It was Monday, practically an extension to the overlong weekend and a day which Elizabeth finally had open for her own devices. She had spent so much of the weekend lonely and idle, she found herself more than well rested once the sun began to peek through the cracks left in her curtains. Enough so, she practically sprang from her bed to don her dressing gown and make her way downstairs to the dining room come eight o'clock. She had high hopes for today.
The rectangular dining room had been one of the places the pirates raided during and after her kidnapping—however the belief that they'd found the child of Will's father, still carrying the final golden piece of their freedom, had triggered an excitement that cut their raid short from what it could have been. The thefts ended up limited to things that could be swiped from easy-to-reach surfaces and carried away in a single haul—things like the silver and porcelain on the tables and inside the hidden china cabinet she had attempted to conceal herself. As such, little restitution had been needed here, and the room was as stunning as ever. It was large enough for a long table set with eight upholstered chairs to be tucked in along its edges, and around half a dozen more similarly ornamented seats lined the walls, providing flexibility for hosting large parties or balls. All accounted for were its three large rugs, lush paintings, ornate brass mirror, console table, writing desk, and large chandelier. There was even a magnificently painted oriental screen propped up against the far window that had survived the raid—that was especially fortunate, considering the pirates had attempted to burn the property down by lighting curtains on fire in other places.
The large, tastefully carved and whitewashed fireplace sat two grand windows along the longer wall on the outside edge of the house. It was now missing its centerpiece ornamental sword display but stood otherwise unscathed, directly opposite to the sideboard where their breakfast offerings had been laid out to Elizabeth's right. Her wig free, banyan wrapped father had just sat himself at the table with a plate of handpicked cold cuts and bread in one hand, a small stack of folded paper in the other.
"Good morning, Father!" she chirped, stopping to plant a quick kiss to his cheek from behind.
"Oh! Good morning!" he gasped with a laugh, a little startled but obviously happy. "I haven't seen you at breakfast in quite some time—what is the occasion?"
She shrugged a dismissal and ran her hands casually along the back of an empty chair, acting as if rising before ten was the most natural thing in the world for her. "Perhaps I am truly rested at last… or perhaps I simply would like to spend a peaceful moment with my beloved father?"
"Hm…" was her father's only reply, accompanied by an overtly skeptical expression. He began to eat his morning meal.
"Has the post arrived yet…?"
This earned her a pointed, knowing look—he'd predicted that this would be why she was up, seeing as the weekend had delayed letter delivery. She simply responded with an exceedingly "innocent" smile and shrug. He gestured to the sideboard, shaking his head as she practically bounced to it.
After selecting a slice of ham and tucking it into her mouth out of her father's line of sight, she picked up and sorted through the letters that lay waiting for her, wandering to a seat at the table as she read their seals. She had three today: one with a blank wafer, one from Will, and one from Commodore Norrington. The sight of each letter elicited a distinct and contrasting emotion, jumping from the cloud of curiosity, the fire of anticipation and, finally, a sinking feeling that could only be described as dread.
"Quite popular today, I see," her father's voice cut into her thoughts.
When she looked to him to reply, her eyes were caught by the paper in his own hand, which was a printed leaflet instead of a handwritten sheet.
"What's this?" she asked, coming to stand next to him.
He handed the sheet for her examination as he answered, "Someone in Spanish Town has decided to start an island newspaper."
"Oh?" she turned it over in her hands and glanced at its contents.
'The Royal Gazette,' it was titled with a strong and large typeface across the top. For the rest, it was fairly crude, having only two columns of smaller text front-to-back, bulletined with simple dates and having hardly any other variation to the typeface.
Her father continued, "I figured it's best to keep an eye on it. Currently it mostly consolidates business news for the planters and mercantile class..."
The "business" of slavers, Elizabeth realized he meant. So this paper probably came about at least partially as a means to coordinate reports on incoming slave ships, as well as the enslaved peoples recently escaping the plantations to join the maroons. Suddenly the paper wasn't quite so compelling anymore, and Elizabeth re-presented it to her father. He was in mid-bite of his toast, and gestured for her to take another look until he had chewed and swallowed.
"Mm! You might find the little gossip section interesting."
For whatever reason, that recommendation struck another nerve with her, and Elizabeth found herself curtly replying before she could stop herself, "Would I?"
Perhaps she was still somewhat bitter from her father's "private" conversation with Will the week prior, but she couldn't help assuming that her father was inferring that the truly mercantile portions of the paper would not interest or seem of use to her, as a woman, while the bavardage on who was fucking whom would.
Evidently her thoughts were written across her face, as her father's reaction fell into one mixed between contrition and exasperation, "Come now. There's pirate stories in there every now and again—that's all I meant by it. No need to get cross."
Oh. She felt a little bashful for her hasty assumption, and mutely sat in a chair as she weighed her degraded judgement of character against her pride.
Governor Swann shook his head to himself. "Though I would have hoped that the stories would have lost their appeal after having experienced the reality of piracy…"
There he was, going on about "reality" again. He'd probably bring it up with Will at some point, if he hadn't already. Why was her father so in love with that word these days? Sometimes she wondered if he was trying to make sense of all that they had seen during the battle at the Isla de Muerte. Perhaps he wanted to dismiss the curse as a dream…? It certainly felt like it had been a dream sometimes. Or maybe it wasn't the past that concerned him at all, and it was just another crack in his façade attempting to hide his true anxieties regarding her future.
She wished he'd just speak to her directly about these things. He used to…
Suddenly, Mister Paterman was at Elizabeth's elbow. "What to drink, Miss?"
"Just tea, thank you."
As Paterman arranged and presented her a tray, Elizabeth was reminded why she had come down to the dining room in the first place, and returned her attention to her stack of letters. Her hands flew almost instinctively to Will's penmanship, but just as she was about to break the seal, her mind slipped to the more intimate contents of their last few exchanges. There was nothing lurid or shameful to them. Will had once lamented to Elizabeth that he wasn't much of a writer, being much more inclined to telling stories and saying things as he felt they really were in the moment instead of conjuring up profound pictures of poetry. There may have been some truth to it. While he had become more content to act the bolder version of himself in the wake their adventure, their romance was yet young, and he often still wrote to her more like an old friend than an ardent lover. Usually he shared anecdotes about his neighbors and clientèle that made her seethe and laugh, effused about his visions for his master's business, and lately she thought they'd probably spent as much ink effusing over the virtues of good swords as they did over each other.
But even though Will's words were generally casual, they were always a sincere reflection of his thoughts, his experience, his self. His informal style made it feel all the more comfortable for Elizabeth to express herself in turn with the exact language she wished, to also speak about things as she really felt they were, free, easy and confident there would be no criticism in return. What is more, not all Will said was lowly or platonic. In fact, she felt he undersold himself on his abilities to convey his passions—be they about herself, his craft or otherwise. It wasn't an intentional pursuit for artistry on his part, she was sure, but when Will did become swept up in expressions of his affections and desires for her, Elizabeth felt they could be some of the most beautiful words in the world. After years of silence, here were his thoughts and feelings made known, and they were meant for her. These were the passages she kept to herself, secreted away for her sneaking indulgent glances by lamplight, as if making up for the "pirate" medallion she had long kept concealed to a point near negligence. Their exchanges evoked the dulcet intimacy of speaking quietly in each other's ears, and she reveled in the closeness, feeling even as they wrote of the doings of the day that they were exchanging pieces of their minds and hearts in ways that, until recently, had only been a fantasy. Reading such things near others' inquiring eyes somehow felt like entertaining an audience where it was not wanted—she felt she enjoyed Will's letters more when she could take them in slowly and in her own privacy.
