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There she was!
Weatherby spotted Elizabeth drawing near to the Dauntless from Isla de Muerta. He greeted her with relief. When he hugged her her hair was rough and she smelled of acrid gunpowder, different from the rum-infused smoke that had clung to her when she was rescued from that tiny island, very different from the salty scent she'd had after being plucked out of the sea, and worlds away from the lily-of-the-valley perfume she usually wore. He imported that perfume specially for her from England.
She stepped back from his embrace and smiled wanly, her familiar face looking most incongruous above that marine's uniform. He asked anxiously if she were all right; her answer was affirmative but subdued.
Weatherby became aware of Norrington at his elbow. He stepped aside to allow the betrothed pair their reunion.
Improper as it would have been before all these Navy men, Weatherby had hoped for a rapturous greeting between his daughter and her fiance. He was disappointed. Norrington made the right moves - he clasped her hand, spoke her name warmly - Elizabeth - and heedless of the onlookers started to take her into his arms and would have kissed her - but Elizabeth turned her face away. She put her head against his shoulder instead, facing as she did so along the deck to where young Turner, flanked by two marines, stood watching this embrace with eyes widened and mouth tightened. Beyond him was the pirate, the mad pirate, who was staring out to sea and resolutely ignoring the guards putting him in manacles. They were chaining his hands behind his back, Weatherby noted with approval, but he decided he would stay between his daughter and the felon anyway.
The marines locked the handcuffs and whisked him off to the brig. Will too was led away. Elizabeth watched them go, face set. No doubt she was worrying about the Turner boy. Well, he could reassure her on that count. Will Turner was a promising young man who could make something of himself, if only he would take care to avoid pirates in future. He would let the boy stew a while, reflect on the wages of his crime, but there was no need to keep Elizabeth in suspense. He would tell her Will would be granted a pardon.
Norrington took Elizabeth's arm to escort her to the great cabin. Those men's clothes really were shockingly revealing on a woman; he would have to see if he could find her a longer coat. Weatherby noticed that the sailors were looking at his daughter with bolder eyes than they would have dared to before. It wasn't just the clothes, it was the smell of rum and smoke, it was her involvement in this unladylike caper, it was...
It was a whole night spent alone on an island with a pirate.
When she had clambered aboard the Dauntless from that little island, he'd meant first to ask if she were all right (how often that question was necessary these days) but he'd caught sight of the bedraggled pirate following her onto the ship and instead he'd said, "Has that man harmed you?"
"No, Father," she'd replied imperiously.
The pirate had clearly heard the question, for as soon as he stepped onto the deck he looked Weatherby in the eye and said, "No harm done at all, mate," with a small, intolerable smirk.
Several of the ship's crew had overheard that gibe. They must have been remembering it now as they looked at Elizabeth and then sidelong at each other.
Elizabeth was a good girl. She was headstrong, but a good girl. She didn't deserve to be looked at so speculatively. This escapade, however, would make her the subject of much gossip and conjecture. Talk like that could ruin a young lady's life, would certainly make her an object of derision. Even being the governor's daughter would be insufficient protection. Her best hope now was to make a brilliant marriage, and soon. It was a blessing that the commodore still wanted to marry her.
A blessing, of course, that could only be complete if Elizabeth in her turn wanted to marry him too. Weatherby had his doubts about that. She had always exhibited such indifference when he had made hints on the subject before, and the timing of her change of heart was so odd. He very much feared that her reasons for accepting the proposal were misguided. He would definitely have to raise the matter with her again. His earlier attempt at discussion had been disastrously one-sided.
She must find the prospect of this marriage tolerable or she would never have agreed to it.
A good marriage, Weatherby reiterated to himself, was his daughter's best chance of rehabilitation. It was certainly better that she be the redeemed Elizabeth Norrington than the completely beyond-the-pale Elizabeth Turner.
She would be safe with James Norrington. That was what mattered most.