sufficient warning to make himself presentable.
Sunday afternoon found all of the Caribbean's elite in a glittering assembly at Port Royal's largest church. Will was collected by one of the governor's carriages and could not help the dreams that filled his mind at the sight of the flowery church as he led Elizabeth to her family's section near the altar. Judging by the way her father eyed Will, Swann was thinking the same thing—and finding the mental image far less pleasing than Will did.
Elizabeth excused herself after taking Will to their seats, for she was Lucinda Hamilton's bridesmaid. Will occupied himself with stilted small talk with Swann and tried not to feel too envious of James Norrington as the Commodore hurried into the church with Lieutenant Gillette in tow and a full guard of honor from among his fellow officers. It mollified Will to see the faintest signs of anxiety breaking through Norrington's proper bearing. So even the implacable James Norrington was not completely immune to an attack of nerves on his wedding day.
Bon voyage, Commodore, he thought, quashing a grin as the wedding march began to play.
Norrington straightened at the altar with Gillette at his side in front of Father Adam (head of the entire Caribbean parish) as Will turned with the other guests toward the back of the church.
Will's breath caught at the sight of Elizabeth, resplendent in a gown of glimmering peach silk trimmed with lace, leading the bridal party down the aisle lined with white roses (and saluting officers.) He did not even notice the golden-haired Lucinda Hamilton in her flowing white gown upon her father's arm. In his heart's eye, the bride in white was Elizabeth.
Her chocolate eyes met his as she drew closer, sending a shiver through him, and her lips twitched. Soon, her gaze seemed to say. Soon.
At the altar, Elizabeth accepted Lucinda's bouquet of white roses, and Will felt his heart racing in sympathy, and no small measure of jealousy, as the bride and groom made their vows.
For richer for poorer…with this ring I thee wed… the words rang through his head and stabbed at his heart. When?!
"You may kiss the bride, Commodore Norrington."
Norrington broke into the widest smile Will had ever seen on the man's face as he raised Lucinda's veil and kissed her with a sincerity that could not be denied. Elizabeth's eyes were brimming as her friends sealed their union, but she was looking at Will again, and he felt his throat tighten. As she followed the man and wife back down the aisle, she turned her face directly toward him and smiled like a promise. Soon…
***
Elizabeth had not managed to tear herself away from the bride and groom by the time Will found her outside the church. "Ah, there is your own dashing young man!" exclaimed Lucy as Will wove his way through the milling guests.
His eyes were bright, telling Elizabeth that watching a couple other than them wed today had only increased his determination to her as soon as possible. Good!
Their mutual feeling was unmistakable as she took his hand and squeezed it while kissing his cheek. Feeling a bit breathless, she stepped back and said, "Come, Will, you've not yet congratulated the happy couple."
With bright eyes, Will turned to them. "Commodore, Mrs. Norrington, my felicitations. The best of luck to both of you."
It was a firm handshake that the Commodore gave Elizabeth's fiancé, and Will even went as far as to kiss Lucy's hand, making her giggle. "I expect you two shall be next?"
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows playfully, giving Will the task of answering. His reply was everything she could have hoped for: "God willing, as soon as possible." It was all she could do not to hug herself and squeal with delight.
Norrington apparently noticed and smiled slightly. "Well then, Mr. Turner, I am pleased to say I find wedded life agreeable thus far." The laughter was genuine all around.
"Elizabeth," her father emerged from the crowd with Sir Reginald in tow. "We must be on our way to prepare for the reception. The cook needs a word with you before the other guests arrive."
She stiffened, for her father's intent was clear: to separate her from Will. "Well, I…" she tightened her grip on Will's hand, trying to find an excuse. After what had happened at dinner three days ago, she did not want to leave him alone.
But her father was more resolute than usual. "I also require a word concerning the dinner arrangements," Swann pressed, and his tone brooked no argument.
Will was silent at her side; her departure would leave him adrift in a sea of strangers until everyone had reached the governor's house for the reception. Will did not even have a carriage.
This time it was Lucy who came to the rescue. "Don't worry about abandoning your escort, Elizabeth." She smoothly linked her free arm with Will's. "I mean to claim him to accompany the wedding party to your father's house." She beamed sweetly at them all.
Will blushed and looked at Elizabeth helplessly. She could have kissed Lucy. Grinning like a fool, she agreed, "That's settled then. See you at dinner, Will. Shall we go, Father?" She felt far better about being summarily detached from her fiancé knowing she was leaving him in the new Mrs. Norrington's hands. Lucinda might be young and a touch flighty, but she was a hopeless romantic, and thus found Elizabeth's decision to marry an orphaned tradesman with scandalous lineage positively delectable. So Elizabeth went with her father, leaving Will bound to the wedding party by the determined arm of the bride.
In the carriage home, she knew her father's silent, sidelong glances did not bode well. "What?" she asked crossly.
"I do hope I may expect you to behave with propriety tonight, Elizabeth."
Fighting the urge to sigh, she answered, "I hope I will never do anything that might reflect badly on you, Father. Were you speaking of particulars?"
