Keeping step with Jane Austen's masterpiece, this is the story of Miss Elizabeth Swann and Commodore James Norrington—a tale of intrigue, pirates, peril, treachery and true love. Takes place a few months after "Curse of the Black Pearl." Instead of following Jack Sparrow into the hurricane, Norrington returned home.

Pride and Prejudice

The Story of Miss Elizabeth Swann

And Commodore James Norrington

VVV

Mr. Darcy: Why do you ask such a question?
Elizabeth Bennet: To make out your character.
Mr. Darcy: What have you discovered?
Elizabeth Bennet: Very little. I hear such different accounts of you as to puzzle me exceedingly.
Mr. Darcy: I hope to afford you more clarity in the future.

-Pride and Prejudice

ONE

"What do you think of this necklace, Betsy?" Elizabeth Swann glanced behind her at her maidservant, who was lighting the lamps and candles in Elizabeth's bedchamber.

"It's lovely, Miss," Betsy replied, being careful with the match. Elizabeth sighed and set the necklace down next to the others, canting her head as she surveyed all the long strands of glittering gold and silver by twilight and candlelight. Elizabeth smiled to herself.

"Betsy, you're not even looking." She arched an eyebrow and looked over her shoulder.

Betsy's face lifted, her eyebrows raised, hands cupped around the top of a candle.

"I am, Miss!" she insisted.

"Then which should I wear?"

Betsy sighed and came over, running her eyes over the jewelry laid out on Elizabeth's dressing table. She folded her arms.

"As I said, Miss, they are all exceedingly lovely…"

"But which would go best with this dress?" Elizabeth asked, stepping back and gesturing down at her light green ball gown embroidered in silver. Betsy glanced her over, then considered the necklaces. Her brow furrowed.

"My favorite one is not here, Miss."

Elizabeth frowned and stepped to her side.

"What? One is missing?"

"Ah, here it is," Betsy said, lifting the lid of Elizabeth's coconut-wood jewelry box and drawing out a chain of braided Spanish silver that bore an elegant emerald pendant. Elizabeth waved it away.

"I don't want that one."

Betsy's eyes widened.

"Why ever not? It's beautiful!"

"Because Commodore Norrington gave it to me," Elizabeth replied, fingering the other necklaces and finally picking up a plain silver one. She observed Betsy's confused expression as she fastened the necklace on herself.

"I cannot wear it—especially not tonight," she explained. Betsy was still bewildered.

"It isn't tactful," Elizabeth emphasized. "I have no intentions toward him, and at the moment he should be certain of that. I have no desire to change his mind." Elizabeth sat down in front of her mirror, considering her dimly-lit, smooth complexion and glimmering brown eyes, as Betsy set the necklace down and reached for the brushes.

"So you did not write to him while he was gone?" Betsy ventured.

"No, why would I?" Elizabeth asked. "Besides, who knew where exactly he would be while he was out chasing pirates."

Betsy ran her fingers through Elizabeth's long hair and began to brush it.

"Pardon me, Miss, but…is he not your friend?"

Elizabeth's mouth tightened.

"Perhaps he could have been, at one time. But no, not anymore." She fiddled with the necklace she wore. "Not after he set off to capture Jack Sparrow and hang him."

"He is a pirate, Miss…"

"And a good man, Betsy," Elizabeth insisted, grasping the chain and turning her head toward Betsy. "He saved Will's life, and mine. Yes, he is erratic and dangerous and…strange…but he is my friend. And he's the only real friend Will has ever had. Any affront against Jack is one against both Will and me."

Elizabeth faced the mirror again as Betsy ran the brush through her hair in long strokes.

"Perhaps the Commodore chases Mr. Sparrow because it is his duty," Betsy supposed as she twisted Elizabeth's hair up above her head and began pinning it.

"Then he is far too bound to it," Elizabeth retorted. "If duty gets in the way of his reason and morals then he is a fool, and not half the man Will is." Elizabeth finally took off the necklace she was wearing and set it down, staring at the others. "Besides which, he said some things today that make me hope with all my heart not to encounter him at the ball."

