Disclaimer: I own nothing but the idea and Evie as well as her husband. Will Turner is of course property of Disney, and Rebecca Sparrow is property of /u/643020/Journalistintraining

Author's Note: As far as any spelling or grammatical errors go, please ignore them and just ready for the sake of reading…I only write for the sake of having fun, and I don't particularly care for the particulars of the process.

Chapter Two

Butting Heads

The hurricane season was finally coming to an end, and the people of Port Royale could not be happier. As every year the treacherous time period lasted from the start of June, to the end of November. The winds were like an insatiable beast, always hungry, and always consuming everything that came into its path. Destroying everything in its wake. And with the winds came the horrible lashing rains. At times the water could be so forceful on its own the structures simply buckled and families were left either homeless, if they were lucky, or parted if they were less blessed.

William Turner had not left in June, when the season was said to start, there was simply no need to leave at that time. Very rarely was there ever a hurricane in the late spring and very early summer, and he wished not leave before he had turned twenty-three. However, he had left at the dawn of August, knowing that was the month in which the storms would start to rip away at the Port. Knowing this, he had known he would much rather be away for the whole of August through the very end of October. These were the months that seemed to be the absolute worst when it came to fighting off the horrific storms. When he returned, it was the very start of November, and the year would within weeks be coming to a close, and 1729 would be upon them. A new year, and fresh start. But November, though still part of the hurricane season, was not known to bring much more than simple thunderstorms, with the coming of winter.

But it was still only November, 1728, and the New Year was still many weeks off yet. But there was much to celebrate, though a times there did not seem to be. November was one of those curious months, much like March it was in weather, and in feel. November wasn't a month that could be counted on to be anything but untrustworthy. With the death of October and the birth of November, the winds changed and the temperature dropped, if only a few degrees. Certainly the Caribbean never experienced the same nature of Winter as had been encountered by a great many of the colonials that lived here, had in England, and the parts of Europe that they had come here to the tropics from. No, the Caribbean 'winter' could hardly be laid into the same category of season as the frigid European winter was, although this winter had some of the same basic charms. November here, just as it was back in England, brought cloud-filled, blackened skies, and miserable moods to both the dirt-poor, and the over-privileged rich.

In fact the only people that seemed to be able to shake off the miserable state of being that the daunting winter brought, were those that had been away living their life as they wished to. That is to say that anyone that had not spent the entirety of the last year in a single spot, even one so beautiful as Port Royale, were the only ones capable of keeping high spirits. Perhaps this was due to the fact that they had not done the very same thing, day in and day out for the last three hundred and four days (three hundred and five if it had happened to be a leap year) and their scenery had changed around them. There were very few people that this could mean, that were not affected by what would be later called the Winter-Blues. The few that remained unaffected were the small amount of Navy Soldiers that had seen battle out on the seas that summer, and William Turner himself. He who had fled to the sea to escape the lashing and ever-hungry hurricanes.

But now that November itself was drawing to a close, and therefore so was the hurricane season for 1728, that meant that the mood would soon lighten once more. December always seemed to reawaken the excitement and joy for life that had died inside of people in November. And better yet, on the night of November the 30th, the Governor of Port Royale, one Weatherby Swann, and his daughter, Elizabeth, would hold a ball for the people of Port Royale as they had every year since they had been there. A celebration to commemorate the end of another undamaging hurricane season for the Port. Although it was said to be for the people of the colony, it was only ever the elite, the upper-class that attended the ball. It was not to say that Governor Swann and his young woman of a daughter did not welcome the rest of the people, but it was that the propriety of the colony looked down upon those as though they were nothing but dirt. Even if a young woman and her husband, who were poor, wanted to attend how could they? Dressed in what were rags in comparison to the rich brocades and silks of the upper-class, and forever being criticized for this factor, how could one ever enjoy themselves? Any lower-class citizen that wished to attend without fear of being ridiculed need at least have one friend in the upper-class who would be willing to spend precious gold on them, dressing them in the finest of clothing, and the newest fashions. But knowing people such as Philip Lewis, it was unlikely that many people would be willing to do such a thing out of pure kindness.