Weatherby Swann eyed his daughter before saying hesitantly, "You have been rather…dismissive of Sir Reginald these past few days."
An uncomfortable silence followed, the same silence she tended to lapse into when Reginald Hamilton became the subject of conversation. "I'm sorry to hear my manner offended. It was unconsciously done, I assure you. Am I to assume you feel I should be…" she trailed off delicately.
Her father finally faced her directly. "I do understand that Reginald is considerably older than you, Elizabeth, but he is a good man, highly-respected, and very influential upon the future of this colony."
Elizabeth closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, trying to calm the storm that had begun to rage inside her. But she allowed a note of warning to creep into her voice. "Just what are you suggesting?"
Weatherby's hand came to rest upon her shoulder. She sat as still as stone. "Elizabeth, I know you care very deeply for young Turner, and he is a fine boy. But…there are times when we cannot have everything our heart desires when practicality dictates another choice--" White hot fury erupted in her chest, twisting her insides, and she wrenched herself as far away from him as the carriage seats would allow. "Darling, don't!"
Unable to keep her voice from shaking, she whispered, "You would have me break my engagement to the man I love in favor of--"
"No!" her father protested, seizing her hand.
"Then what are you suggesting?!" she demanded.
"Elizabeth…" she furiously turned her face toward the window. Her father sighed heavily, only increasing her aggravation. "I would never force you to marry against your wishes." He touched her shoulder again, and she bit her lip, fighting the lump that was growing in her throat. Why couldn't he understand? "I only want you to…consider…another path that might well end in your happiness!"
Swallowing hard, she told him quietly, "Father, no path, no matter how green and easy, will lead to my happiness without Will. I know you wish me to choose a man of similar means to you, but that cannot be. Will has means and works hard; I will never be destitute. He would not allow it."
"Darling, Sir Reginald is quite…interested in you." Her father's tone became cajoling. "Would you not at least consider him? For me?"
She turned around and looked at him again. "How can you ask me to consider a man when I am already engaged?"
Now Weatherby looked impatient. "I know you promised yourself to him, but it has been six months and still no date is set. Listen to me!" He caught her shoulder when she would have turned away again. "Who knows how long it will be before Will Turner has amassed the funds to give you a home?"
"I'll wait! I do not care how long!"
"But I do!" her father pleaded. "Elizabeth…I cannot pretend to be a young man, and life in the Caribbean is difficult even for men of means. We have no other family here, and the thought that I might…leave you alone without a man to look after you fills me with dread. When you are young it seems that you have all the time in the world, but darling, I do not."
Elizabeth bit her lip. She had not considered that part of her father's point of view. He had always been so protective…she covered his hand with hers. "Will and I will marry, Father. Soon. And we will have a house, even if it is not so grand is James and Lucy's. There may be certain comforts I shall have to do without, but I will never lack for anything I need."
Her father sighed again, and smiled, shaking his head in resignation. "By heaven, you are as stubborn as you mother." She smiled back, sensing the debate was over. "But Elizabeth, promise me one thing…at least be nice to Sir Reginald. As I said, he is an influential man, and he does like you. I suspect you remind him of the late Lady Emiline."
With a little roll of her eyes, she said, "Very well, Father, I promise. I shall be sweet as honey to the poor widower, so long as you understand that no matter how hard he competes for my heart, he shall not have it."
"You are hopeless."
"And glad to be so."
***
Will found that spending the next hour in the sole company of Commodore and Mrs. Norrington was far less awkward than he had feared. For some unfathomable reason, Lucinda Norrington highly approved of his match to Elizabeth, and was sparing no pains to foster them. Perhaps she was the reason for Commodore Norrington's apparent change of heart—not that Norrington had ever been openly unfriendly to Will, but there had been a certain reserve in the officer's dealings with the smith until recently.
All in all, standing ceremony while the bride and groom saw well-wishers outside the church might have been almost enjoyable, were it not for the presence of one Reginald Hamilton. Lucinda's father remained as aloof as ever, receiving wedding guests graciously, but Will could feel the man's cold, calculating gaze on him the entire time. It made his skin crawl.
But even the tacit disapproval of her father was not enough to prevent Lucinda Norrington from keeping her promise to Elizabeth to bring Will with them. "We must be off to the reception. Governor Swann will be waiting, and I've no doubt dear Elizabeth is anxious to be reunited with you, Mr. Turner," she said sweetly as the carriages arrived. "You're to ride with us."
"Indeed," said Sir Reginald stepping deftly behind his daughter and son-in-law and leaving Will to bring up the rear. "It would hardly be charitable to force Port Royal's most renowned smith to walk all the way to the reception."
Hearing chuckles from the nearest wedding guests, Will simply gritted his teeth. Everything would be fine once he rejoined Elizabeth.
