(no subject)
Pairing: Norribeth, with hints of background Will/Elizabeth
Genre(s): Drama/Romance/Hurt!Comfort
Warning: Utterly AU, marriage fic, mentions of sexual assault, Elizabeth is underage by modern law. Mentions of non-con, sexual assault.
Spoilers: CotBP only
Summary: James is further baffled by his wife, and the governor comes to call.
Rating: PG-13 at most, I think
Word Count: 4245
Notes: Thank you to artic_fox for the amazing beta and to shahani for listening to me witter about this and getting me into the angst of the pairing to begin with. Also James' parents and the writing home all hers!XD
Part 1
Part 2
James wakes before Elizabeth and is surprised to find her using his chest as a pillow. He has lost feeling in one arm where her slender weight rests on him. He would suspect this was a furthering of last night’s attempted attentions, but she is dead to the world in a tangle of limbs and nightgown and blankets. James seems almost an afterthought to the whole arrangement. Yet it gives him hope that Elizabeth had found genuine comfort in closeness.
She was so relaxed in sleep that her mouth had fallen open and James could feel a damp patch on the shoulder of his nightshirt. He inspects it - she was comfortable enough to dribble on him it would seem - but the smell of brandy is still pervasive. He sits up and lifts her slightly to shift her onto the pillow, trying not to wake her. The routine he had attempted to begin with her might have to wait a day given the brandy consumption. She had not, after all, left very much for him to tip away.
This is not the best of ideas, and she stirs as soon he sets her gently on the pillow. Quickly, Elizabeth sits up, sways, turns green and retches. He recoils involuntarily and immediately feels guilty for doing so. It would be better if she were out of the bed, but she’s retching so violently that moving her does not seem viable. James holds back her hair and rubs her lower back. For a while it seems that retching and dry heaves are all it will be. He has just about relaxed as it seems to slow, when Elizabeth vomits copiously. It carries on for some time, leaving his nightshirt, the bed covers and her nightgown in her line of fire. He supposes this is the brandy combined with her usual trouble.
Elizabeth wipes her mouth on the covers with a small sound of disgust. He disapproves of such behaviour on principle, but it hardly made a difference to the state of the bed. “Elizabeth!” he said cautiously. It was as much for the fact that she seems to be blearily eyeing the pillow, and if she lay in her own vomit he would not know where to begin. The room stank now of stomach acid, and of course the pervasive smell of brandy. He pulls his nightshirt off disgusted, and then realises what he’s done.
There was an awkward shuffle where he struggles to reach for and pull on a dressing robe. Thankfully, he had left it at the foot of the bed, and manages to put it on without exposing more of himself to Elizabeth, or staining himself further. Elizabeth watches him carry on with an unusual amount of interest considering the dullness in her eyes and then she follows suit. James at least averts his eyes. She wrinkles her nose again and slid out of bed holding her robe closed. Elizabeth wobbles as she stands and turns green again. He scrambles round the bed and steadies her.
James scoops her up in his arms holding her robe closed. He tries to keep her steady; it was obvious that motion would not help. So they go slowly along the corridor to his room. He installs her in his bed (not that he has yet spent an entire night in it,) and found a clean washbasin, in case she should have further need. It was likely the maids would need to air her room and if she befouls this bed, they'd end up in the guest room. Despite the Governor's generosity, the house was modest and he did not want Elizabeth to recover in the cramped, though pleasant, space allotted to guests.
Elizabeth needs a bath, as did he, but James is not especially worried about that. The maids could change two sets of linens. What he worried about was Elizabeth. He knows, of course, that really she brought it on herself but he cannot bring himself to think of it like that. For all the nausea that has been a constant morning event, it hadn't fazed her, not like this. Watching her lie pale and headachy, unable to move without retching, is difficult for him. wrenching. He might get rid of the wine after all.
It is afternoon before the alcohol’s effects fade enough for Elizabeth to rise and bathe and sit at the dining room table, eyeing a bowl of porridge dubiously. This means he can no longer put off the conversation he does not really want to have. He distracts himself from it further by having to suppress his annoyance that her appetite has gone again. She’s manages perhaps two bites of of porridge after first fussing with it - adding sugar and cream before spending a good portion of her time at table stirring it vigorously, as if that might decrease its volume. But James has never been someone who avoids anything because it was difficult and he feels it is not a good time that he should start now. The matter must be addressed.
“Elizabeth,” he starts, “your behaviour yesterday - this business with the brandy. I should not have to tell you that it is unacceptable.” He hopes that she might nod, agree and they could say no more about it. He felt ridiculous scolding her - and it was not as if she could possibly think spending her evenings getting blind drunk would meet with his approval. She set her jaw defiantly and pushes her food away. It would have been more worrying if he had seriously thought she was going to eat it.
