The day had turned out unbearably hot. In a vain effort to escape the heat, William had abandoned his usual lair, also known as the study, and instead made the parlor his center of operations. His first order of business was to drag a small table across the room, and situate it directly in front of the open French doors. If there was any breeze at all, he wanted to ensure he was where he could take the best advantage of it. Sadly, it wasn't as much of an improvement as he had anticipated; there was hardly enough to stir the filmy draperies that hung in front of the glass, but it was still better than the virtually airless study.

With him, from the family's substantial library, he had brought a large, leather bound book containing an extensive collection of maps of the Caribbean islands— although as to how accurate they were he could not say. The waggoner in question was one that William could always remember his mother having, but never really using. She had never said, and he had never been quite brave enough to ask, but he had always believed the book had been a gift from someone at Shipwreck Island. Why else would she refer to it in such distinct pirate terminology? Hadn't she warned him never to use that particular term anymore once they moved to Port Royal? In William's mind, that explanation made perfect sense. After all, shouldn't the Pirate King be well acquainted with her realm and its unique lexicon?

William sat at the table, rolled up his sleeves, unfastened some of the buttons on his shirt and began his research. Before him was a rough sketch, drawn from memory, of the map Jonathan and Robbie had found. William stared at it for a long time, trying to remember any other pertinent details he might have forgotten. He would need to use every clue he could possibly find, to try and locate this particular island on one of the maps. It would have helped if he knew for sure that it was one of the dozens of tiny islets littering the coast of Jamaica, but there was no way to determine that. While William was already absolutely sure that what he was planning would surely get him in trouble, there was a limit to how far afield he would stray. If the mysterious island wasn't near Port Royal, then it was entirely likely that the erstwhile explorers would never find it. Does anyone know exactly how many islands there are in the Caribbean? Surely there must be thousands.

Mercedes, too, was looking for an escape from the heat. She sat in one of the armchairs, mending clothes, and darning socks. William knew that despite her appearance of being completely engrossed in her work, that she was in fact paying very close attention to what he was doing. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes her seemingly random comments contained useful clues about any number of things. The problem was that she didn't always remember what she had said. Besides, he had promised his parents that he would stay out of trouble while they were out, and Mercedes provided extra incentive to keep that promise. He never actually intended to get into trouble. It was just that trouble seemed to have a habit of finding him. His father had just told him the day before; he must have inherited that trait from his mother. That bit of information was reassuring, but he honestly couldn't imagine her doing something truly bad.

William watched Mercedes for a minute, fascinated by how quickly and accurately she worked the needle and thread. She made it look so easy, and yet he knew his mother could barely sew on a button, much less repair a torn shirt or something. He decided that as long as she was primarily focused on her work, and didn't get too inquisitive he was safe having his replica of the map out in the open. Even if she did notice it, he could always claim he was just playing. Who would question that? It wasn't as if he didn't draw things all the time.

The faint skitter of toenails on tile caught William's attention. He turned his head towards the open doors and saw his dog's head peeking between the draperies. Sometimes he wondered if Brigand really knew when his mother wasn't home and took advantage of the situation, because William could almost guarantee that the moment she left, he would sneak into the house one way or another. The dog nudged at William's feet, trying to surreptitiously take refuge under the table.

"You know what your mother will say if she finds that dog in the house," Mercedes warned, without once looking up from her work.

"But you won't tell her, will you?" Brigand whined from beneath the table as if he too was asking permission to stay inside.

Mercedes snapped off a thread and turned her head towards William. "Just make sure he's out before she comes home."

"I will. I promise."

Mercedes harrumphed good naturedly, and selected a new article of clothing to work on.

William lightly tapped his pencil against the map, considering the best plan of attack. Even if he didn't find a match for his island off the coast of Jamaica, it didn't mean it wasn't there somewhere. He couldn't imagine anyone being able to catalog them all. Besides, he knew for a fact that there were some places that couldn't be found by traditional means. Hadn't Papa told him that the only way he and Uncle Captain Jack had found the Isla de Muerta was because Jack already knew where it was? Or was that the one that he could only find with his special compass? He couldn't remember, and it really didn't matter since neither story could help him now.

