Five days ago, sweetest Elizabeth had come rushing to his room to tell him she loved him, and James Norrington was still incapable to fully grasp all of this. Each evening when lying in his bed, the same thought came to his mind – was this only a dream after all, and in the next morning, he'd wake up to find himself alone again, and Elizabeth still engaged to someone else?
But it was no dream, every morning, he awoke and she was still his, with hand and heart. She loved him, in a way that he had never believed possible; when asking her to marry him for the first time, he had hoped that she could accept to be his wife, that she could find regard and respect sufficient to found conjugal life upon. He hadn't flattered himself that she could ever feel any more than that. But he knew her very well, he had observed her for so many years to understand how utterly serious her sentiments were now.
Of course, he couldn't name an exact day when he had fallen in love with her; she had been almost a child yet. Her lively temper, so different from his own, her vigour and easiness had endeared the girl to him in the most innocent way, and it had taken him some more years to realise how exceedingly fond he was of her. Before that, he had watched her with curious interest, amused, endeared, bewildered by the Governor's wild daughter. To acknowledge that he was in love with her had taken him by surprise; for the first time in his life, he had thought of marriage in a deeper way than only contemplating it for his more distant future. He had suddenly known that he'd never be truly happy without this girl, that being with somebody for the rest of his life could be more than just a matter of convenience, of general manner for a man in his position. It had also been the moment to understand that Elizabeth would never love himself in the same way. But perhaps, he had allowed himself to hope, he might be able to make her accustom to the idea of marrying him nevertheless. He had never asked for more.
To see her now, clinging to his arm in the most tender fashion, looking at him with tenderness and true affection – he had never felt like that, not so happy, never so fulfilled. When she had stood before him, insecure and low like he had never seen her, and these words coming from her mouth, 'I love you' – his mind had been blank. He had seen her speak, but it had felt like Chinese, accidentally resembling the English 'I love you', and he had desperately tried to figure out what the heck she might actually be talking about.
The first thing he had managed to perceive had been that she had seemed to labour under the impression that he was going to marry her friend Miss Van Dyke, which had perplexed him almost as much as everything else, but at least it had been an easy head to answer to. Of course, he would not marry Miss Van Dyke; even if this one hadn't been already engaged to his friend Robert Chandler, he had never seriously contemplated this possibility.
She had appeared exceedingly relieved to hear this, and slowly, very slowly, it had dawned on him what she had said to him in the first place. She had said that she loved him, that she had abandoned her fiancé, and despite his utter confusion, he had began to find the whole situation incredibly funny.
She had left young Mr. Turner because she had thought he, James Norrington, had proposed to her best friend? It couldn't be true, could it?! And she had meant him to love her no longer, which had been the most absurd part of it all – the whole time, he had feared that his unfaltering affection must be written all over his face whenever being near her. But still, he hadn't known what to do or say, too distraught by swallowing her utterly unexpected revelations. Just when she had been on the verge of leaving as quickly and unforeseen as she had come, he had, luckily, had the presence of mind to stop her.
Ever since this minute, he had felt like in heaven, staunchly convinced that no man had ever experienced such surprise, such happiness. He had asked her to become his wife, she had breathed that there was nothing in this world that she wanted more and this time, it had been him ready to sink with excitement.
That evening had been too much filled with stupefaction to ask about anything else, but the following days had offered him plenty of opportunity to do so, 'Why' being the beginning of almost any of his questions. He was nonplussed by her answers, bewildered, pleased, touched, and always elated. And every once in a while, he was plainly embarrassed, too.
"James," she said now with a roguish smile, "are you aware that the only time I've ever seen you without a wig was when you were unconscious?"
He softly blushed and raised his brows. "Oh – yes, I suppose that's true…"
"I liked it!"
"Now did you – well…" He was clearly embarrassed, and she pressed his hand reassuringly.
"Oh, don't get me wrong! You look very good in your uniforms and all – it's just… I think I've never really seen you underneath all the brocade and the wig and the hat… In your ornate, you are the Commodore, but without it, you are James, you know?"
He was silent for a minute, a soft smile playing around his lips before murmuring, "Although I'm afraid I am both, my dearest…"
"Yes!" She beamed and flashed her most brilliant smile at him. "You are both, that's why I love you so much! You are dignified, up-right, brave and responsible, that's the Commodore in you, and you're gentle and sweet and vulnerable and caring and funny, that is James. And I'm the only one who knows!"
