"I have a surprise for you."
Norrington looked aghast at her words, and Theo grinned, laughing and quickly continuing before he could get up and sprint back to the Interceptor. Or maybe just directly into the ocean. Whatever he continued to be the swiftest form of escape.
"You can relax, it's not for you. But you had a pretty big hand in it, so I wanted you to be the first to see it."
"The necklace?"
It could never be said that he wasn't shrewd. Or that she didn't have a way or making things painfully obvious, she supposed.
"The necklace," she confirmed, sifting through her skirts until she found the pockets sewn within.
"Wouldn't I be the third to see it, then? Behind Turner and yourself?"
"If I knew that you were going to be like this about it, you'd have been the twentieth."
"The twenty-first would've been too insulting?"
"Had to save a spot for Amelia."
"I shall keep the rest of my comments to myself, so I'm not catapulted further still down the list."
"Mm – any more snark and I'd have to put you square behind taking it to the cells in Fort Charles to show the folk there before I let you see it."
"In which case I would have to give permission – which I would only bestow if you allowed me to see the necklace, as recompense."
"I bow down to a skilled tactician," she said drily.
Of course, her deadpan humoured was dulled a bit by the smile on her face, but she couldn't help it. Who could have ever thought that the inscrutable James Norrington would ever be willing to sit and chat nonsense with her – unbegrudgingly, and with a smile on his face? It beggared belief. And she enjoyed it more than she should.
"It's not an exact replica. They're not so much twins as sisters, but I kind of like that," she explained, drawing the little cloth pouch from her skirts. "It'd be a bit to twee if we were cutting about in matching jewellery."
"Cutting about?"
"Yes, yes, she speaks like a weird little commoner, we know this."
"I was not mocking you," he said simply.
He looked tempted to add something else and she waited patiently for him to do so, but when he finally did, she had the feeling it wasn't what he originally intended to say.
"Must I beg, if I wish to see this necklace?"
"Is that an offer?"
"No," came his emphatic response.
Theo laughed, unwrapping it and then dangling it by the chain before him. The pendant was around the same size as her own, and shone just as brightly, but with small curling designs running along the edges of the shape. Will had explained the reasoning for this – something to do with imperfections in the only silver he'd been able to squirrel away for use, and how this disguised them. But they were very pretty, so she'd hardly been inclined to complain in the first place.
He looked at the necklace – truly looked at it, rather than just fixing his eyes in its general direction for a polite amount of time before he went on to rattle off some sort of canned, polite compliment. The action made Theo more nervous than she let on. Sure, she'd borrowed some of Elizabeth's jewellery here and there for social gatherings, but he'd spent his whole life surrounded by the fashions and the ways of this time. If something was up with the necklace, he'd see it immediately.
Once upon a time, she would have expected him to therefore voice it immediately, too. But now she honestly couldn't say whether she'd expect that from him or not – for he was kinder than she'd first realised. Even if he probably wouldn't thank her for pointing it out.
"It's a fine piece," he said, holding it up to the light and nodding with approval that appeared perfectly sincere. "I'm sure Miss Swann will be ecstatic."
"I hope she will be. It's just such a relief to finally be able to do something nice for her," she admitted, accepting the necklace back.
He cleared his throat, perhaps uncomfortable with the sincere tone their conversation was taking, then he hesitated for a moment before he spoke.
"You must know that neither of the Swanns would hold any expectation in that regard."
"Of course I do. That just makes it worse. If they begrudged what they gave me, I'd feel less bad about it."
"Ireland must be a strange land indeed," he snorted.
Although there was something in his tone that suggested he knew exactly what she meant.
"No," she sighed, only half-joking. "Just me."
Thankfully, he chose that moment to steer them into less choppy, awkward waters.
"I'm curious. You're well-read, and you mentioned missing your books from home. What do you ordinarily read?"
Had she not been trying to rein in a very mortifying bout of emotions, she might've realised how that had the potential to be a dangerous question – given the time discrepancy.
"Whatever I can get my hands on. It depends on my mood. History…"
By that, she meant salacious autobiographies of her favourite musicians.
"…Philosophy…"
That one, at least, he could take at face value.