Brigand whined from his spot beneath the table, and butted his head against William's feet. Never one to turn down an invitation, particularly one from his dog, William turned sideways in his chair and began to silently remove his shoes and socks. He placed them on the floor where he could reach them quickly if need be, turned back the right way, and buried his toes in the dog's thick black fur. Brigand made a sound that could only be interpreted as a canine expression of pleasure as his tail thumped against the floor.

"She's not going to like that, either." Again, Mercedes never once turned to look at William.

"She's not going to like what?" William asked innocently, hoping that her statement as just a lucky guess, and not that she actually knew he was doing something he shouldn't.

"You know she doesn't like you to go around without your shoes on." She continued sewing.

William knew she had not been watching him that closely, and he had been very quiet when he took his shoes off. It somehow didn't seem fair that she had to put so little effort into catching him like that. "But Papa doesn't always wear his shoes in the house, or even outside for that matter," he countered.

"And your mamá fusses at him too," she laughed. "Don't worry; I'll warn you before she gets here." She looked at him and winked conspiratorially.

William grinned back at her, then went back to his drawing, and the book of maps while Mercedes continued her task. He briefly considered apologizing to her for creating so much extra work for her when he realized that the vast majority of the clothes she was repairing belonged to him. Mama was always on to him to be careful, but sometimes he just couldn't help it. It never occurred to him how much time Mercedes had to spend sewing up the various rents and tears in his shirts and breeches. He resolved to be more careful in the future, but sometimes things just kind of happened.

William and Mercedes both had been focusing on their respective tasks for a good hour or more, when Brigand suddenly lifted his head to stare at the door. He began to whine as if in pain. Almost simultaneously, Mercedes also raised her head from her work, biting lower lip in concern. William looked at her and wondered what could have her so perplexed. Considering her unique, but unpredictable talents, there were endless possibilities as far as an answer to that was concerned. All three of them, William, Mercedes and the dog, started at the unexpected, strident knocking on the front door.

"Was your mother expecting someone today?" Mercedes asked William in a confused voice.

"I don't think so," he replied, searching his brain to remember if his mother had told him to expect anyone. "And I don't think Papa would have any visitors –at least any that would knock at the front door," he added playfully.

Mercedes shot him a stern look that clearly said she thought his comment was inappropriate, and that she did not find it humorous.

The knocking at the front door continued. The person responsible for the racket must have been either very impatient or very rude. Mercedes set down her sewing on the table next to her chair, and went to see who it was, while William went back to poring over his maps. He was vaguely aware of another female voice speaking rather brusquely to Mercedes, but he didn't pay any attention to what they were saying. Mama always said that eavesdropping was rude, even if it was sometimes necessary, at the moment it quite obviously wasn't necessary for him.

What did catch his attention was the staccato sound of an additional pair of shoes marching briskly down the hall. Whoever they belonged to was moving with determination towards the drawing room, leaving Mercedes to follow behind.

"I am quite sure that she must return soon, so I shall wait right here, thank you."

William heard the familiar voice, and cringed before the redoubtable Mrs. Busby appeared in the doorway. The memory of the last time he had seen her replayed in his mind. It had been the day that papa had come home. Hadn't she been trying to play matchmaker for mama? His stomach twisted, belatedly remembering that he had promised Mrs. Busby that his mother would go meet the new governor that next day – a meeting that never took place, for obvious reasons. And what was it she called me? An indiscretion? Whatever it was, it wasn't nice.

Mama always reiterated to him the importance of being honest, and told him that lies would come back to haunt him. At the time, that one particular lie had seemed appropriate, and it wasn't as if Mama couldn't have gone to meet the new governor. Such a meeting would have been appropriate, just not for the same reasons that Mrs. Busby intended. Besides, Mama had gone along with it. He knew it was just so that they could be on their way to meet Papa, but still. She wouldn't scold him for this, would she?

"Boy," she said sharply, "Where is Miss Swann?" Mrs. Busby sat down in the arm chair that Mercedes had been using, and regarded her abandoned sewing with a look of disgust. In her idea of a perfect world, the evidence of such menial tasks should be kept from view, particularly from view of the socially elite.

