PROLOGUE

It is a frequently repeated cliché that all men are terrified of women in one way or another, but in case of seafaring men it might be true. The vast majority of them was superstitious and shuddered with the mere idea of having a female aboard, and the First Lieutenant of the HMS Dauntless, an educated aristocrat himself, could but shake his head about his sailors. Perhaps it was because they saw so little of women due to their profession that they were so scared, he couldn't say, but it was absolutely unintelligible to him how they could shrink away from little girls even.

"Bad luck to have a woman aboard, Sir," Joshamee Gibbs, one of the senior midshipmen, kept on repeating whenever he came across her. "Bad luck if you'll ask me."

"I don't, fortunately. Now leave her alone, you scare her much more than vice versa, I'm sure!"

Said little girl – Elizabeth – was the ten year old daughter of Governor Swann, who had been assigned to resume a position in some godforsaken hamlet some hundred miles south-eastern of Nassau Port. With him, a small fleet was supposed to establish another outpost of the British Empire, a venture that the Lieutenant dared questioning in more private moments. 'Why make the effort,' he'd think to himself, 'and civilise some village whose inhabitants had most likely never heard the present king's name?'

But these decisions weren't up to him, and he had enough on his plate with the tasks ahead of him at any rate. He had two jobs to see after instead of one – the one his was paid for. The other one he didn't feel fit for, he wasn't fit for – two years ago, he had still been a common officer, one among many, five years ago, he had just graduated from Mariner's College in Portsmouth and never seen more of the world than London and that rural part of Kent where his family was still living. But one grew with one's tasks, as his old governess Miss McKendell would have pointed out in that sour tone of hers. – He smiled to himself, like always when thinking of old Miss McKendell, an old spinster if there ever was one. Whenever he was struggling, whenever he was certain he would fail, he heard her stern voice with that peculiar Scottish accent snapping at him to try harder, be better, and 'bloody hell do as you're expected, boy!'

The two children raced past him. Rather – little Elizabeth was running, one hand lifting her skirt, the other clenched around young William's wrist and dragging the poor boy along. "Good morning, Lieutenant," she cried brightly and proceeded. "Say good morning, Will!"

"Good morning, Sir," the meagre boy muttered meekly, attempting a courteous bow while Elizabeth pulled him to follow her.

"Good morning, Miss Swann – young master Turner," the Lieutenant replied, stifling a smile. The Governor's daughter faintly reminded him of his oldest brother's daughter Anne, who had been in the same age when he had last seen her. Well, by now, little Anne was a married woman, or that was the last he had heard of her. As a matter of fact, there was little resemblance between Anne and little Miss Swann, if he thought about it. His niece had been a perfectly behaved, but rather slow-witted child – and the Governor's daughter was clearly neither. Really, the similar age notwithstanding, they could hardly have been more different, probably. He couldn't say why he found this child so particularly endearing – maybe it was his lack of experience with children in general, and with little girls in particular. Sir Alfred had only fathered sons. The boarding school and the Mariner's College had conspicuously lacked females, too. And as an officer of His Majesty, one could pass years without coming across a single specimen of the fair sex, no matter what age.

"We are going to catch and tame an albatross," Elizabeth explained in passing.

"Good luck then. They're not easily caught."

"Oh, we'll manage! Won't we, Will?"

The boy's face belied his answer, "Yes…"

Indeed, Will wasn't half as convinced that his new friend's latest scheme would work out, but he didn't have it in him to disagree with anything she said. He regarded her to be his guardian angel – after that terrible incident, hers had been the first face he had spotted when regaining consciousness. For some minutes, he had thought he was dead and she was an angel, a real one – he had never seen anyone so pretty, so kindly smiling, so elegant – and ever since, she coddled over him, trying to keep him out of trouble, but more often being the origin of trouble herself, like now.

