Hope you enjoy the chapter. :-)
"A masquerade ball? In Storybrooke?" Emma was surprised, to say the least.
Ingrid bit her lip to suppress a smile. "We're not exactly in the back of beyond, Emma."
Emma laughed. "I meant no insult to our illustrious neighborhood. It's only that a masquerade ball seems a bit ambitious in scope for a public assembly in a market town."
"I'm not complaining," said Mary Margaret, smiling widely.
"Of course you aren't. I'm sure the presence of David has nothing to do with it?" Emma teased.
A mischievous glint came into Mary Margaret's eyes. "I don't see why you're complaining, Emma. Are you afraid Captain Jones won't turn up in a costume?"
Emma rolled her eyes, though a faint blush colored her cheeks. "He'll probably be too busy to go to a silly ball."
"I can send him a note, if you wish, telling him that he'd better show up," Ingrid chimed in, getting up and pretending to hunt for a paper and quill.
"No!" said Emma, rising and grabbing hold of her cousin's arm, even though she knew Ingrid was only teasing her.
"Would you like me to specify that he ought to turn up as a corsair?" Ingrid continued.
"Or nothing…" said Mary Margaret. Emma and Ingrid arched their brows. Mary Margaret reddened and rolled her eyes. "I didn't mean wearing nothing…"
The other two laughed.
"I hope not," said Emma with a grin. "Or David won't be pleased."
Ingrid turned to Emma and added in a more serious tone. "He won't stay away, if I know anything about it."
Emma turned away to hide a hopeful smile.
"Let's go upstairs," said Ingrid, moving to the door. "I may have just the thing for the ball."
Curious, Emma and Mary Margaret followed Ingrid to the spare bedroom. Ingrid went to a large wooden chest in the corner and after some tinkering with the keys attached to her waist, unlocked the lid and threw it open. The other two crowded closer. Ingrid started to shift some blankets and drapes that were topmost onto a chair and her two young cousins hastened to help her. Giving a sharp exclamation, Ingrid pulled out a neatly folded dress carefully lined with tissue and spread it out on the bed. It was a beautiful, blue satin ball gown, low-waisted, and stitched in the style of two decades ago.
Emma and Mary Margaret gasped, catching on to Ingrid's idea.
"We can easily alter them to fit your sizes, and perhaps add ruffles and ornamentation to match the style of a different period."
There were more excited squeals and exclamations as Ingrid took out gown after gown and described their history. "That one was Helga's. I think her size was closer to Mary Margaret's. So there would be very little alteration to do."
"I wore this to my coming out ball," Ingrid reminisced fondly, holding up a pale mauve chiffon dress. Attracted by the unusual noise and activity proceeding from the spare room, Ashley and Astrid came to check, and were soon drawn into the fray. The ladies of the cottage spent the next few hours trying on various dresses and enjoying themselves very much. When David came to call three hours later, it was to see dresses draped over every available space in the drawing room and parlor and the women hunched over in their seats, sewing furiously.
The day of the ball dawned with clear skies, much to the collective relief of all the young and young-at-hearts of Misthaven and Storybrooke. The ladies repaired to their rooms at three. Because of the elaborate nature of their gowns, they only put on their undergarments and petticoats, and arranged their hair upstairs. Their gowns awaited them in the parlor.
"How glad I am that these stays went out of fashion!" Emma exclaimed as Mary Margaret laced hers up at the back. "They pull at my shoulders so!"
"Oh, goodness, yes!" Mary Margaret stepped to the dresser and picked up a roller. "I hope they never come back."
"And the petticoats! How anybody could walk with all these layers on, I can't imagine!"
"I suppose they were used to it," Mary Margaret replied, her attention now focused on arranging her curls.
The parlor windows were all bolted and the curtains drawn when the sisters entered the room. The servants were under strict orders to let no one into the cottage. Lit candles were placed on every available mantle and shelf in the room, and both Ashley and Astrid were waiting to help the ladies get ready.
Mary Margaret had elected to go with a Tudor-inspired look in green, with the V-shaped front of the bodice culminating in a stiff busk. She had decided to go without elaborate ruffles around her neck, but her sleeves were long and loose, and appropriate for the time-period. A short gold chain with an emerald pendant hung from her neck.