So she shuffled Will's message to the bottom of the stack for later. This revealed Norrington's surprise letter, which made the hairs stand on the back of her neck. She shuffled that one quickly to the bottom of the stack as well.
That left the mystery letter.
Elizabeth eyed the signet-less dispatch and felt a surge of curiosity rise up anew. Even Will had an identifiable stamp for his wafers—who could possibly wish to contact her anonymously? She doubted whatever it was could realistically be good, but there was an enticement in the mystery all the same. She could dream as she had last night: that Jack Sparrow and the crew of the Black Pearl had a special invitation for her, one for a new adventure with less threat of rape and murder, and more promise for thrills, romance and hunts for secret treasures. She had dreamed that she had persuaded Will to come along—he had said yes, of course, loosing his hair and brandishing his best swords for the occasion. Then hand-in-hand she and Will bartered passage to Tortuga and onward aboard the Black Pearl, towards the shores of El Dorado and a romance truly quite unlike anything to be found in Port Royal…
What a fantastic dream it had been. But what was it her father had been on about lately? Reality. And in reality, she highly doubted this dispatch held any such promise for secret summons and lost treasures–as disappointing as it was. Reaching for her father's letter opener, she cut the seal and set about unfolding the elaborate letter lock. Eventually, she managed to undo the final fold and held the letter at a proper angle to begin reading:
Dearest Elizabeth, I hope my letter finds you well and without too much surprise, considering how long it has been since last we spoke. No doubt you are tired of hearing such things, but my family and I were mortified to hear of the attack on Port Royal and so very thankful to hear of your safe rescue—"Did you sleep well, my dove?" Elizabeth's father cut into her focus.
"Hm?" she responded reflexively as her mind took a moment to sort between her father's question and the contents of the letter.
This was the biggest reason why she preferred to read Will's messages in private: her father was quite good at splitting his attention between paper-bound and auditory tasks. He therefore had little difficulty reading his correspondence at the same time as holding a conversation. But he also seemed to forget that this was a peculiar skill that not everyone possessed, and apparently felt little hesitation in striking up talk with someone who was quite in the middle of reading something.
She replied to him all the same, once her mind had sorted out his question, "Oh yes, thank you. How did you sleep?"
"Rather poorly, I'm afraid. Too many things on the mind."
"I'm sorry to hear that..." she trailed off as she refocused her attention on her letter. She really was sorry for him, but she would ask him more about it in a moment. After all, all he really wanted was to talk with her—the topic rarely mattered. And since chatting about her letter usually helped him leave room for her to finish her reading, she switched the topic while her eyes darted to the bottom of the note to reveal its sender: "The Blackwells send their regards."
He took to the switch in conversation like a duck to water. "Oh, thank you! I feel like we haven't heard from the Blackwells in years. I suppose Mister Blackwell has always been an unusually severe man for how gracious his wife is, but I suppose that sometimes that is the way of things. Please include my regards when you return their greetings."
She gave her father a smile and a nod in response, and he went back to his breakfast, finally content to leave her to her reading in silence. The letter was from the Blackwell's daughter, Mary, an old acquaintance Elizabeth had made around the time of their shared debut. Her message was filled with several niceties about how often Mary and her mother recalled their younger years near Port Royal with Elizabeth and her father, especially after receiving the news of her kidnapping. There seemed to be an interest in reconnecting. In fact…
"Mary's invited me to stay for a few days with her and her mother at their apartment in Spanish Town."
Elizabeth's father looked genuinely surprised and charmed at that bit of news. "That might be nice—give you a chance to get away from thoughts of…" he paused for a minute, apparently rethinking his original phrasing before settling on, "...your ordeal."
A cynical part of Elizabeth wondered in the edges of her mind whether he simply did not like the taste of words like "capture" and "kidnapping" when it came to her, or if he was thinking of her pending engagement to Will. She would choose to believe the former, although the feeling it could be the latter as well could not be entirely shaken. Not lately.
Elizabeth tucked those thoughts away along with the letter, as she finished reading its contents and loosely approximated its larger folds. Instead, she stood and loaded herself a plate of meat, cheese, jam and toast, and took to mulling over the invitation she had just been extended. There was an admitted appeal to it. She was growing weary of the mansion already, and hadn't had the opportunity to take on the role of visitor to someone else's home in quite some time. Home would always be home, but lately there were certain things about being in the mansion that she felt were causing her distress rather than helping her to "get away from thoughts of her ordeal," as her father had put it. And, in this instance for sure, Elizabeth intended for the word "ordeal" to mean more than one thing.
As if summoned by the direction of her thoughts, her father veered into a different but recently well worn topic: "While you are here, perhaps we might discuss plans for the visiting dignitaries this month?"
Elizabeth's heart dropped. She had been dreading completing this conversation with her father ever since he'd first brought it up, following their homecoming from her rescue. Her father seemed enthusiastic about resuming their old routine as quickly as possible. Aspects of that were welcome to Elizabeth—she would be grateful when strangers would stop speaking to her in affected, piteous tones as if she were now emotionally fragile. Turning the mansion into her personal hermitage didn't help break that illusion.
However, she found herself recoiling from different aspects of his plans and efforts.
At first, she had considered the fatigue that she felt in response to any suggestion of returning to her old duties to merely be a consequence of a more general exhaustion, of a need for recovery in the aftermath of a thrilling yet perilous adventure. But the truth was that these feelings weren't truly new. She had complained in the past of a dull sense of ennui when it came to her father's many soirées. Furthermore, she had rested for days now. And rather than decreasing after being at sea, her feelings of tedium had remained—in some ways, they had even grown further into sentiments Elizabeth could only equate to an unfamiliar form of anxiety.
Sometimes she felt being asked to once again face her father's peers and bear their judgements was what weighed so heavily upon her. And perhaps that was a part of it. But if she were honest with herself, she knew that hearing the things her father had said to Will in private had affected her confidence in his intentions for her somewhat.
But the cause did not matter. The fact remained: with no more murderous, licentious pirates on her tail, these old expectations had become a renewed ordeal to her—one to which her father seemed to be blind.
"Can't this wait until later?" she asked cautiously, reaching to prepare her cup of tea.
"Yes…" her father responded slowly, seeming to consent to her extra time with a good degree of hesitation. "But eventually we must speak about it. This year's assembly is to be a crucial one, Elizabeth, as it will determine whether we secure the proper funding to rebuild our fleet and restore the security of Port Royal and, indeed, the island itself. We are still vulnerable—especially with Commodore Norrington's decision to personally set out after Mister Sparrow."
