Part XII

"Celeste!" I yell as I rummage through my Wardrobe for an appropriate colored dress to wear to Blacksmith Brown's – throwing the choices atop my bed. "Celeste, I need you!"

"Yes, miss?" she asks, bobbing a curtsy as she enters my room, eyes downcast and acting the proper lady's maid for once.

"What is Will Turner's favorite color?"

"You would know more than I, miss."

"If I knew, I would not be asking," I say. "Have you ever noticed him take a particular shine to any of my wardrobe choices? Peach maybe? Or pink? No, not pink," I rethink the last. "Perhaps blue. No. Blue is the Captain's favorite color, not Will's." I sigh, turning to Celeste. "Cannot you give even just a little glimmer of help?"

"Master Will does seem quite taken with your simple white day dresses, miss," she says. "I don't believe he likes all the fuss and frills of your formal gowns."

"That will make things much easier," I say, grinning. I glance at my reflection in my full length stand-alone mirror – a special present from Papa for my sixteenth birthday. "All that needs to be done, then, is to smarten up my hair and I shall be --"

"I overheard your father speaking today to Captain Norrington, miss," Celeste interrupts – a rarity for her so it must be important gossip.

"Oh?" I inquire, raising one fine eyebrow. "What of?"

"The Captain wishes a ball, miss." She wrings her hands, distraught. "An engagement ball, miss."

"To me?" I ask, already suspecting the response. Celeste only nods, unable to bring herself to say the words. I roll my eyes in exasperation. "Goodness, will that man ever learn? Organizing a ball will not elicit the response he hopes. It will only afford me the opportunity to jilt him on a much grander scale."

"Your father seems very taken with the idea, miss," Celeste says. "You may not wish to cross him."

"I do as I please," I say, untying my loose braid and beginning to brush out my blond hair, hoping the '1000 strokes a day' adage really does make it shine. "This is no secret to Papa. Goodness, Celeste, I have no idea why he seems to bent on having me settled."

"You're of an age now, miss," she says. "It's what is proper and expected."

"Me? Doing what's proper and expected?" I pull a face. "Please. Papa should know me better in that respect."

Celeste brings over fresh white ribbons, helping me braid and tie off my hair. "Pretty as a picture, miss. Master Will will be hard pressed to resist."

"Excellent," I say. "Exactly the reaction I am hoping for."

The door to Blacksmith Brown's is slightly ajar. I peep in but see neither hide nor hair of Will. Drat. This may turn out to be difficult after all. I can't spend all day searching for him. Papa is bound to get suspicious and, if I go searching through town, I run the risk of meeting the Captain.

"Elizabeth?"

I turn, hands behind my back. "Will!"

He studies me critically for a moment and I wonder if I should have chosen more formal attire. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," I say. "I thought you might like to play a game."

"We're too old for Pirates," he says, brushing past me into the Shop, hanging his hat and coat on a peg near the door.

"I didn't mean Pirates." I follow him in, attempting to flounce but the process is quite difficult without a mound of petticoats to swish.

He turns to look at me, raising both eyebrows questioningly as he slips his leather Blacksmith apron over his head, tying it in back. "I am in no mood for games today, Elizabeth."

"I was hoping we could continue our game of yesterday," I say, taking a step forward, widening my eyes to something I hope comes across as a mix between innocent and pleading. If I needed to, I could always pout. Papa can never resist a pout. I wonder if Will can?

"I told you then that is not a game we should play," Will says, beginning to work the bellows to stoke the forge coals.

"But we only just got started," I protest. "There are so many things I am curious of. I was thinking we could--"

"No," he says, very firmly.

I blink, startled. "Excuse me?"

"No," he repeats just as firm. "You asked me to learn to say the word, Elizabeth, and so I am. No. We cannot play that game. It is not proper."

"Are you teasing?" I ask. "Really, Will, sometimes you have the drollest sense of humor. Very funny." I take a step forward. "Now let's play."

"Perhaps you haven't noticed, but I have a job to do, Elizabeth."

"I shall wait."

Will doesn't respond. He just continues to work the bellows and – once the fire is stoked – begins working some piece of metal. I am never very good at telling what things will become under his skilled hands. A future nail looks the same to me as a future door latch.

"Will you be very long?" I ask, shifting from foot to foot, beginning to sweat from the heat of the place.

"Perhaps."

"Do you have any refreshments?"

Will nods towards a bucket of water with flies buzzing around it, a ladle nearby. I grimace. "Thank you, but I prefer to remain thirsty if my only choice is to drink from that."

Times seems to pass at a snail's pace. I hate waiting. I sit on an overturned bucket, hiking my skirts up to my knees to avoid the dirt and in hopes of relieving some of the blasted heat.

"How do you stand working in these conditions, Will?"

"One can grow accustomed to almost anything," he says. "The heat is not so very bad."

I finally give in and drink from the filthy bucket – draining the water quickly from the ladle and dipping it in for more. I rummage till I find a dented tin cup nearby and fill it for Will, bringing it to him.

"Even here I can play a bit of the hostess."

Will smiles, whispering "thank you" as he takes the cup. From this proximity I can tell he is very overheated – white shirt sticking deliciously to his chest and arms. Perhaps I should move my bucket over here.

"Shall I fetch you some more?"

He nods and I bring cupful after cupful till his thirst is sated. I drag my bucket closer to afford myself a better view of Will's sticky chest. If he refuses to play kissing games, I can at least enjoy the sight of him.

"Won't your father be wondering after you?" Will asks, metal hissing as he dips it into the cooling bucket.

"Perhaps."

"I do not wish for you to be scolded on my account, Elizabeth," he says. "You should return home."

"But I haven't had nearly enough time staring at your ches—" I blush, mortified at what almost escaped my lips. "I mean, I don't want to. Papa won't think too much on it if I am slightly late for tea. Please, Will, let me stay."

Will sighs, slipping out of his apron before moving across the room to wash his face and arms clean in a chipped basin by the one grubby window. "Let's go. I shall walk you home."

"But I don't want to!" I whine, sounding very much as I did when we were ten and Nanny recommended a nap instead of playing further.

Will is already putting on his jacket and hat, ignoring my protest. "Perhaps I shall be free for games tomorrow."

I perk up at this unexpected news. "Which kind?"

He gives me an enigmatic smile that is so very Will and makes me want to hit him in frustration and kiss him all at once.

"Any kind you wish, Elizabeth."