Emma wore a scarlet satin gown with fitted long sleeves. It had a thin line of intricate piping around the low neck that sparkled in the light, but was otherwise free of ornamentation. The skirt of the dress billowed out a little at the hips with the help of a pannier and fell to the floor in graceful folds. As for jewelry, she wore a thin silver chain with a white-stone pendant on her neck and a matching circlet on her head.
Ingrid, who got dressed last of all, had put on a fitted white lace dress with intricate silver thread-work throughout. The sleeves were long and billowy and the dress had a high ruff-collar. The gown was complemented with a silver necklace with a star-shaped pendant. Silk gloves completed all their ensembles.
"You look like a queen, cousin!" Emma proclaimed.
Ingrid smiled and said, "And you two look like princesses." She pressed a motherly kiss on their foreheads.
Emma's throat suddenly felt tight. "Cousin Ingrid…" she said, unable to articulate what she was feeling.
"There, now. Your eyes will look puffy if you cry," said Ingrid, patting Emma's arm affectionately.
Ashley and Astrid cleared away all the dressing paraphernalia and the ladies had nothing more to do than put on gloves and wait the arrival of Captain Jones, who was to transport them to Storybrooke for the ball. David had offered to drive his intended to the event in his gig, but not even the happy flutters of love were enough to convince Mary Margaret that her costume would be safe in an open carriage.
Captain Jones arrived punctually at five o'clock to collect his passengers. The ladies stood up when he entered the parlor. His eyes were immediately drawn to Emma. His mouth parted slightly and an appreciative look stole over him. Emma tried hard not to blush at his perusal, and her own eyes discretely roamed over his costume. He was wearing a black shirt paired with a dark velvet waistcoat, buckskin breeches, dark brown stockings, and silver-buckled shoes. A brown suede jacket completed the ensemble. Handsome and dashing were the adjectives that popped into Emma's mind.
"Not a corsair, but a prince," Mary Margaret muttered in a low voice that only Emma could hear.
Captain Jones recollected himself and bowed. After a moment, he looked about the room and frowned.
"Your maid first took me to the drawing room. Your pianoforte was not in its usual place…" he trailed off.
Emma was annoyed. She had made it clear to Ashley that Captain Jones was to be brought to the parlor directly. Emma had specifically not wanted him to know that her pianoforte was gone, and had hoped to send for a new one from Broadwood before too long. Evidently, in the bustle of preparations, Ashley had forgotten her instruction.
Emma glanced at Ingrid and Mary Margaret helplessly for a few seconds and then blurted, "We've sent it to Broadwood for tuning."
Captain Jones looked puzzled. "All the way to London?"
"Yes, it was remarkably off-key."
"We are ready to leave, Captain," said Ingrid.
Captain Jones preceded them out of the room. Mary Margaret pressed Emma's arm to hold her back for a moment. She asked in a whisper, "Why don't you want the captain to know about the pianoforte? Are you worried that he'll confront Sir Arthur?"
Emma nodded.
"Is that really such a terrible thing, Emma?" Mary Margaret made a helpless gesture.
Emma pressed her lips. "Yes, it is," she said stubbornly. Disengaging from her sister, Emma walked on.
Captain Jones handed the ladies into the carriage. By accident or Ingrid's design Emma could not guess, the only available place for Captain Jones to sit when he climbed in last was by herself. Emma did not know whether she was pleased or embarrassed. Once the carriage doors were shut, it was too dark to discern anyone's features. But Emma felt tiny tingles whenever their arms bumped against each other as the coach-wheels rolled over a bumpy patch on the road.
David was waiting near the entrance of the assembly hall for them. When he caught sight of the carriage, he stepped forward and helped the ladies down. He and Mary Margaret gazed at each other with open admiration. David had co-ordinated with Mary Margaret for his costume, and therefore, he too was dressed in Tudor-style clothing. Emma had always felt the snug doublets, puffed sleeves, and flared jerkins of the time rather ridiculous-looking in paintings. However, David managed to carry it off charmingly, and looked quite like a prince escorting his lady to a royal ball.
