A/N: When I was writing the previous chapter, it went through several revisions where I added and removed different scenes before I settled on a final form. I realized, after the fact, that one of the deleted scenes needed to be in there, and have since gone back and added that scene back in. For that reason, I recommend going back and re-reading the previous chapter before reading this one, as that additional scene does make a bit of a difference in this chapter.
"If you are in search of your father, miss, he has requested your presence in the drawing room today."
Elizabeth concealed her cringing distaste for the butler's revelation behind a polite grin. The drawing room… meaning upstairs.
"Thank you, Harold," she offered for a simple dismissal. Then guiding Will to step aside with her, she permitted the senior servant to cross the foyer and go about his day's business. Once Harold had passed out of earshot into the garden, she muttered quietly to Will and Estrella, "See, we weren't all that late after all."
"Lucky us," Estrella muttered in relief.
Will nodded, suddenly slipping back into that more silent mood Elizabeth was beginning to realize signaled the weight of her father's demands pressing down upon his heart, mind and tongue.
In response, she could feel her eyebrows pinching from bewilderment. He'd been mostly unruffled for the entire day, with only a few nerves beginning to show themselves as the carriage crested the hill. Then suddenly while crossing the house's threshold, everything about him had tensed at once—not unlike the stature he'd held in the garden yesterday, while confessing his concerns for her father's scorn.
It irked her: that she could spend so much time and effort in a day trying to make Will see and feel that this home was now welcome to him, that he was worthy of all it offered, only for trivialities to turn it all backwards. And for what reason? Because he and father had ended the previous night with less-than-warm associations? Because father frowned or sighed loud annoyances out his nose every so often? Or because he would remind them, again, that they could end up married somewhere less stately than the church's chapel?
Please! The more she had slept on those threats father claimed were leveled against them, the more certain she felt they were all nothing more than trivial inconveniences—her and Will's plans might change a little in response to obstacles, but they would never be stopped. Money might have been a more concrete problem, certainly, but they would find silver eventually.
It would all be well. And Will would see, soon, that he needn't worry so much over father's disfavor.
"Oh, none of that!" she chided his frown, then took his hand back into hers. "There's no room for you to become a gloom-monger today—come along!"
She marched for the stairs' landing, where Mister Rose had just pattered down from the upper story, bearing a pair of buckets in his hands. She hesitated at the bottom steps for a moment, her eyes wandering past him, up the first flight of the grand staircase, across the middle landing, and towards the second flight. Mentally walking that path, she could already imagine the tired heaviness and uncomfortably stiff flares that would no doubt build in her knees with every step taken upward. And regardless of whether father wanted to meet upstairs, she was certain they'd be coming back down for dinner. Only to go back up once more, at least, come bedtime… And, oh, tomorrow morning…! God, that slam to the ground had been so stupid of her. But it was too late to take it back now.
She was about to snatch up a fistful of her skirts with her free hand, prepared to take the steps two at a time, when she caught in the corner of her eye a tight-lipped smirk on Will's face. It was then that she realized he had been watching and reading her entire internal debate unfold across her face, and she couldn't resist sending him a playfully indignant pout.
"And what exactly is so funny, sir? "
In response, Will brushed his shoulder against hers, while giving her hand a sympathetic squeeze.
"You're not actually considering crawling, are you?" he teased, thankfully returning to his more sportive demeanor. "I'm fairly certain that actually would be worse."
A responding laugh tugged at her pursed lips. Wishing to play with him rather than let her amusement unveil itself fully, Elizabeth rolled her eyes and nudged her shoulder back into his, harder. "Oh, very funny."
Once more, he nudged her back a little harder, giggling under his breath.
When she tried to nudge him back yet again, he had locked his legs and stood just a bit too sturdy for her to budge him without committing to a hard and proper shove, which she didn't care to attempt while standing so close to the stairs. So she shook her head at him with narrowed eyes.
"Well, assuming it was actually bad enough to be worth avoiding—which I'll note it is not—if you're so clever and experienced, then why don't you suggest a better way up?"
He raised an eyebrow at her challenge. "No, unless you wish to resort to the extreme of having me carry you, I think the main option is to grit your teeth and race to the top as quickly as you can."
"A race, you say?" she returned, seizing her skirts as readily as the opportunity provided in Will's choice of words. "A bit unconventional, but perhaps you're right."
"No-no, I only meant—" Will began to stammer.
But Elizabeth wouldn't have it, insisting loudly, "Threetwoone—go!"
And she left Will behind, exclaiming a single laughed, "Hey!" while she fired off like a shot.
She would have gotten a greater head start if her hand hadn't kept clutching his, but somehow winning wasn't the actual goal this time. As such, she only got a step or two ahead before Will was clamoring behind her, then swiftly beside her, taking steps in doubles, and leaving Estrella stumbling behind at her own frantic clip.
Even though winning wasn't the actual goal, neither was losing. So Elizabeth copied her companion's larger steps, and soon tiny hammers pricked at her knees with every bound she took. But she pushed on with gritted teeth, hissing, "Shit, shit, shit, shit—!" to herself and Will, as they darted upward. Just as they were coming upon the first landing, she threw herself shoulder-to-shoulder with Will, whose slightly longer legs had closed and kept his following distance easily.
The landing was narrow for two, and he jostled with her repeatedly as he caught her eye in an unapologetic glance, trying to widen his stride along with his grin. She scoffed back and snarled, tightening her grip on his hand, bumping into him with their breathy giggles mingling, and trying not to allow him the chance to gain an edge over her early lead.
They were across the landing and halfway up the stairs when he managed to shake his hand free. She let out a surprised and angry whoop! at her failed attempt to snare him by the sleeve. In one large leap he was already ahead of her—but she refused to allow him to take the second leap. Her slam to the ground in the smithy may have been stupid, but it had gotten it job done. So with a deep breath, she threw herself forward and latched herself around Will's waist, weighing him down with her entire body in an attempt to impede his progress. It worked for a moment. He stumbled to a halt, bringing her to balance precariously upon her toes while he clutched the railing to keep from falling backwards down the stairs.
Then he turned his head to look back at her and chortle, "You're a cheater!"
"I don't care!" she cackled back, and tightened her hold around him.
"Zooterkins, you two! Enough of that!" Estrella gasped, as she began to close the distance between herself and them.