"…Horror," she added.
"Horror?" he frowned.
Well. It looked like that hadn't been invented yet. Great. Although she shouldn't have really been surprised, she supposed – what book invented it? He'd been pretty generous in describing her as well-read, but she wasn't an expert on literature, nor educated on it enough to know when certain genres began or how. She could guess that horror began as gothic literature and morphed a bit, and it did seem a bit early even for that. Although she wasn't sure what signs she could look for. Amelia stomping about the town in Demonia platforms and black lipstick? Annoyingly, she'd probably be able to pull it off.
Alas, she'd dug herself into this hole now – so she might as well start making it hospitable.
"Horror – stories of…of ghosts, and the supernatural, and of people who do terrible things."
"It hardly sounds like the stuff of recreational reading."
"It makes sense, once you dig into it."
"By all means, explain it to me."
From anybody else, it might've felt condescending. Hell, from him it would have been condescending only a few weeks ago. But instead, as he spoke, he watched her with open curiosity – with expectation. Not because he was waiting for her to make an absolute tit out of herself, but because he genuinely expected that what she was about to say might be interesting. From James Norrington, that was damn high praise.
"It…it provides a safe avenue to explore those feelings," she cringed at how new-age faux-intellectual that sounded, especially to someone who had actually fought in battles out at sea, and quickly continued. "For someone who's never experienced real fear, or real danger, if they get really engrossed in a story full of those things, they experience that fear. Obviously to a far, far lesser extent, but it's something. It's better than nothing. I'm not saying a book'll turn them into some grizzled war veteran-"
"Like myself?" he asked drily.
"You're not grizzled," she snorted. "Reading horror is just…microdosing danger."
"Microdosing danger?"
Was she hallucinating, or was that an amused smile on his face? One that wasn't even grudging? God, she was at risk of swooning.
"Yeah, like-"
"I can guess your meaning well enough, even if I've never heard the phrasing before."
"Look at us, bridging the language barrier. You've a promising career in diplomacy ahead of you."
"By God, I hope not. If you'd been paying attention, you would have seen that my skill lies in conflict."
"So does diplomacy, really."
"Diplomats cannot utilise cannons in their work."
"Maybe you could be the first."
He rolled his eyes and she couldn't help but laugh fondly, wrenching them back to the topic at hand. There was only so much of her nonsense that he'd willingly tolerate before he excused himself, and she enjoyed his company.
"There's something thrilling about it, too. Scaring yourself when there isn't anything real to be scared of. Monsters, evil, the like. It can be exciting."
"Spoken like one who has never encountered monsters, nor evil," he said flatly.
"You don't know what I've seen."
She meant the words to be teasing – referring to what she knew lay ahead, perhaps, or maybe just the sight of her dad's brothers-in-arms hungover on a Sunday morning. James didn't laugh, which wasn't that surprising, but nor did he roll his eyes. Instead, he looked…well, not quite stricken, but suddenly very solemn indeed, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly for a moment before he forced his lips together. Bowing his head, he cleared his throat and then looked back at her again, very much the solemn Captain Norrington.
"You are right – I do not. My apologies."
Theo blinked in surprise. She'd gotten fairly decent, although far from infallible, when it came to gauging her daft little jokes here, but Norrington's sincere and solemn response caught her off guard. Not least because he watched her keenly now. Was there something she should be saying?
"Er…don't worry about it. I was only being silly."
He continued looking at her for a few long moments, and she couldn't help but feel like whatever he'd wished for her to say, that hadn't been it.
Governor Swann was holding a dinner party that evening – for the seniormost men in Port Royal who were about to make sail. It was a tradition that the Governor himself had founded shortly after arriving in Port Royal, ensuring that the men about to leave at least got one good meal in, as well as a bit of entertaining company, before they went off to see to their duty. Ordinarily, it was something James merely endured. Yes, he often found he enjoyed the evenings more than he expected to, but that lack of expectation seldom had anything to do with the company he would find there.