Attendants carrying eye-masks and dominoes on trays were standing at the door of the ball room. Everyone from Emma's group chose the compact eye-masks. Mary Margaret and Ingrid, who were ahead, took David's proffered arms and stepped inside.
"You look quite lovely in red, Miss Emma," Captain Jones murmured, as he led her into the ballroom.
Emma could not help preening a little as she smiled. "So do you, Captain. I mean…you look good, not lovely," she stumbled, and blushed.
"I do not look lovely?" Captain Jones frowned and touched his hand to his chest theatrically. "You quite wound me, milady."
Emma rolled her eyes, a smile escaping her as she turned to look around. The assembly hall had undergone quite the transformation for the occasion. What seemed like a thousand candles illuminated the room from chandeliers and wall sconces, throwing into relief the variety of costumes on display. There were princes and princesses, Harlequins and wizards, turbaned sheiks and nabobs aplenty. People were laughing and chattering as they greeted their friends and acquaintances. Many of the attendees wore the simple eye-masks, but some were sporting black dominoes that fully covered their dresses. Cries of "How lovely!" and "How charmingly quaint!" and the occasional thinly veiled derisive laughter echoed through the room.
Emma lifted her arms to tie on her own face-mask and then dropped them realizing that the motion would draw attention to her décolletage. She blushed at her own forwardness when she realized that she would not mind drawing the attention of a certain someone standing by her side.
With a tiny smirk, Captain Jones said, "May I?"
Emma nodded, not daring to meet his eyes. She held the mask to her face as he tied it behind her head. Emma felt a pleasant tingle as his fingers gently brushed against her hair.
The music started playing. Captain Jones turned to Emma and with proper ceremony, said, "Will you do me the honor of dancing with me, Miss Emma?"
Emma smiled and nodded. He took her hand and led her to the steadily growing set, David and Mary Margaret behind them. The ball opened with a minuet. Emma could not stop smiling as they swirled and clapped in tune to the beat. At the end of the dance, Captain Jones led her to the side where Ingrid was seated with the other chaperones. Someone wearing a Harlequin costume bowed to Ingrid and asked to be introduced to Emma. After the formalities were gone through, he asked her hand for the next dance. Emma reluctantly accepted.
The ignominy of not being chosen at a public assembly such as this one was not uncommon for young ladies, where the number of men and women was not guaranteed to be evenly matched, and Emma was not above wishing for a partner for every dance. But she could not help being irrationally annoyed at the young man for asking her, all the same. She could have refused him, of course, but etiquette demanded that she would have to sit it out and not dance with any other partner. And then she chided herself for thinking that Captain Jones would ask her to dance again, knowing that dancing two in a row with the same partner was enough to signal an upcoming betrothal to the gossiping ladies in the room. Besides, she did not want to appear desperate in his eyes. Perhaps he would ask her again after supper…
The Harlequin attempted to hold a conversation with her as they jigged their way through the set, but Emma only gave him half her attention. The other half of her mind was occupied in wondering whether Captain Jones was dancing as well. At last, she caught sight of him, leaning against a column and observing the dance with a glass of punch in his hand. Neither Emma nor Mary Margaret were without a partner for next set of dances. Many in the neighborhood were curious to see the elusive Miss Blanchards, even with masks partly obscuring their faces, and all the young bucks were lining up to dance with both sisters, not even deterred by the knowledge of the elder Miss Blanchard's engagement to the new rector.
Captain Jones had not sat in the sidelines for all those dances. He had danced once with Mrs. Gould, who had come to the ball wearing a voluminous yellow gown in the French style of the previous century, and the next two with young women Emma did not recognize. Emma realized with dismay that she felt envious of every woman he stood up with. The captain had been the target of despairing matchmaking mamas and aunts in the neighborhood for years. This being one of his rare appearances at a public assembly, many matronly women were vying for his attention for their protégées or even, for themselves.
There was a break for supper, after which Emma was quite glad to leave the congested dining room and get back to the ball room. She and many of the guests had taken off their masks and dominoes for supper, and had not re-fastened them. It was rather warm in the room now, despite the lateness of the hour, and the masks were starting to chafe.