“It was only a drink,” she said. It had, in fact, only been the best part of a bottle of Armagnac. That she had been conscious to proposition him at all was startling in itself, given her size and youth.
“You madeyourself ill,” he points out. At her unhappy look, he amends it to “More ill, anyway.”
“There is nothing wrong with a married woman enjoying a nightcap,” she informs him. Elizabeth sounds reasonably convinced of this, and while it certainly was a more acceptable activity for a married woman than an unwed girl. It was not the sort of advantage he and her father had had in mind when thinking of her future.
James seriously could not believe she was arguing with him over this. She was still green. ”There will,” he told her firmly, “be no more nightcaps.” Elizabeth did not answer, but the look on her face seems to indicate that this pronouncement meant very little to her.
James reaches for her hand and she pulls away unhappy. The matter they were not speaking on from last night lay between them like a gulf. He did not know how to broach the subject and if he did, Elizabeth would take it as a further scolding. He did not want to scold her and that aspect of her life would be one that remains under her control. Not his, and certainly not under the lack of control of intoxication.
“I only wish to see you safe and well, Elizabeth,” he said. ‘And happy,’ he thought but did not say. “Brandy will not help your health at this juncture. Therefore you shan’t have it. Do I make myself clear?” She nods sullenly. Feeling that was as close to agreement as he was going to get, he changes topic, - her room will not be fit to return to just yet. The maids have scrubbed the mattress clean but it needs to dry and the room to air. “You may retire to my room,” he informs her; it should not truly be an issue if she still wants him there for her nightmares. If she no longer does, well, the guest room is adequate for him. “Yours will need to air.”
There is a moment of threatened future difficulties on her face and then she pushes her chair away from the table and slams a door out on her way out. He watches puzzled and then it sinks in. He’s just sent his wife to her room. He meant tonight. James knows he should follow and correct the impression, but the rest will be good for her and frankly he’s surprised that such behaviour from him could be dignified with a response from Elizabeth.
They are three days away from the hangings now and he wonders if things might improve then. Somehow he is beginning to doubt it. He will still have no real idea of what Elizabeth needs or how to give it to her. He can give her time but seemingly she does not want to take it, and the child they both suspect she carries will complicate matters further. He may have salvaged her reputation and future in society by marrying her, but he doubts she thinks of this as a favour. He has no one he can ask about this and despite the fact that it will take months to reach her and months for a reply, he considers writing his mother for advice.
Of course, when he wrote to notify his family of his marriage, he had not exactly detailed the exact circumstances of Elizabeth’s misadventure. James thinks his mother would not care of such things. That he is happy with his wife would be more than enough for her, or even that he’s married at all. ‘Lieutenant’s take wives’ she has written to him often enough, always inquiring as to when she would have another daughter in law. His suspicions of his father’s opinion on his choice are enough that he is already considering which colony he and Elizabeth might settle in should his time with the Navy or her father’s posting ever come to an end. James will not return with her to England only to expose her to further upset. It is a shame his mother will not meet the daughter-in-law she’s so wanted but when things are more settled they can perhaps correspond.
It is when he is so caught up in thoughts of his own family that he is interrupted with news they have a caller. He suspects who it shall be. There is really only one person who can call on them unannounced without invite or forewarning and not have it be the height of ill manners and it is indeed his father-in-law.
“James,” Governor Swann greets him jovially enough, titles dropped as they are, after all, family now. “How is married life treating you?”
“Well enough, Governor Swann,” he said. He can’t simply drop the formality so easily. The answer is not a lie, married life is treating him well enough. It’s how it’s treating Elizabeth that concerns him, and no doubt her father as well. “Elizabeth is having an afternoon rest,” he said. “Let me show you to the sitting room and I shall see if she is well enough to join us.” He should really really have sent a maid, but he thought that the amount of coaxing that might be needed might be beyond them - to convince Elizabeth to join him and not give her father the impression that she needed to be bundled back home with him immediately. His father-in-law agreed to this amicably and waves him off with a reminder to address him as Weatherby. James can’t quite picture doing so even with permission.
He finds Elizabeth reading in bed, still dressed. She’ll be creased slightly, but at least can make a reasonably rapid appearance. He did not knock and she feigns sleep at his appearance despite the book in her hand. Her eyes are closed and her breathing steady, but he can see her peeping from beneath her lashes. He plays along.
“Elizabeth? Your father has come to call on you,” he said gently. For a moment she did not stir or respond and then she squeezes her eyes firmly closed as if in hope of dissuading him with the depths of her sleep. She surely can’t expect that to work. He smiles at the scrunch of her nose such an action causes, and then forces it away not wishing to annoy her further. “Elizabeth, you aren’t asleep,” he said louder, “and you have a guest.”