Betsy's hands tightened on her hair.

"You saw him already?"

"No, I have not seen or heard from him in three months," Elizabeth almost shook her head, but her hair was captive in Betsy's fingers. "But Will saw him this morning."

"What did he say?"

Elizabeth hesitated, realizing that if she told Betsy, the gossip would run through the whole house before the end of the hour. But she suddenly decided she did not care.

"Will says that the Commodore greeted him very uncivilly, and implied that Will ought to have been abroad with the fleet trying to catch Sparrow rather than remaining behind in peace and comfort." Elizabeth's stomach twisted. "He also said that the sooner Sparrow's head hung on a gibbet, the better he would sleep at night."

"Is that so? I cannot believe it!" Betsy declared. "I have never known the Commodore to be uncivil to anyone, let alone use such language."

"If it is not true, I would be happy to hear it from him," Elizabeth said, trying on another necklace without moving her head out of Betsy's reach. "But I doubt it. I have heard him describe hanging rather indelicately, and I would not be surprised at all if he was discourteous to Will. I just find it laughable that he would call himself a gentleman after making such remarks." Elizabeth gritted her teeth. "The man does nothing but make me furious, even when he is half an ocean away. I did not even want to go this evening, except Father asked so sweetly." Elizabeth sighed. "I don't suppose I will be able to avoid the Commodore all evening, but I will certainly try."

Betsy finished Elizabeth's hair in silence. Elizabeth always liked the way Betsy did her hair—it complimented her features, dress and slender body so well.

"Thank you, Betsy," she said as her servant stepped back. "I'll just be a moment. If Will is in the entryway, tell him I will be down in a moment."

"Yes, Miss," Betsy murmured, and headed toward the door. Elizabeth blinked, and twisted to see her.

"Betsy? Is something wrong?"

"It is not my place, Miss," Betsy said stiffly, opening the door.

"I insist you tell me," Elizabeth said, trying to keep her voice soft. Betsy met her eyes briefly, her hand on the doorknob.

"Pardon me, Miss, but…it's just that I seem to remember that the Commodore could have hanged Mr. Turner on the spot for trying to help Mr. Sparrow escape. But he didn't. And, if you'll recall, Miss…" Betsy said, halfway out the door. "He let Mr. Sparrow go." She ducked her head. "Goodnight, Miss." And she left, silently shutting the door behind her.

Elizabeth stared at the closed door. She bit her lip, and turned back around. The emerald on Norrington's necklace glimmered in the light of a single nearby flame. She stood up and headed toward the door. She would wear no necklace tonight.

VVV

"Is something troubling you?"

Will's quiet words in Elizabeth's ear made her smile. She glanced at him as she took his arm after disembarking from the carriage. His handsome features and warm brown eyes, as well as his fine hat and suit, were illuminated in the rich, golden exterior torchlight of the town hall. She leaned her head briefly on his shoulder.

"No," she whispered back. "I am actually perfectly happy tonight."

"Really?" Will said as they began to walk toward the grand doors. Her head turned at his tone.

"What does that mean?"

He gave her a look, cleared his throat, then ducked his head away as they passed through the doors and into the lighted entryway. She squeezed his arm.

"William…"

"I must be in trouble if you called me that," he muttered, smiling crookedly.

"Is something bothering you?" she pressed. His brown eyes found hers. They stopped.

"You are perfectly happy," he repeated, his voice—though he did not know it—like a summer breeze. "Why?"

Elizabeth noted that his voice also carried concern—perhaps jealousy. His dark gaze held her captive on the threshold, searching.

For a moment, she just ran her eyes over his features, remembering how she loved each and every aspect of his face. Then she leaned in and pressed a kiss to his soft lips. It surprised him, but when she pulled away, she saw she had earned one of his startled smiles. She returned it.

"Because if I have to fight immortal pirates, or face a room full of stuffy dignitaries and the horrible Commodore Norrington with a smile on my face…I will have you with me."