She was joined by Captain Jones, who handed her a cup of coffee. He commented, "You do not want to fall asleep after supper and disappoint all the young lads now, do you, Miss Emma?"
The tiniest whiff of accusation in his tone raised Emma's hackles. "Nor you the ladies, Captain," she returned, raising her chin defiantly.
They glared at each other for a few moments. Then Captain Jones's expression shifted and his lips twitched. Emma's outrage lasted for another second, and then she too relaxed and a laugh escaped her lips.
"Would you forgive my uncouth remark and agree to dance with me again?" he asked with smiling courtesy.
"I suppose I shall," said Emma. "Just to save you from the admiring multitudes, you know?"
"But, of course." Captain Jones gave a gallant bow.
Emma was thrilled that he had asked her to dance once more. While it was something she had hoped for, it still pleased her beyond measure. Her heart beating fast, she placed her hand in the captain's outstretched one. When the orchestra started up, however, Emma hesitated.
"What's the matter, Miss Emma?" Captain Jones asked, concern lacing his voice.
"It's the waltz," Emma replied, her eyes wide with dismay, and extracted her hand from his.
"You do not know how to dance the waltz?" He frowned.
"Mary Margaret and I learned it, of course. But it was never danced at our village balls." Emma made a helpless gesture. "I'm afraid I'm not very good at it."
Captain Jones gave her a wicked smile. "There's only one rule to dancing a waltz," he said, taking her hand once more. "Pick a partner who knows what he's doing."
Captain Jones led Emma to the floor and placed his right hand around her waist. He held out his left hand for her to take, while she rested her left upon his shoulder. Holding her hand a little stiffly, he led her round the room. Emma's first few steps were hesitant, but gaining confidence, she started to enjoy herself. Their faces were quite close from the nature of the dance and Emma could not help returning the smile in Captain Jones's eyes with an answering sparkle in her own.
For the next part of the dance, Emma raised her left hand and turned a half-circle, still holding to the captain's hand with her right. Her back was now to his chest, almost touching, and his arm was around her waist. A delicate fragrance of citrus and sage assailed her senses.
"You see, Miss Emma," he whispered, his voice husky. "You appear to be a natural." Emma shivered slightly. By the end of the dance, her heart was in a fever of excitement and her head was full of Captain Jones. Several people clapped when the dance ended and Emma was wreathed in smiles as her partner led her to the side of the room.
Belle came up to them and complimented their dancing. She added, "By the by, Miss Emma, I've been dying to ask you how you managed to save the poor Zimmer boy."
Emma colored and threw a quick glance at Captain Jones. Her wish to keep him from knowing about this matter was evidently not going to be fulfilled. "I spoke to Sir Arthur, and somehow was able to convince him."
"You must be quite persuasive! I've never known Sir Arthur to change his mind."
Captain Jones shifted forward, a gleam of interest in his eyes. "What is this? I've not heard this tale."
Belle turned to the captain. "The woodcutter's son, Nicholas, was arrested for poaching." She gestured to Emma with a smile. "If not for Miss Emma, the poor boy would be on a ship to Australia by now."
"Indeed! Where was he caught poaching?"
Emma hesitated a moment before replying, "On the grounds of the Abbey."
"On my land? I wasn't aware of this." Captain Jones frowned, his look turning thunderous. Emma, who was carefully watching his reaction, relaxed her tense shoulders. His reaction to the news confirmed to her that she had been justified in disbelieving Sir Arthur's insinuations.
"You know what he's like, Killian," Belle said in a deprecating tone. "Remember the time he stopped up the canal in Sir Kay's fields without so much as a word to him?"
"If Arthur thinks I'll cave as easily as Sir Kay did, he's in for a surprise," Captain Jones retorted.
Belle was soon called away by Mr. Scarlett for the next dance. Captain Jones was silent for some moments, his brows furrowed. Emma felt a little troubled by his gravity. This news had clearly thrown him into a dark mood.