This year Evie White-Lewis would not be attending the celebratory ball. There was simply no use in attending on her own. If anything it would make people look down upon her, or worse, try and introduce her to men other than her husband. Philip had not died, and so she should not be introduced to others as though she were available for a second marriage. No, much to her displeasure, though she had hidden it from him at the time behind a soft glowing smile, Philip had decided that he was going to go back to London to visit old friends. This is the story that he had fed to his wife and children at least. Evie thought this version of his plans to be highly unlikely however. She believed that he would take his precious Annabelle to a neighbouring island and spend the winter months there in her sinful company, and the thought deeply hurt her. It wasn't that she was jealous that it was not herself that would be spending this time with her husband, but it was that he would not be there to celebrate Christmas with his children, and he would not be there to celebrate his daughter, Elise's, third birthday. Elise was their youngest child, and their only daughter. Though Evie supposed that showed just truly what he thought of women; he couldn't even take one day out of his time with his mistress to wish his little a happy birthday; and Elise loved her papa dearly, much more that she should have. Oh how she had cried when her mother had to cautiously tell her that her father would not be there to celebrate her third birthday. And Evie hated her husband all the more for making her daughter cry. For upsetting the darling child.

No, Evie saw no point in attending the celebratory ball this year. Not without her jerk of a husband with her.

He never could get anything for himself could he? No, he always had to send either his wife, or her, his daughter. Why couldn't the man, or any man for that matter, go to the market on his own? Was it so difficult that it made it impossible for a man to carry out? And if so, did that not make the women's 'race' (for they were viewed as sub-human) the superior over men? Of course not, not in a world that was ruled by the men. The only reason that the men sent their wives, daughters, sisters, mothers, mistresses, etc., to do their shopping for them was because somehow it was a woman's job and the men if seen doing such a thing would be shunned. This however made her feel no better. It seemed that it was always something else to be done for as long as she had lived in her parents' home. Its not that she begrudged helping out, its not even that she minded going to the market, but it's the way that they had asked her. No. It was the way that her father had told her to go to the market to pick up fresh greens for the maid, Alice, to prepare for dinner that night that had upset her. She couldn't understand why he didn't even just ask Alice to go pick up the vegetables herself. It was like her father did not want her in the house. She was starting to suspect that was correct.

Rebecca was twenty-two and she still lived comfortably at home with her parents. Maverick, and Sarah Sparrow. It wasn't the fact that she lived with them yet that irritated Maverick the most; it's the fact that she wasn't even trying to leave their house to start a family of her own. At fourteen Rebecca had been meant to have been shipped back to London where she would marry a suitor that her great-aunt Gertrude had chosen for her. But at the last moment Sarah couldn't put her daughter through that fate knowing that within the year her own babe-of-a-daughter would be the mother of at least once child; she prayed that her husband wouldn't give her twins. The thought had just broken Sarah's already fading heart a little too hard, and she fought to keep her daughter at home. At that time, Maverick had been more than happy to keep his young daughter at home with his wife and himself. Now that five years had passed he was starting to realize that no matter how happy he had been at the time, it was indefinitely wrong of him to have let his wife keep Rebecca at home.

It was starting to seem to Maverick, and even to his wife Sarah (though she wished not to believe it) that their daughter would never be married. Rebecca was very much unlike the rest of the girls in the port; or rather perhaps it was that she was exactly like them but that she was the only one that was willing to show that side of herself to anyone. It was not that the men were not interested in her; in fact quite the opposite, and that was to be expected. With her petite frame and golden hair it was hard for the men to not be interested in her. Although Becka did not find herself to be all that attractive, and perhaps she wasn't in her own mind, to the men she was quite obviously the object of their desires. She hated this fact, she had done as much as she could to stop this. In the last five years she had had her share of keen suitors, vying for her attentions, and that number had increased about three years ago when she turned seventeen. In spite of this she had turned down the offers of marriage from every man. At first she had given such trivial and juvenile (befitting of her age at the time) reasons such as that the man was not handsome enough, or not tall enough, or he had the wrong hair colour. She had even once said that because a man with brown hair had been rejected it was because their hair colours clashed and created an eyesore. Though no one could be quite so sure as to say this was the real reason for the rejection from the lovely Miss. Sparrow. But now that she was getting older, and therefore more mature, she was giving logical answers to these rejections; though they sounded just as trivial to the men, and to her father. Her mother however understood, but tried to tell her to lower her standards. One man was given the reason that because he was not well enough educated she would not be marrying him, or having anything to do with him. The next was given the reason that he never listened to her opinion; to which he answered that as a woman she wasn't supposed to have an opinion, and that she should never interfere with him. That man was never let within sight of her again. There had been a few men thought, a few good men that Becka had courted for a small period of time. These men had been polite, well educated and even pretended to listen to her, but unfortunately each of them encountered the same downfall in the end. Each had been secretly boasting to his friends and colleagues that he was 'courting the most beautiful woman, and within the month she would be doing his housework, cooking him meals, and bearing his children.'