He was scared, deadly scared, of pretty much everything on board. After his mother had died and left him a very modest outcome, he had used this money and purchased a passage to Nassau Port in order to find his father. What else could he have done? The money hadn't sufficed, so he had hired as a dogsbody on a merchant vessel, where he had been treated with careless contempt at its best, but still he had been more easy-going than here, on the Dauntless. Governor Swann and his daughter were very noble people, he hadn't got a clue how to behave around either of them. Then there was Mr Gibbs, who was kind of spooky, mildly put. And then, there was also Lieutenant Norrington…

Will's prevailing sentiments concerning the Lieutenant were closely related. First and foremost, he was awed. The Lieutenant was very young still – Will had overheard some of the sailors saying that he was only twenty-three – but he was already in charge of one of His Majesty's flagships, because Captain Craddock couldn't have handled the job for the life of his. Will had seen him only two or three times on deck – he was old, he was sickly, but most of all, he was perennially drunk – again, Will relied on the sailors' gossip – and the Captain appeared to have happily delegated the task to his First Lieutenant. Everybody aboard had the highest opinion of this one; everybody, even the officers who were more than twice as old as the man himself, praised his abilities as a sailor, as a swordsman, as an overall gentleman. Will could only confirm all these claims – Lieutenant Norrington struck him as the epitome of a noble man, but that was also the origin of his second sentiment, which was nothing short of intimidation.

Lieutenant Norrington was as superior as the Swanns, but he had no share of the Governor's avuncular benignity, or Elizabeth's lively ease. Will had not once seen him crack a smile. Not once had he seen him in any other way than keeping the perfect pose – tall, straight, stiff, his face earnest, ordering around the officers in a tone as polite as it was sharp. If he cast Will a side-glance, it was one of mild amusement mingled with – well, he couldn't really say what it was exactly. Mistrust, perhaps?

In fact, Will mistook the Lieutenant completely in this respect. Those measuring glances the boy sometimes noticed were no signs of mistrust, but vague curiosity. He had realised that the child had a kind of natural perceptiveness of the sea, which was astounding for a boy of such age, who had spent nine of his ten years firmly grounded on solid English earth. He'd make a fine sailor once – but then again, after surviving shipwreck once, the boy wasn't likely to try his luck again, was he.

"Lieutenant Norrington?" Elizabeth said one afternoon, having escaped her father's care and her usual shadow in tow. She spoke in that typical manner, girlish with a fringe on playful cheek. "Lieutenant Norrington?"

"What is it, Miss Swann?"

"Do you have a first name?"

The boy next to her blushed to his ears and tried to shush her up, but she didn't let him and smiled boldly. The Lieutenant suppressed a snigger. "What do you fathom, Miss Swann?"

"I fathom you do have a name. Everybody has!"

"Precisely."

"So? What is it?"

"It is 'James', Miss Swann."

"Can I call you James then?"

"I don't think your father would be happy if you did that, Miss Swann."

"But your father is a friend of my father, is he not, so doesn't that make you a friend of mine, too?"

He chuckled despite himself. "One could see it like that, I suppose."

"Because I wouldn't mind you calling me Elizabeth, you know?"

"I tell you what, Miss Swann – why don't you start with your friend Mr Turner here. I haven't heard him address you by your first name either. I am an officer of His Majesty and must therefore stick to the proper decorum."

Elizabeth stuck out her bottom lip and went away, sulking. With Will, she had been as little successful as with James – because she was determined to call him so nonetheless. She called her new friend 'Will', too – but no flattering, no threats could make him return that familiarity, he'd call her 'Miss Swann', no matter what.

That evening at dinner – which was odd as always, because Captain Craddock would stay in his chambers like usually, and the First Lieutenant wouldn't take his place at the table for all the world – Elizabeth summoned all her bravado and said, "Could you please pass me the bread, James?"

Her father swallowed his bite the wrong way and coughed, but the Lieutenant's only reaction was a subtle smirk. "Of course, Miss Swann. Would you care for the butter as well?"