After a few moments, he shook his head as though to clear his thoughts. "I must apologize for my preoccupation, Miss Emma. Sir Arthur and I have had some dealings in the past, and they've always been troublesome and frustrating." He smiled at her warmly. "I think it's wonderful that you stepped up for the sake of the boy."
Emma was quick to disclaim all credit, saying that she had only done what seemed right.
"Yes, it was the right thing to do," said Captain Jones, in a more serious tone. "But not everyone will do it, all the same."
There was a lump in her throat that made it difficult for Emma to reply. Captain Jones's praise touched her, but she was also starting to feel a little dispirited on being reminded of her pianoforte. She had made that sacrifice willingly, and she would do it again, if called on, but her heart still felt its loss.
"I wish I'd been there to provide support. Not that you needed any help to have achieved the near-impossible." His admiring look made Emma's heart feel less heavy. He added in amused tone, "It was very likely for the best that I did not go along. I would have certainly put his back up."
Emma huffed out a laugh. "I think you are correct."
His expression turning grave once more, Captain Jones said, "But I shall make sure this does not happen again."
Sleep was a long time coming for Emma that night. Her thoughts about the evening were scattered and not uniformly pleasant. She felt a happy glow in her heart when she recalled how handsome Captain Jones had looked in his outfit and how delightful it had been to be twirled about in his arms. She had not been able to muster up a single jot of interest in any of the young men who had sought her attention through the course of the ball. The only one whose attention she craved was that of the captain's and she was tolerably convinced that her feelings were not merely the effect of the excitement of the evening. His looks and words of admiration had thrilled her, as had his gentle encouragement when he had gracefully led her through the steps of the waltz. She felt a pleasant warmth when she remembered their proximity and was certain that other men would be tiresome disappointments as dance partners from now on.
His asking her to a second dance had led her to believe that he would begin paying his addresses more openly now, but his subsequent turn of mood had thrown a seed of doubt in her mind. It was not surprising that Sir Arthur's heavy-handed imposition of his magisterial authority had jarred on the captain. Perhaps that would delay the return of his attentions. She could ask Ingrid to invite the captain to dinner soon, but then, he would inquire about her pianoforte again, and Emma did not want to keep lying to him. Whatever discussion he and Sir Arthur might have over the latter's encroachment on the Abbey grounds, she did not want her pianoforte to feature in it. She had given her word that she would not involve anyone else in the matter, and she was determined to stick to it, no matter how high-handed Sir Arthur had been over the issue. Unable to resolve on anything, Emma finally drifted off to sleep in the early hours of the morning, her dreams full of waltzes and pianofortes.
Emma and Mary Margaret returned home from a morning walk about a week from the ball, when Ingrid met them at the door with an air of suppressed excitement.
"What is it, Cousin Ingrid?" asked Emma.
"Come into the drawing room. There is a surprise waiting for you, Emma," Ingrid replied.
Emma eagerly opened the drawing room door and stepped inside, followed by Mary Margaret and Ingrid. She stopped short at the sight that met her eyes. There, in its old place, was her beloved pianoforte. She rushed forward to touch the instrument and make sure her eyes were not deceiving her.
"How is this possible?" Emma turned an astonished eye at Ingrid.
Ingrid held out a note. "This is from Sir Arthur. It came with the instrument."
Emma quickly tore open the seal. It read:
Dear Miss Emma,
Do not fear that our bargain is null and void. Our agreement still stands. I shall not take any adverse action against the boy—unless he gets caught in wrongdoing again, of course.
Sincere regards,
Arthur Garrigan.
Emma flipped the note over, but there was nothing written on the back. "This does not explain anything," she said, handing the note to Mary Margaret. "Did you have anything to do with this, cousin?"
"I assure you, I do not," said Ingrid, raising both hands.
"Perhaps Sir Arthur's had a change of heart," Mary Margaret suggested. "He may have realized how petty he had been in taking your pianoforte and decided to make amends."
Emma hummed dubiously. "That doesn't sound like him," she said, sitting down at her pianoforte and playing a few bars. It had to be Captain Jones's doing. But then, how did he come to know that her pianoforte was in Sir Arthur's keeping? Servant gossip? Sir Arthur himself would never have revealed it. Emma felt troubled at the idea of the captain contriving the return of her pianoforte, especially if it led to greater friction between him and Sir Arthur on her account.