When Will tried to plod forward, Elizabeth allowed herself to be taken off her toes to dangle from his hips with everything she weighed. So he switched tactics, setting both his hands to her forearms and prying her grip from around his waist with a deeply annoying ease.
"No!" she wailed and laughed, and tried wrapping her fingers around his thumbs to prevent him from shaking loose.
It didn't work. Yet again, his greater strength won out, enabling him to wrench out of her grip. Then he was off, and she was on her tender knees—crawling up the last few stairs in a scramble after all. But ever as always, she refused to go down lightly. And in a last ditch effort to impede his progress, she threw her hands out to seize him by his ankles, accidentally bringing him crashing forward to the upper landing upon his own belly.
She gasped. "Will! Are you alright?!"
"You did that on purpose!" he threw over his shoulder in an amused grunt.
"I swear I did not!" Elizabeth lied. She'd fully meant to trip him—she just hadn't meant for his fall to be so heavy.
But now she had one last chance! So she rose to scurry on hands and feet up the steps, over his body, in an attempt to pass him. By the time he'd popped back up to a similar stance, they were once again shoulder to shoulder, both rising to their feet at the same time.
Together they stumbled onto the upper landing and rushed through the main door of the drawing room. She grabbed the door frame to help force herself to a stop, while Will nearly ran into the settee from his speed's persistence—he managed to stop on his toes and barely retain his footing. Then, with chests heaving, faces painted with exhilaration, the pair simply stared at each other. Their game having finished, competition faded to leave behind the satisfying rush of their hasty finish. Estrella marched through the open door and wandered towards a chair at the card table, scowling unhappily as she passed. And though Elizabeth's knees throbbed languidly, she realized her pain had somehow been dulled in the final scramble into the room's private finishing line.
Who had won, anyway? Elizabeth wasn't sure. But it didn't matter. Her lips twitched wider. Will's grin blossomed bright and full. Then a renewed snickering chorus sprung up between them.
Elizabeth stumbled into Will's embrace, intent on enfolding herself in the harmony of their shared laughter. When he wrapped her up in his arms and swayed, she nestled her smile into his neck. He smelt clean and so fantastically close. The music of his delight echoed inside her, and she felt her belly beginning to hum back, even while aching from the amount of mirth shaking it. How many times had they laughed together like this, today alone? How many other days had been so full in her life before? And how many days to come would be so blessed?
"Elizabeth…" father's exasperated voice prevented her from counting, "where is your hat?"
Few things could dampen Will's spirits more readily than the governor's chastising voice. For a moment, Elizabeth's spontaneity had distracted him from their purpose in returning to the mansion, effortlessly filling and spurring his heart into another fit of jubilation through her playfulness. But with four short words his racing pulse slowed almost to a halt, the smile all but extinguished from his lips, and her father pulled his thoughts back down towards humbling ... reality.
He was starting to really hate that word.
Though he tried not to dwell on the cold feelings of disappointment and dread rising up inside him, her body's closeness began to twist him in a feeling of peril under her father's scrutiny. And he'd promised himself today wouldn't be filled with little battles. So he reluctantly let his hands fall from her sides to rest beside his own.
Thankfully, with Elizabeth's responding sigh brushing his ear, she released him too, squared her shoulders, and turned to greet her father in front of the open door to his bedchamber.
"Hello to you too, father," she sighed, then offered the governor a peck upon his cheek. "I trust your day has gone well?"
She was pointedly ignoring her father's question, and Will felt the returning of a smile slip past his nerves for the brief instant he noticed. Where had her hat gone…?
"Mm. As well as can be expected," her father answered without enthusiasm. Then taking Elizabeth's hands in his to assess her state of dress, he added, "From the look and sound of you, your day has been… diverting."
Will's skin prickled in response to what he thought was a less-than-pleased glance from the governor—he only just resisted shifting his feet under the shot of blame he felt aimed towards him.
If Elizabeth noticed, she was again choosing to ignore it.
"Quite!" she chimed back at her father, before turning her own gaze away from him altogether. Instead, she shot a look back in Will's direction—this one a cheeky smirk.
Instantaneously, his heart sparked and his lips rebounded their cheery curve to return her greeting… Until his eyes began to drift back towards the governor's piqued expression. Then the lovely feelings she summoned dissipated into a tickle of confusion. From shame to joy, comfort to discomfort, and back again—what a strange see-saw his emotions were being put to ride today. If he didn't take his feelings back into his own hands soon, he was bound to become sick.
So he sought again the comfort of Elizabeth's eyes. When he found them, so stunningly keen and lambent umber, he was surprised to discover a growing vibrancy of fervent confidence and pride… in him.
At that sight, he felt his breath catch itself upon his heart. God! He'd cross far more than just oceans to keep her looking at him that way, as often and long as possible.
Clenching his jaw and his fists, Will reminded himself why he'd come here, scrubbed and shorn smooth-faced: for her. To win some of Elizabeth's father's favor, even if it was only in fragments, so that her heart wouldn't have be torn in two when he asked for their union; so that the untethered grief he knew from his own untimely good byes, which time would one day bring to her, could be delayed from arrival as long as possible; so that they might have a loving and complete family, with her happiness cradled beside his at its center. That was why he was here.
For a family. Their family.
Hopefully.
In any case, he'd already accomplished the first part of his plan by cleaning up his presentation—now he just needed to actually present himself. After that, hopefully things would feel only a little less tense before improving. And perhaps he and her father could then… talk about …
…
Something. He wasn't exactly sure about what yet. Planning ahead was never his forte in these things anyway. But he was sure that something would come to him.
He also knew that good fences made good neighbors—and lately he and the governor had both done their parts to put each other's proverbial fences through some decent wearing and tearing, so to speak. And more than once Will's mind had wandered back to his and Elizabeth's recent lunchtime escape to the beach, with the regrets they'd confessed to each other regarding their touchy tempers towards her father. At the time, he'd mused aloud to her how they'd all just experienced an upheaval—something he was unfortunately already familiar with. Past experience had shown him the way an aftermath could buffet the heart about, and cause great waves of inexplicable feelings to overtake you without warning.
