The wedding was quick, held at a small church with an elderly Catholic priest who took great joy in Norrington's marriage. It had not been the traditional wedding filled with festivities and niceties. Norrington, himself, had been cold and unfeeling as she stood shaking before the alter, and when the traditional kiss came, he touched her cheek with his lips and abruptly left her standing alone as he exited the church. She followed, already feeling rejected and forced into the wifely duty to follow her husband. The ride home was completed in silence, with Norrington riding on one side of the carriage and Jacqueline on the other. He kept his face turned toward the window, his eyes trained on the passing landscape. She kept her eyes turned down, hoping to keep him from making a comment about their new life together. Upon their return to Norrington's home, Norrington immediately went into his study and shut the door. As Jacqueline climbed the stairs, she heard the faint sounds of a piano being played. It was quite clear that James Norrington would rather lock himself away then attempt to comfort his unwanted wife.

She now sat alone in the master bedroom, half-undressed, on the mattress, facing the French doors. The dress she had worn lay crumpled on the floor, along with her hat and gloves. In her undergarments, she stood and made her way over to the full-length mirror that stood in the corner of the room. Turning to her side, she looked for any signs of change in her figure. She was nearly 3 months along now, and while she was not yet showing, she could feel the difference in her body. A month ago, when she began her trip from England to Port Royal, she had felt as she always had; healthy and vibrant. At some point during the trip, she began feel feverish, tired and sensitive in parts of her body that had never been sensitive before. Now, she felt sluggish toward the middle of the day, followed by a time of energy and then a second period of sluggishness that results in her retiring for the night. She ran her hand down over her stomach, searching for visual changes that were not yet there.

The door suddenly opened, and Norrington stepped through, his waist coat half way open and his white wig in his hand. He glanced at her before setting his wig on the stand near his chest-of-drawers.

She covered her chest with her arms. The dimming sunlight caught a few of her tendrils that had fallen from their French bun. "I didn't hear you finish playing." She scrambled to a corner of the room where her trunk now lay open. "You really are very good." She pulled on a gray wrapper.

"My mother taught me. As a boy, I spent hours at the piano." He took off his over-coat and laid it on the bed. He noticed her dress laying on the opposite floor. "Mrs. Randall will be here in the morning to start your dresses. I've asked her for six. Three formal, two daily and one lounging. That should suffice." He sat down on the edge of the bed, and began to remove his boots. He looked over his shoulder at her. "You do not look like you are expecting a child. How far are you?"

She pulled the wrapper closer around her, and looked down at her feet. "three months, about." She met his eyes. "Father found out just after writing you. I assumed he would send another note, explaining the circumstances….but…." Jacqueline waved a hand in dismissal.

Norrington leaned back on the bed, and focused all of his attention on her. "You will tell me about your cry of rape, Lady Norrington." There was no softness in his voice, and his eyes were cold enough to make her shiver.

Jacqueline shook her head and moved to stand by the French doors. She seemed to withdraw from the room, her eyes focused on the sea.

"You offered to tell me earlier. Why not now?" He was growing impatient.

"It is…difficult…James."

"Tell me, or I shall petition Governor Swann to allow a full inquiry of your supposed rape?"

She didn't respond. Rather, she watched the sea, her body shaking. After a few moments, she heard him get up from the bed and come to stand behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders, and started to squeeze. It was intentional, and she could tell from the strength of his hands that he could be physically harmful to her if he wanted.

"Tell me." After another moment of silence from his new wife, he squeezed harder.

She spoke. "I was visiting a friend of my father's. A magistrate to be exact. I was in his personal library and was reading a book I had found on a side table. I didn't realize that Magistrate Stevens had entered the room and locked the door. When I looked up at the door closing, I knew that it wasn't a social call. He had looked funny, in his face. He looked…demented." She swallowed, hard. "It was over in minutes. And he just left."

"Did you not fight? Call out?"

"And who would have come to my rescue?"

Norrington looked at her face, knowing what power a magistrate held over other. No one would come to her aid. For the first time since his impromptu marriage, he saw his haggard wife and felt complete empathy. He turned her to face him and looked in her eyes.

Could he accept her as his wife? The child as his? Would Port Royal accept them?