Elizabeth lifts her head from the pillow to look at him. “Well you may tell my father I am not receiving visitors as I have retired for the afternoon.” James feels certain that attempting to explain that the circumstances in which had her sent to bed before tea was served will not help him here. It was a misunderstanding but telling her so will merely come across as excuse-making, so he doesn’t.
“I can certainly tell him that,” he said, “and he would not wish to disturb your rest, but surely you’ve missed him?” She gets out of bed with a huff and he’s pleased to see the illness has faded from her looks somewhat, leaving only her temper.
“I shall be certain to tell him you’re doing an excellent job of filling his shoes,” Elizabeth told him as she left. It left him somewhat aggrieved and annoyed at the remark, considering that today of all days, it does fit. Well mostly. James can’t help but doubt very much that Weatherby has ever so much as sent Elizabeth to her room. He’d been prepared for her to be hurt and lost; he’d not really considered that she would be so ill tempered.
Elizabeth heads down the stairs without him, clattering as she goes. He follows reminding himself to make allowances - it is better she have a temper. It’s certainly a sign of recovery and likely that even if she wasn’t ill the after effects of the brandy are hardly going to make her pleasant company. Not that his father-in-law knows about the brandy, but if Elizabeth is sullen and miserable he knows where that blame will fall. He has a sudden vision of Governor Swann packing up his daughter and removing her from James’ care, and it makes his heart constrict. He can’t allow that to happen, but then again James can hardly admit to allowing his ill wife to get drunk. Not that he would lie about it. By the time he reaches the sitting room caught in his thoughts, father and daughter are sitting next to each other making quite convincing small talk and waiting for tea to be served.
It is a relief to see her chattering to her father, not a trace of the sullenness nor illness he’s dealt with all morning. He suddenly wonders if it’s for his benefit. If she is unhappy with him she should be able to tell her father that; to ask for what limited help is available in such a circumstance. It seems remarkable that things had seemed so improved only a day ago. He is considering what excuse he can make after a third cup of tea, to leave his wife to talk to her father in private. Elizabeth has been telling the governor of all about the things they are going to do now that she’s well. Most of which are suggestions for activities that have been soundly turned down when he’d brought them up. James does not know if this is genuine enthusiasm or simply an easy conversation filler.
So he might have missed it entirely when she carries on, bright and cheerful and looking as innocent as can be. “But what I’m most looking forward to is sailing.” The governor nearly spills his tea and looks at James accusingly; he supposes that would have alerted him to the need for his input into the conversation.
“Sailing! James, are you sure that’s entirely wise at the moment?” And of course, James isn’t. This is also the first he’s heard of it so any rebuttal he might have is lost as he meets Elizabeth’s gaze. Her father glances between them and back to him. “You know how superstitious the men are, and I hardly think it wise to use your political position to entertain Elizabeth’s whims.”
She looks outraged at this statement and it almost makes James smile if he were not concerned about that very thing himself. “I don’t mean on the Dauntless,” Elizabeth said pouting. “On a cutter.” James stares at her for a moment and she turns her gaze to him hopefully. “We’re going to go sailing on a cutter, aren’t we?” She sounds doubtful. No doubt because this is the first he’s heard of it and she’s more than aware of it. He should be angry that she has put him on this spot like this, but he’s been wishing she knew what she wanted since they’ve been wed. This is the first thing she’s asked for; apart from the alcohol he will not let her have.
“So we were,” he said. “Once Elizabeth no longer feels so weak. I thought that perhaps a short cruise . . . might invigorate her.” She beams at him, and James felt foolish. There would have to be words, again. She could ask for whatever she wants, but he’d much prefer a simple request. He continues, “See what the sea air does for her.” This reduces her smile somewhat, as if she had taken offence at the reminder of her illness. He supposes he could not blame her given the apparent nature of it.
He rose, “I’ll let you to have a moment to yourselves. Paperwork beckons as usual.” More was delivered daily but if it meant he could be spared for Elizabeth it was not that much of a burden. “Can you join us for dinner, Weatherby?” Forcing the name out for the first time did not improve the smoothness of that invitation but Swann waves it away regardless.
“Another time perhaps,” he said. “Bit of a fleeting visit I’m afraid.” James nods and excuses himself. His father-in-law interrupts him not much later, taking his leave and for a moment they are alone in the hall.
“You’re doing very well with her,” James is told as they wait for Elizabeth to return. She’s run to fetch a book her father simply must read so he may discuss it with her next visit. James can’t deny that the words flood him with relief. “Happier than she’s been in weeks,” are his father-in-law’s next words. James can see that’s true; she seems almost her old self in a way, even in the innocently underhanded method of making sure she got what she wants. James had forgotten how she could wheedle out what she wants. He’d seen it aboard ship on the crossing, but not since their arrival; not since she’d begun to grow up. He’s not convinced it’s a good sign she has resorted to childish tricks. It’s a matter of making clear to her that she can tell him what she needs to. Openly and honestly.