William looked at her with no expression on his face at all. "Mrs. Turner, my mother," he enunciated slowly, "is at the shipyard with my father, Captain Turner." He knew his father didn't really care if he was called Captain or not, but in this case, it felt good to point it out.

"Don't be insolent with me, boy," she snapped.

Mercedes quietly slipped back into the room, and sat primly on the sofa. She knew that her presence would likely inspire the same reaction as her sewing had, and that Mrs. Busby most likely had about the same level of respect for both. She was well acquainted with people like Mrs. Busby who perceived themselves to be somehow better than everyone else, and had learned not to let it bother her. What did bother her was the woman's antagonism towards William. And for that reason she was not about to let him face her alone. To a casual observer, it would appear that the girl was patiently awaiting her next set of instructions from her mistress, but in truth, Mercedes was on the alert. In her opinion, verbal attacks on the youngest member of the Turner family were just as damaging as physical attacks, if not more so.

William let go an aggravated sigh. "My name is William, William Turner, just like my father, which my mother points out to you every time we see you," he emphasized. He knew he was being rude, but it was hot, he was frustrated with his search, and he was still a bit annoyed at Mrs. Busby for implying that he had been a mistake – his parents had made it abundantly clear that of all the things he may have been, mistake was not one of them.

"It isa shame that your mother's good name and reputation were sullied by her unfortunate liaison with that, that…" she huffed in frustration, unable to find a suitable insult for Will.

William smirked at her reaction to matching wits with a nine-year old boy. One who could not only hold his own with her, but that she perceived as being something less than a second-class citizen even. "With that what?" he prodded, all the while having no idea what she was implying, but from the sound of her voice he was sure it was not complimentary to his father or him, for that matter. He was well aware of the fact that he had provoked her, but for some reason he did not feel even the slightest sense of remorse for it. Mama won't like that. Papa probably won't either.

"You're nothing but an overly ambitious miscreant's by blow," she hissed at him with her eyes narrowed.

William's brow creased in confusion. He had no idea what a miscreant's by blow could possibly be, but if he had to guess, it would be that the term was not something that would please his mother. And if it didn't please her, then he didn't want to imagine how his father would react. The incident with Mr. Tolliver had shown everyone exactly how little tolerance Will had when someone insulted his family, most especially his son.

William started to slam his book shut, but remembered how valuable and delicate some of the maps were, so he gently closed the cover, forming his next question as he did. He was well aware that no matter what he said to shrewish woman, that she would match him insult for insult. She had no compunction against forcing her opinions and beliefs on everyone, children included. He was also aware that no matter what the circumstances, there was a fine line between defending his family's honor and becoming the insolent child she had so emphatically insisted he was. The fact that he was dangerously close to crossing that line was not lost on him.

"Why do you wish Mama was married to someone else? Why does it matter to you so much?" William was truly curious. Perhaps if he understood her reasoning, he could change her opinion.

Mrs. Busby made a sound that was undoubtedly intended to show her disgust at having been asked to defend her position.

"Miss Swann was such a beautiful young girl, full of so much promise, and even if she hadn't been, her position in society would have made her quite the catch for any man. Everyone who was anyone knew the Commodore was going to propose and that she would be a fool not to accept him. That wedding would have been the social event of the season."

Mercedes stifled a laugh as she watched William raise one eyebrow and look at Mrs. Busby like she had lost her mind. She immediately recognized the origin of that expression and wondered if his father was aware of the similarity. She ducked her head and pretended to cough when Mrs. Busby turned to glare at her.

"So that means you don't like me or Papa because you missed a party?" And was there someone else that had wanted to marry Mama?

"Don't be ridiculous," she barked, turning her attention back to William. "She could have had everything she ever wanted, and instead she chose to ally herself with a near penniless blacksmith's apprentice with no pedigree at all—and an orphan to boot."

"But Papa's not an…" William stopped abruptly. Was not one of the rules that he should never talk about his Grandfather Turner with anyone other than his parents? And of all the things that Mrs. Busby had said about his papa, why did that one particular thing bother him so much more than the rest of it? Was it because proving her wrong on everything else would be simple, but that single accusation was not? He had known that his father had once been a blacksmith, but what bearing did the rest of it have on anything?