She was disappointed. She had believed she could put him out, but he looked as serenely cool as ever and handed her the bread basket as if nothing had happened. Her father had caught his breath again and reprimanded her, "Elizabeth! Address the Lieutenant with his proper title, please! – I am deeply sorry, Lieutenant!"

"You needn't be, Sir, I assure you."

"And also, we're friends, Father!"

"Please, child, don't pester Lieutenant Norrington's nerves!"

"Forgive me for disagreeing with you, Governor, but your daughter is far from pestering me in any small way. Frankly, I think her candour is quite delightful."

"You are kind, Lieutenant. You see, it's a mother missing here…" The two men conversed politely, and Elizabeth went back to sullen silence. She disliked it when the adults were acting as if she wasn't around, she equally begrudged James for not reacting to her little joke, and she was habitually scandalised that her father wouldn't invite poor William around, who was compelled to eat with the crew.

But maybe it was for the better. The Lieutenant and Will better not spend too much time together. She had once heard Lieutenant Norrington swear that he'd see to it that every pirate got what he deserved – the noose, that was! – and she was very much afraid that dear William was a pirate after all. She had found that pirate medallion after he had been fished out of the ocean and never dared to question him about it. Technically, he didn't even know that she had taken it from him while he had passed out. She hadn't stolen it though! She had done it for his own good, really! Because she wanted to protect him! She suspected that James – ha! – wouldn't keep his promise and incarcerate a ten year old boy, let alone have him executed. He tried to conceal it, but she just knew that he was very nice essentially. What she did not know was if it was even in his power to grant clemency, because he wasn't the Captain of the ship, because his loyalty was with the Crown and he had to obey the laws…

The development of the 'godforsaken hamlet' in the years following Governor Swann's appointment was most astounding for anyone, not at last James Norrington. After ages of nameless oblivion, the tiny settlement was duly dubbed 'Port Royal', the small fleet under Admiral deLesseps' command secured the area and stopped the frequent pirate raids that had kept the village from prospering in the past, and the Governor introduced law and order, so far unknown to the struggling villagers. Indeed, in less than ten years Port Royal had risen from aggrieved meaninglessness to a synonym for well-doing decency, more than just an outpost and supplying station for ships going westwards.

This was only half true, if one was honest. Admiral deLesseps by title commanded the soldiers all right, but he was stationed in Kingston, one thousand miles away. Captain Craddock was supposed to be in charge, but since their passage from England, his state hadn't bettered at all, rather the opposite. Once again, Lieutenant Norrington – who was promoted to be Captain in less than a year after their arrival, the Admiral had heard about his merits and reacted instantly – had to substitute for his superior, and there wasn't a soul in Port Royal, regardless how malevolent, that didn't credit him to be rather ingenious about his job. A brilliant strategic mind, dauntless, but ever so caring about the well-fare of his subjects, he avoided risky confrontations to spare his mariners, but didn't shrink away from the necessary actions either and won each one of them in a panache, with hardly any losses on side of the Royal Navy. He did keep his word – he purged the south-eastern Caribbean of practically all acts of piracy, and as much as he'd have refuted the compliments, but it was rather his level-headed reign over the fortress and its soldiers than Governor Swann's pompous sense for decorum that had brought them all this far.

After being made a Captain aged only twenty-four, nominal Head of the fort at twenty-seven after Captain Craddock's official retirement, he was in for the next promotion at the rather sensational age of thirty-one – Admiral deLesseps would come all the way from Kingston to inspect the troops and confer the rank of a Commodore to him. He knew he had deserved this honour, but he couldn't believe it nonetheless.

Who would have figured…? Certainly not he, or Sir Alfred. His start in life had been quite unfortunate; he was the second youngest of Sir Alfred Norrington's six sons and therefore without any claim to either title or inheritance, his mother had died in childbirth, so he had been raised by an indifferent and chiefly absent father and this one's cold second wife, but mainly by a strict, humourless Scottish governess, sending him straight to boarding school and subsequently to Mariner's College. He hadn't seen Crowley's End, the family estate, in fifteen years, and had no real wish to ever see it again.