When Governor Swann has been despatched with fond farewells, James wonders how to bring it up but he does not get a chance. “Did you see?” she said brightly. “He came to visit, and he acted like everything was normal.” She looks so genuinely delighted that he does not respond before she adds, “I thought I was going to go mad, when he kept acting like I was damaged in the head.” And then he had no words to answer that. She’d not spoken from the time he retrieved her from the Pearl, until they had come home. After that she’d stayed in bed and refused to eat. Her response was understandable given her experience, but apparently they were aggravating her with their concern.
“It’s not unexpected that he would worry about you,” James reminds her gently. He will only be worried again when news of her condition becomes talk of the town. That he dreads although she has a husband and people can only speculate. They won’t know, no one but him and her and her father. “He’ll be worried that you’ve been sick no doubt.”
“I didn’t tell him,” she said dismissively. “I told him I was resting when he arrived because I had a head pain from too much sun.”
That stops him - such bold faced lying and she’s not even ashamed of it. At least earlier she had been hinting it had not been like this. “Elizabeth, I must insist you not lie to your father like that,” he said sternly. Then his voice softens, “he will need to know eventually, you know that.” They do not pretend that her illness is anything but, and he’s stopped hoping. He does not know if she has. She will not meet his gaze after that statement nor refute what he has said and it makes him suspicious. “Elizabeth?”
“I made the maids tell him my courses had come at home,” she said after a long moment. “He’ll think it’s yours.” Elizabeth looks at him. “People will doubt of course, conveniently early and all that but he’ll not have it, not if he believes...” she trails off.
James is less than comfortable with this for numerous reasons; lying to Weatherby Swann mainly, especially in a manner that makes it seems like he could not give Elizabeth the slightest time to settle into her new life, or recover from her ordeal exercising his rights as husband. He thinks she is wrong if she thinks the Governor would suffer the slightest insult towards his daughter no matter what he believed. “You do him a disservice,” he tells her. “You truly do, Elizabeth...”
“He’s mine to do a disservice to,” she said and her face is closed to him. He’s said the wrong thing again. “I’m going to bed.” She is almost at the stairs when he takes her elbow. If she is done with wanting concern he can work with that.
“After supper.” He tells her, steering her into the dining room.
“I don’t want it,” Elizabeth insists, as he shows her to her seat.
They are there early for the meal and he’s set himself up for a battle of wills - he knows if she got herself to bed she would not leave it.
“If you are to recover enough to go sailing,” he informs her, “there will be no more missed meals.” Elizabeth gawks at him and appears genuinely horrified. James holds her hand for a moment, before taking his own seat. “You do not have to finish every meal or clean your plate,” he carries on. “You can still chose what you want served, but there will be nourishment three times a day or there will be no cutter.” He watches her carefully as horror turns to barely controlled temper.
“Fine.”
The food is served and he watches her pick at it, determined to do as little as possible to satisfy the requirements he’s set. It is not hard however to be more patient than Elizabeth and by ignoring this display of temper and her fussing with the food and paying attention to his own meal, she manages a good half of it. He does not comment on this and keeps his relief (and his concern) to himself. She excuses herself and he permits it. That she ate any of the meal is a greater victory than he expected.
He finds her in the study when he goes to retire, not in bed. She’s dressed in a nightshirt, one of his, but not the one from the Pearl. It seems she has helped herself to another. She is sat in a chair, her knees pulled up her chin, staring at the empty decanters. “I meant it,” he told her.
“It helps me sleep,” she insists. He’d started that, giving her that measure of whisky after a nightmare.
“You’d sleep without it,” he tells her. “If you were in bed. You do not wish to become reliant on it surely.”
She ignores his remarks. “You didn’t tell him,” she asks, “why not?”
“Your father does not need more reason to be concerned and I had already gotten rid of the alcohol.” There is that, but really it’s that he can’t tell her he doesn’t want her father to think of him as a failure as a husband so soon.
“I thought he might have told you to get rid of any alcohol before I got here.” She tells him. This is news to him. If Elizabeth had been drinking when she left her father’s home, no one had told him.
Elizabeth seems quite attached to the chair and James shakes his head and scoops her easily into his arms. She weighs nothing still and once she is settled in bed, h finally asks. “What were you drinking at your father’s house?” He knows he should not feel relieved that this is a problem she had already, but he is nonetheless. He did not cause this but he will help her with it.
“Brandy,” she said yawning. She tires easily for someone who spent half the day in bed and claims to need brandy to sleep. “Whisky,” she adds. “Same as here.” She snuggles into the pillow, her words sleepy and not well thought out. “But only,” she adds in a voice thick with sleep, “because neither of you had any gin.”
The casualness of that remark kept him awake long after Elizabeth was asleep. And another precaution to be taken - prevent the maids from giving Elizabeth overly hot baths.