After these men, Rebecca refused to have anything to with any of the men in Port Royale, simply not deeming any of them worth her time of day, or worth even the same air that she was breathing. She of course put the lower-class into this category, although never having courted any of them, simply because she believed all them to be the same as the other men. And what did it bother her if she missed out on good, decent men? None of them had gone to school or been tutored, and why in heaven's name would she ever been seen courting a man that was below her social status? She would not be. Women married for money and status, and although she already had these things as a Sparrow, she would not give them up just because the man might actually listen to her; or at least that was what she had deceived herself into thinking.

But her parents were starting to get very antsy about if their daughter would ever be getting married. They had already written off 'their' son Jack, knowing his only love was the sea; much to their chagrin. But to think that their pretty little daughter wouldn't be giving them grandchildren was more than they could bear.

They had wanted her out of the house so they could think things over, and writing letters to the high-society of other neighbouring islands, hoping to find a suitor for her there. They were starting to think they may just have to send her away and not let her come back until she was married and had at least once child, either born and in her arms, or in her belly on its way.

Greens. That's all that they had sent her away to buy in the marketplace. They must have been praying that she would meet up with another young lady, a friend, with whom she would spend a vast amount of time. To keep her away from home as it were. Alice had already bought greens that morning before Miss. Sparrow had even woken up. There was no real errand to be run.

Becka calmly walked through the semi-crowded market place. Women of the lower-class, in their simple coloured dresses of browns, reds, and blues, with their tight fitting lace caps, and lace shawls tucked into their bodices moved out of her way. Bowing their heads in acknowledgement to her social ranking. Her golden curls were gathered back and pinned in

place, and accented with silvery-blue ribbons to match her dress. The brocade was a muted periwinkle blue, which when put in the light sparkled with a silver quality. The Fleur-de-lis barely visible unless one looked closer. The underskirts were the same gently periwinkle, but where unadorned with the silver woven in it. The white lace around the collar and the sleeves seemed stark in contrasted with the cream of the lace on all the other women's dresses. She walked carefully through the rather narrow aisle-ways between the venders; ever careful of her panniered hips. A shallow basket, nearly flat, with a slight curve in it was hooked over her arm as she studied all the venders, looking at things from eggs to jewelled stomachers to fit into the front of her dress to cover the corset. She looked down to her own; it was plain in comparison. Embroidered with pearlescent beads and lace. She was so lost in her own thoughts as she looked over the vegetables once more that she didn't notice the other customer to the side of her. She turned to continue walking on, her head still turned to the side, her eyes still on the vegetables. She barely had a chance to even blink before she felt herself collide with a very solid object; another person. She dropped her basket which was then filled with an assortment of greens, and it fell, spilling in the dirt of the road. She gasped in shock, but she sobered her features, her lips tightly pursed and her brows knit angrily as she looked up. Her eyes widened and a bright blush came to her cheeks in embarrassment as she saw her mistake.

"Mr. Turner!"

Will looked at her, nodding his head silently in greeting as he knelt down to the dirt road. He picked up her wicker basket and the few vegetables that were spilt, and put them once again into their resting place among the woven dried sugar cane stems.

"Miss. Sparrow."

He stood up once again, holding onto her basket, and his own which he had almost dropped. Rebecca was still flushing a bright colour of pink, her hands together in prayer, and pressed against her mouth as she followed him with her hazel eyes.

"Mr. Turner I am sorry, I did not see you standing there."

The Blacksmith shrugged easily as he counted the greens in her basket, and glancing down, he saw one had already been stepped on where it had remained in the dirt, unnoticed by his eyes. Without so much as a word he turned his eyes to his own basket and lifted his arm out of the way slightly so he could reach in. He pulled out one of the vegetables and placed into her basket, replacing the trampled one.

"Its alright, I suppose I am easy enough to miss in a crowd"

He did not sound bitter what-so-ever, but neither did he sound all that pleased. He looked over Becka's shoulder to the vender who was about to shout 'thief!' because Will had not yet paid for his own food when he had given one of the greens to Becka. He sighed softly and reached into his pocket and drew out a silver shilling and tossed it to the man, who caught it and eyed Will almost evilly. Rebecca had noticed that he had exchanged the vegetable, he had of course done so right in front of her.