She laughed a single scoff under the tinkle of her teaspoon against the rim of her teacup. "I'm not sure what you're worried about. Everyone knows you'll get the funding—your bloody slaver friends on your council will see to it that their 'cash crops' speak for themselves."
Her father's posture tensed and the look he granted her grew stern at last. "I don't care for the way you speak, lately."
"... the feeling is mutual…" she muttered into the dainty china now lifted to her lips.
She refused to look at him, though she could feel him staring at her with what she assumed was something combining disappointment and calculation. This topic on the corrupted interests of her father's council and the island's general assembly had become a sore spot for them. As usual, she refused to feel ashamed for stating something that she felt was both obvious and correct—especially not when she knew her father personally shared much of her sentiments, and only was too beholden to those controlling his salary to make anything out of his beliefs. With all that had happened of late, her patience for such timorousness had decreased even more from what little she'd had before.
Eventually her father broke the silence by folding up his banyan and gathering his letters with a set of straightening taps against the table.
"The funding may be secured for the island in theory, but perhaps it hasn't occurred to you that that does not mean our livelihood on this island is secured as well. And you may disagree with the vocation of many of my council members, but you would take care to recall that it is not your place to do so."
He stood from his chair abruptly.
"Now, things have been a little tense lately with the transition back to normal life. Perhaps you should take advantage of Miss Blackwell's offer. A chance to clear your mind may do you good, bring you back to your senses. And god knows you could use some more feminine influence in your life right now…" he responded in a short tone, tucking his paperwork under one arm. The governor then turned heel and left the dining room at a clip.
Elizabeth felt a flash of anger, and placed her teacup down with a heavier hand than she had intended. 'Back to her senses…?' Why was he speaking to her like this? He'd never been this way before—not since she was a child, leastways. She was not the one who had lost their senses lately. If anything, she was certain she had rediscovered and refined hers. He was the one attempting secret meetings, doling out veiled ultimatums regarding her entire future, and now … this. She had half a mind to go after him and retort as much.
But she had sat herself facing the open window of the dining room, and the sight of the cool morning sunshine dancing on the palms beckoned her, reminded her of the hopeful outlook she'd had for the day, how she had intended to escape this hollow, white box and the increasing bitterness that had begun to flow between her and her father, as if needing to fill it with anything. If there was one thing Elizabeth was certain of, it was this: she had to get out of this house. Something about the way things had become since their return had resulted in her and her father eating themselves and each other alive. Perhaps some time apart to clear their heads would do both of them good.
Nodding to herself and taking a bite of toast, her eyes fell on the two remaining letters on the table. She didn't have to decide this business about her visit right away. Mary's invitation was for later in the week, and Spanish Town was not a significant distance from Port Royal—even on foot it was less than a day's journey. No, rather than worry about it right now, she would focus on her plans for today and decide in the evening, at the end of receiving some time, space and outside advice.
Taking the remainder of her letters and breakfast to her room, Elizabeth was able to reveal her plans to Estrella for an escape into town with a little, harmless mischief. As Estrella set about preparing her mistress' toilette with a poorly concealed look of amusement on her face, Elizabeth took the opportunity to discreetly tuck Norrington's letter away in a drawer—to keep it out of sight of inquisitive eyes, she told herself, and not just to avoid the gnawing dread she felt when looking at it.
She then sat herself for her hairdressing, breaking the seal that locked Will's missive and contentedly consuming its contents alongside the last of her breakfast. Though the morning had been marred by mishaps, there was still plenty about the day to look forward to.
Crossing the threshold into the darkness of the smithy felt like stepping into a dream of the past for Elizabeth. The sight, sounds and smell of the forge summoned a distinct childhood memory of peeking through the door, uncertain of whether she could disturb her missing friend, then being surprised by the kindly press of Missus Brown's hand nudging her inside. At the time, Will had looked so small beside the two Misters Brown, his young eyes attentive and untried hands tentative. Once her father had found out about her handful of unauthorized adventures into town, training for her debut had begun in such earnest that she'd hardly had a chance to visit again over the years.
How great a contrast those years could make, as a much taller and broader form now struck the red hot iron held in place by his much smaller seeming master. Each motion of Will's was almost hypnotic in the transformative rhythm and precision of his experience. Framed as he was, bathed in the contrast of heavy shadows and slender beams of sun, painted in ash and sweat across exposed arms and chest, soon Elizabeth found herself entranced—both by the man and the revelation of work in front of him. Together Brown and Turner curved their creation, at one point using the horn of the anvil, at another carefully applying pressure against the ground. Soon their labors revealed the familiar shape of a small, sturdy anchor. Both satisfied, they allowed it to cool propped against the bricks of the forge.
Brown pat Will on his back in a weary signal of thanks, muttering a gruff something to his apprentice before pointing in Elizabeth's direction at the door.
At last, Will's eyes met hers with a gleam of recognition. He hastily hung his hammer, then within a few quick strides he was up the improvised ramp and standing beside Elizabeth on the entrance's main landing. Catching his breath behind a toothy grin, he ran his hands over his apron, reaching out to touch the small of her back and gesture towards the still open door. Clearly he felt they were both owed a greeting in fresher, cooler air. She was somewhat disappointed at the platonic manner in his action, but seeing as she began to feel sweat pooling on her own skin, she understood his reasoning and turned to the exit.
She lifted her petticoats during her step over the door's frame and onto the city's streets. There Estrella awaited the pair with an empty basket slung on her arm, trying to make good use of the shaded steps a few feet away. Elizabeth sighed to Will over her shoulder as she flipped open her fan, "It's incredible how hot it becomes in there—I don't know how you bear it."
"Timing and endurance, mostly," Will replied with a shrug. He caught sight of Estrella, recognizing her as Elizabeth's minder for the day and giving her a courteous little bow. "Good day, Miss Trattles."
"Mister Turner," Estrella replied with a tiny bob of her knees.
Etiquette satisfied, Will turned back to Elizabeth, "Speaking of timing, yours is impeccable today: that was the last item we needed in the forge. We were just about to douse the flames and take our afternoon break."
Elizabeth smiled at that, pleased with herself. "So I don't need to yield you just yet?"
"No, you don't," Will replied with a little laugh that betrayed a poorly concealed curiosity regarding her schemes.
"Then…" she tilted her head and widened the curve of her lips, "… might I tempt you with an excursion to the market for some dainties to take by the water? I'll treat you."
Elizabeth caught Will's eyes darting over her for an instant before he shook his head to himself and averted his gaze. She smirked.
"You've been 'treating me' a lot recently—I'm starting to feel indebted beyond recompense," he responded.
"You will just have to get over it," she quipped in a quickened clip that kept pace with the flutter of her fan. This had been a strange thing about Will that had just begun to show through recently: indications that he felt a duty to repay her for every affectionate token she extended to him, and she wasn't sure what she thought of it. "They aren't debts, they're gifts. It's one of the ways I wish to shower you with my affections."
His eyes were drawn to her once more, this time bearing a teasing shine. "And how am I to shower you in turn?"