Genre(s): Drama/Romance/Hurt!Comfort
Warning: Utterly AU, marriage fic, mentions of sexual assault, Elizabeth is underage by modern law. Mentions of non-con, sexual assault.
Spoilers: CotBP only
Summary: James is further baffled by his wife, and the governor comes to call.
Rating: PG-13 at most, I think
Word Count: 4245
Notes: Thank you to artic_fox for the amazing beta and to shahani for listening to me witter about this and getting me into the angst of the pairing to begin with. Also James' parents and the writing home all hers!XD
Part 1
Part 2
James wakes before Elizabeth and is surprised to find her using his chest as a pillow. He has lost feeling in one arm where her slender weight rests on him. He would suspect this was a furthering of last night’s attempted attentions, but she is dead to the world in a tangle of limbs and nightgown and blankets. James seems almost an afterthought to the whole arrangement. Yet it gives him hope that Elizabeth had found genuine comfort in closeness.
She was so relaxed in sleep that her mouth had fallen open and James could feel a damp patch on the shoulder of his nightshirt. He inspects it - she was comfortable enough to dribble on him it would seem - but the smell of brandy is still pervasive. He sits up and lifts her slightly to shift her onto the pillow, trying not to wake her. The routine he had attempted to begin with her might have to wait a day given the brandy consumption. She had not, after all, left very much for him to tip away.
This is not the best of ideas, and she stirs as soon he sets her gently on the pillow. Quickly, Elizabeth sits up, sways, turns green and retches. He recoils involuntarily and immediately feels guilty for doing so. It would be better if she were out of the bed, but she’s retching so violently that moving her does not seem viable. James holds back her hair and rubs her lower back. For a while it seems that retching and dry heaves are all it will be. He has just about relaxed as it seems to slow, when Elizabeth vomits copiously. It carries on for some time, leaving his nightshirt, the bed covers and her nightgown in her line of fire. He supposes this is the brandy combined with her usual trouble.
Elizabeth wipes her mouth on the covers with a small sound of disgust. He disapproves of such behaviour on principle, but it hardly made a difference to the state of the bed. “Elizabeth!” he said cautiously. It was as much for the fact that she seems to be blearily eyeing the pillow, and if she lay in her own vomit he would not know where to begin. The room stank now of stomach acid, and of course the pervasive smell of brandy. He pulls his nightshirt off disgusted, and then realises what he’s done.
There was an awkward shuffle where he struggles to reach for and pull on a dressing robe. Thankfully, he had left it at the foot of the bed, and manages to put it on without exposing more of himself to Elizabeth, or staining himself further. Elizabeth watches him carry on with an unusual amount of interest considering the dullness in her eyes and then she follows suit. James at least averts his eyes. She wrinkles her nose again and slid out of bed holding her robe closed. Elizabeth wobbles as she stands and turns green again. He scrambles round the bed and steadies her.
James scoops her up in his arms holding her robe closed. He tries to keep her steady; it was obvious that motion would not help. So they go slowly along the corridor to his room. He installs her in his bed (not that he has yet spent an entire night in it,) and found a clean washbasin, in case she should have further need. It was likely the maids would need to air her room and if she befouls this bed, they'd end up in the guest room. Despite the Governor's generosity, the house was modest and he did not want Elizabeth to recover in the cramped, though pleasant, space allotted to guests.
Elizabeth needs a bath, as did he, but James is not especially worried about that. The maids could change two sets of linens. What he worried about was Elizabeth. He knows, of course, that really she brought it on herself but he cannot bring himself to think of it like that. For all the nausea that has been a constant morning event, it hadn't fazed her, not like this. Watching her lie pale and headachy, unable to move without retching, is difficult for him. wrenching. He might get rid of the wine after all.
It is afternoon before the alcohol’s effects fade enough for Elizabeth to rise and bathe and sit at the dining room table, eyeing a bowl of porridge dubiously. This means he can no longer put off the conversation he does not really want to have. He distracts himself from it further by having to suppress his annoyance that her appetite has gone again. She’s manages perhaps two bites of of porridge after first fussing with it - adding sugar and cream before spending a good portion of her time at table stirring it vigorously, as if that might decrease its volume. But James has never been someone who avoids anything because it was difficult and he feels it is not a good time that he should start now. The matter must be addressed.
“Elizabeth,” he starts, “your behaviour yesterday - this business with the brandy. I should not have to tell you that it is unacceptable.” He hopes that she might nod, agree and they could say no more about it. He felt ridiculous scolding her - and it was not as if she could possibly think spending her evenings getting blind drunk would meet with his approval. She set her jaw defiantly and pushes her food away. It would have been more worrying if he had seriously thought she was going to eat it.
