AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks so much to those who reviewed!
Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean.
April 15, 1756
Port Royal, Jamaica
How she shines.
A captain in His Majesty's Royal Navy surprised himself with this thought as he watched Miss Elizabeth Swann enter the ballroom on her father's arm. All the preening peacocks of Port Royal, he mused, seemed as sparrows in her presence. She was a phoenix, all stunning beauty laced with brilliant fire, and she burned her peers to ashes as she passed them by.
Goodness, wouldn't that make a lovely sonnet? And he'd thought of it himself; he, Captain James Norrington, who was more at home on those un-poetic tubs called warships than in the delicate arenas called drawing rooms.
Of course, if there existed a male comfortable in a drawing room, he had to be a confident man indeed. James smiled to himself, took a sip of an excellent white wine, and surveyed the scene before him.
Multiple shades of gold and blue lent the Darren ballroom a crisp elegance that was softened by the creamy warmth of a hundred candles. The sky-blue tiled ceiling went up two stories and the three massive chandeliers hanging from it were too bright to look at. One long wall was made of glass doors that opened into the softly falling Jamaican night, inviting guests onto a candlelit terrace with a commanding view of the ocean. The opposite wall mirrored its mate, but its doors opened into an extensive dining room with heavily laden tables a mile long.
The room was packed with Port Royal's elite, which meant mostly high-ranking military officers and their families. There were so many of them, the glowing wood floor was completely stifled. Dressed in their best silks and coats, wearing their grandest jewelry and medals, the guests meshed with the ballroom to create a tableau worthy of a long, long stare.
Governor Swann and his daughter were king and princess this night; when they moved, a path was quickly opened, but when they stood still, they were tightly surrounded. At the moment, they were talking to Admiral Kendricks. Miss Swann's smile blazed. She was not taking the men's attention seriously at all–her gloved arm snug in her father's, she clearly felt safe.
A motherless governor's daughter who had been denied nothing, she was spirited, as clearly evidenced by the slightly mulish set of her small chin and the way her charming smile could shift into a sort of challenging smirk. He was not a man to take mockery from anyone, but oh, yes, he believed he could reasonably tolerate a smirk from those pink lips…
"Poach me and put me on the table, if it isn't Captain Norrington!"
Norrington turned, and candlelight made the gold trimmings of his dress uniform gleam like strands of sunlight. "Captain Eaton!" He warmly clasped hands with a paunchy, red-cheeked character, who laughed boisterously, small gray eyes twinkling. The man who had climbed the Navy ranks at Norrington's side had clearly visited the beverage table a few times already, though the ball was barely started. Norrington did not care.
"I hear you've got command of the Interceptor now," Eaton said, "on top of your command of the Dauntless, you crafty dog! Makes you a commodore, yes?"
"Very, very soon," Norrington said, chest expanding slightly.
"How soon? I'll come to the ceremony and trip you on your way up to the aisle."
"I'll be sure to bring my pistol, then," Norrington said, raising an eyebrow. "The ceremony's tomorrow."
"That's my friend James for you," Eaton guffawed, "wasting no time in securing the prize." He took a generous gulp from his wineglass. Norrington's eyes strayed to Miss Swann, Eaton's words ringing in his mind.
"I think I can make it tomorrow," Eaton stated, and Norrington quickly turned back, somewhat disoriented. Eaton helped himself to his wine again. "I'll bring my best cane."
"Do keep it to yourself."
"We'll simply have to see how I feel." Eaton raised his eyebrows, and then he gasped. "I've gotten me a new scar, James, in the service of my magnificent mother country!"
"Really?" Norrington grinned. "Can you show it and be decent at the same time?"
"I will show it, decent or not. Here, be a good chap and hold this."
Norrington patiently took his friend's glass, then watched Eaton roll back the crisp ruffles of his right sleeve.