Or so he thought. He had been prepared for many things arriving at the governor's mansion with the wedding party, but not the way Elizabeth smiled when Sir Reginald kissed her hand at the door. A look of triumph flashed through the older man's eyes, and he offered Elizabeth his arm, despite Will's presence directly behind him. Laughing, she said, "Now, now, Sir Reginald, that would hardly be politic in front of my escort. Do come in and enjoy yourself." Politic?! She slid neatly past him to take Will's arm, but Will barely heard her greeting to him. The gauntlet had been thrown down, that much was certain. Elizabeth, as hostess, was frequently called away by servants to oversee some detail of the reception, and every time, no sooner would she depart a room than Reginald Hamilton launched his thinly-veiled attacks, aiming to humiliate Will as much as possible in the short time before dinner.
"Tell me, my dear Lucy, is there to be dancing tonight?"
"I'm afraid not, Father, the governor's hall is not large enough. But I do not think James minds; it seems officers are not always accustomed to dancing."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Commodore. Then again, I suppose it is just as well, for it would be shameful if our hostess were unable to join the festivities. I doubt many blacksmiths in Port Royal could comport themselves well in a dance!"
Will kept his eyes fixed upon his glass of wine as laughter burned his ears. Then Elizabeth came back and the open barbs ceased, although the whispers and stifled sniggers seemed very loud. "My congratulations, Miss Swann, you have hosted this affair exquisitely!"
Elizabeth laughed and accepted yet another kiss on the hand from the hated Englishman. "You flatter me, Sir Reginald, for dinner is not even served yet."
"Oh, Miss Elizabeth? Mr. George needs a word with you."
"Thank you, Mary. I shan't be a moment," as soon as she left again, Will steeled himself.
"I say, Lord Henry, you arrived a bit late. Did your carriage run into trouble?"
"I fear so, Sir Reginald. One of the horses lost a shoe climbing the hill."
"Oh, sorry to hear that. Perhaps Turner may yet prove useful!" (More laughter.)
Governor Swann was no help, but Lucinda at last distracted her father by catching his arm and leading him to talk with Admiral Kensington. However, the discussion soon turned to swords. "That's a handsome weapon, Admiral. Am I to assume it was made by the island's foremost authority on the subject?"
"I fear not, Sir Reginald, though Mr. Turner's skill is renowned in these parts. This sword belonged to my father, General Thomas Kensington, II." Kensington lifted the weapon for the inspection of the other men, and Will eyed it from a distance. It was well-crafted to be sure, its handle trimmed with gold filigree and its sheath inlaid with pounded gold. Must require a lot of polishing, he thought idly.
"Ah! An heirloom! The best swords are the oldest, I've always thought. In fact…perhaps I might show you mine," said Hamilton speculatively. "It's been in my family for generations, our pride and joy for every eldest son. I have never been a soldier, but I do think it a rather fine blade."
"Well, then, bring it in, by heaven, Hamilton!" said Lord Henry Hastings boisterously. "Let's see the thing, and we'll get the blacksmith to judge its quality." The men all laughed uproariously as Hamilton cheerfully sent a manservant out.
Will managed not to wince as Sir Reginald's attention turned to him again. "I'm rather eager to hear the boy's opinion of my sword. If I do say so myself…I think it may be judged one of a kind. Ah, thank you, Hudson," he took a long box from the servant. "Now, then…behold and see for yourselves."
The box opened, and jaws dropped upon every face that had an unblocked view. Will leaned forward with the others, curious in spite of himself, as Hamilton lifted the sword out for all to see. Then he gasped along with the others.
The sword that was the pride of Hamilton line was white. Its blade, invisible as yet, was housed by a sheath inlaid entirely with mother-of-pearl. The handle, in a feat of artistry Will could not imagine attempting, was silver filigree, thick and set with more mother-of-pearl carved to fit its twists exactly. The weapon glowed in the light of the lanterns, the mother-of-pearl's soft luster reflecting in the eyes of every person in the room. Hamilton drew the blade; it was keen, balanced, and perfect, as Will had known it would be. No artisan would put so much effort into the decoration of a sword while sacrificing one iota of its functionality. He had no doubt that such a weapon would be formidable in a duel, even without the factor of intimidation that any foe would have in facing a man bearing something so dazzling.
"Well, Turner? Care to give us your professional opinion?" demanded Admiral Kensington, and imperiously beckoned Will forward.
Will was so entranced by the sword that he was hardly embarrassed under the eyes of all the gentry in the room as he went to where the men stood. Hamilton condescendingly placed the sword in his hands, and Will bit the inside of his mouth hard to keep from gasping aloud. The pearl set into the filigree was so perfectly cut that even close up, it looked as if the silver and nacre had been grown together in some magical garden. Not a seam showed where the pieces of mother-of-pearl had been placed into the scabbard's silver setting, and white light rippled up and down its length. How many months, years must it have taken to find the shells that bore such perfect nacre, to carve the mother-of-pearl into the proper shapes and thicknesses, to shape the silver filigree and silver scabbard to receive the nacre, to mount the blade into the hilt…
"Come, come, Turner, you've stared at the thing for five minutes! What thoughts have you?" demanded Lord Henry.