But the waves were ebbing, and beautiful weather lay ahead, if they were willing to embrace it. He'd since had plenty of time to reflect, a little more to dream. Just as he knew there would always be storms in life, he also understood that no time or effort was wasted in trying to repair what the waves tore apart. And mending fences with Elizabeth's father wouldn't happen by idly standing around.
Will wasn't much for standing around idle, anyway.
So he took a fortifying breath, raised his chin, then offered his sweetheart's father the courteous gesture of a friendly smile and a bow.
"Good—" his voice rasped in his throat, awkwardly. He cleared it and tried again, "Good day, Governor Swann."
The governor finally turned his attention to him.
"Mister Turner," he responded with a formal nod. "Thank you for coming again."
Will returned the nod with one of his own. "I am grateful for your invitation, as always, sir."
The governor flashed a polite smile of acknowledgement and nodded once more, this time somewhat to himself.
Will resisted the impulse to nod yet again, and instead pressed his own lips into a shape he hoped resembled something amicable. Was this going well? It was hard to tell, for some reason. It didn't exactly feel better than yesterday's breakfast, but it didn't feel much worse either. It certainly felt like his opportunities to speak as he wished weren't being swept away from him as easily. The governor hadn't dropped any unexpected surprises on them. They were both managing to stay courteous. But why were they nodding so much? This was awkward, right? The nodding? Or was it just him?
His eyes flickered instinctively towards Elizabeth, whose expression revealed a just-contained outburst of laughter.
So… it was bad. But also good? Or maybe he just needed a little patience first? He'd been called rash enough times before in enough ways by enough people to know it was one of his more mercurial virtues. He'd only just gotten here—it was too soon to decide how well the night would play out.
'Yes—wait a little. You can do that. For her, for certain.'
All of the sudden, it occurred to him that nothing more was being said. Silence was stretching between them, longer and longer like an ugly, widening chasm. And as Will became aware of how awkward he felt, standing there with hands still dangling uselessly at his sides, he started to notice a small sense of panic creeping up inside him. Was there something else he ought to have been saying, or was it the governor's turn? Had his faculties of speech taken leave from him altogether? Why weren't either of them saying anything else to each other? What were they supposed to talk about? He had come here with something he desperately wanted to say to the governor, after last night.
Should he just come out and say it? He'd been hoping for a more graceful conversation, but maybe he ought to just say it…
To very little surprise, it was Elizabeth who attempted a rescue of the moment, smiling cheerily and thankfully returning to slip her soft hand back into his.
"What do you think of Will's shave, father? He did just as you asked—does he not look well?"
Will wanted to sigh in relief and choke from suspense at the same time. After exchanging a quick, grateful glimpse with Elizabeth, he locked his focus back on the governor's scrutinizing expression, breath bated. More silent seconds crawled by, with his judge's eyes staring at him without revealing one meager hint of their assessments.
Then, one final time, Governor Swann gave his wigged head a single nod.
"It would look better without this," he noted, then indicated with his finger to the strips of trimmed hair Will had left in front of his ears, "… but it is an improvement, yes."
Yet again, Will found himself caught between conflicting feelings. Was he more relieved or disappointed with that reaction? The governor's tone was so staid—he seemed neither particularly happy nor upset, just something vague and hovering in between. The ambiguity began to frustrate Will. Was there truly a problem with keeping a pair of neat sideboards? His lips and chin were clean—was that not what was asked of him? Was Elizabeth even pleased at all? She'd disliked it from the beginning, and he had heard her tutting annoyances at her father's answer… If nobody cared for it, what was the point?
Then the governor's face relaxed into a small but genuine-seeming smile, and Will received some clearer answers:
"I commend your amenability," the governor closed in a cordial and gently tempered tone.
It was hardly glowing praise. But for reasons Will couldn't exactly define, he felt emotions in him begin to churn inside, a tumble of temperatures and textures inside his chest—and unlike their prior meetings, resentment was not among them. His feelings' momentary muddling made them hard to understand: although the tension in the rest of his body relaxed, he felt his heart, throat, and fingers clench tight. It was pleasant and painful at once. And when Elizabeth clenched him back, a sensation like the ghost of a memory tickled his mind, but left him before he could grasp what it was or meant… No. More than that: another, deeper part of him had pushed it aside before he could begin to stop it—and that told him what the feeling was, without him having to chase it back.
He let it go.
At last, one emotion began to stand out from the rest and settle a calm over the strange agitation in his guts: relief. He noticed the soothing stroke of Elizabeth's thumb, and sent the sweet signal back to her, with his chest tightened more deeply by her loving demonstrations of support.
He'd done alright. The shave had been a little thing, but as he had hoped, it was likely worth it.
After loosening his throat with a swallow, Will breathed and chanced another grin—genuine, this time. "Thank you, sir."
The governor's aspect remained cordial, but he said nothing else in reply.
Elizabeth's hands flexed in Will's again, this time a seizing of delight. And he couldn't resist turning his face to hers to seal his relief through sharing it with her. The light in her eyes mirrored the bronzing majesty of the approaching evening, melting the last of his qualms into a puddle at her feet.
Moving ahead this way, the weather awaiting them seemed breathtaking.
The sound of footsteps approaching the upper landing broke their gaze and drew their eyes back out the drawing room's main door. Mister Paterson was carrying his own lidded buckets, this time filled with water from the way they appeared to weigh. Will's brow furrowed as the man crested the staircase, turned to his right, and disappeared into Elizabeth's chambers. There was only one which thing multiple buckets of water were needed for, all the way up here. But why would the servants be put to such tasks at this time of day—especially when victuals had been laid in this neighboring room? Labor like that was not meant for the eyes of proper guests…
The questioning expression Elizabeth sent her father seemed to confirm the oddity of the situation.
"Ah, yes. I suppose I ought to tell you:" the governor demurred, with a subtle but curious dither in his demeanor, "I thought we might sup here today. I've had dinner as well as a bath prepared for you."
The sound of water being emptied somewhere in Elizabeth's rooms filled the confusing silence that sat between them.
"Oh! How thoughtful of you…." she responded, blinking at her father with a bewilderment that emulated Will's own.
Swiftly, she reunited her eyes with his, and it became clear that she had a whirlwind running through her mind, of things she preferred to have him read from her expression. Within the pursed bends upon her brow and lips, it seemed she was torn between pleasant surprise and quiet scruples. And why not? She'd mentioned yesterday how baths were a soothing rest and comfort for her. That one should be waiting for her after their games at the smithy had made her so dusty and sore seemed exceedingly lucky.