“It was only a drink,” she said. It had, in fact, only been the best part of a bottle of Armagnac. That she had been conscious to proposition him at all was startling in itself, given her size and youth.
“You madeyourself ill,” he points out. At her unhappy look, he amends it to “More ill, anyway.”
“There is nothing wrong with a married woman enjoying a nightcap,” she informs him. Elizabeth sounds reasonably convinced of this, and while it certainly was a more acceptable activity for a married woman than an unwed girl. It was not the sort of advantage he and her father had had in mind when thinking of her future.
James seriously could not believe she was arguing with him over this. She was still green. ”There will,” he told her firmly, “be no more nightcaps.” Elizabeth did not answer, but the look on her face seems to indicate that this pronouncement meant very little to her.
James reaches for her hand and she pulls away unhappy. The matter they were not speaking on from last night lay between them like a gulf. He did not know how to broach the subject and if he did, Elizabeth would take it as a further scolding. He did not want to scold her and that aspect of her life would be one that remains under her control. Not his, and certainly not under the lack of control of intoxication.
“I only wish to see you safe and well, Elizabeth,” he said. ‘And happy,’ he thought but did not say. “Brandy will not help your health at this juncture. Therefore you shan’t have it. Do I make myself clear?” She nods sullenly. Feeling that was as close to agreement as he was going to get, he changes topic, - her room will not be fit to return to just yet. The maids have scrubbed the mattress clean but it needs to dry and the room to air. “You may retire to my room,” he informs her; it should not truly be an issue if she still wants him there for her nightmares. If she no longer does, well, the guest room is adequate for him. “Yours will need to air.”
There is a moment of threatened future difficulties on her face and then she pushes her chair away from the table and slams a door out on her way out. He watches puzzled and then it sinks in. He’s just sent his wife to her room. He meant tonight. James knows he should follow and correct the impression, but the rest will be good for her and frankly he’s surprised that such behaviour from him could be dignified with a response from Elizabeth.
They are three days away from the hangings now and he wonders if things might improve then. Somehow he is beginning to doubt it. He will still have no real idea of what Elizabeth needs or how to give it to her. He can give her time but seemingly she does not want to take it, and the child they both suspect she carries will complicate matters further. He may have salvaged her reputation and future in society by marrying her, but he doubts she thinks of this as a favour. He has no one he can ask about this and despite the fact that it will take months to reach her and months for a reply, he considers writing his mother for advice.
Of course, when he wrote to notify his family of his marriage, he had not exactly detailed the exact circumstances of Elizabeth’s misadventure. James thinks his mother would not care of such things. That he is happy with his wife would be more than enough for her, or even that he’s married at all. ‘Lieutenant’s take wives’ she has written to him often enough, always inquiring as to when she would have another daughter in law. His suspicions of his father’s opinion on his choice are enough that he is already considering which colony he and Elizabeth might settle in should his time with the Navy or her father’s posting ever come to an end. James will not return with her to England only to expose her to further upset. It is a shame his mother will not meet the daughter-in-law she’s so wanted but when things are more settled they can perhaps correspond.
It is when he is so caught up in thoughts of his own family that he is interrupted with news they have a caller. He suspects who it shall be. There is really only one person who can call on them unannounced without invite or forewarning and not have it be the height of ill manners and it is indeed his father-in-law.
“James,” Governor Swann greets him jovially enough, titles dropped as they are, after all, family now. “How is married life treating you?”
“Well enough, Governor Swann,” he said. He can’t simply drop the formality so easily. The answer is not a lie, married life is treating him well enough. It’s how it’s treating Elizabeth that concerns him, and no doubt her father as well. “Elizabeth is having an afternoon rest,” he said. “Let me show you to the sitting room and I shall see if she is well enough to join us.” He should really really have sent a maid, but he thought that the amount of coaxing that might be needed might be beyond them - to convince Elizabeth to join him and not give her father the impression that she needed to be bundled back home with him immediately. His father-in-law agreed to this amicably and waves him off with a reminder to address him as Weatherby. James can’t quite picture doing so even with permission.
He finds Elizabeth reading in bed, still dressed. She’ll be creased slightly, but at least can make a reasonably rapid appearance. He did not knock and she feigns sleep at his appearance despite the book in her hand. Her eyes are closed and her breathing steady, but he can see her peeping from beneath her lashes. He plays along.
“Elizabeth? Your father has come to call on you,” he said gently. For a moment she did not stir or respond and then she squeezes her eyes firmly closed as if in hope of dissuading him with the depths of her sleep. She surely can’t expect that to work. He smiles at the scrunch of her nose such an action causes, and then forces it away not wishing to annoy her further. “Elizabeth, you aren’t asleep,” he said louder, “and you have a guest.”