He kissed her hand in great animation, unable to speak. He thought it was true what she was saying there, but he would find no words to express his feelings. Nobody in the last fifteen years had ever seen him fully, and even before that… He had always been Sir Alfred's younger son, or Lieutenant Norrington, or the Captain, or the Commodore. He had never met with someone who wouldn't expect a certain role of him, he hadn't even perceived that there could be more to him than these parts. When he had fallen in love with Elizabeth, he had meant the only way to impress her, to make her love him, too, would be by his great successes, his perfect pose, his flawless attitude. By making her want to be Mrs. Commodore Norrington. Not for the world he had been able to imagine that she could wish to be Mrs. James Norrington!
He tried to master his agitation, not letting go of her hand and mustering a smile. "Well, I foresee some possibilities for you to have me without the wig, sweetest Elizabeth –"
"Oh yes! So do I!" She nestled against him. "Among the many delights of becoming your wife, this is one of my favourites!"
"So what are the others?"
She winked at him. "Too many to count them, with only one drawback!"
"Only one? That's gratifying, isn't it? So what would this one drawback be? Perhaps I can change something about it?"
"You'll be away so often! And not only away, but on sea, chasing dangerous people!" Her expression had turned very earnest and her eyes wide; he was moved with her anxiety. He couldn't argue with that; he would be forced to leave her alone very often. He would fight pirates, and there was no guarantee that he'd win.
"I know," she said under her breath, "this is your profession, and a very fine one, too. But you know how selfish I am, I don't think of anyone but myself! I just can't stand the idea to lose you, though I promise to be brave. I'll do whatever it takes to be a good wife for you!"
"You will be, my love! I have no doubt about that! And how could I be anything but endeared by your worry?"
She bit her lip, like she always did when she was insecure – she had no idea how well he knew her face, all these little movements and gestures – and then she beamed at him. "In fact, I shouldn't be worried, should I? Has there ever been a better sailor than my future husband, a fighter more courageous, a man smarter or more quick-minded? If anything should ever happen to you, it would be the Lord's way to punish me, and I swear I'll give Him no reason to do so!"
He suppressed to laugh about her fervour and kissed her hand instead. "I do hope you forgive me for saying this, but there have been ample of sailors better than me –"
"Perhaps, but certainly none of them could have been more modest! Am I not the luckiest girl in the world? I'm going to be married to the most perfect gentleman to walk upon this earth or sail its waters!"
He sealed her mouth with a kiss before she could say more to make him blush and laugh out aloud. She always made him feel so strange, so very much unlike himself – but oddly, he was very comfortable with this. He was aware what the people said about him; there was praise in abundance, but positively never, he had been recommended for being much fun. When or why should he have been funny, anyway? With Elizabeth, this was different; he just loved to see her smile, he cherished her laughter. To make her laugh and smile was invaluable, fantastic, it made him feel good, too; he was amazed how easy it suddenly had become for him to do so, and to laugh himself. She said how well it suited him, and he felt how good it did him on the whole. Sir Alfred wouldn't have recognised his own son.
Another man thought he shouldn't recognise his own child as well, which was of course Governor Swann. He had been increasingly worried for Elizabeth's sake; afraid that she could get even more stubborn, less accessible, the apparent end of her friendship to Miss Van Dyke had seemed to confirm this. For a start, he understood now why his daughter had been so harsh with her friend; he couldn't but smirk with the idea. Perhaps, he should have realised what was wrong with her, but frankly, the idea that she could be jealous of the lady had never struck his mind at all. Too decisive had been her rejection of the Commodore, too fiery her declarations of love for young Mr. Turner. In fact, Commodore Norrington had been the very last man in the whole Caribbean that he had believed to be capable of incensing real love in dear Elizabeth. How lucky that he had been so utterly wrong!
Although she resembled her mother in so many ways, her eyes, her face, her quick wit and her determination – ever since she was engaged to the Commodore, Elizabeth for the first time truly reminded him of his beloved Mary. There was something in her expression when being with her future husband that he had seen in Mary's eyes, too, an earnest devotion maybe. Even more gratifying was that she had instantly toned down a little; she was more guarded, less careless than she had been before, without losing her easy temper. If nothing else, the Governor would have been sufficiently relieved with this to ask for more in his soon-to-be son-in-law.