"Mr. Turner please take it back. I can buy another, I do not need you to waste your hard earned money on me."

He looked back to her, as though being called back to reality.

"Do not be silly. I can also by another…"

Though he did not seem so sure, his pocket feeling a little to light for coinage, while he yet remained without the number of groceries that he needed. Though he supposed with the amount of time that he was given anyway to eat after he worked before he finally collapsed each night was nil. He assumed that one night he could simply skip his meal. It would at least give him extra time to sleep, though he knew that he would end up working longer and spending even less time than normal asleep.

Becka saw the slightly distant look on his face, which was also contorted with the knowledge that he in fact did not have enough money. He went to move passed her, having obviously forgotten for the moment that she was in fact in front of him. She put out her hand, putting it to his chest to stop him. Feeling her slender hand against his breast he froze, and looked back at her. His spiced rum eyes meeting her hazel ones.

"Mr. Turner, please if you will not take the vegetable, at least take a shilling to reimburse yourself. Please."

He shook his head gently and moved to go passed her once more.

"Mr. Turner I won't let you go until you agree with me on one of these matters."

He sighed and looked back at her, he couldn't tell if she was truly trying to be kind and sincere, or if she was only leading him on with these pleasantries, just to insult him in a moment. Although he wanted to believe that she was being kind, he had learned to more than expect the latter of the choices.

"Miss. Sparrow if you think that you are going to pay me for being a gentleman you are mistaken. I won't except your money because I have manners. I won't let it be so that you can tell your friends and family that you had to give to the poor, begging Blacksmith. I did not ask for your charity. In fact it was you who walked into me, and it was I that was giving you assistance."

Becka's mouth opened in shock, she was mouthing words but she couldn't form a full sentence. She seemed to be in shock that he could insinuate that she would just blackmail him. She blinked a few times, her kohl lined eyes staring into his.

"Mr. Turner I was not trying to offend you. I was trying to be kind and generous to you, as you have been to me. I was not going to blackmail you. I know in the past I have been less than human to you at times , ordering you around in your own shop to fulfill my father's orders, hitting you as hard as I could when all you were trying to do was rescue me because you thought I was drowning, but I see now that you are a good person that has taken the abuse from me and from others and still you help me when it is my own fault for dropping that vegetable. I did not ask for you to give me one of yours, and pay for mine. I did not ask you to give up the little money that you have for me."

The tears were starting to sparkle in her hazel eyes, catching Will by surprise. He looked to her in disbelief. She was biting the corner of her lower lip and looking passed his arm, trying to recompose herself; she wouldn't let herself weep in public, and especially not in front of the likes of William Turner. Will sighed softly, regretting assuming that she would be like other people that he had helped, who in the end had turned on him.

"Becka I apologize. I should not have assumed that you were planning to do me wrong. I am sorry for that. But I do not wish for your money, or for the vegetable back. I did what I did out of the good of my heart. "

She looked back to him, just her eyes. They moved quickly to look upon his tall frame. She cast her eyes down to the ground sadly, then looked back up as she turned herself to face him fully once more.

"Than I am paying for your groceries and do not argue with me, Mr. Turner"

Will merely sighed knowing that if he argued with her again they would once again be at square one. And it was already too late. Becka had turned to the vender, and motioned to all of what Will was carrying, showing the vender what all the price would have to be calculated for. She handed the man a gold doubloon and turned back to her Blacksmith companion. She carefully took him by his elbow while he was paying little attention, and steered him out of the tight outdoor aisle-way and out into the wide open square. He looked to her mildly interested as to why he pulled her away.

"About what you said before we departed last time,"

He tilted his head looking at her, his eyes searching her as though trying to remember what it was that she was talking about. She looked up to him and blushed faintly, just barely noticeably,

"About how I should be proud because I at least tried to defend myself,"

"Ah yes, and what about that?"

"I tried to say that I appreciated your words, but when I had turned to say it to you, you had already left the beach. I felt that I needed to tell you again."

She was smiling softly, but looking to the ground as they walked along slowly, having long ago let go of his elbow.

"I see. I thought you would have forgotten about that meeting by now."

Becka prayed subconsciously to herself that he wasn't going to say that he had forgotten about it. But he never did say that, he simply looked to her, and she smiled, shrugging her shoulders a little.