Elizabeth wouldn't pretend to know him perfectly, but she knew him well enough to catch that there was something else hiding under the playfulness in his eyes, something she would have to dive into later. For now, she would accept his flirtations, as they were what she had come in search of to begin with.
She reached out her empty hand and pinched a bit of his sleeve, sidling close enough into him to just brush him with her skirts. With an intentionally sultry taunt, she sighed at him, "I'm sure you'll think of something."
"M… Miss Swann…?" Elizabeth heard Estrella's voice start in uncertainty, but she ignored her, keeping her attentions on Will.
Their gazes touched and kindled something in Elizabeth, drifting and settling on each other's smiles. They were in public, standing in the streets on the edge of a busy harbor to be specific, with the nature of their relationship still largely unknown to the world. But it had been days since their meeting at the mansion; it would possibly be days more before they'd catch each other like this again; and oh, how she wished he'd kissed her while behind the smithy's doors. Surely there could be no harm in one little touch, just for a moment. Her fingers clutching at his sleeve shifted their grip to gently grasp his arm, and she leaned into him.
She almost stumbled when Will suddenly took a step away, stammering something about her dress.
Elizabeth frowned, a small but noticeable sensation of worry beginning to swallow up the glow that had blossomed inside of her. First his hasty herding from the smithy, now this? She'd thought that this overly proper side of him had been left in the past. Surely the judgements of others couldn't still weigh so heavily on his mind after all, could it? Would they go back to the way things were previously? She felt her mind starting to creep to the unpleasantness from earlier in the morning…
Will's expression twisted with confusion at her displeasure. But just as her lips parted to express her vexation, suddenly the aspect of his face shifted to surprised understanding. Her lips were stilled. A slow but assured step reintroduced him into her presence, and his hand found her fallen fingers, lifting them between their bodies.
"Allow me a bit of an actual 'shower' first, then I will 'treat you' to your heart's content," he explained in a low hush, followed by the press of a soft kiss to the skin of her cradled hand.
Elizabeth dropped her chin with a sigh. Warmth was blooming inside her once again, a pleasure borne by the relief that the only misgivings Will felt was due to his personal state of cleanliness rather than bygone modesties. However, the hint of concern that still lingered in his eyes called attention to the nagging feeling that something was wrong inside her. This was the second time today she had jumped to false conclusions about the intentions of a man she loved.
'Why am I so tense?'
The roughened pad of Will's thumb ran across her fingers in placation, until he released her and walked to the smithy's door. As he called out his intentions to his master regarding his temporary absence, Estrella appeared at Elizabeth's elbow with an expression that could best be described as 'scolding.' Evidently, they had crossed a line.
Elizabeth couldn't help the smirk that crossed her face, unbidden. Estrella sighed in apparent frustration.
As Will rejoined the women, he shared a perplexed but amused look with Elizabeth briefly, prior to offering her his arm. "To the fountain?"
"Are you bringing that?" Elizabeth asked, pointing at the leather bib still tied about Will's waist and neck.
He paused, staring down at himself as if taken into deep contemplation—clearly he'd somehow managed to forget he was wearing his apron at all.
"... no," he eventually replied, looking up with a bashful smile.
Elizabeth began to laugh. After giving a silly half salute to both her and Estrella, Will turned heel to disappear again in the depths of the smithy.
At his disappearance, Estrella leaned a little closer to Elizabeth. "Was your father not expecting you at dinner, miss?"
Elizabeth's jaw clenched reflexively. "He's occupied today."
Though she refused to look at Estrella, she could feel her skepticism at the response. What did it matter? She'd spent the last few weeks practically pinned to her father's side, and she had only been in town for a few hours. The last thing she wanted to think about was going back to that damned mansion, playing out another version of the morning's breakfast or pretending all was well.
Fortunately, Will soon returned once more. Standing at Elizabeth's side again, he offered her his left arm a second time. As she perched her hand in the crook of his elbow, her eye caught sight of his coat draped over his right arm, evidently for after their stop at the fountain.
"Oh Will, you don't need to wear that. You know I don't mind the informality."
"Yes, I know," he replied, taking a step into the street. "I prefer to have it this time."
She stepped along with him, and the pair made their way towards the town's primary water fountain, Estrella's careful eyes trained and trailing ten steps behind.
Elizabeth glanced backwards at her maid to gauge what types of conversation she might get away with today, but her eyes slipped to the shadowy figure of Will's master shuffling about the smithy with a bowed, balding head that from a distance would have seemed much like her father's, were it not for the scruffy beard. She turned forward once more, having become thoughtful.
"I feel sorry leaving Mister Brown. Perhaps we ought to bring him a peace offering on our way back."
Will touched her hand with light reassurance. "There are still a few puddings left from your last gift—I doubt he'll want for any more."
There was only one small spring that crossed Will's side of Port Royal, providing a trickle of fresh water to a single fountain for all the working classes to collect from. Normally Mister Brown did as most businesses on the peninsula and ordered deliveries of barrels to keep up with the smithy's needs. But that water was consumed rapidly by the forge and their working donkey—what little water remained often grew tepid or stale. So after the end of a long and hot morning, the young blacksmith's apprentice often took this very walk to the small reservoir to refresh his head. He didn't usually have any women in accompaniment, but he figured there'd be no harm in it. And considering Elizabeth's earlier reaction to his recoil from her embrace, he was certain she didn't care at all regarding its decency either.
That earlier moment had been somewhat surprising. Although in recent months she had always shown an open distaste for his once-strict adherence to public decorum, something about the swiftness and intensity of her soured mood had taken him off guard. He'd told her the truth when he'd indicated his thoughts had only been about the soot on his hands, and was glad that she accepted it, seeming to put the issue to rest. However, as they walked and talked together, in between her easy smiles and bursts of laughter came pensive lulls with an unusual look in her he couldn't quite place. And every now and then he felt her fingers clench his arm for half an instant, sensed her shoulder stiffen…
Clearly Elizabeth had something on her mind, and with their chaperone nearby he doubted they'd have a chance to discuss it honestly.
His washup was quick. Elizabeth offered to hold his coat for him, and he reveled in catching the cool water spouting from the stone lion's mouth and splashing it on his hands, across his face… then finally towards his lovely companion.
Will struck true, leaving a small, darkened line of droplets across the front of her petticoats. A small shriek of surprise slipped from Elizabeth, followed by a gape of consternation that quickly evolved into a wicked grin.
"So that's how it's going to be, is it?"
"Miss Swann, Mister Turner—" Miss Trattles began to protest.
But in a flash Elizabeth was swiping at the tiny pool's surface, and sending white sprays of water back into Will's face. Squinting through the drops, he caught her wrist defensively, making her and Miss Trattles gasp when he used his free hand as a cupped paddle to return Elizabeth's attack with full force (although he was careful to continue to aim his splashes below her neck). Elizabeth bared her teeth, and his coat was soon on the floor to gain her her own free hand. Soon the two were caught in a contest, with Elizabeth's hat joining Will's coat as she quickly gained ground, dousing Will with her attacks while her maid moaned fretfully to the side. And while he admittedly wasn't trying very hard to fight Elizabeth, he doubted an attempt would make much difference in the outcome. He knew from age old experience she loved a good brawl.