Will had too much honesty, and too much awe, to say anything other than the truth. Not taking his eyes from the smooth perfection that lay across his rough hands, he said softly, "I cannot begin to imagine the skill it must have taken to create such a weapon. Never in my life have I seen a finer sword."
Soft murmurs of approval rippled through the room, and Hamilton pompously held out his own hands for the sword. Will felt more reluctance than he cared to admit to give it back, especially when he saw the smirk Sir Reginald was giving him. How can a man like that be worthy of a sword like this? he thought bitterly as Hamilton sheathed it and mounted it on his belt, to the playful applause of all present.
"Perhaps you should have drawn it for the blessing of Norrington and your daughter today, eh, Hamilton? Or maybe gifted it to your son-in-law?"
"Don't think the thought didn't occur to me, Thomas. Perhaps I'll have use for it someday soon at my own wedding."
"Ah, planning to marry again, are we?"
Hamilton sighed in a theatric show of grief. "I shall never get over the loss of Emiline, but I fear a second marriage is necessary. Our family tradition is that the white sword is passed onto the firstborn son, and I have no male heir, not that I ever reproached Emiline for it. But now, perhaps, I shall find another fair lady to partner me in life, and we shall raise a son who shall bear the white sword."
"Hear hear!" lauded Admiral Kensington, and spontaneously raised his glass to Hamilton. Hamilton laughingly joined the toast, but his eyes met Will's over the rim of the goblet in a challenge that was unmistakable.
When Elizabeth came back and announced that dinner was served, it ended any hope Will had of speaking to her alone for a few minutes. Not that he saw any point in acquainting her with Sir Reginald's activities, but it would have done wonders for his frayed nerves just to get away from the claws and teeth of this crowd. But there was no chance of that as they all filed into the dining room, and Will clenched his fists in fury when Sir Reginald abruptly stepped in front of him to pull out Elizabeth's chair for her. She thanked him, not batting an eye at the insult to her fiancé. What her eyes did fall upon was the gleaming work of art at Hamilton's hip.
"Goodness, Sir Reginald! What a beautiful sword!"
"Do you like it, Miss Swann? Oh, how silly of me; you were not present when I brought it out to show. It's a family heirloom, one of our most prized. Would you care to hold it, my dear?"
"Oh, may I?"
So Will was left standing stupidly as Reginald Hamilton took his place in seating Elizabeth, and feeling even worse as she gasped admiration for his magnificent weapon. As Hamilton placed the sword into her small hands, to her further praise at how light it was, Will turned away and managed to find his seat.
***
That presumptuous scoundrel! How dare he! Elizabeth worked very hard to live up to her promise to her father to "be nice" to Sir Reginald Common-Cad-In-An-Expensive-Suit Hamilton, but it was not long before her smiles became rather toothy from the clenching of her jaw, and the false laughs she gave sounded obscene in her ears. When Hamilton usurped Will's place as her escort as they sat down, she very nearly succumbed to the temptation to make a scene, for it was clear to her that Hamilton not only intended to perform Will's escorting duty, but to take his seat as well. In desperation, Elizabeth adopted her sweetest tone and managed to forestall him with a few shallow words of flattery for his sword so her fiancé had a chance to reach his seat across from her. Reginald Hamilton is not worthy of a sword so beautiful, she thought spitefully, imagining the weapon in Will's hands. Will would appreciate it. For all his work and care of swords, Will is far more deserving of it. She forced herself not to shove the thing back at Hamilton once Will had found his seat, but instead babbled out a few more admiring words as she handed the weapon back to him.
Will's eyes were dark and his jaw clenched with anger. Elizabeth tried to catch his eye, but he was staring fixedly at the tablecloth. It will all be over soon, Will. Just get through tonight, and I promise never to bring you into that boorish creature's presence again. She was astonished at the depth of her own ire for Hamilton. When dinner was over she fully intended to inform her father that under no circumstances would she ever be nice to that louse again. The sooner he is sailing back to the pleasures of the British mainland the better! If only Lucy and James would take him with them on their honeymoon.
Will was completely silent all through dinner, and seldom looked up even at her. She could only imagine what vicious mischief Hamilton had got up to at her fiancé's expense when she had been otherwise occupied. Come to think of it, there had been so many servant mishaps requiring her attention that she was halfway to wondering if her father had somehow orchestrated this…but no. Her father knew her heart, even if he was not happy with her choice. And he would not resort to the kind of cruelty that involved driving away her fiancé by repeated humiliation. More than likely it was all Hamilton, a probability that made her despise the man even more.
Then of course, there was the endless stream of blatant flattery.
"Miss Swann, you made a most radiant bridesmaid to my daughter today. I was quite overcome." "My most admiring compliments to you, Miss Swann, for this marvelous dinner." "It is amazing, my dear Weatherby, that you managed to raise such an angel without the aid of your wife."
Throughout the disgusting exhibition, most of the rest of "polite" society smiled blissfully while Elizabeth seethed and knew Will was stinging. She was almost relieved when Hamilton finally overreached, going from sweet talk to an unmistakable social gaffe during dessert.