"Its hard to forget when a man dives into the water after you and you think you're being kidnapped,"

She let out a short, shrill little giggle. It sounded as though she had been faking her happiness, and her humour, her laughter, for so long that even now when she was truly giggling at the thought, it sounded just as forced. Will raised his brow as he looked at her, a smirk on his lips, although slightly terrified by her titter. When her laughter subsided she took a deep breath and exhaled softly. She decided to change the subject, feeling the tension between them starting to ice over, and she didn't want to be on his bad side. After all if she ever was drowning and needed him, perhaps he wouldn't save her that way.

"Are you going to attend the Ball at the Governor's house this year? I mean I know its still two weeks away but I am curious to know"

He looked to her, a little surprised by her conversation piece, he chose his words carefully, not wanting to make her feel imperceptive, and not wanting to put himself to shame.

"No, I will not be attending this year. I cannot afford the amount that it would take to turn me from a Pauper, into a Prince."

He was smiling kindly as he spoke, just in case she looked to him and felt guilty. To put her at ease more than anything. Becka looked up to him and smiled softly in response to his,

"That's nonsense. You already look the part of a Pri-"

She caught herself blushing slightly, unable to figure out why such a comparison had entered her mind, and why it had embarrassed her to say it. Will laughed seeing her mortification to lighten the atmosphere.

"Thank you but now I know you are just being kind. However, will you be attending the Ball?"

She looked up at him and shook her head.

"No, not this year. Its not that the dress code is a problem, I'm sorry I'm not trying to make you feel poor-"

"You aren't, calm down and just finish what you were saying,"

Becka nodded and picked up where she had stopped,

" It is not the dress code that is my problem. it's the fact that its rather required for all young women to have an accompanying gentleman, and I have turned down all the men here in Port Royale. And the ones that have not been rejected think me mad for being twenty-two and yet unmarried. Perhaps I am, after all before long I will not be able to bear children and -oh I'm going to die alone and old."

Her breath caught in her throat slightly, she waved him off as he looked to her concered,

"I'm sorry. I am a little emotional, but I suppose if that does happen, it would be my own fault."

Will decided it would be easier to say nothing to this, knowing that whatever he said would only make it worse. He looked up, during the time they had been walking they had drifted back towards the way of her home. Up the road a way was her house. He stopped her and turned to her,

"Well, I suppose this is farewell. I'll see you around I suppose. Thank you for these"

He gestured to the groceries in the basket on his arm. She smiled a little and nodded,

"And thank you for mine"

He smiled and turned, walking back towards the market. Becka sighed sadly to herself and started her way back to her house. Knowing very well that most likely she was not welcome there right now. But what upset her the most was that Will had not asked to take her to the Ball; she would have happily paid the bill to cloth him like a Prince. It would be a small price to pay for him saving her life. And she didn't mean for when he pulled her out of the water…

On his way back into the marketplace, Will thought quietly to himself. Every word of the last twenty minutes shared with Rebecca Sparrow was running through his mind. He was trying hard as he could to discover some hidden meaning into why she had asked if he was going to attend the Ball this year. But the only reasoning he could come up with was that she had wanted to attend it with him, as with him as her suitor for the night. He knew this couldn't possibly be the case, and so he continued to walk along, once again lost in his thoughts. But if, just if this had been what Becka had wanted, why did she just not ask him herself? To spare them both confusion and to spare herself a little more pain when he did not ask her?

Will was so lost in his thoughts it took him a few moments to realize that someone was calling out his name. A woman. At first he expected to turn around and see Becka, which would have made him feel just a little better after his former line of thought, but instead he turned and saw one Mrs. Evie White-Lewis. She was holding up her skirts as she ran to him, calling out 'William!' no and then. She was smiling brightly, and panting just a little. Her dark hair was fraying out slightly from under her bonnet. She slowed when she drew closer, and laughed softly,

"I thought I was going to lose you there for a moment Mr. Turner!"

He smiled and laughed softly,

"Ah Evie I apologize. I was very deep in thought it seems and I never even heard you calling out my name."

She smiled and shook her head lightly; a different woman when Philip was not around. She put her hand on his arm gently as they started to walk once again. Will was cutting through the market to get back to his shop. He was thankful that today was Sunday, his one day off. It didn't matter how long he delayed today because either way he wouldn't need to rush back to work. Evie was still panting slightly, and so Will once again slowed his pace slightly,

"If I am stepping too quickly for you just tell me,"

"Nonsense! It wouldn't matter because I can breathe in this corset"

She smiled showing that his former pace had been alright with her. He nodded his head to her and picked up his steps slightly. They walked on in a comfortable silence for a few moments. Despite how Philip saw Will, what with him not being good enough to be even called a person, Evie had always enjoyed the Blacksmith's company. At nineteen she was a mother and found it very hard to connect with other people of her social standing. Yet with Will she spoke freely and comfortably.