Good Miss Van Dyke was thinking along the same lines; she had always tried to influence Elizabeth to be a little less quick-tempered. As much as she had adored her friend's lively temper, being so much more reserved herself, she had often felt that Elizabeth had crossed the lines in many ways. It was good to have a mind of one's own, but important to realise that one couldn't always follow only one's self-will.
"Lizzy, Lizzy, I'm glad to see that you've finally found somebody you will listen to! I always seemed to fail in making any impression on you at all!" She chuckled heartily, and so did Elizabeth.
"I wonder that you're still talking to me, Hen. I've been nothing but terrible! I would have deserved you to ignore me for the rest of my life, and James never looking at me again either, really!"
"Now don't you try to make up complacency by excessive humbleness, my dear! I like you very well the way you are, even if I've found at times that it'd suit you well to think first before speaking – or getting engaged, for example! But nobody is perfect, and it's the imperfections that are truly amiable to me!"
"I must be very amiable then!"
"You surely are! I think that's also the reason why I could never have fallen in love with your dear fiancé – the good Commodore is too holy for me. Has this man any fault at all?"
"No." Elizabeth grinned broadly. "My dearest James is perfection itself. He's the epitome of everything that is good and worthy! But you're not telling me the truth after all, are you, Hen? For I cannot imagine that you see any flaw in Lieutenant Chandler, and how does that go along your conceptions then?"
"No, I surely see no flaws or faults in him, that's right! He is a very good man in every aspect, nevertheless – the Commodore has always been like a statue of his own to me. Robert is… Oh well, I hadn't believed I could ever feel like this for a man!"
"I'm glad to see that I'm not the only one utterly and completely wrong then!"
"Oh, certainly I haven't been quite as wrong as you, dear. I've only said that I couldn't fall for any man – you swore you could never fall for this one in particular!"
"You're horrible, Hen! Shh! Don't remind me of what I've said, I want to sink into the ground whenever I think of it!"
"So how does the Commodore kiss now? You still owe me an answer on that head!" Henrietta significantly arched a brow, making her friend giggle.
"Oh! Can there be words to describe it?"
"You've never lacked adjectives, Lizzy – just give it a try!"
"You only want to mock me, Hen! No matter what I say, you will roll your eyes and laugh about me!"
"I promise I shall not! Listen – you tell me about the lovely Commodore, and I will tell you about dearest Robert in return!"
Fortunately, neither the lovely Commodore nor the dear Lieutenant had a vague idea about their fiancées' chats; they would have been bound to feel very awkward about it. No, although they were as good friends as they could wish for, the male counterpart of this conversation hadn't consisted of much more than an approving handshake, some roguish smiles, some shoulder-patting and the reciprocal remark, "You do look very happy indeed!"
And they were; Lieutenant Chandler's bliss was in no way inferior to the Commodore's, even though he had never been quite as subdued. Both looked forward to a future full of prospects; they were to marry the most graceful women, who were no less attached to them than the other way round, their fiancées' friendship was bound to strengthen their own and they had no reason to lament only the tiniest detail. Both men felt privileged by fate and could only congratulate themselves on 'more luck than any man truly deserves' – their future wives eagerly defied that, claiming the two deserved nothing but the best, but without referring to themselves in this respect. Henrietta Van Dyke was too sensible for such an assumption; Elizabeth Swann had been rendered humble by experience – she had always demanded that James Norrington should marry nobody but the very best woman in the world, and by no rate, she saw herself suit her own demands there. In this one case, she was most ready to yield her otherwise so firm views nevertheless. She would be his wife, no matter what happened; if he still wanted her now, after all she had inflicted on him, nothing could stop her from spending the rest of her life with him.
Reverend Martin joined the Commodore's and Miss Elizabeth Swann's hands on the first Saturday in January, making her Mrs. James Norrington, and him the happiest man that could be imagined. Miss Van Dyke was the young couple's bridesmaid, Lieutenant Chandler their Best Man and the entire nuptials an event that the sleepy little town of Port Royal was bound not to forget so soon.