His grin broadened, and he drew himself up.

"In that case," he gestured ahead of him, to the ballroom filled with light and noise. "Shall we?"

VVV

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth my dear, there you are."

Elizabeth's heart always warmed at the sight of her bewigged father, especially when he was happy. And tonight he was—very much so. Though Jack Sparrow and his crew had not been caught, the governor was like a mother hen: he much preferred that all of his own flock were home and safe. Governor Swann's face broke into a wide smile when he saw Elizabeth and Will enter, and he maneuvered through the crowd to shake Will's hand. He seemed out of breath.

"Mr. Turner, so good to see you this evening. So glad you could come. Please come further in and enjoy yourself."

"Thank you, Governor Swann," Will inclined his head as a servant took his cape and hat. "If I may, I'll engage your daughter in the first dance."

"Be my guest," Elizabeth's father nodded. "Though you may not have room on the dance floor! It is quite taken up by all the officers and sailors. But it is their occasion, of course. Must celebrate a safe return." Elizabeth observed the slight tension in her father's brow as he glanced back toward the larger group, but before she had need to smooth it away with a word or two, it dissipated, and his cheerful look returned. "Go ahead, both of you," he urged. "I must see to the other guests."

And just like that, he had trundled away. Elizabeth fondly watched him go, then let Will pull her toward the sounds of lively music and tapping feet.

The ballroom, a tall-ceilinged chamber packed with people, was aglow with chandeliers, hanging torchlight and candlelight. It was very warm, but the windows were open, and a cool night breeze wafted through.

Her father was right—there were a lot of dancers, but despite her weak protests, Will pulled her right into the center of the lines and they stumbled into the middle of the steps. If any other man had tried such a trick, she would have been livid. As it was, she laughed in delight, gripped Will's hands tightly, and fought to keep up to the lively rhythm. She knew that usually she, as the governor's daughter, would have entered the party with more fanfare, but the status of her escort now prevented it. Because at the moment, he was only an escort. That would change, though. Soon.

Several times, her laughter and Will's rang out over the music and the conversation of those dancing and watching. In fact, she did not want to stop when the music ceased, but Will insisted that she have a chair while he procured some punch for her.

Grinning, she obliged him and seated herself, pulling out her fan and cooling her flushed cheeks. Then her eye caught the hem of her dress. Someone had stepped on it, snagging some of the delicate embroidery.

"Rubbish," she muttered, bending down to take up her hem between her fingers.

She froze. A pair of polished shoes caught her eye. A man was standing in front of her—a man with perfect military posture and glittering buckles. She lifted her face, slowly taking him in one aspect at a time, her heart sinking. White stockings, and then the white-and-gold trousers, waistcoat and blue coat of a British Naval officer—and the face of a man she had known since childhood.

A stern, disapproving brow, a strong, unsmiling mouth, straight nose, noble cheekbones and chin. A powdered, white wig set off every feature with dignity. He was handsome, yes—she would acknowledge that. She always had. But his good looks were poisoned for her—tainted by an unbending pride and a guarded exterior that never broke to let anyone in. Only once had she ever seen anything different in those deep, cold gray eyes. And whatever that had been was not there now. But his regard latched onto her and stopped her breath.

His gaze met hers without flinching. He nodded to her.

"Miss Swann," Commodore James Norrington said, his voice deep and even, and familiar, though she had not heard it in months. "May I have the honor of the next dance?"

"Yes." The word fell out of her mouth—stunned into the open air. He watched her for just another moment, as unreadable as stone, then nodded again, and departed through the crowd. Elizabeth sucked in a deep breath, feeling lightheaded.

Folding her fan, she got up and swept out of the dance hall, heading for the powder rooms as fast as her feet would carry her. She would find a lady to loosen her corset—she refused to give the Commodore the satisfaction of watching her faint again.

VVV

When she returned, more lucid and capable of breathing, she stood with the wallflowers, hoping Norrington would forget about her. She was even hiding from Will, because the dear heart could not help but be conspicuous.