Finally she looked up at him and smiled gently,

"Are you attending the Celebratory Ball this year?"

Will had to laugh to himself briefly,

"This is uncanny, I was just asked that very question ten minutes ago, the answer is no"

But Evie's smile broadened, so much so that for a moment Will was altogether afraid that her face was going to split in two. But she calmed herself a little, still smiling brightly, her eyes twinkling.

"Philip is away with Annabelle. I was wondering, would you come with me to the Ball?"

Will stared at her in shock, blinking slightly. He knew that this would never help the rumour that was already going around port that he and Evie were having an affair behind Philip's back, which of course they were not. He didn't care much right now, instead he returned her bright smile.

"It would be my pleasure."

The evening of November thirtieth came faster than any had anticipated. Though this was a welcomed occurrence, because with it the grey skies of November would vanish and lead the bright Caribbean sun once more, and the hurricane season would be officially over for another year. It had been two weeks, plus a few days since Will and Becka had last spoken, though there was no surprise there. She was the daughter of a well-to-do couple, and Will was just a Blacksmith. Though in the last few days he was that even less and less. Evie, who would be accompanying Will to the Celebratory Ball had been fussing over his clothing, and his style. For the last week or so she had had him with the seamstress for most of the daylight hours trying different cuts and different fabrics for what he was going to wear to the Ball. And with each spent hour in there he felt more and more guilty for both costing her what he was sure would be a fortune (at least to him it would be) and for neglecting his own work, and therefore having no income that week. But also in the last week Will had celebrated Elise's (Evie's daughter) third birthday with the family. He had given to her a brand new teddy bear, which he had managed to scrape the money together for. It was soft, and had glass eyes. He had told her that it was from her father who had given it to him to give her, knowing that he couldn't be there for her birthday. It was a lie, and a fairly large one; but it was worth every makeup lie that he was going to have to spin, when he saw her eyes like up like jewels and hug that teddy bear. At least he could put the smile back on her face when her own father's absence had stolen it.

But finally they had agreed on a cloth and a cut (Evie and the seamstress that is), and the night had finally arrived. Much removed from the way of travel that Will was used to, he and Evie were put up in a grand ebony carriage, pulled by beautifully groomed black horses, six of them, as they were brought to the Ball. The carriage rolled up the hill towards the Swann Manor, from inside one could hear the faint orchestral music. People all turned to look when the saw the dark carriage, and waited for the two inside to exit it. Will was the first one out, after the footman had opened the door and lowered the folding stairs. At the bottom he bowed his head to the man in appreciating, to which he seemed surprised. Will held his hand up for Evie as she exited, to keep her steady due to her heavy dress, which was matching his own new garments. Both in dark cyan, his jacket was velvet and hemmed with gold trim, the waistcoat was cream with black embroidered flowers, and gold buttons. His shirt white and ruffled, and black breeches. His stockings were pure white and he wore black leather pumps with a large ornate silver buckle on each. He wore a white cravat, tied handsomely below his chin. His chocolate hair gathered back at the nape of his neck with a black ribbon, leaving two slight curls at the very front to curl around as they may. He did look like a Prince. Evie's dress was dark cyan cotton, hemmed with the same gold trim as Will's jacket; the underskirts and stomacher were cream and embroidered with black flowers. Her shoes were the same material as her dress, but were hidden by the bottom of the skirts. Her own dark hair had been teased and combed until it was tricked up into a pompadour, in which she had stuck a long golden 'phoenix' feather, a feather from a pheasant that had been brushed heavily with gold powder.

Those around and had been watching were both in awe, and appalled by the sight of the two. There were those, mostly the women, that were surprised to see that the port's Blacksmith cleaned up so well, while the men were revolted to see that the port's Blacksmith was soiling their air space, and a woman that was in fact one of their upper-class. But Will didn't seem to care, he simply brushed them off no matter what they said about him behind his back. Yet they all smiled welcomingly towards him when he had turned away and was walking towards the entrance with Evie White-Lewis on his arm. Inside the Manor though, was a different story.

