A.N.: Holy cheese, my traffic graph records 2,056 views? That's crazy! However, I am noticing a lack in reviews...I am anxious to hear what you guys think. Please, don't be afraid to write constructive criticism. I always love to hear your opinions, and if there's anything that will make this story better, go ahead and tell me what you think. I only ask that you not write a flame, as I don't find them helpful, and quite frankly, I ignore them. There's nothing I can gain from an inarticulated, heated rant besides viewing the person as hate-filled and ignorant of giving proper criticism where it is needed. Thanks again for all the favorites! Apologies in advance for the rather short chapter, but the next two will be a bit longer.
It was abundantly clear to Norrington in the following days that Catherine was still spitting mad at him. She wore a false, tight little smile every time they happened to meet, and her eyes were snapping with fury.
On the fourth day of enforced silence on her part, save in public, Norrington cornered her in the fort and said, "Alright. What is wrong, Miss Tuttle? What has you so angry with me?"
"Who said I was angry?" she asked him imperiously.
"Oh, I don't know. Just a feeling!" he snapped sarcastically.
"And what gave you that idea?" Catherine bit out.
"Perhaps the fact that you have been utterly ignoring me, have been glaringly obvious in your disdain of my person when we happen to meet in public, and your general air of disgust every time we come across each other!" Norrington exclaimed.
"My goodness," she smirked coldly. Norrington almost wished she was raging at him instead. "You actually managed to string more than five words together into a sentence! Congratulations. Now if you don't mind, I should like to take my leave of you." With that, Catherine stalked off again, her cream colored muslin gown whispering behind her.
For the remainder of the week, she stayed away from him at all costs. When he finally cornered her after she settled the children in their play room, he asked, "Will you walk with me?"
She gave him a measuring look, but agreed.
"I feel as if I am missing something here. What precisely has made you so angry with me?" he asked as they took a turn about the courtyard.
"It was your persistent attitude and sharp-tongued comments, and your failure to acknowledge them," she said.
Norrington stared at her in disbelief for a few moments before saying, "That's it?"
Clearly, this was the wrong thing to say. Catherine's expression shuttered, and she withdrew her arm from his. "I think I shall bid you good day, Commodore," she said coolly.
Norrington sighed in frustration and pinched the bridge of his nose. After a few moments, he looked up and began to go after her. Catherine, however, was walking at a surprisingly fast clip, and Norrington was obliged to jog several paces before his long legs allowed him to catch up.
"Miss Tuttle, wait. Please listen to me," he said, placing a hand on her arm.
She turned around with an exasperated look on her face. "Yes Commodore, what is it?" she asked testily.
"I understand my behavior was atrocious, and I wish to apologize for that. However, when I made that comment, I meant no offense to you. I was simply surprised that it had been for that. I thought I had made quite a serious transgression upon your person, and had been wracking my brains trying to think what it could have been."
She stared at him unblinkingly until he began to feel uneasy, and then nodded. "I accept your apology," she said in a low voice. "Elizabeth has extended an invitation to luncheon this Saturday. Will you be joining us?" Catherine asked.
Norrington nodded. "Yes, indeed, madam. I look forward to seeing you then."
"Likewise," she smiled tightly. Apparently, not all was forgiven.
When Saturday rolled around, Norrington strode up to the front door and knocked. He handed his cloak and hat to the servant, and proceeded into the dainty sitting room, where an informal luncheon was set out.
"Hello, Commodore!" Elizabeth chirped. "I hope your ride was not too wet? This dreadful weather seems to be getting to everyone today. Even Catherine is brooding!"
Said woman shot a filthy glare at her friend and returned to sipping her tea, a dark look on her face.
"My dear Miss Tuttle, what has you in such a mood?" Norrington chuckled.
"Nothing," she growled.
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "She has an unwelcome visitor," she said.
"Oh really? Who?" Norrington asked.
"My rotten cousin decided to prance off a ship and into my sitting room last night," she grumbled into her cup. "I simply cannot abide Alistair. He is foul, spoiled, a nancy, and downright rude! Not to mention chauvinist," she added.
"Indeed?" Norrington said dubiously. "And how long shall this delightful model of society be staying for?"
"Three months!" Catherine all but roared. Elizabeth jumped next to her on the overstuffed sofa.
"My goodness, Catherine! I think you might have ruptured my eardrum!" she exclaimed.
"You would be shouting too, if you had a cousin like Alistair!" Catherine responded. "I cannot believe his audacity! Ugh!" She threw herself back against the sofa in disgust and glanced into her teacup, which proved to be empty. "Elizabeth, would you mind serving me a bit more tea?" she asked. "I find myself lacking some."
