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Approximately two hours into the party, she loses him.
Truthfully, the engagement ball had been her father’s suggestion. Despite James and Elizabeth’s obvious disdain for such functions—James, ever the picture of graciousness and cordiality, expressed his feelings considerably meeker than his fiancée—the governor could not forego the opportunity to celebrate the impending union of his only daughter and the decorated Commodore he'd always loved as a son.
The couple obliged him gratefully, though both found themselves shocked at the grandeur with which the event was thrown. The guest list not only boasted the presence of Port Royal’s finest, but a smattering of Weatherby’s contacts in London who were exceedingly happy to make the arduous trip, if only to determine for themselves the veracity of the legends about the Royal Navy's fabled “Scourge of Piracy”.
Much to her surprise, Elizabeth finds herself in thorough enjoyment of the evening. She's never cared for the social obligations of her station, but the thin gold band that newly adorns her left hand brings with it feelings of security and warmth, much like the man to whom it tethers her. James has been a steady fixture in her life since her early adolescence, treating her with kindness and respect at an age when she was frequently dismissed and condescended to by those in lower positions than he. She fondly recalls the countless times he patiently entertained her insatiable curiosities about his exploits at sea, even occasionally gifting her trinkets from his military escapades abroad. As she grew older, her adolescent infatuation with him bore heavier water, which he returned in spades of ardent devotion during their courtship.
She feels a small smile pull at the corners of her lips as she remembers the night of his proposal. It was an uncharacteristically cool evening in Port Royal, and the newly-minted Commodore had escorted her away from the suffocating crowd and toward a parapet overlooking the serene, sparkling waters of the Caribbean. Their mutual contempt for social engagements was a hallmark of their relationship, and she chuckles to herself thinking of the myriad dinner parties and elaborate balls during which they’d traded snide comments in conspiratorial whispers.
She takes great pride in cracking his stoic facade, causing him to spurt startling barks of laughter at inopportune moments that draw irate glares from their guests and color the tips of his ears a deep, bashful red. She enjoys this side of him, in large part due to the fact that it seems solely reserved for her. Under no other circumstances does he waver or relinquish control, yet the night of their engagement he appeared positively flustered. She had fought an adoring smile as she watched him silently war with himself, no doubt chastising himself for the adverse effects of his nerves.
His words wove gentle knots in Elizabeth’s heart, promising his love, adoration, and unrelenting devotion to her. She had never known a man as steadfast as James Norrington, and to be the subject of his affections was a stroke of good fortune she often found herself in awe of. Her answer came swiftly, enthusiastically, and affirmatively, bucking his cherished standards of propriety and drawing him down for a long, tender kiss.
The swell of the orchestra returns her from her reverie, and she scans the room for her fiancée, hoping to entice him to join her for a quiet moment in the garden, yet James—whom she normally spies pressed against a wall in hopes of avoiding detection—is nowhere to be found. His unannounced absence sets her on edge, and she slips out of the ballroom in search of him.
As she turns into the hallway, she spots the door to the study is slightly ajar, casting a sliver of moonlight upon her feet. She enters quietly, careful not to immediately notify him of her presence. The room is dark save for the pattering of starlight dancing across the floorboards, and she feels an inexplicable chill run through her despite the balmy evening air.
She spots James seated at the desk, illuminated only by the flame of a small candle flickering next to him. He is ensconced in shadows, and though she cannot see his face, he appears decidedly defeated, his shoulders slumped and head bowed over what appears to be a small letter.
“James?” she calls. “Are you alright? You seem to have disappeared from the fray.” She remains in the doorway, hesitant to enter, as if approaching a wounded animal.
James lifts his head at his name, and the expression he bears churns her stomach.
His dark brows are knitted in concern, his mouth contorted in a severe frown. Elizabeth is stricken by how uncharacteristically small he looks in this moment, and her heart aches. She crosses the room to meet him, resting a hand gently on his shoulder.
As if suddenly aware of the effect his rare, unguarded display of emotion has on her, James straightens himself and attempts to adopt an expression of neutrality. It doesn’t work, however, and Elizabeth’s throat tightens. She wishes he didn’t feel the need to always be strong for her, especially at the expense of conveying his true feelings.
“I’m sorry to have left so abruptly,” he sighs, reaching up to his shoulder to place his hand over hers. “I should have come to find you.”
“No need to apologize, darling.” She pauses for a moment, searching for a way to lighten his mood. After a brief silence, she ventures, “I was hoping for a respite from these stifling guests myself, but it appears you’ve taken the preferred hideout.”
He smiles weakly up at her in a halfhearted acknowledgement of her attempt, but the expression does not meet his eyes. He glances down at the parchment in his hand, and Elizabeth notices that it is trembling slightly.
“I received a letter from my father.”
