Port Royal

June, 1749

"You look lovely," Norrington said, fixing the circlet of flowers on Elizabeth's golden hair for the hundredth time. "Now stop fidgeting and let me take you in. If we dawdle any longer he'll think you mean to call off the wedding."

"Are you sure it looks right, Papa?" Elizabeth tugged fretfully at a stray lock of hair, dislodging the flowers yet again. "I can't imagine going in there in front of all those people in this dress."

"In any dress, you mean, you wayward girl." Norrington adjusted the garland for the final time and held his daughter's face in his hands. "You are beautiful and I love you. Now get in there and marry the bloody boy."

A grin he recognized from childhood danced across Elizabeth's face. "Yes, Papa."

Walking Elizabeth down the church aisle was a painful process. He had once thought he'd be glad to get rid of the troublesome little wench, but now that his daughter had grown into a lovely young woman of whom any father would be proud, he couldn't believe what he was doing. The young man she was marrying was handsome, intelligent, brave, charming and fabulously wealthy. But unfortunately, he was also Thomas Beckett.

Thomas was, Norrington had to admit, a thoroughly decent young man. He was kind, considerate, generous, polite and still very playful. He had even managed to grow to the same height as Elizabeth – a shock considering his parents were so short. And he did love her. But Norrington still worried that his regrettable parentage would show through one day and that Thomas would become as cold and as calculating as his father.

To Norrington, the worst part of walking down the aisle was having everybody stare at them. Elizabeth, however, was so beautiful that he knew all the eyes were on her and not on him, and it wasn't the ordinary people that bothered him anyway. What made him cringe inside was approaching the front of the church and seeing the groom's parents. But Norrington fixed his eyes straight ahead, made it to the altar without collapsing, handed off his daughter with a smile, and moved to stand next to his wife.

Catherine took his hand in hers. Age might have mellowed her but time had not ravaged her, and Norrington doubted it ever would. She was still as beautiful as she had been twenty years ago when they had first met, and he had learned to love her in a different, deeper way from how he had loved her then. Silver was appearing in her hair and crow's feet by her eyes, but Norrington cherished his wife's flaws. They were like lyrics to a song that whispered of everything she had been through, a song that was always changing, a song he never tired of trying to learn.

Across the aisle, dark eyes watched the proceedings critically. Isabella stood there, still striking as ever with her black eyebrows and olive skin, but in the last few years she had grown fat. Several chins jostled with her neck for space, and her dress, while spectacular, was ill-fitting; her tightly corseted bosom threatened to ruin her modesty. Her mouth was set in a line that set off explosions of wrinkles at the edges of her lips.

The years had not changed Beckett at all. He was still erect, still with a small, neat build, still dressed not to impress but to outdo. He stood in silence, hands clasped behind his back, face inscrutable. Norrington thought his expression might have been unenthusiastic but not disapproving, and his fingers tightened on Catherine's.

"Papa," James whispered, and Norrington turned to his son. James had become a good-looking young man, tall and sleek with thick hair and clear, guileless eyes. He looked quite dashing in his blue velvet, and Norrington had noticed several girls eyeing him surreptitiously. "You're supposed to be happy at weddings."

"Thank you for reminding me, I'd forgotten," Norrington muttered, which made James smile, and turned back to Catherine. "Did we do the right thing in agreeing to this madness?"

"What else could we do?" she asked. "Could we deny her what was denied you?"

There was a pang in Norrington's chest. "I fear it was denied you as well," he said softly.

Catherine smiled. "Nonsense, James. I have always loved you. I was content to be by your side and to raise our family. I have never, not even in my silent prayers late at night, asked for anything more than that. I did not need more. I still don't."

"I love you," he said, and squeezed her hand. "I do. Thank you for this. For everything."

"No. Thank you."