His career in the King's Navy hadn't promised to be rewarding either. Lanky and meagre in his youth, he hadn't had the stature for a proper seaman to begin with, additional to the fact that his talents and traits of character had been of a different sort as well. He had been a gifted pianist, a great reader, timid, humble and good-hearted. Boys like him usually didn't make useful soldiers. Consequently, no one could have been more astonished than James Norrington himself with his comet-like rising within the King's Navy.

Sir Alfred's care had gone so far as to secure him an ordinary officer's commission; at the tender age of seventeen he had hired on the Philadelphia as a common midshipman and sailed off to the Atlantic, fighting the French. His captain had taken a liking in him there, due to James' cleverness, self-discipline and remarkable gift to handle a sword. Despite his rather delicate frame, he had bravely fought in battle, and within less than a year, he had been made a proper officer. Aged twenty-two, he had been First Lieutenant, the Philadelphia had been destroyed and he had been sent to the Caribbean instead, aboard of the Dauntless. He credited this ship to be the very foundation of his naval glory, he was almost devoted to it, if it was possible to be truly attached to an inanimate object.

As for real attachment – to human beings – and not just any human being, but the most perfect creature in the whole wide world… Oh yes, there was somebody who had captivated his heart and soul entirely. He hadn't thought it possible to ever feel so much for somebody – he wasn't the romantic, or even overly emotional type. But there he was, desperately in love with the one perfect girl, the making and undoing of all his felicity.

He couldn't have said when it had begun. He knew her for eight years by now, had known her when she was a little girl still, had seen her grow up from a cheerful, lively child to a smart, vivacious and stunningly beautiful young woman. But neither her wit nor her appearance was what had got him. Elizabeth… Oh, where to start! She was so charming, her smiles so endearing, her laughter bewitching. She was still every bit as lively as she had used to be, still unguarded, candid, saucy. Only her affection for her father bridled her temper to a degree appropriate for the daughter of Port Royal's most superior man – but only when she was in public. At home, regardless whether the Head of the fort was there or not, she was very much herself. He would have been inconsolable if it had been otherwise.

For some time, he had contemplated if he could be so bold and ask her to marry him, but had always discarded the idea. At first, she had been too young still. It wasn't unheard of, but James disapproved of fifteen year old girls being married off to considerably much older men. In time, he realised that her juvenile age had been a mere pretext for his own insecurity. How could he even dare approaching her, tender, immaculate and holy as she was?

She'd never accept his hand in a hundred years! Why should she, after all? She was perfection itself, what was she supposed to do with a stiff, boring officer thirteen years her senior? On the other hand, he couldn't get her out of his head either, months on sea, fierce battles, thunderous storms – nothing drove her out of his mind for more than a few moments, and nothing, nothing at all could ever drive her out of his heart.

Elizabeth was vaguely aware that the Commodore had a soft spot for her. Ever so correct in manners and attitude, he got self-conscious in her company. Sometimes he positively evaded to look at her – on other occasions, she found him gazing at her, lost in thought – he blushed when she came too close for being entirely proper – and every now and then, he forgot what he was about to say to her in mid-sentence. When she had first noticed his changed behaviour, she hadn't thought about it at all. Assisted by quantities of embarrassing novels that she hid from anyone, however – she thought she understood why he would act so weird, and amused herself by puzzling him some more, by winking at him, by 'accidentally' grazing his arm, by asking him to dance when her father was giving a party. Afterwards, she was always duly ashamed with herself for such behaviour – because Elizabeth found that she had developed a bit of a crush herself, and realised that one must not be kidding with that sort of feeling.

Unfortunately, it wasn't her old friend James who she began to dream of. It was her other old friend, of whom she saw far too little for her liking. Will. William Martin Turner. The apprentice of Mr Brown, the blacksmith. No matter how hard she tried to revive their friendship of old, the man wasn't to be moved to show the slightest inclination for her, a fact that only kindled her interest.