Off to the side of the Dance Floor, which was the Swanns' sitting room and dining room with the furniture removed, towards the far end a young woman stood, bickering as quietly as she could with her gentleman friend. Her dress was of a pale Ochre, with a soft coppery shimmer behind it. The underskirts were pure white, almost blue, and her stomacher was cream, as well as the lace along all the hems of the dress, and embroidered with a swirling floral pattern. A green bow sat on the top of her stomacher, where the collar separated dress from breast-top. Her silk shoes underneath, which showed ever so slightly, were a soft deep pink. In her hand she held an ornate folding fan, a seen of a green field bordered by trees, front of which were three couples, each in each others arms. The fan was rimmed in black lace. An iron, but beautifully wrought, necklace that was adorned with bright rubies sparkled on her breast. Her blonde hair was built up high into a pompadour, seven soft curls hanging loose upon her shoulders, while a pale blue and pink ostrich feather with a flower protruded from the teased mass of golden hair. Her lips were painted dark, and her eyebrows and eyes line in dark kohl. Her cheeks painted pink in a ever-innocent blush. Rebecca Sparrow.

Both of them happened to spot each other at the same time. Both freezing in what they were doing. Will had been walking across the floor with Evie, and Becka had been bickering with the man she was with, because he wasn't letting her out of his sight, and worse, out of his grip. Will looked to Evie, who was in the middle of her sentence, and spoke gently,

"Evie, I'll be back in a minute…"

She looked rather surprised, but she nodded and let him go. Becka was struggling against her date, trying to get him to let go, but he wouldn't budge.

"Mr. Ralph please let go of Miss. Sparrow…"

Will looked up at the man. He was the same height as the Blacksmith, but he was a rather…large man, and both looked and acted the part of a brute. He snorted looking to Will,

"Oh yeah, and why do you think I'm going to listen to you? Rubbish like you should not even be here tonight"

"Nolan leave him alone and LET ME GO!"

Becka was growling, and trying to get Nolan Ralph's arm away from being around her. Will was losing his temper, and not because Nolan had insulted him.

"Let go of her…"

"Oh what!? Gonna hurt me?"

"Yeah, that's right"

His fist shot out and hit Nolan hard in the face with his right hook. Nolan in his shock and pain let go of Becka so that he could grip his nose, his eyes shut in pain. Will immediately grabbed Becka's arm and pulled her away and into the crowd, despite how she struggled against him.

"Let. Go. Of. Me!!"

He stopped, hearing the anger and the pleading in her voice, and realized that he was being no better than Nolan had been moments before. He let go of her, and started to apologize, trying to tell her that he was just trying to make sure she got as far away from that man as possible. But she wouldn't listen,

"Well like it or not, he was my partner this evening!"

The tears were sparkling in her hazel eyes again, and she looked to Will, who was trying to come closer to her to comfort her. She pushed him back, her hands against his chest hard. He looked to her, utterly confused, but he spoke softly,

"I thought you weren't coming tonight, and why would you come with a man like that? A man that won't let you do anything for yourself?"

"Me? Because no one else would ask me! And I thought you weren't supposed to be coming either! And yet here you are with- with- with HER!"

Will was surprised as the hatred that was in Becka's voice, it truly shocked him. But his anger snapped, hearing the way Rebecca spoke of his friend Evie,

"Hey she asked me after I saw you last! I would of told you but I haven't seen you since! And don't talk about her like she's some creature! She's one of my best friends and her children are ADORABLE!"

People were starting to stare now, but it seems that neither of the two hot-heads cared at all. They were so immersed in their anger and hatred for each other's choice of partner.

"Well so what!? And whose fault is it that I haven't seen you?! YOU could of come up to my house and told me but OH NO! You had to go and keep it to yourself!"

"Why are you so upset!? I know why I am upset, its because some big ugly brute has his hands all over you, manhandling you!"

Becka was shaking with rage, and Will was matching it. But the tears fell from her eyes. Will could only assume that they were tears of anger and not sorrow, after all she was tearing his head off. The ostrich feather in her hair wobbled around as she emphasized her words; both of them were almost screaming at each other.

"Why am I upset!? WHY!? Why do you think I am upset! You - you had to keep this to yourself and because of you I got trapped into coming with Nolan! Damn you and damn Evie!"

"Stop talking about her like that!"

"I'll talk about her however I want William Turner! Its because of her that I'm here with Nolan!"

"How is it HER fault!?"

"Because--!"