" Children ," Miss Trattles sighed, " please behave ."
Eventually, Elizabeth's maid's pleadings won out, and the refined lady ended their bout by dipping her hand elegantly into the fountain's basin, to lift and drizzle one last stream over Will's damp head. He clenched his eyes shut as the water trickled down his face and chin, earning an apologetic giggle and careful brushing from Elizabeth's hand. When he opened his eyes, he found the playful mischief still sparkling in hers.
"Are you quite showered now?" she breathed with a laugh, lifting her chin, cocking one eyebrow and perching her tongue just behind her teeth.
For the second time today, Will felt a sudden surge of heat rush up his spine, drawn to the welcoming sight of her eyes and lips. She was continually beguiling. Were it not for Miss Trattles' piteously tense figure in the corner of his vision, he likely would have ignited a new contest of an entirely different nature.
Instead, he shook his head, dipping it back towards the fountain to allow the lion's spout to drench his crown. "Almost."
Without a word, Will sensed Elizabeth move towards him, tacitly loosing his hair to allow him to wet it all as thoroughly as he desired. He took his time, grateful for the water's cooling effect on the fire radiating around and inside of him. As he dipped his hands into the basin and ran them over his face, he heard her leave to pick up their dropped articles. Together the three of them straightened their appearances in silence, Elizabeth's maid re-pinning her delicate hat in place while Will unfurled and fastened his sleeves then closed up waistcoat.
Once his hair was re-queued and his shoulders shrugged into his jacket, Elizabeth claimed her place on his arm. And the group made for the nearest shopping street, with Will hoping the fresh bounce he felt in her step would carry her all the way back to her home.
It was a Monday afternoon nearing the peak in its temperature, and although the market was still a-bustle, already many people who had spent the morning milling about had begun retreating to quieter, more shaded activities and locales. As the streets became more open, Elizabeth wove around man, chicken, and horse, leading Will and Estrella between different carts, stalls, and shops at a rapid pace, largely ignoring the confused glances that followed her party. Elizabeth was determined to allow him the chance to provide his input on each offering before she made her purchase and dropped it in the basket, which Will claimed from Estrella to better convenience their proximity. After less than half an hour, the group was walking out of the bakery, loaded with the mouthwatering offerings of meat pasties, cassava bread, star apples, a crock of pickles, and ales; all they lacked was a place to eat it all.
Will mentioned a bit of shoreline where he sometimes liked to go, indicating it wasn't far from where they stood. Estrella was familiar with the suggested beach and gave it her approval. Evidently, it was a popular mealtime spot and offered lovely views of the larger ships coming and going from the island. Elizabeth knew her sudden presence in a place not usually frequented by people of her status could draw special attention, and she wondered whether they'd be able to enjoy themselves with extra inquisitive eyes turned upon them. However, having largely only seen such parts of Port Royal from the heights of her carriages and high class soirées, the chance to mingle with the city's more common folk seemed novel and even a little exciting.
So it was agreed. Within another half hour, the small group found themselves on the sands northwest of the city, wandering between gatherings of people of all types and sizes near the sights and sounds of the harbor. Some people milled about, selecting seats and munching on market treats much as Elizabeth, Will and Estrella intended. Others had wares to sell, carrying edibles like bananas and bread or parrots, monkeys, and iguanas to catch people's eyes. Sailors from the East had brought kites in colorful shapes and were flying them to the amusement of the gathered crowds, hoping for buyers of their own.
The trio scanned the perimeters, looking for a spot that was somewhat shaded and sequestered. However, it being the time of most people's dinner, choices were scarce. As they searched, Estrella and Will were waved and called out to multiple times by people Elizabeth could not claim to recognize at all. At length, a man smoking a pipe that was almost obscured by his impressive beard and eyebrows approached them, greeting Will by name, a firm handshake and playful hounding over the tardiness of a recent order. Soon the man's pale eyes turned to Elizabeth, examining her over a long, thoughtful draw from his pipe.
"I believe I've seen you before," the man croaked. "Though it's not so often we see a woman of your type out here in particular."
"Well, if you amuse me enough, I may be inclined to change that," Elizabeth rejoined.
The man threw his head back and laughed, slapping Will's shoulder, which knocked the younger man off balance to the point of stumbling. "What're you doing around an article like her, Turner? She's too sharp a blade, even for you!"
After some good natured ribbing and question dodging, the man introduced himself as "just Hezekiah," and indicated his team was about to vacate their spot. It offered little in the way of shade, but it had a softer stretch of sand free from rocks and sat along the edge of the beach, where less people might see them. They gratefully accepted his offer, and before much longer were greeting and faring well a small pack of carpenters vacating the spot in question. Will revealed the real reason for wearing his coat, as he spread it on the ground and graciously offered Elizabeth and Estrella its place for a seat. Estrella waved Will off, opting to use her own apron instead with the claim, "that's what it's there for."
Finally, the basket was laid before them and the hungry party dug in with relish, picking apart pies, pickles and pomes. The ale was good, even warm. The bread surprised with the bounce of cheese. And once the three had figured out how to open them—they were lucky Will had brought a knife, as its skin was thick and almost like leather—they found the insides of the milk fruit juicy and achingly sweet. For Elizabeth, the spread was simple. But the delight of her companions and the liveliness of their setting made it seem as decadent as any banquet.
Within all of twenty minutes, the basket was near empty. The breeze coming off the ocean swirled about them for a moment, teasing Elizabeth's hair and pushing aside the sun's swelter like a mere plaything. She leaned back on her hands, burrowing them behind her, and basked in the fresh coolness of the air, the deeper layers of sand enfolding her fingers.
"Mm. Thank god for the sea. It's amazing how much more tolerable it is along the shore, even at this time of day."
"It's certainly a blessing," she heard Will agree. "I'm regretting not inviting Mister Brown after all—he could use the fresh air."
She turned her head and found him looking over the ocean with a thoughtful mien. His master had been a frequent topic in his letters lately in ways not unlike how Elizabeth's father had been occupying hers. It occurred to her that she wasn't sure whether Will, having lived as long as he had with Jonathan Brown, saw him as anything more than a teacher or employer. He'd only mentioned his natural father to Elizabeth a single time, during their escape from Barbossa, where Elizabeth had seen a hint of affection in the memory that she never saw in him when he spoke of Brown. And yet the man seemed to occupy his concerns increasingly lately…
"We'll have to do it next time. He can keep Father or Estrella company."
Estrella shook her head at the suggestion, seeming to have been emboldened by the little swigs of alcohol they'd shared together. "I know you mean that to be a distraction for me, but all that will do is put four eyes on you instead of two."
"Oh, what nonsense!" Elizabeth scoffed in return. "Half the tradesman's district is here with their eyes on us—Father could hardly accuse you of shirking your duties if you relaxed for half a moment."
Of course, Elizabeth realized that this may not have been entirely true. To check her point, Elizabeth cast her eyes round about the beach. Sure enough, there was so much with which people could entertain themselves, not one pair of eyes was currently seen to be turned in their direction. But it would stand to reason that if anything were to be untoward, at least someone could notice. There was no real way to pretend that Will and her were not at least partially supervised—not that she cared.