"You are truly such a vision, Miss Swann," Hamilton oozed. "How is that your father has not yet found a suitable young man for you?"
Will went rigid. Elizabeth nearly choked on a piece of wedding cake. Norrington's eyes narrowed, and Lucy's were as wide as saucers. The table was silent, heads swiveled from Hamilton to Will to Elizabeth, and even her father glared. Elizabeth folded her hands beneath the tablecloth to hide the way they were shaking. As Mrs. Fitzgerald attempted to salvage conversation by launching into a story of her son's recent marriage to the daughter of a French duke in Europe, Elizabeth managed to calm herself by wringing her napkin in her lap and imagining it as Hamilton's neck.
When dinner mercifully ended, the bride and groom were toasted until several of the guests were intoxicated, and at last Commodore and Mrs. Norrington were on their way to their new house, where they would spend their wedding night before departing in the morning for Paris. Elizabeth practically ran away from Hamilton when she spotted him looking in her direction, and managed to avoid him for the moment by seizing her father's sleeve. Moving her lips close to his ear, she whispered, "I expect you to have a word with him."
He squeezed her hand gently and said, "Don't worry, my dear. I intend to have several. Reginald? A moment, if you please!"
Satisfied, Elizabeth headed for the parlor where Will was waiting, only to have George hurry over to her. "I beg your pardon, Miss, but Mary needs a word with you."
Her temper nearly boiled over. "Oh, for heaven's sake!" Forcing herself to breathe, she said stiffly, "Fine. Where is she?" and stalked after the manservant.
***
By God, Will wanted to get out of there. While Hamilton's remark about "suitable" young men had been in bad social taste at a wedding in front of the lady in question, it was painfully clear to him that none of the guests had been the least bit moved on his behalf. Judging by the continued whispers and stifled laughter, most of them had found the whole thing rather amusing.
"I cannot imagine what Weatherby is thinking. I would have sent that boy packing if he'd come within a hundred feet of one of my girls."
"Well, things are looking up, Belinda. With Hamilton in the picture, I'd say that boy's days as Miss Swann's suitor are numbered."
"Thank God. Dear Reginald has always been such a generous man. I shouldn't be surprised if poor Weatherby sent for him in desperation."
"Quite possible, Mrs. Fitzgerald. And I hardly think Reginald would stint the girl. If he comes here, he'll be by far the wealthiest man in Jamaica, one of the most influential in the Caribbean. Could mean great things for the colonies."
"I do hope you're right, Lord Henry. It's a shame you haven't got a mind to settle down in Jamaica. I daresay you could accomplish a few things."
"Your faith in me is flattering, my dear Lady Pittworth, but the Caribbean climate has never agreed with me for any length of time. Besides, I'd be no match against Reginald for the fair Elizabeth's hand."
"Hah! You're quite the wit, Henry. Fortunately, neither is the boy. What woman wouldn't be smitten by a suitor like Reginald? Aged very well, he has, and as spry as in his youth. He gave the world to poor dear Emiline right until she died. He'd do the same for Swann's daughter, no mistake. If there's one thing about him, he's always had a gift with women."
Will slowly put down his wine glass, afraid that he'd clench his fist and inadvertently break it. These people thought badly enough of him as it was. He relinquished his place by the window and began moving cautiously toward the parlor door, desperate to escape the room no matter what the consequences. Elizabeth was in the house somewhere. He had to find her before he went mad.
The parlor doors were partly ajar, and he forced himself to ignore the sniggers of the other guests at his passage. But before he could escape, voices from just beyond the doors stopped him cold.
"It was rather crass of you, Reginald."
"Oh, honestly, Weatherby, you can't possibly be that concerned for some errand boy's feelings."
"I was more concerned for my daughter losing face. No, the boy's not suitable for her, but there's no need to announce it before a roomful of guests in her house--"
"—Of course, of course, you're right, Weatherby. My apologies; I daresay my mouth got ahead of my mind. But I do wonder what possessed you to give a blacksmith permission to court your daughter."
(Sigh) "I wonder the same thing everyday, Reginald, but the fact is, Elizabeth was as determined as he. He was a dear friend to her in their youth but…I am at my wits end. She's a willful young woman."
"All the same, Weatherby, you're her father, and it's really more your decision. You ought to have put your foot down. I mean," Hamilton's voice, ringing clear and devastating through the half-open door into the parlor for all to hear, took on a shrewd tone, "what are you to do if, shall we say, someone more…appropriate were to come along who wished to seek Elizabeth's hand?"
"Oh? Well…I suppose it would depend on whether I knew the man to be…respectable. Even some wealthy men are unsuitable," Swann's voice was speculative, and equally sly.
"Hmm. Suppose, Weatherby, just suppose that a man came along whose daughter had been a friend of Miss Swann's for years. And suppose when that man, once introduced to Miss Swann, was overcome by her beauty and poise but…the only real obstacle would be this supposed 'engagement' to an orphaned tradesman with a suspect lineage? What would a sensible father do?"
All other conversation in the parlor had ceased, but Will was not even aware of the stares. His heart was in his throat, waiting for Swann's reply.