Too lucky. Her father couldn't—no, he shouldn't have known that they were planning to practice swordplay today. They'd been discreet in their plans, and he'd thought no one else had known about it, except… Perhaps Miss Trattles had let their plans slip when she'd been chastised, and their secrets with her were not as safe as they'd hoped.
Regardless of the whys or hows, the timing of this was strange—at least to Will. Elizabeth could have washed in her basin like anyone else, couldn't she? Was he being paranoid thinking it was odd to draw an entire bath in the middle of the afternoon? Or was this another excuse to send Elizabeth away for a spell?
"Allow me to clarify:" her father cut into the silent sharing of their thoughts, "I've had a bath prepared for each of you—there's also one being drawn for Mister Turner, as we speak."
Will felt the jolt of surprise shooting through him strike Elizabeth as well. Together they stared at the governor, jointly stunned by this unexpected turn proposed for their evening.
Almost as though he were summoned by the conversation, Mister Paterson reappeared in the outside corridor, having completed his tasks inside Elizabeth's chambers. However, when he turned to walk down the stairs, he crossed paths with Rose, the footman they'd passed in the foyer. And as Paterson hurried down stairs, Mister Rose passed with his own buckets into the Governor's chambers. Soon the sounds of pouring water were heard from within those rooms as well.
Will found he had no words he could put together. Evidently, neither did Elizabeth, considering the way she was staring at her father with her mouth agape, utterly mystified. The governor merely locked his hands behind his back and gave a shrug of his shoulders.
To Elizabeth, he asked, "You did say you wished for him to experience one, did you not?"
What? The other bath was being drawn for him? Him, as in he, himself, Will Turner?
"I did…!" Elizabeth gasped. Her surprise still appeared heavily baffled, but her face brightened with the dissipating shadows of her unspoken misgivings. "Thank you, father!"
She released Will's hand and rushed to her father, who chortled happily over the success of his surprise. For a moment, something stirred in Will at the sight of their embrace—that gentle pleasure that came whenever Elizabeth was made to smile, yes, but also more of those niggling phantom feelings he'd just put aside. And as the tender moment passed before him, Will's mind turned in on itself.
After muscling down another memory before it could take shape, he realized he still felt some uncertainties—not the least of which was whether he wanted to even entertain the idea of stripping naked anywhere near Elizabeth's father's awareness. And the situation felt so odd—there had to be a reason for such an unconventional gesture. Perhaps it was as he'd always worried: that he gave off an odor that stood out whenever he entered this polished palace. Even Elizabeth had basically admitted to his distinctively penniless scent, regardless of how clean he tried to…
Like a gentle reproach, his mind recalled yesterday, and the way Elizabeth had buried her face in his pillow.
No… With more reflection, he chose to push his reservations aside.
Neither Elizabeth nor her father had yet shown any indication of distaste from the air around him—even though the governor had been very clear what he thought about his appearance. Perhaps his cleanliness had nothing to do with it.
The three of them had spoken about the bathing story from Elizabeth's letter yesterday, which meant the governor's gesture likely had little to do with anticipating their secret sword practice after all. Elizabeth had been obviously excited over this notion of soaking him in a tub of water. And even if he didn't understand it, he couldn't bring himself to deny her such a simple wish. He knew her father was of a similar mind in this one thing: the sincerity of his smile at this very moment was a testament to Swann's desire to truly please his daughter. Perhaps that was all that this was about.
And on a completely separate note, when scheduling this meeting last night, Will had expressed his concerns regarding the earliness of his work days, and how he would prefer to return home in time for a proper night's sleep. The governor had indicated he understood, and adjusted their timing accordingly. Perhaps the odd timing was in response to that…?
Perhaps there was a chance most of his concerns regarding the governor's motives were likely unfounded. The man was merely trying to be thoughtful. What right did Will Turner have to question the way another man mended his fences?
Eventually, Elizabeth freed her father from her embrace, and Will took back the opportunity to pull himself out of his mind and push himself back into the flow of their conversation.
"Yes," he agreed with Elizabeth's gratitude, and put his heels together to offer the governor a fresh bow. "Thank you, sir. That is uncommonly gracious of you and your staff."
"It's nothing at all," the governor replied airily, before turning to wave a hand at the connecting doorway behind him. "Now, if you'll come into my chambers, Mister Turner, we'll get you sorted…"
The chill of Will's prior nervous hesitancy began to creep back up his spine, sending his mind racing all over again.
Even with his careful rationalizations, he couldn't ignore how he wasn't entirely comfortable with this whole bathing business going on. Even if her father retreated to a neighboring room while Will undressed and washed alone, he could not ignore the suspicion that something about the whole scenario felt like it could have been a veiled orchestration to corner him in a position of vulnerability. Just the thought made him feel exposed, and summoned the urge to cover himself as though he had already disrobed, even though whatever buttons his dress still had were quite securely fastened.
'Oh, don't be stupid, Turner!' the more rational part of his mind chastised. 'You swim stark naked around all the other boys at least once a month at the watering hole with no hesitation. What's it matter now?'
What mattered, he realized, was the almost claustrophobic intimacy of the setting they were in. Yes, it seemed contradictory at first—the mansion was compartmentalized into rooms devoted to nearly every imaginable purpose a man could have. Here he stood, surrounded by such beautifully painted walls, with every expensive window draped in equally beautiful curtains, and every elegantly carved and shuttered passageway hung with no-less beautiful doors. And the furnishings! In addition to every other treasure, this room, Elizabeth's bed chamber and even the dining hall downstairs all had sumptuously painted dividing screens tucked into their corners as magnificent displays. He had no doubt another one would be found in the governor's chambers, if they passed through the open door.
Every part of his surroundings made it clear there was nothing to fret over: even if the governor remained nearby, it was practically guaranteed Will would be washing somewhere concealed for his own discreet enjoyment. This bath would be nothing like his bathing trips to the watering hole with his friends and neighbors. That was the way Elizabeth's people did it.
Privacy surrounded him as entirely as opulence.
