The gentleman sat alone in his bedroom, bent over the mahogany desk with the only light that abetted the darkness that threatened to engulf the room. The letter that lay before him had sealed his fate. The final request to a dear and dying friend, the marriage of himself to the daughter of his mentor, a request that he could not, and at his age, should not ignore.

March 12, 1734

My Dear James,

It is with a heavy and grieving heart that I must now write this letter.

I am ill, my old friend. Too ill to recover.

What I ask you, I would ask of no other man.

My daughter, seventeen, and comely by all means, will be in need of

A home, companionship, as I am all the child has ever known.

I ask you, from the deepest of my heart, take my child in marriage.

Jacqueline Samantha Baird, my daughter, would make you the finest

Of wives.

By the time you have read this massive, I will have passed. Upon my

Death, I will have sent Jacqueline from Liverpool, to Port Royal.

My dear Commodore James Norrington,

I know you both shall be happy.

Yours in Christ,

Robert Davidson Baird

James Norrington read the letter many times over, understanding what he was being asked, but still not sure of the reality of the situation. Today was April 15th, exactly two weeks after he had received word from a visitor to Port Royal that Baird had passed away from influenza on March 31st. He had received the letter the same day. The ship, according to the visitor, that carried his soon-to-be wife was due to arrive in Port Royal April 16th.

He blew out the candle that illuminated the master bedroom of his family's estate. As a child, his parents had kept this room, along with his mother's personal quarters and his father's study, locked at almost all times. They died, leaving the key with the solicitor for when Edward would use the room. When his elder brother, Edward had married Caroline, he had expected that they would keep it locked at all times as well. They had never had the chance to live at Whistlemount, for they died two days into their wedding voyage to France. Pirates, leaving no survivors, had attacked their ship.

Norrington lay down in the feather-downed mattresses and comforter. As he rested, he called upon memories of childhood: His parents, his elder brother, and himself. At 17, he entered the Royal Navy and by 22 had become a Lieutenant. It was at this time, that Robert had married and died. Instead of taking the title of Lord Abington, he kept to his duty. Another eight years, he was named Commodore of the Royal Navy based in Port Royal. A year later, he finds himself engaged to a woman he had never met.

Tomorrow, he would meet Jacqueline Baird and marry her, not only for the love of a good friend, but the need to produce hires for the Norrington Estate. His family was now gone, and in order to continue the name, he would have to marry.

While it was true that Elizabeth Swann had married William Turner, it was not the end of the sailor's life. He threw himself into his duty and allowed nothing to prevent him from ridding the seas of scallywags.

And while he hoped for the best, namely a beautiful and subdued girl. One who would give him the children he needed without much impact on his life.

Yes, tomorrow night, he would marry Miss Baird.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

"Miss Baird?" the maid called, opening the door to the cabin. "We are coming up to Port Royal. The Captain said to make ready to depart." The young girl entered the room, waiting for her mistress to respond.

Jacqueline Baird sat on the aft windowsill, watching the waves of the ocean move back and forth. She had been on this thrice damned boat for weeks, and was ready to regain her land legs. However, what awaited her was not how she envisioned spending the rest of her live.

Marriage to Commodore James Norrington, a man she had never met but had heard rumors. A man whose body was made of steel and his heart made of iron. Yes, her father had been quite distressed when he had told her a year ago that on of his dearest friends had turned into machine.

Now she was set to marry him. The irony did not escape her. As her father explained to her the night he died, it may be good for them both. "James, my daughter, is a man of honor. He will allow you the freedoms that you enjoy, which is considerable when compared to the other women of London. He will protect you, and maybe in time, come to love you. All I ask, my dear Jacqueline, is that you love and respect him in return.

She looked over to her bed, the one she had shared with her maid. Tonight, she would share a different bed with a different partner. Her mind raced with the possibilities of the night.

Her gowns had been packed and brought aboard. She really only wore two the whole of the time she had been out at sea. She would have to dress much more regal if she were to impress the Commodore, to gain some form of freedom in the trap of marriage.

She was beautiful, this she knew. Long red hair, curly and pulled back from her face. Pale skin, showing her mother's Irish heritage. Slim and trim body. Yes, she was beautiful. And smart. She knew Latin, Italian and Spanish. She was a fitting package for any man.

However, she did not have just any man. She had to marry a man of Iron.

"Ready my green gown, Gertrude. And tell the Captain that we will be ready to depart when he pulls into port." She said, her voice crisp and firm. Now she just had to make her nerves crisp and firm as well.