For a start, the public astonishment couldn't have been greater with the mere announcement – there hadn't been a child not knowing that the Governor's daughter had broken up with the Commodore in summer and had engaged herself to Mr. Brown's apprentice instead. The usual gossip mills made the best of it, some saying the young man, who had signed on the Black Pearls some days earlier, had been fed up with his bride's extravagances and left therefore. Others claimed as certain knowledge that the Governor had forced his daughter to accept her former fiancé after all by the threat of disinheriting her. A few very imaginative voices even whispered that the whole engagement to Mr. Turner had been only a diversion; the main pivot of this tale was the assertion that the Commodore should have suspected his stand-in Captain Filister all the time and had merely tried to protect his beloved during his absence by pretending they had broken up. The carpenter's wife Mrs. Roxburgh and her cook Mrs. Walden, being the originators of said rumour, were the only ones not taken by surprise when spotting the happy couple before the altar. Both bride and groom were beaming so brightly that there could be no more doubts that this was a marriage founded on mutual affection after all, so the main focus shifted to the question how much the bride gown must have cost and whether it had been fabricated in Paris or in London. After this had been settled – with a majority betting most patriotically on London – it was estimated how much money would be among those two. Surprisingly enough, these guesses were pretty accurate. Everybody knew about the rings already, and some very eager tongues tried to lure the Governor's cook to give away the menu for the feast – which was no problem; Mrs. Peacock was much too proud with her lobsters and veal, her kidney pies and apple tarts, to leave anybody in the dark about them anyway.
The Reverent couldn't bridle himself to put special emphasise on the phrases concerning the seriousness presented by such an enterprise like conjugal life, making the groom smile, the father of the bride turn crimson under his powdered wig, and the greatest part of the congregation snigger. Only the bride herself was far too excited to get the joke, anxiously waiting for the moment to say 'I do', but even if she had noticed it, she would have been gratified by the priest's following affirmations of the unquestionable affection the young couple was showing.
Then, there was the great, long-awaited moment to speak at last, and put on the rings. James Norrington shot his newly-wedded wife a significant glance which she returned graciously, and he pulled back the veil. He had never been so overwhelmed in his entire life than in this minute, holding her hand still and looking into her big hazel eyes that were sparkling at him. The bride was not a jot less touched, softly trembling – both her husband and the priest had smartly fetched some smelling salts, just in case – and incapable to grasp her own good fortune. She had spent the durance of two or three songs with silent prayers, heartfelt vows, pledging to show herself worthy of such mercy as she had been bestowed with after all her faults and mistakes, giving holy oaths to better herself, and solemn affirmations to follow her husband's grand example in manner and conduct.
The Anglican Church of England didn't usually designate the newly-wed couple to kiss; but in places like Port Royal, thousands of miles away from Canterbury and London, an intersection of so many influences from so many other cultures, the textbook of prayers wasn't taken quite as strictly as elsewhere. Everybody took delight in seeing the bride people kiss – if one particularly touchy bride father would absolutely not have it, Reverend Martin of course refrained – but now he sighed with some satisfaction, "You may now kiss the bride!"
And that was what James Norrington did; with their eyes fixed and their hands entwined, he bowed down to kiss his beloved Elizabeth. When his lips touched hers, she closed her eyes and devoted herself to him and his kisses alone, glad that he still possessed as much sense as to part again after some seconds, for had it been up to her, she would have stayed like that for the next hours to come. Slightly guilty, she turned her gaze to the ceiling and promised the Lord once more that she'd be a good girl from now on and that nothing but propriety should guide her.
What else can be said about the day of their wedding? First came the reception, next came the feast, both taking place in the Governor's house. These were followed by the only thing that Governor Swann's otherwise so cheerful temper couldn't thoroughly rejoice in – to part with his dear child, as this one mounted the carriage with her husband to set off for her new home down in the fort. Within the walls of the fortress, there was a separate house, built for the Head of the fort, which had been vacant for many years because the Commodore had been a bachelor and seen no reason at all to move in there, contenting himself with the normal officers' quarters over in the main building. The house had been renovated and richly furnished half a year ago due to his first engagement; this being one of the main reasons why their actual wedding could have been performed so quickly. It had only taken some dust-wiping to get it ready, as the Commodore had never bothered to undo all the former preparations, thinking that he could well leave it like that for one of his future successors.