And yet somehow, just the thought of her father standing in any room nearby made Will feel far more exposed than swimming around the local watering hole with all his peers in the tradesman's district in the buff. On those outings, he was just one body in a crowd. Here, the attention was able to be focused on him, even with eyes diverted and him bathing in a separate room, and …
He clenched his jaw.
He was distracting himself. Nakedness wasn't the real problem. While his other concerns seemed unfounded, one remaining concern did not: the governor was now leading him somewhere Elizabeth could not reasonably follow. And while he wasn't afraid of facing the governor alone—something he knew would inevitably become a more common occurrence—the last time she'd been similarly ushered away, the governor had wished to discuss an unpleasant secret behind Elizabeth's back. Will was not keen to repeat that sort of betrayal again. It would lead to an argument, for certain.
And he wanted so very much to have just one relatively confrontation-less encounter with this man. This was the father of the woman he loved out of his mind. There were other, more important things he'd come to speak about. The last thing his patience needed was to be cornered like a drowning rat, pressed about money he didn't have.
'Don't be stupid, Turner!' his mind repeated. 'You don't know that's how it'll go. And if it does come to that, just stand tall and don't let him talk you down. You'll be fine.'
Would he be?
"Yes, come along, Will! And we'll get you sorted!" Elizabeth declared the very instant she physically sprang, quite suddenly, back to his side to take his hand.
His heart leaped in time with her movements, and his eyes caught hold of her expression in the same moment her fingers caught hold of him. She was grinning again, that mischievous sparkle having crept back into her eyes, playfully coloring her insinuations with a heat that rapidly rushed back over his skin. A part of him was wonderstruck she'd make such a proposition in front of her father, but the larger part of him was grateful. With her vaguely suggestive quip, she'd managed to blow any remaining modesty he had for this strange situation out of the water.
He didn't need to worry over her father's secrets when her wit was ever wicked.
And her father was visibly aghast, maintaining a stern stance and demeanor as he sputtered, "Elizabeth, no! I will not allow you to—"
A sharp tug on Will's arm led him out the drawing room's main door, across the outer corridor, through her father's chambers, and into the private washroom, all before her father could finish sighing, "Dear Lord, why do I bother…?"
The governor's washroom was dressed in a similar stately style as the rest of the house, with darkly stained wooden floors contrasting against the pale ivories and greens dominating the understated detailing of the house's walls and ceilings. The far walls were lined with the same towering windows that opened up the bedroom's outside. Every window, curtain, and door of the governor's combined chambers were thrown open, and a sea of gossamer billowed with gentle breezes, riding afternoon sunlight and birdsong. It was not unlike Elizabeth's room yesterday, during their clandestine nap. Through the back windows, Will could catch shimmering treetops of the garden, rolling into the deep emerald forests of Jamaica's mountains farther beyond.
Much of the governor's toilet seemed to be located in this room. An ornately upholstered close chair sat near the wall to his left, beside another rectangular stool holding what looked like a misshapen chamber pot—except the masterfully fired porcelain hinted its pinched figure was completely intentional. Why someone would need multiple styles of chamber pots, Will couldn't fathom.
'I suppose the wealthy really can never have too many seats of any kind…'
In other corners and along other walls, there were cabinets, pedestals and other furnishings meant to hold the governor's wash basin, various toiletries, various linens, and even flower arrangements. There was yet another screen, painted with scenes depicting lands across horizons Will had not thought to cross. And although Elizabeth had told him the pirates' looting had largely been interrupted or remedied, he found himself once again struggling not to gawk at the luxury on display before him.
Eventually, he allowed his eyes to wander towards the room's most distinctive feature. The room was connected to the bed chambers by two separate doors sitting in opposing corners of the wall dividing washroom from bedroom. On the bedroom's side, the governor's stately fireplace was neatly nestled between these two doors. But on the side of the washroom, there sat a magnificent, shining copper tub, less than halfway filled with water.
"It doesn't look like much now, but father's footmen will pour more water over you as you go," Elizabeth explained, helpfully. As she did so, she relocated herself to stand directly before him. There she began to busy herself with straightening the front of his raggedy coat, while she searched his face for signs of his true thoughts.
"Not watching me, I hope," he let slip before he could stop himself. Her touch was distracting.
"No!" she tittered back. "Only standing within earshot—so they might be on hand to assist you, should you wish it."
Will cocked a questioning eyebrow at her. What help could he possibly need that would warrant that sort of attention? Sometimes he couldn't see much difference between the pleasures of rich people and the needs of small children—however, he didn't think admitting as much out loud would be wise… Yet again, there was little doubt who would be listening to them, carefully.
"In adjusting the water's temperature or fetching you things or … just normal helpful things," Elizabeth explained with patient amusement, before her voice tapered off into quiet thoughtfulness.
Part of him thought he ought to have felt silly with his ignorance regarding matters that seemed so "normal" to her, but he found himself once more becoming too entranced by her closeness to care.
"I hope you don't mind. This wasn't quite what I had envisioned," she whispered unexpectedly, close enough for him to feel as surely as he could hear.
"In what way?" he wondered. Her eyes were an open enchantment, capturing the beginnings of the day's sunset to enrobe themselves in a dazzling, whimsical cheer that invited him to fall back in.
"Well…" she began with a smirk, before setting her fingers to fiddle with the button on his collar in a way that made his skin prickle. "To be honest, I was hoping to introduce you to all this much later, when we might…"
This time when she tapered off, she drew her lower lip between her teeth to withhold whatever it was she meant to say. Her eyes flitted to the side for a moment, checking for their minders. In spite of this, there was a bit of an impish grin on her, and he found himself begrudgingly wrestling with an strangely desperate urge to implore her to finish her phrase while at the same time battling the intensely flirtatious impulse to offer up his own … suggestions. If only it were yesterday again…
'Her father is here,' he tried to remind himself, turning the governor into a mental form of summoned reinforcements. And by starting that mental refrain, he managed to resist both temptations… But not without letting a hint about his whims slip out in a grin.
She answered in kind, her eyes wrinkling, though bright as her spirit. And the urge to take her into his arms to assail every inch of her face with kisses nearly overwhelmed him.
'Her father is here.'
A controlled breath.
He had no real idea of what she meant to say without asking. She could have meant to suggest they could achieve something as innocent as speaking without eavesdroppers.