David and Mary Margaret left early the next day to make poor visits in the parish. Emma, who still had not come to any satisfactory conclusion about the mysterious return of her pianoforte, went for a walk some time later. She stopped at the parsonage on her way back to check if her sister and David had returned from their errand. Seeing David's gig in the stable-yard, she went in.
"Emma, I think I know how you got your pianoforte back," Mary Margaret declared the minute Emma stepped inside the parlor. Setting down the book she had been reading, Mary Margaret patted the space next to her on the sofa. David, who had been writing at his desk, stopped and turned to watch the proceedings.
"You think you know?" asked Emma, sitting down. "Did you meet Sir Arthur this morning?"
"We didn't exactly meet him," said Mary Margaret, glancing at David.
"Our errand took us near the grounds of Pendraig Castle." David picked up the narrative thread. "There was a hunt in progress, and we stopped for it to pass."
Emma glanced between the two. "Well?"
"Emma," said Mary Margaret with a rush. "Sir Arthur was riding Captain Jones's stallion, Bill."
Emma's eyes widened. "Are you sure?"
"I'm certain of it." Mary Margaret made an emphatic gesture. "It wouldn't be easy to mistake a different horse for such a fine animal."
Emma pressed a hand to her chest.
"But does it follow that the beast changing hands had anything to do with the return of Emma's pianoforte?" David asked, a little doubtfully.
"Yes," replied both sisters at once, looking incredulous at his question.
"Alright, alright." David raised both hands. "And before you say anything, Mary Margaret, I know Captain Jones is a good man."
"You've come around to him, have you?" Mary Margaret teased.
David grinned. "I suppose I have."
Emma abruptly stood up, ignoring the exchange between the other two. "I need to find the captain."
"What, now?" asked David.
"Yes."
David looked at Mary Margaret. She was smiling. With a put-upon sigh, David rose. "I'll drive you."
"No, thank you, David," said Emma, moving to the door.
"But what if he's not at home?" David started forward.
Emma rolled her eyes. "I promise I'll come straight back."
Mary Margaret gently held David back. "I'm sure they'll be able to talk more freely without others hovering, David."
He glanced between the two sisters and reddened. "Of course."
Mary Margaret smiled at her sister, "Go, find the captain."
Too agitated to return her sister's smile, Emma only nodded.
Emma found Captain Jones sitting on the shore of the fish pond, head bent, sketching. He had taken off his coat and the sleeve of his white shirt billowed out with a gust of wind. He stopped to brush a lock of hair that had fallen over his eyes. The sight of him looking so unaffectedly handsome at such a casual setting made Emma breathless and she almost forgot her errand for a moment.
Hearing her footfall, Captain Jones turned and exclaimed in surprise. Taking in her agitated air, he rose quickly, and dropping his sketchpad and pencil on the ground, reached her in two strides. Emma suddenly felt nervous and had half a mind to run away without giving any explanations. What had she been thinking, rushing here like a silly schoolgirl?
"Is anything wrong, Miss Emma?" he asked, his brows furrowing in concern.
"My pianoforte," began Emma, taking her courage in her hands and plunging into her question. "It was your doing, was it not? Its return."
A look of caution came over his features. "I'm not sure what you are referring to, Miss Emma."
Emma laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Please. I want to know. You traded Bill for my pianoforte?"
Captain Jones looked at Emma searchingly for a few moments, and nodded his head at last. "Aye. I know how much that instrument means to you."
"How did you know that Sir Arthur had my pianoforte?"
A look of amusement crept into his eyes. "Believe it or not, Miss Emma, I'm quite perceptive. Your pianoforte was missing, and when I learned that you had talked Sir Arthur into releasing the woodcutter's boy, I put two and two together. Sir Arthur is the kind of man who always exacts a cost in return for his favors." He paused. "By the same token, how did you learn of the exchange?"
