James had reached somewhat of a bottleneck in his career. Rear Admiral was an accomplishment, to be sure, one that he was quite proud of, certainly. But he knew, without the unexpected and entirely unwelcome letter from his father, that a marriage into a good family–gentry, at worst–would guarantee his continued advancement. He was the eldest son and thus heir to his father’s estate and fortune as well, and although James was more than happy to let Edward and the rest of his family do whatever they wanted with both, it was expected for a man of his station to marry.
He was forty years old. It had been ten years since Elizabeth Swann had very publicly ended their engagement. He had not seen her in nearly as long, not since he freed her from the brig of the Flying Dutchman and was stabbed by the father of the man for which she’d thrown him over. The story was that William Turner the younger now sailed the seas as the master of the Flying Dutchman, after having slain Jones, and James figured they would have married. Yet he himself had stalled, senselessly. His excuse was he found fulfillment in his work, and he did, and that he would have nephews and nieces to care for him in his old age, which he did. James was not opposed necessarily to a marriage of convenience, but the last thing he wanted to do was marry a woman who expected what he could not give.
The Dawsons were a wealthy and well-connected family, with an eligible daughter. When the mother had written to arrange an introduction, he had decided to accept, despite having turned down many such invitations over the years. Perhaps the pressure from his father was finally getting to him, or perhaps, somehow, he was finally ready to let go of the past. Regardless of the reason, he found himself in the garden, where Lani’s mother had informed him she would be.
She seemed to be in her own world, grass staining her dress and charcoal her face, hunched over something she found terribly fascinating. Hat in hand, and having decided to forgo the wig because of the heat–showing his steadily greying cropped brown hair–the admiral approached her curiously. “Are you an artist, Miss Dawson?”
Lani had heard the footsteps on the grass but she had paid them no mind, she had already told her mother she was going to take no part in this and was all but ready to repeat that when a voice that was distinctly not her mother nor her maid filled the air.
Pulling her gaze away from her sketchpad Lani glanced up at the man, looked back down at her sketchpad and then back to him, blinking owlishly for a moment before she quickly gathered her manners and offered him a polite smile.
“I wouldn't say I was an artist, because that would imply that my art is displayed for others to consume, whereas I draw for myself. Perhaps serial doodler might be more of an apt word to describe me, we all must have our hobbies after all.” She set her papers and charcoal stick down and rose to her feet, offering him a polite curtsy—and accidentally smearing more charcoal from her fingers against the fabric. She took that moment to examine the man her mother had been so adamant to introduce her to. She knew him by reputation—in a town like this gossip was often the life blood of the community—but it was good to put a face to a name and a story.
“But,” She began, her smile turning a little wry at the corners of her lips. “I suppose today I am an artist since everything is for show. You may call me Lani if it pleases you, sir.”
The sharpness of her double meaning was hopefully not missed, and while she was not outright hostile she carried herself with a guarded politeness. Lani found distaste in the entire thing, showing off her skills and dressing herself up like she was a prize horse at a show to be bartered for.
She turned to pick up the sketchpad and gestured towards the bird table across from them as she showed James the page she'd been working on.
There were several charcoal sketches of the local birds, done in a quick but precise enough hand that they could be identified.
“They don't stay still so I have to draw them pretty quickly.” Lani explained with a small shrug and offered him the book. “You're welcome to flip through. It's mostly just wildlife and still life, there’s a few of the ships closer to the front when I spent a day at the docks—maybe one of yours?”
From what she'd heard about James Norrington he was a good man—and one of the islands most eligible bachelors. Lani wondered if he'd been invited to as many balls as she'd been dragged to in the name of finding a match. With that in mind she decided to at least see this meeting through and get to know him a little.