"Oh, that's quite nice," Norrington said, leaning forward to see the six-inch rope of pink chaos that snaked up the inside of his friend's forearm. "Who?"
"Captain with a small grapple." Eaton nodded at Norrington's grimace. "A captain," he rocked back on his heels, "of a small pirate ship we captured oh, four weeks ago. Every man went to the gallows in Kingston some days ago."
Norrington smirked as he handed Eaton back his wineglass. "Why anyone would wish to engage in piracy is beyond me."
"Especially with now that you've got yourself both the Dauntless and the Interceptor," Eaton said. "With the dreaded Commodore Norrington stalking the waters, no one in the Caribbean will dare to twitch."
Norrington smiled tolerantly. "Oh, I'm sure they will, my friend. I'd hate for them not to."
"Right," Eaton toasted him, comical with his sleeve still around his elbow; "otherwise there'd be no opportunities for medals and promotions. Tragic."
"Indeed." Norrington took another sip of his wine. Before the sip could reach his stomach, though, the first dance was announced.
"I suppose you won't be joining me on the sidelines," Eaton sighed.
"Not at all, I'm afraid. Here, be a good chap and hold this." Norrington handed his wine to Eaton and scanned the crowd, trying to ignore the increased tingling in his middle. He brushed his white wig once, then vowed not to make such a self-conscious motion again.
"Fine," Eaton said. "I'll laugh at you from my comfortable seat."
"If you dare." Norrington was already moving away. The gentle music from a small trio in a corner pressed around him with the heat, like being under water. Jewels and pearls shone against skin like sun on the sea; medals clinked against royal blue uniforms stars in the night sky. And lace, there was always lace, froth on human waves. He managed to nod politely to the hopeful young women who reluctantly let him pass, but he never truly saw a single one of them. No man would give attention to needy sparrows when there was a brown-eyed phoenix flying gloriously free and without a care for the him, the hunter, who followed in the shadows created by her blazing fire.
Reaching her side was not easy. Many captains, lieutenants, and even an admiral or two were vying for her attention, not to mention some of her female friends. The key to James' success, he knew, would be her grandly dressed father. All he needed to do was catch his eye.
But did he want to?
On any other night he wouldn't have minded, but after their conversation this afternoon, he most certainly did mind.
James prided himself in being every way proper and efficient. Therefore that afternoon, he had asked for Governor Swann's permission to court and wed his daughter. It had been harder than staring down the gullet of a cannon about to fire, but only for a second. Governor Swann's delight had been a great comfort.
But then he ruined it.
No, he would not talk to Lizzy about it. Because this was a right James wanted, he had to be the one to ask her for it. James had wondered angrily if Swann just wanted to see him struggle. It was Swann's right, though. And all James had to do was pick the right strategy. So James had asked Miss Swann for the first two dances before taking his leave. He'd never asked this before and her startled, confused assent did nothing for his confidence. Now he wished he had just thrown himself at her feet and asked the blasted question now eating away his insides–would she marry him?
He could ask her here…but no. When he asked this most sacred of questions, he wanted to be far from Port Royal's socialites. They were good for nothing but spreading gossip and their self-satisfied postures, their sharp eyes, made him shudder.
The tall Governor's hazel eyes met his own. The abrupt contact was so like being slapped, James almost flinched. His heart sped. Then he had a peacock feather in his face. He gazed irritably at the shining blond head to which the feather was attached, and then the slender owner turned. He did not recognize her, but by the way her eyes widened, she recognized him. "Captain Norrington–"
"Excuse me," he interrupted, and with a brief bow maneuvered around her.
And stopped.
Her gown was the palest pink, the skirts extending gracefully from her small waist to trail behind her. Her honey-streaked chestnut hair was in curls high on her head, with a single curl lying coyly over one shoulder. Her stomacher was embroidered with roses, her lace sleeves were lined with roses, and tiny roses dotted her hair. Next to her father, who was impeccably dressed in gray, she glowed.