But whatever she meant, she wasn't talking about doing it while sitting in the parlor. This was a bath she was talking about—something very different, involving… well, much less clothing. And her eyes were sparkling with a secret he felt they both understood, whether she'd said it out loud or not. In spite of what he kept telling himself, a renewed heat was rising between them, inside him, fueling imagined possibilities left lingering with an ardor he doubted either of them needed at this moment. He was suddenly keenly aware of the letter he'd given back to her, possibly still sitting inside her pocket, and the two little words inside which his mind desperately wanted to hear answered.
'But her father…'
Breaking their eye contact in an effort to bring himself under control, he ground his teeth together. In the peripherals of his vision, Will could just make out the looming appearance of the governor's silhouette, stepping into the washroom's doorway.
But he couldn't quite bring himself to look away from Elizabeth entirely—especially not to look that man in the eye when precarious thoughts could be presenting themselves upon his face. Though he mentally cast around for a distraction from the way his lips had started remembering the different ways they had touched her earlier today, craving to repeat it all again, his gaze somehow managed to be drawn back to her… and the appealing way her chest rose and fell when she puffed another little laugh.
His blood simmered through him in blended desire and alarm. 'What if he sees you leering, you goddamn fucking lecher!?'
Of course, Elizabeth saw, and she threw her head back in a loud cackle.
"Nevermind!" she guffawed, then blessed him by stepping away from him at last, towards the shifted topic of the copper tub. "The heat does not last very long, so I recommend you wash quickly to best enjoy yourself."
He took a careful breath, hoping a taste of the crossbreeze would help cool his own head as he tried to latch onto what she was actually saying to him. She was speaking of the water, yet his overly stimulated mind was struggling not to consider other interpretations to her words first.
"You've mentioned its merits before, but I have to admit I'm not entirely certain I care for the thought of boiling myself after experiencing the heat of the day."
The heat of a day spent with her, no less.
"It's better than it sounds, trust me," she insisted without looking at him. She bent to test the waters with her hand. "You'll feel all the more refreshed afterward. And at least today is much cooler than it has been in a while."
'Is that what you think?'
Ah! Why was this happening? He was a decent man! Or at least a self-restrained one. Around her father. Mostly. Used to be. He blinked to force his thoughts to take in the entirety of their setting, with the servants passing in and out of the room, one side framed by crisp walls framed and coffered entirely in sharp lines— dispassionate, rational, unmoving. The way he once strove to be.
And so entirely unlike the woman at the center of his heart and mind, or the magnificently romantic views she reflected from behind him.
She rose and faced him again, shaking her wet hand free of lingering water droplets before cupping it in her dry hand before her, in a well-trained posture of ladylike poise.
"The actual washing is not that different, of course," she began to rattle off with an air that was somehow equally unceremonious and as it was brimming with a subtle excitement for him. "You'll simply wash more of yourself. Oh, and you may use a brush or washcloth along with your hands for scrubbing."
He was charmed by her enthusiasm, and allowed it to ground him back in the real subject of the moment, grateful for a distraction for his wayward mind. "I assume I'm meant to include my face?"
"Yes, of course!"
"And as for the rest of my head…?"
She approached him once again, wiping her wet hand over her skirts before reaching for him. His heart, which had begun to calm, scrambled back into a tiny flurry when her fingers buried into his gathering of hair, seemingly assessing its dampness.
Her brow was bent into a surprisingly serious curve of judgement. "I think… this time, you ought to wet your hair over again as well as your body—"
Suddenly her father scoffed from the doorway, and Will found himself surprisingly grateful for the interruption.
"Please don't get him involved in that soapy hair nonsense of yours, Elizabeth," the governor admonished. "He ought to use powder! It's far more becoming of a man, and also much healthier for his—"
Will began to feel a small prick of anxiety returning to him at the mentioning of something new he might have to buy.
"Too late!" Elizabeth practically taunted back, as though she was winning a long argument Will hadn't realized existed between them. "I corrupted him years ago—in fact, he soaped his hair at home right before we came here."
Her father gawked for a moment, before looking to Will in a baffled search for confirmation or denial.
"At least I'm clean?" he defended himself, somewhat weakly. Wasn't that what mattered?
After a long second of censorious silence, her father had nothing to offer in response but a prolonged, flustered sigh. Will matched it, but out of relief—his pocket would one day have enough to improve the options in his toilet, but for now he would cling to his cheaper grooming solutions for as long as he could.
The sharp turn of Elizabeth's head back in his direction called his attention back to her.
"Wet it one more time before you're finished," she instructed. Then with her voice and expression dropped softer and low, she added, "I want to comb it for you once you're through."
Her fingers were already mimicking a bit of that future motion, tracing her nails across his scalp from his crown to the base of his queue. A tiny shiver ran up Will's spine. But a different feeling also rose up in him now, less like fire and more like the comforting warmth with which the late sun was surrounding them. He thought of the sweet and simple pleasure that swept over him when Elizabeth had let him lie in her lap or upon her bed, ministering upon him a peace more heavenly than any bishop or priest could ever aspire to. These were tastes of real paradise, he realized. And where his heart had just been racing in his chest, it now slowed—as though the love he held for her had to be physically borne inside him, and had grown too ample to comfortably bear, bringing his soul to its knees. He needed to give it back.
Carefully, he reached to take her hand from his head and thread his fingers through hers.
"Am I to comb yours as well?"
Though the longing was strong, with her father's form looming in his purview, he only just resisted pressing his lips to her wrist. But he promised himself to do so later.
Always, always later…
For now, her eyes shone with a pleased sort of glee over his suggestion. "Perhaps."
He could see whispers of more pinned to her teeth by the tip of her tongue, additional captured secrets he had a feeling would not be freed at this moment. Despite the light on her face, she too seemed to be weighing the way her father hovered nearby. So when she turned away without responding and walked towards the door, he was not surprised, only a little forlorn. Her unvoiced whisper was simply another thing saved for another moment. One that was…
He didn't bother to hold back his sigh.
Why was it always later?
"Oh and Will, the most important thing:" Elizabeth suddenly gasped, her skirts swaying from the abrupt turn she made to face him one last time, "once you have finished your wash, do not leave the tub right away!"