"Mary Margaret happened across Sir Arthur this morning near Pendraig Castle—he was out on a hunt," said Emma. "She recognized Bill at once. And then, we suspected the truth…"
"Sir Arthur gave me his word that he would not take Bill outside his grounds for the next few months." Captain Jones chuckled softly. "'The best-laid schemes' etc.."
"But the horse was your brother's…" said Emma, helplessly. "What if Sir Arthur doesn't take good care of him?"
"You do not have to worry, Miss Emma," the captain replied, in a softened tone. "Sir Arthur has a prize broodmare and he's coveted my stallion for a long time to breed a new line of horses. I daresay Bill will fare better at Pendraig Castle than he has with me."
Emma realized that he was trying to lighten the nature of his generous sacrifice. She knew how incredibly difficult it was to give up something so precious and meaningful. She had only done it to save a boy from a terrible fate. Captain Jones had no such urgent impetus when it was only a question of her happiness. Almost afraid to hope, Emma asked breathlessly, "Why did you do it?"
Captain Jones cocked his head, looking almost disappointed that she would ask such a thing. "Don't you know, Miss Emma?" he said softly.
On shaky legs, Emma stepped forward and placing both her hands on the captain's shoulders, rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. For a moment, Captain Jones did not move. Then, his arms encircled her waist and he kissed her tenderly. A flower of warmth and happiness unfurled in Emma's chest and inundated her senses. A single tear rolled down her cheek, unheeded. After a moment, she stopped to draw a breath and raised her eyes to the captain's face. He raised a trembling hand to her cheek and caressed it gently. The mixture of hope and unbridled joy in his brilliant blue eyes overwhelmed her with their intensity.
"Was that a token of your gratitude, Miss Emma?"
"Is that what you think it is, Captain?" she replied, with a cheeky smile.
He gave a breathy laugh and there was a happy twinkle in his eyes. "My beautiful, beloved Swan," he said, and pressed her closer. He kissed her again, more passionately this time, but still with tenderness. Lifting her in his arms, he carried her to a park bench and sat down with her on his lap. After an interlude of tender kisses and happy smiles, they sat in silence for a while, their foreheads touching.
Emma caressed the light gingery scruff on his cheek with the back of her hand. Captain Jones tilted his head in response. "Why did you call me 'swan'?"
Captain Jones smiled. "Because you are like one," he placed a chaste kiss on her lips, "in your graceful person," he kissed one cheek, "and the elegance of your dancing," and he kissed the other. Emma blushed and buried her face in his neck. He placed a hand under her chin and gently pulled her up to face him. "But most of all, in the manner you passionately defend those who are helpless to do it—just like a swan with her cygnets."
Emma blushed at his praise, but felt too shy to say a single word in response. So, she kissed him again.
After another pause, Captain Jones broke the silence with, "After I lost my brother and Milah, I let my bitterness consume me. I daresay I became more black-hearted than some of the pirates I hunted in the Caribbean." He paused and took her hand in his. Emma gently rubbed her thumb over his hand, silently encouraging him to continue. "Love had only brought me pain, and I clung to that pain. I never thought I would be capable of moving past all that, and find love again, until I met you." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it softly. "I love you, Emma."
Emma's eyes stung with tears of joy. This was the kind of love she had yearned for. That chord of true understanding and empathy she had dreamed of. "My parents were warm-hearted, generous people, and they loved each other very much. I thought I would find the same kind of love in Neal Cassidy. When he broke my heart, I was afraid to trust anyone—to trust you." Captain Jones kissed her hand once more. She continued, "But you broke down my fears. You showed me that you are kind and large-hearted. I know you will not let me down. I love you, Killian."
Taking both her hands in his, he looked at her solemnly. "I don't intend to let you down."
Emma smiled tenderly. "I know."
He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and trailed his finger down her cheek and chucked it underneath her chin. Adoration and desire were blended in his gaze. He said, "My lovely Swan, will you do me the honor of marrying me?"
Emma grinned. "Yes, Killian. I will." And she kissed him once more.
I would love to hear your thoughts. Only the epilog left now. Please check-out the beautiful art-piece by captainswanandclintasha for this chapter on tumblr.