But the thought did give her an idea.
"In fact," Elizabeth pressed on, "I insist you shut your eyes and take a rest for a moment, once you've had your fill."
Estrella turned her head in Will's direction with a pointedly amused expression at her mistress' charge, causing to Elizabeth to look at him as well. He had perched his jaw on the palm of one hand, chewing the last of his cassava bread slowly while staring far past the horizon with eyes that had grown heavy lidded, scarcely seeming to blink.
"It would appear that that was Mister Turner's plan for himself," Estrella commented with no shortage of humor coloring her voice.
Mention of his name jolted him upright a little, and when he turned to find both women regarding him with highly amused expressions, his face turned somewhat sheepish. "Am I that transparent?"
"Now that you mention it: yes, you do seem rather drowsy," Elizabeth replied, laughing.
He ran the back of one hand over his eyes. "I'm sorry. I usually take a short rest at this time of day."
"Poor darling," she sympathized, reaching out to stroke his face apologetically. She realized that she had been so intent on giving him a diverting surprise, she hadn't considered how her plans could be an imposition for him. "You could have said as much before I kidnapped you for the afternoon."
"I could not—not with the presented alternative," Will responded as he leaned into her touch, then continued to lean even farther to allow his lips to reach her ear for a low confession: "Your presence is far more refreshing than any naps or sea breezes."
A flush spread across Elizabeth's cheeks in tandem with a wide grin.
"You're a fool," she chided, and took advantage of his advantageously positioned face to land a kiss upon his brow.
"Miss—" Estrella began, as if on cue.
"Oh, I know ," Elizabeth retorted bitterly, pulling away from her lover, shaking her hands clean and aggressively reaching into the basket for the last meat pasty.
She heard Will's poor attempt to stifle a giggle as she took a hearty, angry bite of her pie, and she found herself fighting to keep the responding grin off her lips. As she chewed, her eyes fell upon a vaguely recognizable figure, feeding the birds scraps of bread from a perch upon some rocks several yards away, and a lazy idea popped into Elizabeth's head. Chasing her whim, she tipped her chin in the figure's direction as she asked Estrella, "Isn't that your friend over there with her children? The tailor's wife? Why don't you take a moment to say hello? I'm sure she wouldn't mind the opportunity for a chat."
Estrella shot Elizabeth a knowing look that many would have considered fully impudent, indicating she knew full well Elizabeth was looking for an excuse to dismiss her and have some greater familiarity with her beau. However, she made no remarks and did as she was told, brushing her hands off as she stood and traipsed across the sand towards the woman Elizabeth had correctly identified as her friend. As she left, Elizabeth snatched and balled up Estrella's apron before the wind could carry it too far afield, and Will shook his head a little.
"Perhaps we ought not to make things so difficult for her," he offered in a gentle voice.
Elizabeth shrugged his suggestion off as she popped another piece of pasty into her mouth. "My father knows not to fault her. It'll be alright."
Will didn't respond, seeming to fall into contemplation as his eyes followed the dips and dives of a pair of pelicans fishing amongst the surf. Maybe it was due to the ale or the lovely wind or having a full belly or a combination of those delectable things, but he clearly had become very tired. At least, Elizabeth hoped that's what had happened. His once playful demeanor had fallen into a much quieter disposition, and she noticed his brow sometimes pinched when his vision started to wander farther beyond seabirds and surf.
"Do you like the bread?" she casually cut into his reverie. "I've never tried it filled with cheese before. I think it's quite nice."
His face brightened as he change his position to recline himself on one elbow, enabling him to gaze upon her more easily and in greater comfort. "It's delicious. All of it is wonderful—you are wonderful, thank you."
Pleased to have his attentions returned, Elizabeth sent him a flirtatious smile with a playful tilt of her head, "Now that I've treated you, might I sneak a quick 'treat' of my own?"
His eyes began to shine in response, a hint of a smile upon his lips. "If you steal it discreetly—I would hate for you to face punishment for my sake."
With a wide grin Elizabeth sat herself upon her knees to better shift her weight, watching Will's eyes brighten in open anticipation over her movement to lean forward and bring her face tantalizingly closer to his own. She stopped once her mouth was merely an inch from his, hovering on the edge of his senses where she knew he could smell the perfumes on her skin as surely as she could smell the flames lingering on his. His eyes wandered over hers from beneath dark and heavy lashes, drinking in the sight of her to a depth she found captivating.
Then she placed the last bite of her pie into her mouth, withdrawing from him with an impish expression curling her lips as she chewed and he gave her a look of exaggerated disappointment.
"I take it back. You deserve whatever it is you get for such treatment."
She picked up the bottle of ale and shrugged. "I'm just giving you what you've given me."
Will shook his head to himself, while Elizabeth downed the last of their drink. When he opened his mouth to offer his own rebuttal, suddenly he broke into a yawn that he could not stifle. Elizabeth felt a pang of guilt return over having robbed him of his rest. She stowed the empty bottle and changed her posture once more, this time stretching her legs out before her with her skirts gathered close.
"Here. Come," she beckoned softly, patting her lap in a welcoming gesture.
Once more, Will shook his head—this time at her invitation. "You came all this way, I want to pay you proper attention."
"And I want your attention to be a pleasure, not a labor," Elizabeth pressed back insistently, attempting to look him in the eyes and make certain he saw her sincerity as surely as he heard it. "You can lend me your ears and your touch while you rest your eyes. Come."
He conceded with bow of his head, popping the last of his own dinner into his mouth and then scooting across the sand so that he might lay the back of his head in his lover's lap—although he seemed cognizant of the intimacy such a position communicated to outside eyes and was careful to keep himself nearer to her knees. While a sweet gesture in theory, the sun was still shining from a high place in the afternoon sky, making Will squint and drawing ripples of laughter from Elizabeth and him together. When he made to roll onto his side and face the water, Elizabeth placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and stopped him.
"Hold on a moment," her voice bubbled, and she reached for the edge of her bodice to find the pins fastening her neck kerchief against her green casaquin. Fishing the pins out of the fabric and sticking them into edges of her now empty shopping basket, she drew the embroidered, white cloth from her shoulders and flapped it with a flourish, attempting to lay it over Will's face as her father's menservants might set a tablecloth. Unfortunately, they were still near the sea and its wind blew the cloth about, spoiling her efforts. The sounds of the couple's laughter mingled together in the breeze.
"Wait. Hold on—I've got it," Elizabeth continued to insist through her giggles, attempting to tuck the edge of the neck kerchief under the side of Will's head that faced closer to the sea. Once the cloth was pinned, she resumed draping it across his face with a put upon expression of solemnity. "How's that?"
She thought she could see the vague shape of Will's bottom lip grinning under the fabric, and he made a show of inhaling the lingering scent of her with a deep and long breath.
"Fantastic," he sighed in flagrant relish. "Although I wonder whether I look like a corpse."
Elizabeth shook her head even though she knew he couldn't fully see it. "Not nearly silent enough. I can fix that though."