"He's not a what?" Mrs. Busby demanded, coldly.

"He's not an apprentice. I don't think he's a blacksmith either. At least not now." William thought about that idea for a moment and decided to ask his father about that when he came home. If he still is a blacksmith, maybe he can make me a sword.

"That is completely beside the point. It was shameful that she broke her engagement to the Commodore, and in such a flamboyant manner too. It ruined him." Mrs. Busby sniffed dramatically. Her reaction would give anyone the impression that Elizabeth's actions had caused the older woman severe emotional distress and yet she was in no way connected to anyone involved other than by association.

William's stomach twisted into a knot at Mrs. Busby's words. He was still processing the idea that someone else had wanted to marry his mother, and now Mrs. Busby was saying that Mama had been going to marry someone else. Hadn't Mama told him she had loved Papa since she was a little girl, and wanted to marry him since the first day they met? How could she have agreed to marry someone else? And did Papa know? William was only marginally aware that the woman was still speaking.

"…and we were all sure she had been compromised during her captivity. Then to run off with him again without being properly married was just scandalous."

William rested his head on his hands, staring down at the table and began to wonder about what else his parents had told him that wasn't true or had, at best, been left out of the story. The longer he sat, the more bothersome Mrs. Busby's words became. Keeping his eyes downcast, he put his socks and shoes back on, and quietly left the room, leaving their uninvited guest still ranting about who knows what.

Elizabeth continued walking backwards, holding both of Will's hands in hers, leading him down the dock towards the gangplank of the newest addition to their growing fleet. Upon reaching their destination, Will pulled back on Elizabeth's hands to stop her if only for a moment. With a practiced eye, he evaluated the ship from prow to stern, noting everything from the still furled sails, to the as yet empty gun ports.

"It looks a lot like the Pearl," Will commented apprehensively, dropping his eyes back to Elizabeth.

"Yes, only not quite so well worn. I just hope it's as durable as the Pearl." She tugged at his hands again to lead him on board. "As fast would be nice too."

Will looked at her warily as he obligingly followed her up the gangplank. "Do we need fast?" The memory of his dream about Corazón and the possibility that it had been used for smuggling popped back into his mind.

Elizabeth tilted her head to one side and smiled playfully. "No, not really, but it never hurts to be prepared for all contingencies. Besides, in the import/export business speed can be an asset in more ways than one."

They stopped as soon as they were on deck and looked around. It seemed odd to see the deck completely devoid of any of the normal flotsam and jetsam that would eventually be stashed in every nook and cranny. Both of them wrinkled their noses at the sharp smell of pitch, turpentine, freshly cut lumber and varnish. It wouldn't take long before the familiar scents of the sea took over and brought the ship to life.

"What would you like to see first, Captain Turner?" Elizabeth dropped Will's hands, took a step back and threw hers arms wide, encompassing the entire ship with her gesture.

"Whatever you desire. I am completely under your command today."

Elizabeth raised one eyebrow seductively, her eyes sparkling in amusement. "I could quite easily become accustomed to that," she tittered, again taking his hand in hers, and leading him towards the Captain's cabin.

The interior of the cabin was illuminated only by what sunlight shone through the thick panes of glass along the starboard side. The rear wall, paneled in light oak like the rest of the cabin, featured nothing but a closed door, presumably leading to the Captain's sleeping quarters. The bulkhead on the port side also had a door, this one standing open, presenting a partially obstructed view of a hallway beyond. Below each bank of mullioned windows were rows of low cabinets, drawers, and other storage spaces. A large desk had been built into place in the center of the room.

"Well? What do you think?" Elizabeth asked quietly, watching Will's careful survey of the cabin.

His eyes met hers as he nodded his head. "She's a fine ship. Any captain would be proud to have her."

Elizabeth took a step closer to Will and brushed at some imaginary lint on his collar. "Would you?" he questioned hesitantly, dropping her eyes away from his.

"Me?" His surprised expression told Elizabeth that she had caught him off guard. "You did this for me?"