There was an agonizing silence. "Under such circumstances…I think a sensible father would grant the more suitable man permission to vie for his daughter's hand. It might not be wise to forcibly end her engagement to the unsuitable one—he had given his word, after all—but if she were to develop a liking for this family friend and end the engagement herself…what's to be lost?"
Hamilton chuckled. "I correct myself, Weatherby. You may be a most sensible father. What do you say? Would you permit me to strive for the heart of your fair daughter against the wiles of that ironworker, despite his claim of being her fiancé?"
Another chuckle rang out. "My dear Reginald, you have my permission and blessing. I suppose some might consider it a small social gaffe to go back on my word to Turner, but…the fact is, I've never truly considered them legitimately engaged. Don't mistake me, Turner's…well…he's a decent lad, but after all, he didn't even give her a ring."
There was a rustle of fine linen that betrayed a firm handshake. "In that case, good sir, I shall trespass a little longer on your hospitality while wooing your most challenging daughter."
"You are welcome, Sir Reginald. And may the best man win."
Every eye in the room was on Will, and blood rushed to his face. Whether there was any more whispering or laughing going on, he could not be sure, thanks to the roaring in his ears. For a few moments he could only stand, stock-still like a fool, in a roomful of enemies as Weatherby Swann's casually devastating words rang again and again in his head. Then it struck him in a rush of nausea that at any moment, Swann and Hamilton would be strolling through those doors like two cats who had successfully disposed of a mouse, and enjoy great humor at Will's expense. He wanted none of it.
Ignoring the fact that it wasn't exactly polite, he spun around and pushed toward the parlor's side doors leading into the dining room, walking as fast as he could. He no longer cared to keep up a front before these people; they knew him for what he was and enjoyed stripping him bare of pretensions and cutting him with their scorn. And his lack of stature had just allowed Weatherby Swann to commit what would have been an unforgivable breach of honor, had Will been a wealthier man. Allowing someone to court his daughter after giving permission for her to marry another? Swann would pay dearly for such a slight if Will had been his social equal. Why should he make the effort to behave like the polite society they weren't? He pushed open the dining room door and hurried through, unable to close it fast enough to completely shut out the gale of laughter. He shoved the door closed and rested his forehead against it.
Now that Reginald Hamilton was openly competing with him for Elizabeth, with her father's blessing to boot, what chance did he have? With no more prying eyes present, he released the massive shudder that he had been holding in for so long. Turning slowly, he headed for the door that led to the foyer. He had to find Elizabeth and tell her. He had to hear from her lips that she would not be stolen away by her father's handsome and wealthy friend. His sensible side, the one that would normally tell him it wasn't possible and count all the ways she had shown her love in the past two years, had vanished under the barrage of insults. He had to see Elizabeth.
Giving himself a little shake, he reached the door and quietly opened it, but faltered. He could hear Hamilton still out there, and someone was coming down the stairs. He peered around the dining room door surreptitiously, watching for Hamilton to leave.
***
As Mary continued fluttering over inconsequential details about the arrangements for the remaining guests, Elizabeth wanted to scream. "No, Mary, I told you, Mrs. Fitzgerald cannot climb stairs. Lady Pittworth is staying in the blue room."
"But Miss, what about Lord Henry--"
"He's not staying here; he is staying at Admiral Kensington's house."
Mary looked at the guest list in confusion. "Oh. Sorry, Miss. I got a bit mixed up."
Elizabeth sighed. "If there are any more problems, I will deal with them later. Right now, I'm neglecting my guests." She all but ran back down the stairs.
Unfortunately, she was forestalled in the foyer by the absolute last person she wanted to see. Forcing her face into that false smile, and her voice into an odd lilt that made her sound like Lucy, she asked, "Sir Reginald? Were you looking for something?"
"I was, my dear, and now I have found her." Hamilton moved very close to her, and she froze. His attitude was very forward.
Taking a cautious step back, she inquired, "Was there something you wanted?"
"Ahem," straightening, but not losing the mischief in his gray eyes, Hamilton said, "Your father bade me inform you that I'm to stay another fortnight. I do hope your hospitality is not overburdened terribly, my dear Miss Swann."
My very sanity is overburdened by the thought of you being here even one more night! She thought furiously. But to his face, she forced another smile and cooed, hating herself, "No indeed, I am quite certain we shall enjoy your company. Er…although I fear England will miss you terribly." Come on, Elizabeth, surely you can do better than that!
Suddenly Hamilton was directly in front of her, his head bent towards hers, speaking in a husky voice. "I fear England may be deprived of my company forever, Miss Swann. I find that I cannot bear the thought of being deprived of your company."
Her throat closed up in full-fledged panic as he took both her hands in a viselike grip. Her eyes were wide and her mouth frozen in that stupid smile, but no sound would come from her throat. Dear God, get him away from me!