Oh, what a man he had become! So handsome! These eyes! These cheeks! That figure formed by hard work! And so modest, and shy! Admittedly, sometimes when she was thoroughly dispirited with his reserve, she'd call the same behaviour 'taciturn and boorish', but of course, that was nonsense. Sweet Will was as perfect in Elizabeth's eyes as she was in James Norrington's. He was like one of the heroes in the novels she clandestinely read. Handsome and humble, mysterious (well, quiet, anyway!) – and she had never forgotten the pirate medallion she had found when they had first met. Yes, in Elizabeth Swann's head, young William Turner was a hero like Captain Morgan. Noble. Brave. But most of all – free.

Especially the freedom aspect of her assessment of Will appealed to her. Because she felt confined and wedged herself. Port Royal, decent as it might have become lately, was still a very small town in the very middle of nowhere. If anything happened in the world – Port Royal must surely be the last place to hear about it. And there was virtually no company for a young lady. Yes, there were other girls in her age. The cobbler had two daughters, so had the grocer, and quite a lot of the fishermen. But these girls had nothing in common with Elizabeth, and their parents would have looked just as suspiciously upon a friendship as the good Governor would have. A rich, sophisticated lady would give their daughters the wrong ideas – fancy, posh ideas that would only make them unhappy in the end. Because the grocer's daughters' best prospect in life was marrying one of the young fishermen, while Miss Swann would always be the Governor's rich, pampered daughter.

Governor Swann was a singularly kind-hearted man, friendly, well-mannered, generous and a loving father. But no one right in their mind would have called him a wit. And occasionally, he was as easily seen through as your average window pane. This was one of these days, Elizabeth thought dimly while trying her best to reconcile the stunning dress that her father had ordered for her from London, and the necessity to keep on breathing. Talking of confined! She suspected that the dress had been tailored for a child, because no healthy woman could have such a tiny ribcage. She also suspected that her good father had ulterior motives in this regard – having her spruced up on James great day… It surely wasn't Admiral deLesseps' visit that rendered him so excited. She had to talk to him about this, and she would, but he had already left her chamber again. She'd do it in the carriage on their way to the fort, yes. If she ever got so far, because this corset was slowly strangling her –

She knew what the Governor's gift for the new Commodore was going to be, so she was in quite a hurry. It was a sword, a very exquisite one, and the blacksmith's apprentice – Will! – was due to deliver it. In fact, he might already be there, because Nigel, their butler, had announced a visitor. She hushed Estrella to get her dressed, and without any further preparations, she headed downstairs, only to catch one of the few glimpses she could get of her crush these days.

"Will! It's so good to see you! I had a dream about you last night!"

"About me?"

Her father reprimanded her gently for her lack of decorum, but she didn't listen. "About the day we met. Do you remember?"

Timid as always, he muttered, "How could I forget, Miss Swann?"

"Will, how many times must I ask you to call me Elizabeth?" she cried, slightly disappointed.

"At least once more, as always."

She scowled at him, angrier than the offence justified. That twit! Oh! Here she was, constantly making a fool of herself only to see him, and he? He wouldn't even address her by her first name, as if they were just some chance acquaintances! Ph! She turned on her heel and marched out. What was she doing here anyhow?! Once in the carriage, she vaguely remembered that she had meant to seize the opportunity and have a word with her father before he did something foolish on the reception, something that would embarrass both her and James, but she was too disgruntled to argue now, and also – maybe she was going about this the wrong way. At least James did take an interest in her and called her by her real name! She wasn't so needy to pine for some little boy. She had grown-up men to court her!