James bowed slowly. "Governor Swann, Miss Swann."
The Governor smiled and nodded. "Captain."
Miss Swann also nodded and smiled, albeit warily.
The music was calling and couples were streaming past. James wondered if he should make more small talk, but feared their arrival on the dance floor would be late. So he extended his hand to Miss Swann. Her dark eyes flicked to it.
"If I may have the honor?" he asked.
"You may, sir." With a smile, she extracted her arm from her father's and placed her hand in his. There was a rose embroidered on the back of her glove. James let his thumb close over that rose, and then drew her forward. She let him.
She walked at his side to the dance floor. He could hardly breathe, though he had led his share of ladies to dance floors before, Miss Swann included. She had always been a blithe dancing companion, but now she was silent. Did she sense something was afoot?
They took their places in the set, facing each other. None of their observers cared; James had danced first dances with Miss Swann before. It was when they would stand together for the second dance that people would stare and whisper behind their hands. Several men's faces already bore hostile expressions. James decided he liked it.
At the first strains of an allemande, James bowed and Miss Swann curtsied. So began the dance, the couples taking hands and extending them forward, turning as one toward the front of the room. Three steps forward, a delicate pause–
"How long will you be in port, Captain?"
"Two months."
"That is good news." She inclined her head, as gracefully as a…swan. Swann. James repressed the urge to roll his eyes.
And three steps back.
Silence.
The afternoon's dratted conversation had turned the world upside down.
"Please, allow me."
Elizabeth Swann watched the man insert himself between her and a dark-skinned servant. "Oh–thank you, Captain."
"My pleasure," he murmured. Carefully gathering up her skirts, she leaned on his strong hand and stepped up into the carriage.
He released her fingers slowly as she settled into the soft squabs. Suppressing a sigh of relief, she smiled and shoved her exhaustion down one last time. It was two in the morning but she was determined to take the last few agonizing steps to her beloved bed with gracious dignity.
The lantern light turned Captain Norrington's white wig orange and made his green eyes gleam like a cat's, while giving his handsome, chiseled features a smoothness to match the mild Caribbean air. He moved to leave, but hesitated, half-smiling at her. She waited, feeling awkwardness coming down like the sneakiest rain.
"Thank you for the dances," Norrington said.
"It was my honor, Captain."
The sneaky rain of awkwardness was rapidly becoming a torrent. Elizabeth twisted her hands in her lap.
"Captain Norrington! There you are!"
Elizabeth relaxed as her father appeared at Norrington's side, beaming. "What a marvelous evening," he exclaimed.
"Oh, yes." Norrington nodded, almost seeming to frown.
"Well." Governor Swann looked in at his daughter, who gave him her pasted-on smile. "Tomorrow is a big day," he said to Norrington. "You'd best get your rest."
"Yes." Norrington looked at Elizabeth. "Yes." He gave a starched bow, and clicked away into the early morning.
Eyes on Elizabeth's, Governor Swann quirked a thick eyebrow brow at Norrington's brusque exit then rocked the carriage as he climbed into it. The door was shut, he sat down opposite her, and knocked on the roof. They rolled away from the Darren House and the familiar vibration of cobbles rose through the cushions.
"Did you have a good time, dear?"
"Yes," Elizabeth smiled, then wondered why her aching cheeks didn't shatter and fall in her lap.
The silence between father and daughter became heavy. For some reason, they both felt the need to smile briefly when their eyes met, so Elizabeth opened the curtains and focused out her window. Her father felt no such need; she knew he was watching her, and with each passing house, irritation like nettles swelled just a bit more in her chest.
The carriage suddenly slowed. Governor Swann peered out his window, then knocked on the roof. "What's going on?"
"There's a stopped carriage on the side of the road," the driver called. "I think it lost a wheel, sir."
"Oh, do stop." Swann leaned out the window as the clatter of the horses' hooves ceased. He winked at Elizabeth. "This is a good time to show what a good, caring governor I am, yes?"