A wave of dread washes over Elizabeth, nausea nestling uncomfortably in her stomach. James never speaks much of his father, but she knows enough to be aware that he holds no affection for the Admiral, nor he James.
“Oh,” Elizabeth breathes, her anxiety casting a thick cloud in the humid air. What small bouts of communication James has with his family are usually conducted through his mother, who often disguises her own praises for her husband’s. James is never fooled, but extends her the courtesy of letting her believe otherwise. “He wrote you directly?”
“I was similarly surprised,” he sneers. “Apparently he deems our engagement a worthwhile enough occasion for his semi-annual acknowledgement of my existence. Aren’t we lucky?”
James’ words are acidic, but the thinly-masked hurt behind them renders his voice nigh unrecognizable. Elizabeth squeezes his shoulder in response, then kneels at his side to meet his mournful gaze.
“May I see it?” she asks, so softly it’s nearly lost in the cacophony of music and laughter wafting from the adjacent ballroom.
James obliges wordlessly, casting his eyes downward like a child being scolded. She desperately wants to rest his head against her chest and press soothing kisses into his hair, but she refrains. Instead, she accepts the letter from him, dusting a soft kiss across his knuckles as she does so.
She knows from James’ occasional mentions that his father is a man of few words, yet she still finds herself taken aback by the brevity of the letter. The man’s penmanship is immaculate but impersonal, spanning the width of the page as if striving to crawl off of it.
Son,
I wish to extend your mother’s and my sincere congratulations on your engagement. May this be an accomplishment you brandish with pride.
Regards,
Admiral Lawrence Norrington
English Royal Navy
Elizabeth scoffs at the formality with which the letter is written. Though she‘s always been aware that the relationship she shares with her father is rare, the cold detachment etched into the parchment sends a shiver down her spine. She gleans more information about her future father-in-law from what is withheld from the page than what is written, taking particular notice of the seemingly deliberate omission of any personal details.
She makes a silent note to herself to hug her father particularly tightly the next time she sees him.
After a long pause, she lets out a bitter laugh that pierces the air and startles James out of his stupor.
“Clearly you gained more from it than I did,” he responds flatly.
Elizabeth shakes her head. “Not at all. I’m simply marveling at the misfortune of the poor couriers whose efforts were wasted delivering such a worthless correspondence. I only hope they were compensated handsomely for their needless trouble.”
James arches an eyebrow in question, then releases a sharp bark of laughter that seems to deflate his rigid frame. Encouraged by his responding levity, Elizabeth smirks. “Do you think he believes he’ll receive a court martial if he fails to sign off with his full title?”
James unleashes a smile that illuminates his face, flecks of gold glinting in his impossibly green eyes. Elizabeth’s heart swells at the sight. “Perhaps my own failure to do so is why I have not yet been similarly promoted,” he replies, slapping his hand over his heart in feigned shock. “And to think the solution has been in front of me all this time!”
“Oh, please,” Elizabeth answers, waving her hand dismissively. “The honorable Admiral Norrington seems to perceive our impending union as a suitable alternative.”
James’ face falls at this, and he reaches down to clasp her hands in his own. Though she plays off the comment in jest, James knows she resents the frequent comparisons of her hand in marriage to a prize won. “Elizabeth,” he begins, his emerald gaze intent on her. “I assure you his foolish assessment of our relationship is not founded in anything he’s learnt on my behalf.”
A conciliatory smile graces her lips. She knows this. No matter how forward she’s been, how explicitly clear she’s made her feelings for him, James has never taken her—or her word—for granted. Even on the eve of their engagement, when their prior expressions of love rendered the occasion more a formality than an official inquiry, she had noticed an air of trepidation about him, as if he anticipated a rejection. She wondered if something in a past life had prepared him for it.
“Of course,” she replies, cupping his cheek in her hand. “I simply find myself tiring of those who liken our marriage to a professional laurel. I understand not all are able to marry for love, but reducing the value of women to what they can offer to their husbands...” Her gaze drops to her lap as she trails off, unable to finish without betraying the bitter lump in her throat. She hadn’t expected such emotion to overcome her in her efforts to comfort him.
James pulls her closer to him, pressing his forehead against hers. The simple, wordless act of understanding diffuses the tension in both of their bodies, and they sit in silence for a few moments, relishing the quiet intimacy of being entirely anchored to one another. He presses a soft kiss to her hair and tilts her chin to meet his eyes. After a beat, he smiles mischievously, as if he was just made privy to an excellent joke.
“I would say we’ve been most gracefully acquiescent to the governor’s lavish wishes for our engagement celebration. Perhaps we could leverage him to limit the capacity of our wedding to a more... amenable audience?”
Elizabeth releases a satisfied grin that splits her features, positioning her chin authoritatively. “I believe that can be arranged.”