But Hamilton went on, "I am a determined man, Miss Swann, especially in the pursuit of any object I truly desire." The white sword gleamed upon his hip. "So though I may seem abrupt, I can do nothing but declare openly my intention of striving for your affection, and beg you to consider yourself my suitor." Apparently, he took her trembling as some sign of pleasure rather than disgust, and smiled, "You are a woman of spirit, Elizabeth, and fine quality. You would grace the courts of England, France, and Spain. There is a great, beautiful world beyond this wretched little fishing town that I would gladly show you, if you would allow me. I cannot bear to think of you being denied any pleasure in life that you deserve. Upon my word, and my sword, I shall see that you have everything you desire."
***
If the sturdy dining room door had not held his weight, Will Turner might well have slid to the ground. It was Elizabeth who had come down the stairs, to be met and promptly swept away by the dashing, wealthy, and "suitable" Reginald Hamilton. She was still smiling, her eyes wide and dazzled by the handsome nobleman, listening to his promises of wealth and adventure—the sort of things Will Turner, the blacksmith, could never hope to offer her.
Of course, not, you bloody, senseless fool, why shouldn't she be dazzled?! Why did you ever think you could compete with men like James Norrington or Reginald Hamilton, or that you even had the right to? Elizabeth deserves more than you can ever dream of giving her!
His stomach lurched, and he stumbled back a few steps from the door. This could not be happening. Not after all that had transpired in the past two years, the battles at sea with the Black Pearl, the treacherous Barbossa, the brassy Jack Sparrow, and the promises they had made once it was all over. He had saved her life and she his. She had chosen him and he had sworn to make himself worthy of it. He had slaved in the smithy, working himself to exhaustion to earn the funds that would one day build their house. Only today they had watched each other as two friends exchanged wedding vows, in their hearts a solemn promise that their own vows should soon follow.
This cannot be happening!
The sound of Elizabeth's laughter floated through the still-cracked door, and Will lurched forward, all propriety having fled him, to hear what she said. "I…really, Sir Reginald, you are far too hasty!" her laughter had a lilting, almost giddy tone. She never laughed that way with Will. "We met less than a week ago and already you talk of courting me!"
"My dear child--"
"Do try to calm yourself, sir!" she laughed again. "I must see to my guests. Please pardon me." With that the door to the parlor opened and closed, once, twice. The foyer was silent.
Will balled his fists against his forehead as he leaned against the dining room door. She was laughing! She was delighted. All those things she would have had to give up for Will were now offered on a silver platter by a handsome, wealthy man who owned a sword whose like all Will's abilities could never hope to produce. Why shouldn't she be thrilled?
He could not stay here a moment longer. That he knew. Opening the door wider, his heart pounded even harder as he peered into the foyer. Empty. The thought of meeting a single soul made him sick with revulsion. His grief was too intense to be viewed by any human eyes. In a few frantic, faltering strides he crossed the foyer, gained the front door and threw it open, fleeing out into the night.
He had no idea what time it was when he arrived at home. Moreover, he found himself standing in front of the door of the smithy with the moon high above and no idea how he had gotten there. With fumbling hands, he pushed the door open and stumbled inside.
Right where I left you…since attaining his mastery, coming home to the smithy, with all his tools and equipment in their places, the iron and steel waiting to be shaped into swords and trappings, had always been a source of pleasure. His shop, his work. His craft. His. But now, the sight of it sickened him. "Care and devotion," Commodore Norrington had said of his work in his craft, but over the past two years, blacksmithing had become the means to an end. Elizabeth. For her, for their marriage.
He wandered past the forge in a daze, back to his rooms. What was left here for him now? Only a lifetime of backbreaking work at a craft that had suddenly become repugnant for the bitter associations it held for him. Swords. Swords for Norrington, swords for Swann. I suppose Hamilton will insist on bringing that white sword of his here for me to service, so that he may gloat over all the beautiful things his wealth and prestige has bought.
The thought inevitably developed into a hideous distortion of today's wedding, in which the bride in white was Elizabeth…but the man waiting joyfully upon the altar…His stomach lurched, and he leapt for the wash basin in time to be sick, his emotions so wildly out of control that the room spun around him.
William Turner had not shed a tear since the day his ship had vanished into the Atlantic Ocean after their ship had been attacked during the crossing to the Caribbean. He had been a child, sobbing in fear as the smaller vessel broke up under the Black Pearl's fire, but his grief and fear had been ended abruptly by the necessity to struggle for survival in the water. He had never wept again.
Nor did he now. Instead, Will clung helplessly to the washbasin just as he had clung to a floating piece of the wrecked ship, feeling very much like a child tossed on wild seas, watching once again as the only thing in the world he loved was pulled forever out of his reach. At last, his stomach was empty again, and he staggered to his feet, disoriented and confused. His small bed rested against the wall, and he stumbled over to fall into it, feeling no more strength to stand. He lay limp, staring at the ceiling, his breath coming in gasps of shock and anguish. Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Why?! Was there anything beautiful or precious in life that would not be snatched away from him by his poor origins? Was there are joy in the world for a man forced by circumstance to work for his living? Would he live out his days here in Port Royal, making horse shoes and swords and looking up at the cliffs to the mansion of Sir Reginald and Lady Elizabeth Hamilton?