She cupped his jaw in both her hands, gently drawing her white handkerchief more tightly across his face to better reveal to her the shape of his mouth. Then bending with some small difficulty, thanks to the stiffness of her stays, she slowly, softly, fully pressed her lips against his veiled mouth, lingering long enough to feel the sweet brush of his breath against her cheek and the warmth of his skin radiating through the makeshift screen between them. She parted from him slowly, far more titillated than she was satiated by the keen "almost" that was the line drawn between their closeness.
"You know," Will whispered, "I can't see with my mouth. I daresay there'd be little harm to my rest in its exposure."
Elizabeth gave a voiceless laugh at the clear effect the moment had had on him as well, one hand beginning stoke the back of its fingers across the shape of his cheek. "In a moment. I'm enjoying the confusion of our neighbors and Estrella's scowling."
Sure enough, when she looked up to locate her chosen chaperone she found a stern glare accompanying her friend's questioning gaze. Elizabeth returned Estrella's scolding leer with an innocent smile, lifting a corner of the neck kerchief and gesturing at it for Estrella to better see as she loudly mouthed her excuse: "It doesn't count!"
"I see..." Will cut in with a tone that indicated he was both amused and completely unconvinced by Elizabeth's argument, which would no doubt be Estrella's thoughts as well.
"No you don't," came Elizabeth's swift retort, laying one hand over the spot where his eyes hid under the cloth to emphasize her point "Now lift your head for a moment."
Though she couldn't see his face, she imagined he would have shot her a look of suspicion in response. All the same, he complied in lifting his head off her legs. As quick as she could manage, Elizabeth slipped her fingers beneath to draw the tie from his hair, and guide the still damp curls off his neck and out into the open where she could run her fingers through its tresses and draw pleasurable paths across his scalp.
Will sighed audibly as he let his head fall back lazily onto Elizabeth's lap. "You've tricked me. At this rate I'll be asleep at a moment's notice."
"Then I'll have accomplished my secret plan of luring you into sleeping with me this afternoon," she responded lightly, smiling to herself as she gently drew apart a tangle in his curls.
She saw him shake his head a little as he chuckled silently in response. She felt him reach up with one hand to brush a finger along her stockinged ankle, the one place he could reach easily not bundled in skirts, and the two of them allowed the sensations of the seaside to fill the space between them. The sky was a bright blue and the waves bluer still, each ornamented with scattered pops of white from far off currents, canvas and clouds. The sun and wind felt glorious dancing across the freshly exposed skin of her chest. Elizabeth lightly combed the backs of her nails along Will's hair and skin to the time of the lapping of the waves, smiling idly as they carried the distant music of a passing ship's bell and shanties to her from across the harbor. The children of Estrella's friend were laughing as they frolicked along the very edges of the water, stirring up bids that had landed in attempts to pick at the sparkling sand left behind by retreating surf, marveling at the way the water erased their tracks so swiftly. The world was wide and open around her, and everything seemed so content and calm.
'And such a welcome contrast to the way things had gone earlier this morning…'
She took a breath then let it out with a sigh. "I actually did really have an objective in visiting you today... besides collecting my 'treats' from you."
"Oh?" Will asked in a relaxed and soft voice.
For some unknown reason, she started to feel a hint of hesitation, unsure of where she wanted to begin or how she wanted to continue. As she thought, she withdrew her fingers from Will's hair and settled one hand on his chest while the other moved under the kerchief to brush gentle lines across his forehead. "I received an invitation from an old friend to spend a few days with her at her apartments in Spanish Town."
After a minute passed and she didn't elaborate, Will inquired after her, "And you came to notify me of your absence or to ask me what I think?"
"A little of both, I suppose," came her admission. She withdrew her hand entirely from under Will's veil and sighed again, finding the right words for her feelings. "I think… I do need some time apart from my father. I couldn't bear to sit at dinner with him today—he hasn't been letting up on his insistences, and I'm feeling more and more suffocated…"
"Did something happen?" Will asked in a gentle probe. "Your last letter made it sound as though things were improving."
"Unfortunately, I think that may have been wishful thinking on my part. I can't…" A shadow crossed the ground before her, and when she looked up she found the graceful span of a magnificent frigate bird, riding the wind in place with a practiced glide. "I've been experiencing… a lot of feelings since coming back, and sometimes I'm not quite sure how to sort through them all."
Another moment of silence passed between them. This time she could tell Will was thinking. At length, he spoke again, "Tell me what happened."
In reviewing the words she exchanged with her father, she started to feel a creeping sense of doubt in herself. Even at the time she had wondered somewhat whether she had been overreacting. And yet, not all of it felt like a case of misinterpretations. There was something wrong between them both. But…
"I don't know… It feels a bit silly when I try to explain it now."
"Elizabeth…" while Will's voice was still low, it had become more firm. He reached up and pulled the neck kerchief away, turning in her direction and finding her eyes, which he engaged with a steady expression. "You can tell me."
"He just seemed…"
She hesitated once again, still not quite sure how to gather her feelings from the morning together in a way she could put in words. But as she studied Will's face, his mouth, his eyes, the way his brow bent in seriousness on her behalf, she felt the feet of her emotions touch solid ground in a steady instant.
She pushed ahead with the heaviest weight on her heart first, the one easiest to understand: "He asked again about preparation for this year's assembly. He expects we'll be hosting important figures from London, thanks to the attack. A lot of planning and preparation will be involved…"
"And you still haven't told him how you've been feeling?" Will asked, reaching out to take the hand she had placed upon his chest.
"The opportunity hasn't felt right yet…" she admitted, though it felt like a weak excuse as she said it, like she was hiding from the chance instead of simply missing it. But that wasn't the case, not really. Mostly. "The truth is, we've both been souring most of our conversations lately. Sometimes it's like I can't help it. He still hasn't said to me directly what he said to you, about his plans to take me back to England if we don't marry in time. And it feels like…" the words were tumbling out fast now. Will worked his fingers gently between her own, and Elizabeth clenched his hand tightly, breathing bitterly, "… like all I see in him are secrets now."
Will didn't say a word, though his brow was furrowed more intensely with contemplation as he listened, idly pressing and releasing the pad of his thumb against the edge of her thumbnail.
Elizabeth continued, "He's picked up this habit where anytime he needs to refer to my capture, he can't say it, so he'll choose a euphemism to use instead. And I tell myself I understand, because it was upsetting and traumatic and only happened a few weeks ago…"
She trailed off. This was the part where she felt the waters were becoming murky from the confusion of her own feelings and mistakes.
"But…?" Will nudged, knowing there was more to be said.
"But the words he picks feel double edged. Today, when he referred to it, he was saying I should go visit Mary to get away from 'my ordeal,' and the way he said it felt like he may have been talking about you as well. At the time," she trailed off a little, diverting her eyes to watch the slowly incoming tide. "Now looking back on it, I feel foolish and like I may have been overly sensitive."
To her surprise, she felt the slight bounce of a little laughter coming from Will, and she looked down in confused consternation to find him smirking up at her.
"Perhaps we have found another thing we have in common…" he noted with a teasing edge.