When he glanced back over the bath, it was with more focused appraisal. The tub was large, yes, but not exactly spacious enough to imagine it holding a full-grown man. He very much doubted he would be able to settle inside without bending his knees at least a little. Yet he was supposed to just… sit there? Soaking in soapy water, like a pile of boiled laundry?
Seeming to read his skepticism, Elizabeth returned to stand before him, with his pulse happily quickening its pace again. "Fold up your washcloth or towel into a pillow if you must, but I mean it: you must try to relax in the water for a while."
While he couldn't entirely push aside how foreign he felt in this situation, the puckish earnestness behind her persuasions was all too endearing. It emphasized to him that this bath wasn't just a gift from her father, it was a kindness from Elizabeth herself—one she had been openly excited about ever since she returned from her trip.
Cocking his eyebrow in very poorly feigned offense, he echoed, "Oh, I must, must I?"
"Yes!" she pressed back urgently, and it made him grin afresh. "If you do not, I'll be very put out—and you do not want that!"
He nodded, his lips pressed into a thin overly-serious line. "No! You're right, I do not!"
She narrowed her eyes at him, glaring in jest at the broken sincerity of his tone. Then her eyes fell for a moment, and she gave the cuff of his sleeve a light tug. "Right. So remember: father's servants will be at your beck and call. Take a little to eat, a lot to drink. Close your eyes… Picture something nice… Enjoy yourself."
At this, they dropped their pretenses and shared another private smile, flirting with the boundaries of their flirting.
"I shall try my best," he promised, pushing her potential double entendres and his potential misgivings as far aside as he could, for the moment.
"Good." She wrinkled her nose at him happily. Then her warmth swept back around him and climbed his body like a gently returning wave, as she graced him with a parting press of her lips to his cheek. And before she pulled away, she hissed into his ear, "Consider: I will be doing the same, nearby."
Will's heart jumped into his throat before plunging into the depths of his stomach, struck by the fiery shot her implications had become.
He whispered back, "How dare you…" in jesting, pretended accusation. "How dare you."
Her mischief remained with her while Elizabeth slipped out of his reach a final time. From the washroom's doorway, the flash of her countenance over her shoulder fired a taunting, parting shot straight through his chest. Then she was gone—out the doors of the governor's washroom and bedchamber, and off to her own private retreat. Behind her remained her fading scent and a turbulence of feelings where Will had just been gathering a sense of calm.
And of course, there was her father.
With no one else in his company, Will finally allowed himself to look the governor in the eye. For the first time in two weeks, he was alone with the man. Standing in the middle of his private chambers, no Elizabeth to break the ice that kept freezing the air between them. Staring and being stared at like a fucking idiot. Wait, was the governor actually staring or was he more… waiting? On him? For…?
What the hell was the proper decorum for kicking a man out of his own washroom? 'With your permission, I would like to get naked now, sir?'
God, this entire situation was so strange.
'I guess you cannot go too wrong by being—'
"Well!" the governor chimed before Will could open his own mouth.
The cry made Will jump—not only was it sudden, it sounded close enough to his own name that he thought, for half a moment, the governor was calling him to attention. But he was not—instead, he was just sidling into the next phase of their conversation, with that well-trained, purely diplomatic smile of his.
"I believe my daughter mentioned how swiftly the water cools. I shall leave you to your bathing. Should you have any inquiries or requests, Mister Paterson will be at the door to assist you."
Then that was it. The governor gestured to Mister Paterson, who was the lone footman who had been spared the burden of running for water, but other than that—that was all he had to say. Perfectly civil, and perfectly brief.
So much so that, for a moment, Will could only manage to respond with a paltry stammer of, "Thank you, sir."
It was enough, technically. It was all he needed to say, all that was asked of him, to satisfy the demands of being a polite guest. The bare minimum requirement.
Which meant it wasn't actually enough at all. He couldn't be only the minimum—not with the chasm that stood between him and this man. He had to be much, much bigger and better to start to properly mend their broken fences. So even though the governor bobbed his head yet again, smiled that ingrained, impersonal smile yet again, and turned to leave without an unkind word yet again, Will was not satisfied.
"Governor Swann!" he called, finding his voice just in time to halt the governor before he disappeared into the drawing room. While the governor's expression had broken into confused suspicion, Will walked to the open washroom door to meet him. "Before you leave… I've been meaning to apologize."
While the governor's confusion deepened, his suspicion was replaced with notable surprise.
For a moment, Will felt himself falter. While yesterday's unexpected flow of events had temporarily pushed it out of his mind, this was a speech he'd been mulling over in his mind as he'd worked the forge all throughout Elizabeth's absence, refining his thoughts alongside his craft. Her surprise morning ambush and the flow of their conversations, with their interrogations and debates, had never seemed to offer him the opportune moment he was looking for.
Or more precisely: he hadn't been bold enough to make that opportune moment appear.
That was a mistake he had been determined not to make again today—he'd spent half his attention on the carriage ride practically chanting to himself how he needed to apologize today. Now the he had the governor's undivided attention, the moment felt different than he had expected. He'd expected it to be less easy, somehow.
But he'd opened his mouth and there was no going back. So Will took a breath and forged ahead.
"Over the years, you have continually extended to me generosity well above what I might expect or deserve…" When the governor's eyebrows raised higher, Will took a step forward, insistent. "I know it has been almost entirely for Elizabeth's sake rather than my own, especially of late. Yet I do not wish to appear as though I have forgotten whose hand has most ensured the gifts and opportunities I've been granted since my arrival to this island. And lately I have shown my gratitude poorly. I have been churlish where you have been patient, and…"
And… Dammit, this wasn't the apology he'd meant to say! It sounded more like an expression of thanks than a show of humility. He'd thought up more specific examples of his potential offenses to account for, but now that the moment had arrived, his nerves were overwhelming his shame and making him forget them.
'Keep going. Too late to go back.'
"I owe my life to each of you."
'No, not like that!' He was making it sound more and more like the governor's kindness only existed because of Elizabeth!
The governor's expression had settled into a stoney facade devoid of notable feeling.
Will swallowed, trying to correct course, "However, I also owe my livelihood to you. Your … support for my apprenticeship over the years has been generous, as has your mercy in light of my trespasses. And my behavior has not been…"
He was going in circles. 'Cut to the chase, William!'