God, no, I would rather throw myself from those cliffs!
What could he do now? The thought of just being here waiting until that inevitable day, tomorrow or the next or the next, when Elizabeth would come quietly to the door to tell him their engagement and their love was over, made his chest throb. But what else was there for him, a lowly blacksmith? Where could he go to escape Port Royal and all its bitter memories, with what little money he had?
And where could I go where gossip wouldn't follow me? A mysterious arrival in some port town or merchant ship, with nothing but clothes and tools? Talk would follow, and soon the truth would come: "He's an orphaned tradesman who tried to court a woman above himself and ran away when she chose someone of her station, someone who wasn't a poor smith who chummed about with pirates--"
Pirates…
He still had not shed a tear, but he lay red-eyed and tired upon the bed, his mind wandering. I wonder…where could Jack be now?
What would Jack say if he heard about all of this? Will's first thought was that Jack would laugh at him, but then…perhaps not. What had Jack been up to for the past two years? He and Eliz—he had kept his ears open when at the docks, and other than a few random sightings of the Black Pearl, Jack Sparrow had not been making himself terribly notorious in the Caribbean. Which was rather unlike him.
Jack Sparrow. Will's mind latched onto the name like a piece of driftwood on a sea of misery. Elizabeth might have deserted him because of his poverty and scandalous background, but Jack…
"You can accept that your father was a pirate and a good man…"
Jack had known what Will Turner was even before Will himself had. Jack Sparrow figured out far more than anyone (including Will, in the beginning) gave him credit for. But Jack hadn't looked down on Will, and not because he was a pirate himself. A pirate and a good man…
"The pirate's in your blood, boy, so you'll have to square with that one day."
Will blinked tired eyes at the window across the room, seeing only the outer wall of the store next to him. What sort of pirate would I be? The thought caused a hysterical little laugh to burst out of him. No, perhaps he never was and never would be a good pirate. He'd retained too many scruples even during the adventure with Jack. But on the other hand…Jack Sparrow had never judged him. Perhaps Jack might just be the place to start in the search for answers. Will could both fight and sail and navigate; he could pull his weight for a short time if he found the Black Pearl. Jack might have a few words of advice for him.
For a price, of course, but what else is new? Who doesn't?
His head was heavy, and his eyes drooped closed. Between grieving, raging, and thinking, his mind was simply too tired to work anymore. He knew one thing; he could not wait around here to receive nothing but Elizabeth and Sir Reginald's engagement notice. There was nothing left for him in Port Royal.
But perhaps he might find something else, something different…on the Caribbean.
***
Back at the reception, earlier…
"Where in heaven's name is my fiancé?" Elizabeth whispered to her father at the first chance she got.
Weatherby glanced around curiously as if only then noticing Will's absence. "I don't rightly know, Elizabeth."
"Oh, the lad left, Miss Swann," chuckled Lord Henry.
Elizabeth stared at him in disbelief, as nearby conversations went quiet. "Left?!"
"That he did, Miss. I believe…" Lord Henry smiled and shrugged patronizingly. "I believe there was some urgent blacksmithing matter that required his attention."
Elizabeth felt a little flare of anger at the sniggers from the other guests. She had wanted to talk to Will, aware that these vipers had been laughing at him all night, thanks to that disgustingly forward Hamilton. Her next intention after seeing to Will had been to demand that her father throw Hamilton out for such a presumption. Really! Will might be a tradesman, but one did not make advances towards a woman who was engaged to another man, no matter what one's wealth or breeding. She intended to make Governor Swann dismiss Hamilton from their house for such an inexcusable breach of etiquette. Only her desire not to make a scene prevented her from doing so in front of the guests.
But now Will had disappeared. She highly doubted there was some emergency at his shop at this hour. How would he have heard of it? More likely he simply had not been able to stand this poisonous company any longer and had fled. Odd, it was not like Will to retreat, especially where Elizabeth and their intended marriage was concerned. Dear Lord, what have these gossips been saying to him? She was upset with him for going without telling her, but more than anything feared just what might have been done to orchestrate this precipitous departure.
Her father saw her eyeing the door. "My dear, you cannot desert your guests now," he murmured.
"Father, what did they say to him?" she whispered frantically.
"I don't know, but it will keep until morning. The boy will have gone home, and you can make him account for his actions tomorrow. Right now, we must see to our company."
She sighed. "Very well, but I want a word with you before you retire."
"Of course."
As it happened, the reception did eventually end, to her relief, but by the time she had seen everyone off and seen the houseguests to their rooms, her father had forgotten his promise and gone to bed. She could not truly blame him; it had been a tiring day. The thought occurred to her of slipping out at once to hunt Will down, but she decided against it.
It would keep. Will would still be there in the morning.
To Be Continued…
Coming Up Next: It's horrible how much damage mistaken perceptions and bad timing can wreak. New journeys begin, broken hearts are left behind, and the "small social gaffe" blows up in Weatherby Swann and Reginald Hamilton's faces!
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