The ceremony was as boring as any military ceremony, hundreds of periwigged soldiers prancing about, and poor James in the thicket of it all. At least he seemed to be enjoying himself, even though he was bound to feel as uncomfortable in his many brocade layers as Elizabeth was in her much too tight corset. He was radiating with pride, and he ought to – he deserved this promotion more than anyone. Still, the blazing sun, her shortage of breath, the sheer length of the parade got the best of her, after the disastrous beginning of the day, with Will giving her the cold shoulder –

Admiral deLesseps was delighted to meet her again afterwards, so were a couple of other preeminent officers, before she even got a chance of congratulating her old friend on his happy day. A little smile crept over his face, but just as quickly dissolved again, and offering her his arm, he requested her to join him for a private word. This should have been the proper moment for her to become suspicious, but she was out of sorts, grateful for the support and increasingly dizzy. He lead her to the embattlement, where she leant against a pillar. By now, it began to dawn on her what it was that he wanted, and her mind racing, she tried to come up with a ready-made answer. Did she want to marry him? Not really. But did she want to rebuff him? Just as certainly she did not. It wasn't out of place to ask for a respite, right?

Copiously, he began to speak about his promotion, how it made him realise what he had not yet achieved – Elizabeth barely listened, distraught by her own musings, and quite breathless. "A marriage to a fine woman. – You have become a fine woman, Elizabeth…"

Stars dancing before her eyes, she managed to utter, "I can't breathe –"

He smiled awkwardly and turned away. "Yes, I'm a bit nervous myself…"

She didn't hear what else he was saying, she passed out cold, her last thought being, 'Oh, isn't this fantastic, I keel over during my first ever proposal!'

When she regained consciousness, she was disorientated. Not knowing what had happened, nor where she was, nor who this weird-looking stranger was, cowering above her and grabbing for the medallion hanging around her neck. Oh shoot! The medallion! She snatched it back just in time before her rescue guard arrived – James, her father and half a dozen officers.

To her greatest astonishment, it turned out that the stranger had saved her from drowning, but even more wonderful – he was Jack Sparrow. Oh, she had heard of him! She had heard everything about him! He had raided Nassau Port without a single shot – only by making maximum mayhem. He had escaped the East India Trading Company six times on total, once while a whole squad of agents had guarded him. He had blown up a Spanish gold frigate and squandered the whole freight in one delirious weekend in Tortuga. He had –

James, ever so unimpressed, no matter how famous a pirate was, scathingly taunted Sparrow. "You are without doubt the worst pirate I've ever heard about!"

"But you have heard of me."

He spoke with a slur, prompting James to stare at him as if he was mad, and on a closer look, that might not be far from the truth. Jack Sparrow looked decidedly eccentric, if that was enough. His hair was matted and adorned with pearls and other trinkets, most of the teeth she could see from her position were gold-capped, his arms, his chest were covered with tattoos. So much wouldn't have been unusual for a pirate – not that Elizabeth had ever met one, but she had read everything relevant about 'em – but there was an altogether tattiness and nuttiness about him that stuck out even from her wildest imaginations.

She tried to put in a good word for Sparrow, but neither James nor her father would waver, and before she realised what was happening, Sparrow had grabbed her, thrown the chains of his handcuffs around her throat and used her as leverage to negotiate his way out of this mess. She would have sympathised with the idea in itself, if it hadn't been for her shock, the cold iron pressing against her neck, and the pirate's repugnant body odour.

Governor Swann made big eyes and yelled at the soldiers to take down their guns. James merely blanched, his eyes flickering between Sparrow, Elizabeth, and the chain.

"I knew you'd warm up to me. Commodore Norrington, my effects, please. And my hat. Commodore!" He sneered as if he was enjoying himself and turned to his hostage. "Elizabeth – it is Elizabeth, isn't it?"

"It's Miss Swann," she spat tersely.

"Miss Swann, if you'd be so kind. Come, come, dear, we don't have all day. Now if you'd be very kind…" He prompted her to put on his effects, and when it came to his belt, he grinned ambiguously. "Easy on the goods, darling!"

"You're despicable!"