Elizabeth lifts her head from the pillow to look at him. “Well you may tell my father I am not receiving visitors as I have retired for the afternoon.” James feels certain that attempting to explain that the circumstances in which had her sent to bed before tea was served will not help him here. It was a misunderstanding but telling her so will merely come across as excuse-making, so he doesn’t.
“I can certainly tell him that,” he said, “and he would not wish to disturb your rest, but surely you’ve missed him?” She gets out of bed with a huff and he’s pleased to see the illness has faded from her looks somewhat, leaving only her temper.
“I shall be certain to tell him you’re doing an excellent job of filling his shoes,” Elizabeth told him as she left. It left him somewhat aggrieved and annoyed at the remark, considering that today of all days, it does fit. Well mostly. James can’t help but doubt very much that Weatherby has ever so much as sent Elizabeth to her room. He’d been prepared for her to be hurt and lost; he’d not really considered that she would be so ill tempered.
Elizabeth heads down the stairs without him, clattering as she goes. He follows reminding himself to make allowances - it is better she have a temper. It’s certainly a sign of recovery and likely that even if she wasn’t ill the after effects of the brandy are hardly going to make her pleasant company. Not that his father-in-law knows about the brandy, but if Elizabeth is sullen and miserable he knows where that blame will fall. He has a sudden vision of Governor Swann packing up his daughter and removing her from James’ care, and it makes his heart constrict. He can’t allow that to happen, but then again James can hardly admit to allowing his ill wife to get drunk. Not that he would lie about it. By the time he reaches the sitting room caught in his thoughts, father and daughter are sitting next to each other making quite convincing small talk and waiting for tea to be served.
It is a relief to see her chattering to her father, not a trace of the sullenness nor illness he’s dealt with all morning. He suddenly wonders if it’s for his benefit. If she is unhappy with him she should be able to tell her father that; to ask for what limited help is available in such a circumstance. It seems remarkable that things had seemed so improved only a day ago. He is considering what excuse he can make after a third cup of tea, to leave his wife to talk to her father in private. Elizabeth has been telling the governor of all about the things they are going to do now that she’s well. Most of which are suggestions for activities that have been soundly turned down when he’d brought them up. James does not know if this is genuine enthusiasm or simply an easy conversation filler.
So he might have missed it entirely when she carries on, bright and cheerful and looking as innocent as can be. “But what I’m most looking forward to is sailing.” The governor nearly spills his tea and looks at James accusingly; he supposes that would have alerted him to the need for his input into the conversation.
“Sailing! James, are you sure that’s entirely wise at the moment?” And of course, James isn’t. This is also the first he’s heard of it so any rebuttal he might have is lost as he meets Elizabeth’s gaze. Her father glances between them and back to him. “You know how superstitious the men are, and I hardly think it wise to use your political position to entertain Elizabeth’s whims.”
She looks outraged at this statement and it almost makes James smile if he were not concerned about that very thing himself. “I don’t mean on the Dauntless,” Elizabeth said pouting. “On a cutter.” James stares at her for a moment and she turns her gaze to him hopefully. “We’re going to go sailing on a cutter, aren’t we?” She sounds doubtful. No doubt because this is the first he’s heard of it and she’s more than aware of it. He should be angry that she has put him on this spot like this, but he’s been wishing she knew what she wanted since they’ve been wed. This is the first thing she’s asked for; apart from the alcohol he will not let her have.
“So we were,” he said. “Once Elizabeth no longer feels so weak. I thought that perhaps a short cruise . . . might invigorate her.” She beams at him, and James felt foolish. There would have to be words, again. She could ask for whatever she wants, but he’d much prefer a simple request. He continues, “See what the sea air does for her.” This reduces her smile somewhat, as if she had taken offence at the reminder of her illness. He supposes he could not blame her given the apparent nature of it.
He rose, “I’ll let you to have a moment to yourselves. Paperwork beckons as usual.” More was delivered daily but if it meant he could be spared for Elizabeth it was not that much of a burden. “Can you join us for dinner, Weatherby?” Forcing the name out for the first time did not improve the smoothness of that invitation but Swann waves it away regardless.
“Another time perhaps,” he said. “Bit of a fleeting visit I’m afraid.” James nods and excuses himself. His father-in-law interrupts him not much later, taking his leave and for a moment they are alone in the hall.
“You’re doing very well with her,” James is told as they wait for Elizabeth to return. She’s run to fetch a book her father simply must read so he may discuss it with her next visit. James can’t deny that the words flood him with relief. “Happier than she’s been in weeks,” are his father-in-law’s next words. James can see that’s true; she seems almost her old self in a way, even in the innocently underhanded method of making sure she got what she wants. James had forgotten how she could wheedle out what she wants. He’d seen it aboard ship on the crossing, but not since their arrival; not since she’d begun to grow up. He’s not convinced it’s a good sign she has resorted to childish tricks. It’s a matter of making clear to her that she can tell him what she needs to. Openly and honestly.