Becka stopped, embarrassed, and afraid to say what she was going to say, but the rage in Will's eyes was only insulting her, and she knew she had to say it to perhaps soften that anger. The look of it made her feel like a bad child that was being scolded, and now that she looked at her actions, and his response to them, that's exactly what she was. She was the child that had done wrong and he the disciplining father. The tears built up in her eyes again, but not from anger this time. Her lip quivered as she lifted her proud head up again to look at him level, not wanting to look as intimidated by him as she was.

"Because she brought the man that I wanted to…"

The tears fell. Will, who was so ready to jump down her throat for talking poorly of his friend, stood in astonishment. His mouth was slightly agape, and he moved to speak words, but no sounds came from his lips. He blinked, trying to accept the knowledge that she had just given him. Becka, terribly embarrassed, in front of the entire ball that had stopped to watch and listen, covered her face and ran out. She pushed her way through people that were in little groups, and finally out the door and into the night.

Will was still in disbelief. He stood watching her run, as though frozen to the spot on which he stood. But something in him snapped and he bolted into action. Dashing through the crowd, throwing people out of his way as he ran after Rebecca Sparrow. He sprinted out into the dark night atmosphere and looked around for any sign of his friend's sister, but his eyes had not yet adjusted to the dark. And finally he heard it, the soft sounds of feminine weeping. He stepped further out into the dark as he listened, and his eyes finally caught a glimpse of her. Sitting all alone in the darkened garden, on a stone bench was the daughter of Maverick and Sarah Sparrow. She was dressed up and looked like a perfect doll, but dolls shouldn't be crying from pain and embarrassment. He knew there was nothing he could do or say to make the hurt less, but he was going to comfort her as best he could either way. Will approached her quietly, taking slow and deliberate steps as he edged closer to her, though this extra step was not needed, she would not have been able to hear his leather shoes in the grass over her own hiccupping anyway. And when he had come to her, he moved around in front of her, and slowly knelt down, to stop his knees from cracking.

Becka sat on the cold stone bench, her eyes close, and the makeup all around them running in little black rivers down her fair cheeks. Her pale dress, and white skin glowed with the twilight, as though she were the moon's princess. One hand was lifted up to her eyes as she cried, the other gripping her handkerchief in her lap. Will looked up at her regretfully and looked down once more to the white hand in her lap. He was breathing quietly. He reached gradually and took her hand up in his, and he expected her to be frightened. But Becka seemed to have known that he was there this whole time. She pulled her hand away from her face an looked down upon him, her face smeared with black makeup. Will smiled sadly up at her, before speaking in hushed tones, that where surprisingly like cashmere after their screaming match inside.

" I am sorry, I truly am. If I had known I would never have pushed you to say it, especially not in front of those people."

Becka sniffed and shook her head, her seven free curls swinging,

"That is not why I am crying."

"It is not?"

"No. I am crying because I am insanely jealous of Evie, and although I know its not right, and that it upsets you, I cannot help it."

Will gripped her hand gently, as he looked up into her darkened hazel eyes.

"But why is it that you are jealous of her? She is only a friend and she asked me here-"

"Because I wanted to come with you… I wanted so badly to be the one on your arm tonight."

She hiccupped and started to cry again, unable to stem the flow of her tears, no longer caring how much she smudged her makeup. Will smiled sadly as she cried once more. He waited for a lull in her tears before he spoke again.

"Than why didn't you ask me here, two weeks ago? I would have said yes."

He raised his brows, in the way one does when speaking slowly and softly to a small child who just does not understand what is being explained to them. She looked to him, into his eyes, and quickly looked away. His eyes seemed to peer right through her, and it hurt.

"Because it is not right for a woman to ask the man. The man has to ask the woman-"

"Says who?"

She looked at him shocked by his words,

"I--well-- no one it doesn't need to be said! Its propriety!"

"But if you spend your life waiting to be asked by another you could lose your chance with them."

She looked away, murmuring softly as she did,

"I already have…"

"You have not lost a chance… Come on. Lets go back inside."

Becka looked to him, her face nearly black from her smudged makeup. She shook her head,

"I look terrible. My kohl is everywhere…"

Will took the handkerchief out of her hand, feeling it was already damp with her tears. He lifted it to his lips and dabbed it against his tongue, and lifted it to her cheeks, gently wiping away the smeared kohl. Becka froze as soon as his hand came close, her eyes wide as she watched him. But she had done the same for him when she treated the cut on his forehead that her ring had caused. But even in this darkness the faint scar was visible along his hairline on the left side of his forehead. He looked up at her and smiled gently.