"I wish to make everything up to you—to repay you and prove to the world your judgements have been sound, and that I am…"
There were many things he'd meant to say originally, but when it came to it, there was one word that hovered over both men like an albatross in the wind:
Worthy.
It didn't matter whether they spoke of the way the governor had given him his money or his trouble or his time or his beloved daughter—Will realized he needed the world to say he was worth the governor's investment, not a handbasket person or a waste. For Elizabeth's hand alone, his debt was inestimable. But he would work his entire life, if he had to, to be worthy of it. He needed to be a son—he needed to be someone the governor could be proud of.
Just that. Someone to be proud of.
Someone.
When the governor's eyes looked him up and down dispassionately, Will held his breath. Hopefully, the transformation into that someone would start now, with his offer for redress.
The governor smiled again, but this time there was an indefinable edge under his usual delicate expression.
"Minus the two thousand pound loss of the Interceptor, I assume."
A stone dropped inside Will, and his gaze followed it down. The light breeze of hope skimming his sails, the wind that had been gently bearing up that figurative albatross over their two heads, died away. Whatever remaining words he had were lost. Left behind was a stillness that settled between them, as quietly stifling and listless as the onset of doldrums.
He had been sincere—in addition to whatever grace and kindness he had been extended, whatever silver the governor had put towards his apprenticeship, his absolution, his marriage, he intended to pay it. But as for the matter of the Interceptor: it had been made clear at his trial, humiliatingly so, that the cost of that ship had been more than Will could expect to reasonably pay in his lifetime—twenty years of all his potential wages would barely cover it. If he could survive on half his wages, he'd be paying that ship's loss off until he died. If it hadn't been for the generous interventions of Elizabeth's father and then-fiancé, convincing the court that the real fault had lain with Barbossa's men, his life and prospects would have been utterly ruined.
The governor's reminder of that fact quietly, but deftly, made its painful point by once again reminding Will just how far down the ladder he stood from either man. This was a debt he could never begin to pay—not without a miraculous improvement to his future finances. And he ought not make promises he could not keep.
The stone inside him sank lower, deep into the pits of his stomach.
"You have noble intentions, Mister Turner," Governor Swann spoke in what Will supposed was meant to be a form of reassurance. Instead, it felt condescending. "But I do not expect you to live beyond your means for our sake. The best way to 'repay' me is to secure the future comfort of my daughter and her family to come."
Will felt a knot form in his throat. "Her" family, the governor had called it, not "theirs."
He ought to have expected it—how could he not? The man had made it very clear what, exactly, he thought of her daughter's new suitor from the moment the very concept of her courtship had been proposed. There'd been no pretenses at all.
Yet it still felt like a strike to the chest.
He wasn't expecting miracles. Will had long ago learned that asking for love from those who had none for him was as futile as trying to squeeze drink out of a stone. Most hearts changed slowly, if they ever changed at all. So he never expected the governor's to soften overnight—he wasn't seeking immediate forgiveness any more than he anticipated an embrace of welcome. But he had hoped for softer words, at least. He had thought that shearing the small bits of hair from his face would help him feel confident, thanks to offering the elder man something more in line with his demands—that the governor might at least begin to see that he was on the path to becoming a so…
A someone.
Instead, he was finding it had done little to alleviate his apprehension, instead reminding him with his skin's the nakedness how raw and vulnerable he felt, while the governor's harsher words echoed in his mind:
A boy. Not the man wanted, but the man of upper-class nightmares. Simple, unready, an interloper. Never to compare with the better option, having nothing to offer…
Unworthy.
'But you are not,' his mind whispered, in a tone that sounded far less like his own and a little more like someone who loved him. 'You know you are not.'
He did. While the governor's past words and lack of faith were understandable, they were not gospel—and they were far from final. No matter how many times or ways he'd been told he amounted to nothing, somehow there had always been at least one person in his younger life who had helped him remember the truth. Having grown, he knew for certain what he was really made of, what he could actually achieve when he set his mind to it, even as seemingly insurmountable odds stacked against him—now more than ever, he knew better.
And while it wasn't today—he hadn't expected for it to be today—Elizabeth's father would know better as well.
The stone in his gut remained heavy with disappointment. But like a lump of coal it had ignited with the sparks of his own determination.
Will rose his chin and once more looked the governor steadily in the eye. He'd been asked to repay his graces by ensuring Elizabeth's future.
"I shall," he avowed. "Rest assured, I have no intention of living beyond my means, sir. If anything, I intend to expand them."
The governor did not appear moved by Will's certitude. If anything, he seemed a little vexed. "Yes. I look forward to hearing when your intentions become plans, Mister Turner. Perhaps once you begin to make such improvements, it will make it less jarring to discover my daughter vestured in such unconventional garments as a common workman's smock—which I hope the three of you have a very good explanation for."
He leveled a pointed look at Will—an unhappy one.
The fire inside him was doused, and a cold lump of coal rolled around his innards, churning his nerves about.
'Shit.'
Here he'd been worrying about whether Estrella had been forced into ratting them out—he'd managed to give away that they were up to something without uttering a single word. His ability to fuck up a gambit had to be a special talent.
If it was, neither he nor Elizabeth's father appreciated it very much.
Will opened his mouth to stammer through his explanation, "Sir, I swear to you—"
"We shall speak more after you are cleaned up," the governor stated in a low, firm voice. "Unless, of course, you have something more you feel you ought to offer in the meantime?"
Will suddenly felt like climbing into the tub fully-clothed and sinking up to his forehead in the shallow water. "No, sir."
"I thought not." A vaguely genial smile, signaling the topic was closed for the time being. "Mister Paterson will assist you…" the governor began at a more normal volume, but for some reason tapered off as he looked Will in the eye. He seemed to have something else he wanted to say but reconsidered it, simply sighing before exiting to the drawing room without so much as a single "Ta."
However, even though the governor had left him, Will was still not yet alone. The aforementioned Mister Paterson approached him, bearing on his arms a beautifully starched shirt and some ivory colored breeches. Was this a gift?
"It has been requested that you change into these, afterward," Mister Paterson explained before Will could ask. He made for the back door to the washroom, where he entered and went about his business draping the proffered clothing over the changing screen.
"For what reason?"
Mister Paterson did not smile with his reply. "Your refinement."