"Of course, my dear friend," Elizabeth laughed.
Norrington himself was chuckling while the Swann girl refilled the porcelain cup. "I think I might have to meet this charming individual and see for myself then."
"Your funeral," she muttered. "I tell you, he's absolutely horrible to get on with. It was a miracle that I managed to get away from him at all. I only fear my staff will up and leave because of him. I tell you, he's abominable."
Norrington laughed again, but said, "I believe you, never fear." After that, they turned to the dainty little finger sandwiches, tea, and cakes set out by the servants.
Conversation flowed as much as the food and drink, and by the time the clock struck two they were already on their third pot of tea.
"Elizabeth, I have no wish to overstay my welcome, but I truly do not have any desire to go back home right now," Catherine sighed as she sprawled elegantly over her side of the couch. Elizabeth was her mirror image on the opposite end, and Norrington was lounging quite comfortably in his own armchair, his feet propped up on a squashy footstool.
"Please. You could never overstay," Elizabeth said, waving a lazy hand. "Spend the night if you want. Have Grace send over a small trunk of clothes for tomorrow."
"No, I could not do that, I am afraid," she sighed. "Alistair would never forgive me. Not to mention, it wouldn't be seemly, considering I am his hostess, however unwilling. I shall have to go home at some point."
"Hmmm…I suppose you are right," Elizabeth agreed, nodding over her newest cup of tea.
"Naturally. I am always right," Catherine sniffed. She and Elizabeth looked at each other, and then burst out laughing. Norrington grinned – it pleased him greatly to see the two of them acting so free and, dare he say, silly, with each other.
It had been some months since the events of The Black Pearl and the pirates' sacking of Port Royal, and he finally felt like he was starting to heal. It still hurt when he thought about his failed engagement, and sometimes his heart stuttered to a stop in his chest when Elizabeth walked into a room, but he was truly at peace now with his decision, and this allowed his friendship with the fiery, headstrong woman to be cultivated into something even greater than what they had previously had. Somehow, somewhere along the way, even with all of her pranking and general trickery, Catherine Tuttle had managed to worm her way in and was considered a friend, too. Norrington knew he was going insane when he finally acknowledged her new status in his eyes.
As the afternoon wore on, the small party increased in hilarity until Norrington started to suspect that perhaps the tea was being spiked with brandy.
"…So then," Catherine was saying, her face red from laughter, "So then he goes up to her with her wig in his hands, drunk as a lord, and says, 'Madame, I fear you have lost your hair!' The Countess was so affronted she slapped him across the cheek with her fan! My cousin never recovered in her eyes, but it was her fault for wearing such an atrociously high wig. Her sister obviously felt my cousin was in the right of it though, for they married a year later. Oh, la! Look at the time! It's after four. Alistair will have his britches in a bundle if I don't go home soon." Catherine sighed.
"Oh please, Catherine. Do stay! I should love to hear what your cousin did with the Countess as his sister-in-law!" Elizabeth pleaded. "He sounds so free! Clearly, society does not mean much to him."
"Absolutely not!" Catherine said decidedly. "Patrick could not give a tuppence for what society thinks of him. From what I hear, he constantly antagonizes the odious woman. I heard he even secretly knocked her wig from her head with a billiards stick once. She was leaning over to give some treat to her little lap dog, and he did it as he was moving around the table. She never knew it was him. Although, he was apparently quite drunk at the time, so it is entirely possible he did it by accident and claimed credit for it later, when his wits were about him."
"Exactly how big is your family?" Norrington asked. "You have a cousin here, a cousin married to a Viscountess…who else?"
"Oh, our family is sprawling," she said flippantly, waving a hand. "There are relatives all over England, and some in the Lowlands of Scotland. We are the only ones in the Caribbean so far though. Well, now Alistair is here too. Apparently it was for his 'health'. Faugh! He likes to play his doting mother's sympathies with complaints of a 'weak constitution'!" She made her voice take on a hard, grating, high pitched edge that had Norrington wincing.
"Good Lord, does he really sound like that?"
"Absolutely," she sighed, throwing her head back against the armrest of the sofa. "And to imagine…I have that to live with for the next quarter year…"
"Oh, you poor baby," Elizabeth cooed, patting her shoulder.
"Oh, get off!" Catherine laughed. She sighed, stretched, and said, "I should really be getting home now. Thank you for a delightful luncheon and respite from much needless whining, my dear."
She paused and sniffed as she walked past Norrington, and said, "Ew, what is that smell?" Then she smirked, and Norrington knew (with an annoyed roll of his eyes) that everything was back to normal.