When Governor Swann has been despatched with fond farewells, James wonders how to bring it up but he does not get a chance. “Did you see?” she said brightly. “He came to visit, and he acted like everything was normal.” She looks so genuinely delighted that he does not respond before she adds, “I thought I was going to go mad, when he kept acting like I was damaged in the head.” And then he had no words to answer that. She’d not spoken from the time he retrieved her from the Pearl, until they had come home. After that she’d stayed in bed and refused to eat. Her response was understandable given her experience, but apparently they were aggravating her with their concern.
“It’s not unexpected that he would worry about you,” James reminds her gently. He will only be worried again when news of her condition becomes talk of the town. That he dreads although she has a husband and people can only speculate. They won’t know, no one but him and her and her father. “He’ll be worried that you’ve been sick no doubt.”
“I didn’t tell him,” she said dismissively. “I told him I was resting when he arrived because I had a head pain from too much sun.”
That stops him - such bold faced lying and she’s not even ashamed of it. At least earlier she had been hinting it had not been like this. “Elizabeth, I must insist you not lie to your father like that,” he said sternly. Then his voice softens, “he will need to know eventually, you know that.” They do not pretend that her illness is anything but, and he’s stopped hoping. He does not know if she has. She will not meet his gaze after that statement nor refute what he has said and it makes him suspicious. “Elizabeth?”
“I made the maids tell him my courses had come at home,” she said after a long moment. “He’ll think it’s yours.” Elizabeth looks at him. “People will doubt of course, conveniently early and all that but he’ll not have it, not if he believes...” she trails off.
James is less than comfortable with this for numerous reasons; lying to Weatherby Swann mainly, especially in a manner that makes it seems like he could not give Elizabeth the slightest time to settle into her new life, or recover from her ordeal exercising his rights as husband. He thinks she is wrong if she thinks the Governor would suffer the slightest insult towards his daughter no matter what he believed. “You do him a disservice,” he tells her. “You truly do, Elizabeth...”
“He’s mine to do a disservice to,” she said and her face is closed to him. He’s said the wrong thing again. “I’m going to bed.” She is almost at the stairs when he takes her elbow. If she is done with wanting concern he can work with that.
“After supper.” He tells her, steering her into the dining room.
“I don’t want it,” Elizabeth insists, as he shows her to her seat.
They are there early for the meal and he’s set himself up for a battle of wills - he knows if she got herself to bed she would not leave it.
“If you are to recover enough to go sailing,” he informs her, “there will be no more missed meals.” Elizabeth gawks at him and appears genuinely horrified. James holds her hand for a moment, before taking his own seat. “You do not have to finish every meal or clean your plate,” he carries on. “You can still chose what you want served, but there will be nourishment three times a day or there will be no cutter.” He watches her carefully as horror turns to barely controlled temper.
“Fine.”
The food is served and he watches her pick at it, determined to do as little as possible to satisfy the requirements he’s set. It is not hard however to be more patient than Elizabeth and by ignoring this display of temper and her fussing with the food and paying attention to his own meal, she manages a good half of it. He does not comment on this and keeps his relief (and his concern) to himself. She excuses herself and he permits it. That she ate any of the meal is a greater victory than he expected.
He finds her in the study when he goes to retire, not in bed. She’s dressed in a nightshirt, one of his, but not the one from the Pearl. It seems she has helped herself to another. She is sat in a chair, her knees pulled up her chin, staring at the empty decanters. “I meant it,” he told her.
“It helps me sleep,” she insists. He’d started that, giving her that measure of whisky after a nightmare.
“You’d sleep without it,” he tells her. “If you were in bed. You do not wish to become reliant on it surely.”
She ignores his remarks. “You didn’t tell him,” she asks, “why not?”
“Your father does not need more reason to be concerned and I had already gotten rid of the alcohol.” There is that, but really it’s that he can’t tell her he doesn’t want her father to think of him as a failure as a husband so soon.
“I thought he might have told you to get rid of any alcohol before I got here.” She tells him. This is news to him. If Elizabeth had been drinking when she left her father’s home, no one had told him.
Elizabeth seems quite attached to the chair and James shakes his head and scoops her easily into his arms. She weighs nothing still and once she is settled in bed, h finally asks. “What were you drinking at your father’s house?” He knows he should not feel relieved that this is a problem she had already, but he is nonetheless. He did not cause this but he will help her with it.
“Brandy,” she said yawning. She tires easily for someone who spent half the day in bed and claims to need brandy to sleep. “Whisky,” she adds. “Same as here.” She snuggles into the pillow, her words sleepy and not well thought out. “But only,” she adds in a voice thick with sleep, “because neither of you had any gin.”
The casualness of that remark kept him awake long after Elizabeth was asleep. And another precaution to be taken - prevent the maids from giving Elizabeth overly hot baths.