He'd more than earned his reputation of being a man of duty. Whatever minor gripes he had with how they extended to whispers that he had no sense of humour, or that he could find no joy in anything but duty, he could roll his eyes and brush off such comments. Not least because of the small amount of truth in them – for on the nights before he was due to leave Port Royal, he simply had no desire to spend the last of his time making small-talk in drawing rooms. No, he would much prefer to instead spend it making sure that everything was in order, including his thoughts, before he left.
This voyage would require no extensive preparations. It was more of a patrol than a real mission. A short journey through the surrounding waters, aimed at both ensuring those waters were safe, maintaining a tangible presence for any foul eyes who may be watching with malintent, and to stop their wits from dulling during extensive time inland.
Still, James found himself disgruntled at what lay ahead…and all because of a conversation he'd had with Governor Swann himself, that morning as they walked the battlements of Fort Charles.
"Elizabeth is ecstatic at the prospect of tonight – it's her first chance to show off her gift from Miss Byrne. I don't suppose you've seen it?"
"No," he lied. "I have not. What is it?"
If he told the truth of the matter, there ran a real risk of credit being attributed to him, and not Miss Byrne. He had no risk to detract from her victory. Not when he'd seen how jubilant it made her.
"A necklace – a pretty little trinket, to be sure. It won't be featured next to the Crown Jewels any time soon, but the sentimental value behind the piece far outshines those in the eyes of my daughter."
James chuckled. "I'm sure it does."
"Truth be told, I was worried about the influence our guest may have on her, but I've discovered those worries were all for naught. Miss Byrne has certainly brightened up her days considerably. Thick as thieves, those two."
"Good. I'm glad."
Worryingly, he found he even meant that. Mostly.
"You never know, perhaps Miss Byrne will find herself a suitor during one such evening as tonight."
Stilling, James blinked and looked up at the Governor. "A suitor?"
"Come, Captain," the Governor chuckled, misunderstanding his shock. "She has her eccentricities, but she's fair. Some may even profess to find her charming, in her way. If we cannot find her father, and if he does not find us, or if he cannot find us, God help him, we must…look to the future. She could do far worse for herself than a strapping young lieutenant. Although, I grant you, it would have to be one with good humour."
There were only two lieutenants who came to mind at all, and the latter part of Governor Swann's statement firmly ruled out Gillette from the running. Although he had to admit, it would make a good show to see Gillette trying to woo a woman such as Theodora Byrne. But Groves? The notion of Groves doing so filled him with less humour. And how could it not, he reasoned? They knew nothing of her background, nor how that background may impact whether she was eligible at all. That was the source of his discomfort. Nothing more.
The memory of the conversation had James' lips thinning. Hopefully Governor Swann had less of a stomach for matchmaking than his daughter did.
Ordinarily, this turn of events would have been a great help. Elizabeth could no longer fill her mind with misguided notions regarding himself and Theodora if Miss Byrne was occupied with the attentions of Groves, that much was true. It would have been an exceedingly neat little solution. One, he was sure, he would have personally encouraged – were it not for the extraneous factors.
And as for those extraneous factors, he was certain – truly certain – that he was getting somewhere. You don't know what I've seen. When they'd first met, she never would have admitted such a thing aloud to him. This camaraderie that had grown between them, that very same camaraderie that surprised him in how little he had to feign or resort to pretence in order to achieve it, and worried him in how natural and easy it felt, was working.
Was it wrong for him to find happiness in that? More than the mere satisfaction in achieving an important aim, but the true pleasure in having gained the confidence of a woman – a person – who had shown themselves to be truly decent, whatever her secrets? For he was good at sniffing out artifice and foul intentions, and while Theodora had some of the former about her, she had none of the latter. Today, he'd almost even slipped up and admitted that he liked her strange little idioms and turn of phrase, but he held himseld back. Thankfully. For that could very well be misread, and spook her. And when she did finally confide in him, as he was growing more and more hopeful that she would, he would in turn finally be able to help her.
The notion of Groves swooping in and courting her was just that. A mere notion. A passing possibility planted in his mind by an errant comment of Governor Swann's – a fleeting comment he probably now had no recollection of making, for it meant so little. It was not set in stone, and it only bothered James personally because he might undo the progress he was making here. That was all.
Yes. That was all.