Her eyebrows rose for a moment before she let out a laugh of her own. Somehow, Will's joke was not only right but also surprisingly comforting in its admission: she wasn't the only person in the world to run headfirst into impatient rough patches with the people close to her. He himself had done so, with her own father, only a few days ago.
She watched him look down at their entwined hands, the smile on his face slipping away into a more somber expression. He mused in a low voice, "We've all been through a lot recently. There's only so much one person can take…"
Yes. Yes, that was true. It had all been so much for a person to take—any one person…
"I'm not wrong for being upset with him for his plans and secrecy," she affirmed to herself, aloud.
"No," Will agreed.
"But perhaps… perhaps he will not share with me what he thinks and feels…"
As Elizabeth turned her face out to the water, Will's words turned her vision inward and back in time, calling up the morning's image of her father taking a cup of tea alongside his morning business, alone. Then a question to herself pushed its way to the front of her mind: had she thanked her father, even once, for all that he'd done for her and Will over the past several weeks? For leaving the island and joining Norrington's voyage in coming after her? For approving Will's rescue from Barbossa? For shielding him from the gallows? For consenting to their courtship…?
The truth was that she had not conveyed her gratitude. Not even once. In fact, she had hardly paid him any attention at all, so fixated she'd been over the fate of Will and Jack and even herself being caught in her own engagement, she'd stopped thinking about her father altogether. Hadn't he been so thrilled to see her at the breakfast table, only for her to immediately reveal she'd come for Will's letter instead? And then she became short with him. An angry surge of shame flared under her skin and inflamed her cheeks. Her father's behavior was not her fault, she wouldn't allow herself to believe that. But she herself had likely been offending him in her own ways. And whether justified or not, there really was only so much one person could take.
"Perhaps I haven't been the most sympathetic daughter of late," she whispered to herself.
Will looked confused at the unexpected leap her voiced thoughts had taken, but he kept his questions locked behind his eyes and lips. She gave him a smile of reassurance—she'd explain another time. Seeming satisfied for the moment, he nodded and laid his head back, bringing a wrist up to shield his eyes from the sun.
After a moment of retracing her steps in her head, Elizabeth nodded to herself before finally declaring, "The answer is that my father and I need to speak to each other fairly. But it will not happen, nothing will improve if we both keep losing our patience…"
"So you should go take your visit," Will finished simply. "It could do you good to clear your head of your responsibilities for a while. None of us have had the chance for a proper rest since returning from our adventure—if you have the opportunity, you should take it."
She nodded. That had been her conclusion before, and now having walked through her thoughts anew she felt all the more confident in the decision. She would visit Mary—maybe she'd have a pleasant time, maybe it'd end up awkward and miserable, who was to say? But likely it would provide a chance to breathe a little and really take her mind off her ordeal, as her father had put it, and its awkward aftermath. Then on her return, she could speak to her father and begin the process of making things right. Or at least a bit better.
So it was decided: she had her response to Mary Blackwell tucked away in her pocket, and she would drop it off at the tavern on the way back home. With that matter settled for the time being, Elizabeth returned to her attention to the present moment and lovely atmosphere she had just been enjoying with Will before the more serious turn in conversation.
"You won't miss me?" she prodded Will with a teasing voice.
The shift in her tone caught his attention, and she watched the corners of his lips twitch upward before he lifted his wrist to glance at her with a twinkle in his eye. "Fiercely."
Her smile returned in full. Though there was good humor about his manner, she knew he was being sincere. And for some reason Elizabeth felt her heart aching ever so slightly, as if anticipating a pain in being parted from him, however short the time may be.
Perhaps her strange thoughts had revealed themselves upon her face, as Will's expression changed once more to one of quiet concern. "I wish I had more advice worth something, Elizabeth. These sorts of delicate matters between people aren't exactly where my strengths lie."
She felt her heart clench for a moment, then shaking her head, pressed her lips together in what she hoped was a heartening smile. "It's alright, Will. I'm grateful to have been able to speak about it at all… I think it helped me to hear myself putting my thoughts together."
His own grin returned skewed to one side. "That's good, at least."
"Yes."
"Have your legs not fallen asleep?" he suddenly inquired, lifting his head a bit to look the length of his lady over, as if such an ailment could be seen with the naked eye.
"I don't think so?" she laughed, taken about by the sudden shift in thought.
"Still—" he began, and made to sit up.
But Elizabeth kept a firm hand on his chest to keep him where he was. "Are you uncomfortable?"
"No…?"
"Then I'd have you stay where you are."
He settled his head back against her thighs somewhat gingerly, as if he didn't quite believe he wasn't a discomfort to her by resting against her for so long. Elizabeth retrieved the neck kerchief that had become bundled up under his head. While shaking it free of wrinkles, she continued, "What will you do while I'm away?"
"Are you going to slay me again…?"
"Hush. How will you miss me? I must know," she pushed with an obviously playful edge to her voice.
Will linked his hands together over his torso and took a moment for consideration with closed eyes. "It should provide a good opportunity to work a little longer. Hopefully by the time you've returned, I will have once again completed my backlog and resumed a normal workload—then we might spend more time together, rather than stealing it from dinner breaks."
"That would be lovely," Elizabeth responded. "But now I must admit I'll feel guilty knowing I'm taking a holiday while you're laboring the hardest you ever have before."
Will scoffed at that. "Believe it or not, I've had harder weeks."
She wasn't sure she believed him.
"I'll be fine, Elizabeth," he reassured, turning his face to catch her shadow and better see her under the sun. "And when you've returned, perhaps we can come and spend an entire afternoon near the shore. I'll have it planned to treat you properly, so I may catch up with all your showerings of affection with some of my own."
She smirked and began to tuck the kerchief under his head as she had done before. "Is this to become a competition?"
His initial response was a second, larger yawn, which she covered with the veiling motion of her neck kerchief. "Hardly. You've far outmatched me," Will grunted as he stretched then sidled deeper into the sand, shifting just a little higher up her lap in the process. "But I'll put up a fight... if it would amuse you."
'Of course he would.'
Elizabeth shook her head to herself, and began to busy herself with unfastening the buttons to his waistcoat to make a little more comfortable. "A romantic rivalry does sound amusing."
His hand stilled hers before she made significant progress, capturing one set of fingers and stroking their tips with his thumb. "Good..."
She could hear the drowsiness in his voice again, at last. She smiled and slipped her hand from his. "Then it's settled. I'll leave tomorrow with the intent to return by Sunday. Then we might take another excursion together next Monday." She slid her fingers under his makeshift shade, and began to trace a circular path around his lips, feeling him smile in response. "And I expect you to begin your most sincere efforts at besting me entirely."
"Mm..." seemed to be all he could manage in reply. He was falling asleep, but still managed to brush one small kiss on her passing finger, delicately. She placed her other hand on his chest and felt his breathing seeping slowly, and Elizabeth smiled.
"... I should apologize to your father."
She shook her head. It was past the time for such thoughts. "You should sleep. I'll wake you for work in an hour."
"I love you…"
"And I you. Every day."
"Every day."