"Sticks and stones, love, I saved your life, you save mine. We're square. – Gentlemen – m'lady – you will always remember this as the day that you almost caught Captain Jack Sparrow!" He pushed her away and made his exit – a most improbable exit, worthy of all the tales she had heard about him – while she crashed into James and one of his officers. The officer toppled, but James caught her from falling – he had caught her a hundred times before, because as a child, she had taken perverse delight in trespassing every single rule laid down for living on a ship – or in a seaport – and clambered onto the mast, the sails, every balustrade she came across, always crying pertly before jumping down, 'Catch me if you can, Lieutenant!'

He always had, and so did he now, but otherwise he was frozen for a second. Incredulity was edged into his features, before he regained enough composure to order Sparrow's pursuit. For a man who had been on the verge of proposing to her some minutes ago – if her memory didn't deceive her there – he was surprisingly quick in leaving her to her father's care now, she thought and pouted.

"Elizabeth, dear – are you all right?"

"Well…"

Was she? She was dripping wet, standing about in her underwear and someone had threatened to kill her! Additional to the other vexations of the day, and James' rather alarming advances – no, she wasn't all right, not at all. She wasn't the type of girl to start crying, so she vented her dismay on her poor father by hurling at him all sorts of unjust accusations, as if it was his fault that William Turner was a clumsy twit, as if he had twisted James' arm to make him propose, as if Governor Swann had personally invited the Caribbean's most notorious pirate to come and mess with her. But as a matter of fact, she told herself, some of this was entirely his fault! Hadn't he bought that ridiculous piece of clothing that had cut her circulation so badly that she had passed out? During her first ever proposal?! Almost drowning her next? Having that heinous corset ripped off by a pirate?

A storm was drawing closer to the island, mirroring Elizabeth's filthy mood and she retired early to her chambers, with a good book – or what she secretly deemed a good book to be. Her anger had faded away and all that was left was confusion. Sparrow had been captured and incarcerated – suited him well, the bastard! But after all, he had rescued her, so she didn't feel well with his execution either… Maybe she could talk James and her father into some deal – neither of them was capable to deny her anything, though she wasn't sure whether that lenience included clemency towards wanted criminals. James… Oh, good heavens.

She was in trouble, wasn't she? She wasn't inclined to get married for a start. She was but eighteen! She was the mistress of the Governor's house in some ways, but she knew that being the mistress of Commodore Norrington's house, as his wife, was going to require something very different. Manners, poise and countenance, duties of all sort that she didn't dare pondering on… No, she wasn't ready for that sort of thing. And also…

James – how could she marry James of all men? Yes, he was the very epitome of respectability, of honour, of courtesy, of everything just and good in this world. There was no girl in Port Royal – or on this island – and possibly no anywhere in this part of the world really – that wouldn't have given her right arm and firstborn child in order to secure Commodore Norrington's hand and household. Just that Elizabeth had never regarded herself to be one of those girls.

Not only was he thirteen years her senior – thirteen years, for crying out loud! – but he was James! She knew him since the day they had left England back then! He was her oldest friend so to speak, in many respects of the term! Sure, there couldn't be a better husband in all the world – she was a hundred percent certain of this. He was kindness itself. He was smart. He was erudite and literate. He was fair, obliging, attentive. He had impeccable manners, he was polite, she knew he would anticipate her every wish. In all reason, he was bound to be as perfect as a husband as he was as a gentleman. But Elizabeth had never been a creature of reason.

What did he want with her, anyway? He knew her intimately since her childhood, too! He knew that she was unguarded and inordinate, and frequently lacked the proper manners. She'd make him an appalling wife, and he couldn't be oblivious of it! Estrella, her own chambermaid, would make him a better wife! That wretched corset that her father had given to her suddenly symbolised everything she'd have to expect from marrying the Commodore of Port Royal. She'd be tied to this place forever. She'd never get away from here! She'd suffocate! He would be all friendliness, and she'd feel compelled by his generosity to slowly stop breathing, and ultimately stop living.