One corner of her mouth lifted as she nodded.
"Stay in; you don't look well."
She rocked with the carriage when her father closed the door. She looked out the window at the silent homes lining the street. The hairpin that had been poking her was still doing so, except now it was giving her a headache. She heard her father talking kindly, but she did not care.
Then the door opened and her father smiled at her. "Move over, Lizzie, we're taking the Hughs and their niece home." He stepped back quickly. "Your manservant can ride on the back…"
A young blonde woman in a white dress climbed in and sat across from Elizabeth. She gave a weary simper. Her peacock feather was cramped against the ceiling. "Begging your pardon, Miss Swann."
"Not at all," Elizabeth managed brightly, then watched a middle-aged couple climb in. Slender Mrs. Hugh sat next to Elizabeth with portly Mr. Hugh beside her. Governor Swann took his place next to young Miss Hugh. The door was closed and everyone stiffened as if anticipating complete suffocation. Quickly, the window curtains were pulled aside and the atmosphere loosened as the carriage began to move.
"Well." Governor Swann looked about at his less-than-happy companions. "You're in good hands. That Mr. Brown and Will Turner certainly can work magic on any scrap of metal. They were so kind to come at this hour of the morning."
Elizabeth blinked rapidly and focused out her window. A handsomely appointed carriage leaned into the street. Its twisted front wheel rested in the hands of a tall, dark-haired youth dressed in a simple shirt and breeches. Standing in front of him was a stocky man who shouted angrily. As they passed, the youth remained focused on his wheel, but his head turned ever so slightly toward the road. Elizabeth quickly sat back.
She looked up just in time to see Miss Hugh sit back as well. Their eyes met. Miss Hugh quirked an eyebrow and gave the tiniest appreciative nod toward the youth's receding form.
Elizabeth flushed and looked away.
"Are you sure you don't want a bit of chocolate, miss? Warm milk?"
Elizabeth Swann shook her head tiredly. "I just need to sleep, Ann. And besides, I think I've outgrown warm milk."
"Miss!" the blond maid chucked her on the chin. "Surely that's impossible."
Elizabeth watched the older woman walk to the dressing table and blow out the candles. Now only a small oil lamp on Elizabeth's bedside table burned, hissing softly. Elizabeth faced the lamp, burrowing into her soft pillow.
"Elizabeth." Ann was a friendly specter in the gloom. "You're more than tired. With all due respect."
Elizabeth smiled. Ann had been Elizabeth's wet nurse when Elizabeth's mother had died of smallpox in England. She was the closest person Elizabeth had to a mother. "Ann, if…" Elizabeth huffed. "If someone wanted to marry me, and he asked Father, do you think Father would tell me?"
"We've talked of this before." Gentle fingers smoothed Elizabeth's hair. "I don't know any better than when you asked last. Why are you wondering again?"
Elizabeth rolled back, meeting Ann's warm blue eyes. "He's acting addled. He looks at me when he thinks I don't know it. And Norrington asked for the first two dances!"
Ann chuckled softly and sat down on the edge of the bed. "And you worry the Captain wishes to marry you? Miss, many a maid's been asked for the first two dances and nothing's come of it. Sometimes it means something, sometimes it doesn't. You'll go addled yourself if you wonder about it. And as for your father…who can say?" She leaned slightly toward Elizabeth. "And Captain Norrington would make you a wonderful husband."
Elizabeth's eyes slid back to the lamp.
Ann smoothed her hair one last time. "Sleep now. All things work out in time."
Elizabeth held onto Ann's parting smile, watching the woman fade into the darkness. Her bedroom door opened, closed. Quiet fell.
Elizabeth stared unblinking at her lamp, wishing the flame would burn away the tall, dark-haired mirage floating in its core. She knew it wouldn't.
Finally her burning eyes closed of their own accord and she faded into velvet dreams.