But then the ladies in front of her fluttered, like jungle birds fanning their plumes, and they parted like the Red Sea.

Norrington stood before her, watching her again, and held out his right hand. The ladies muttered to each other. Gathering up all the etiquette she knew, and realizing she would need it, Elizabeth curtsied, reached up and took his hand.

She had no time to be startled, for he instantly led her to the dance floor, but she had not expected his touch to feel this way. Will's hands were calloused from working with a bellows and anvil. She had anticipated Norrington's hands to be smooth, from manning a desk and working with a compass and telescope. But as he turned her to face him and he slid his hand out of hers, his palms and fingers were rough. Unsteady, even. As if a rope had been wrenched out of his grip one too many times…

But she betrayed none of this musing on her face. As the music began, she felt his eyes on her, and it made her jaw clench.

"How was the sea during your journey, Commodore?" she asked, her gaze straight ahead. He took her hand again, and they turned.

"Tolerable," he answered. She glanced at him.

"You found no enjoyment in your journey?"

He did not look at her.

"Very little."

They let go of each other and returned to their lines, then took two steps toward each other. She cocked her head at him, though he avoided her eyes.

"I wonder, then, Commodore, why you should choose a profession that gives you so little pleasure."

He held out his hand and waited. Biting her tongue, she took it. They turned again.

"Pleasure is a luxury, I have found," he replied, giving no hint that he had felt her verbal jab. "I receive satisfaction, if not pleasure, from knowing that I keep innocent people safe."

"And you believe that to be the highest calling of all, I suppose?" She knew she should restrain herself—she knew she should swallow her words. But his unkind words to Will earlier in the day stuck her like a thorn, and she could not relent. They faced each other again and stepped toward each other, and this time Norrington found her eyes. A flicker of uncertainty crossed his.

"By no means," he responded. "What would make you suggest such a thing?"

They turned away from each other, crossed behind the people beside them, and then joined hands again and passed down the middle.

"It is no secret that you disdain certain occupations and stations and you live to bring them lower still—and that you even desire death for those who have been driven to thievery by poverty and want," she said. "I am wondering what part of your character finds satisfaction in that."

His gaze never moved from her face, nor his hand from hers. They kept dancing, but his mouth tightened.

"I can say nothing except that your assessment of me is both enlightening and disheartening," he murmured. She expected him to elaborate, but he did not. They finished the dance, and he led her over to the chair she had occupied initially. She sat down. But he kept hold of her hand, which made her look up at him.

Something flickered in his eyes again. Something distant and heavy.

"Thank you for dancing with me," he said quietly. "I am relieved to see that you are well, and happy, and…" he glanced down, then almost smiled at her. "As beautiful as ever. Good evening, Elizabeth." And he released her hand, turned and vanished into the crowd. Elizabeth slowly let her hand fall into her lap.

Will found her soon—he had not seen her dancing with Norrington, which was a relief. She tried her best to enjoy the rest of the night, and almost managed to forget her encounter with the stoic Commodore, until she, Will and her father were seated in the carriage and home bound.

And absently, as the carriage swayed back and forth and the wheels clattered over the cobbles, Elizabeth realized that, though his skin was rough, Norrington's hold on her hand had remained soft all through the dance, and with each verbal wound he received, his grip had grown even gentler.

Elizabeth was stabbed with sudden guilt that made her close her eyes against the glare of the streetlamps.

She had not even asked him how he had been, or what hardship had forced him to return home empty handed.

VVV

James Norrington burst through a door and into the cooler, darker night air behind the city hall. He jerked on his cravat until it loosened around his throat, and he drew in a sharp, deep breath. But he still could not breathe. He leaned both hands on the marble railing of the patio, keeping his eyes fixed on the moon, biting back every curse word he knew as he fought down the savage pain tearing through his chest. He closed his eyes and struggled to take another breath. Would to God he was back at sea again. For though life aboard ship held untold miseries, they were nothing next to what he knew waited for him here.

TBC