"How do you like it, Mrs. Norrington?" he asked, a tad anxiously, when presenting Elizabeth her new home now.
"Say that again, please!"
He knew very well what she wanted to hear, but was determined to tease her. "Well, how do you like it?"
"No, the other part!"
"Tell me whether you like if first and you shall hear me say it as often as you please, my dearest Elizabeth!"
"I find it splendid! Who could have assumed that you sailors had so much taste after all? I had readied myself to live in some place having berths instead of beds! Now speak it!"
"Berths instead of beds?" He innocently gaped at her, receiving a little push, and laughed merrily. "Very well, Mrs. Norrington, I'm at your command! Please, Mrs. Norrington, give me any order you like and I shall instantly hurry to satiate your wishes, Mrs. Norrington!"
"Hasn't it a fabulous ring to it?"
"In my next letter to Sir Alfred, I will forward your compliments, Mrs. Norrington! I'm sure he'll be just pleased! Now be very honest with me – is there even the slightest chance that I should be allowed to call you Elizabeth again in – let's say the next two weeks?"
She smiled roguishly. "I must think about that, Sir! But trust me, I shall keep you informed!"
"Did I already tell you that you look absolutely stunning in this dress?"
"Let me see – thirteen times approximately? Though I can't hear it said too often, and like before, I shall reply that I hope it's not only the dress that's stunning you!"
"I assure you, it is not! So, what are your plans now, Mrs. Norrington?"
Her cheeks turned pink, she bit her lip and slightly tilted her head. Not that he wasn't just as insecure as his fourteen years younger wife, but he found that it was obviously up to him to make a start. He took a deep breath and summoned all his courage, "Well, you haven't seen the attics yet, and I've thought I could also try to prove to you that you haven't been made mistress of a house having berths for beds –"
She blushed some more, but managed to whisper, "Oh, I think the attics would require better light!"
He exhaled with relief and smiled. "Very well, Mrs. Norrington! So it be then!"
He kissed the tip of her nose, lifted her up and patted her in his arms. She was trembling, burying her face in the arch between his neck and shoulder, and slowly and carefully, he carried her up to the first floor.
Both the Commodore and his wife held their privacy sacred, so no further account of their wedding night shall be given at this point. Only so much – bride and bridegroom found the beds most suitable, the former permitted the latter to call her Elizabeth without any more ado, and was quite enraptured to see him without his wig at last, and not even the Commodore's meticulous sense of duty could have tempted him to leave the bedroom again within the next couple of days.
Lieutenant Chandler represented him with the usual excellence; he himself was allowed to see his fair bride before the altar around Easter. Admiral Thompson had been quite fast to pursue his promotion to become Captain, Mr. and Mrs. Van Dyke had raised no objections whatsoever, and the two couples were as attached to each other as their old friendships could have promised. Governor Swann lived long enough to see his three grandchildren James, Mary and Elizabeth, be born and grow up, before his decease at the admirable age of seventy-one years.
Commodore Norrington became Admiral being thirty-eight and resolved to retire at forty-four. The whole family returned to England then, where the children were supposed to attend school, and their parents gladly exchanged the tropical sun for the Southern English gentle drizzling to be close to their children.
They were followed by the Chandlers five years later, who had four children on total, and to their mother's delight daughters only. She found it one thing to have a husband at sea, but quite another to imagine one of her darlings choosing this path.
Only one last thing needs to be said, and this concerns Elizabeth's temper. Although she often violated her home-made oaths to be more considerate, reforming and resetting them on a regular basis, she grew up to be a perfectly amiable woman, a caring and responsible mother, a devoted wife, a true role-model for the townspeople as she continued to work in the hospital and altogether tried to be as helpful and responsible as she could, leaving no space for even such a sharp observer as Captain Chandler to find any real fault with her. She stayed as lively as she had ever been, but adopted her husband's calmer manners; he lost some of his stiffness in return, infected by her general easiness. It couldn't be a end more boring, but also less common, for who could claim for themselves to have led a life of affluence, utter domestic felicity and every other happy circumstance?
THE END
I'd like to say thanks to everyone reading up to this point, and most of all, everyone reviewing – thanks to lithe-button, au004, Zillac, Gee-Unit, arcticfox and GoldenFawkes!