She couldn't concentrate on the book – or rather, she had concentrated and found all the bits strongly discouraging her. Love – passion – that ought to be the foundation of conjugal life, and they were still talking about James Norrington, weren't they! Passion?! James and passion didn't belong in the same sentence! Not in the same paragraph! They couldn't be printed in the same book, ultimately!

There he was – today was the perfect example of everything he stood for. The uniform, elegant and impractical, adorned with gold and a whole lot of medals. The wig! She had to strain to remember what his hair truly looked like! Back then, as a Lieutenant on the Dauntless, he hadn't been wearing a wig, though it was mandatory – he had lost it during a hurricane and hadn't bothered to get a new one before reaching their destination. That accounted for his common sense – he had a lot of common sense, so how could he ask someone as irresponsible as her to become his wife, for heaven's sake?!

Estrella came with a bed-warmer. This was one of the vestiges of her past life in England. Technically, nobody in the Caribbean needed bed-warmers, ever. But when she felt crestfallen like now, this old and superfluous device offered her comfort. Estrella put it under the blankets and shot her an impish grin. "There you go, Miss. It was a difficult day for you, I'm sure."

She shrugged vaguely, chewing on her bottom lip. "I suspected Commodore Norrington would propose, but I must admit, I wasn't entirely prepared for it…"

"Well, I meant you being threatened by that pirate – sounds terrifying!"

"Oh… Yes. Yes, it was terrifying…"

Estrella smiled subtly. "But the Commodore proposed! Fancy that! Now that's a smart match, Miss, if it's not too bold to say!"

See? See? Even Estrella was slightly taken aback by the idea, or at least astonished! "It is a smart match… He's a fine man… He's what any woman should dream of marrying…"

Estrella's smile widened a fraction yet. "Well – that Will Turner, he's a fine man, too…"

"That is too bold!" But true! Damned true! Only that sweet Will would never ever in their life make an offer of marriage to her! Perhaps he was involved with one of the village girls even, Elizabeth had no idea – what she did know though was that he didn't show the slightest inclination to get involved with her. He probably looked at her in the same way that she looked at James – seeing nothing but an old friend, someone who had been protective in the past, someone who'd always be dear and nothing else.

Why couldn't Will propose to her? She'd have known at once what to answer! Yes, of course! Yes, yes, a thousand times yes! Speaking of love! Of passion! Of the countless bees in her stomach whenever she thought of him! How his soft brown eyes made her swoon! How she seized the Sunday morning service only to look at him, indulging thoughts that were decidedly out of place in a church! Him she'd marry at once, no doubts about it. How often had she dreamt of this – how she'd become Mrs William Turner – Elizabeth Turner – that had a ring to it!

Why didn't he like her at least a little bit? Well, he did like her for sure, but not in the right way! But why? She was pretty enough, wasn't she? Everyone kept telling her that she looked very nice. Perhaps she wasn't pretty enough for handsome William though, who could say? Perhaps he fancied the Caribbean type, with dark skin and exotic features. Or maybe he was more for the plumper girls, like Susan and Carol, the cobbler's daughters… Or maybe he was simply a little bit more perceptive than good old James, regarding her numerous shortcomings. James might not have noticed it so far, but Elizabeth knew that she was far from flawless, and possibly Will had realised so much as well. Just benign James was too good to see the truth. Where was his common sense when he needed it!

In that moment, she heard the first cannon beat.

The Usual Disclaimer: I own nothing. I suspect it all belongs to either Disney, or Jerry Bruckheimer. Bless them for giving us such wonderful story-telling material :)

I am a big fan of the lovely Commodore - it shows, right? So. I intend to do the man justice. I'm not going to re-tell the story bit by bit - I take recourse to the well-known 'canon' if I think it's necessary, or fits in well. I will stick to the story as it is presented in the movies, too. If I take artistic license, it'll be 'behind the scenes' of the movies as we know them. I won't alter them. I merely 'infuse' or extend scenes. So - I hope you enjoy the story, and if you do - please, please leave a feedback for me!