Elizabeth kept her eyes down. "I didn't know what you would want to do after…after what you did. After what you had to do." Raising her hand to his cheek, she lifted her eyes back to his face. "I wanted you to have a choice. You didn't before." Her voice was soft and still a bit reluctant.

Will covered her hand with his and drew her hand over his shoulder causing her to move closer still. Elizabeth followed suit with her free hand as Will wrapped his arms around her waist. He gave her a subdued smile as he spoke. "I always had a choice. I chose you." He touched his forehead to hers. "You know that. "

"But you don't have to be anything you don't want to be now. If you wanted to go back to sea then I wanted to make sure that you could – that we could. If not, then I'm willing to do whatever will make you happy. I want you to have everything you want."

"I already have everything I want—or at least what I want for now."

"But you agree that things could change?" Elizabeth asked warily.

"Right now I'm content to be here in Port Royal with you and William. One day I think I might like to set off on an adventure with both of you. Actually, I'm sure I would like that."

"Then you're not angry?"

"Whatever for?" Will kissed her forehead. "My wife has provided me with my own ship to do with whatever I please. Who could be angry about that?"

"I just didn't want you to think I wanted you to go away again."

"Even if you did, I'm not going anywhere. I made a promise to one extremely important little boy that I wouldn't do that—or at least not without taking him, and you, with me."

"I was being foolish, wasn't I?" She sounded as if she found her insignificant worries somewhat amusing now that she said it out loud.

Will grinned at her. "Cautious," he said seriously, in sharp contrast to his facial expression. "It's been ingrained into us for a very long time. It's understandable, so don't let it concern you."

"I won't." Elizabeth returned his enthusiastic smile. "Would you like to continue your tour?"

"I think I would like to see what's through there," he said, nodding towards the doorway at the rear of the cabin.

"That would be the captain's sleeping quarters." She tried to sound exasperated with his pretend ignorance, but couldn't.

"Would that be "captains" plural or "Captain's" possessive?" Will tilted his head to one side as he contemplated his options.

Elizabeth exhaled sharply with restrained laughter. "Both, I should think." She leaned in closer to him.

"And what about the cabin boy?" Will rested his chin on top of her head.

"I think the cabin boy's parents would prefer he have his own cabin," she mused, seriously.

"Quite possibly a wise decision. Have you taken into consideration any stowaways?" Will had intended his question in jest but immediately regretted his words, as he felt Elizabeth tense up ever so slightly in his arms. "I'm sorry," he amended instantly. "I didn't mean it like that."

"There's no need to apologize." She moved her head so that she could see his face. Giving him a faintly sad smile she added, "No sign of any stowaways yet, but I'm trying to be patient."

"Are you sure? Couldn't it still be too early to tell?"

Elizabeth pressed her lips together and nodded. "Yes, I'm sure." She sounded dejected, but not defeated.

"But how could you…Oh!" Will blushed as he realized what the answer to his question would be. "I'm still learning some of these…things," he stammered while Elizabeth began laughing at his embarrassment. Will narrowed his eyes and tried to scowl at his wife. "It's not that funny," he declared in valiant attempt to defend his honor.

"Yes, it is," she giggled while wiping tears of laughter from her eyes with one hand and moving the other to rest on his cheek. "It's just been so long since I've seen you get embarrassed like that." She stood on her toes to kiss him. "I like it."

"I'll be sure to return the favor," he challenged.

"You wouldn't." Elizabeth's voice betrayed her uncertainty about the veracity of his threat.

"I would," Will shot back with a crooked smile and one raised eyebrow. "When you least expect it, I'll get even with you." He moved in to kiss her.

"We'll see," she countered saucily, pulling her head back from him. "In the meantime, might I offer you a truce and continue our tour?"

Elizabeth had no doubt that she did not actually need to show Will around the ship. She knew him well enough to know that he had most likely spent every free minute of his time aboard the
Flying Dutchman learning everything he possibly could about ships and sailing. It was just how he did things. He had never been a man to let life pass him by, although he had come a bit too close for comfort a time or two –or three. If there was something he needed to learn to accomplish his goals, he had always thrown himself into it whole heartedly, and had apparently done the same over the past ten years – or at least as whole heartedly as a man whose heart was locked in a chest could. Elizabeth certainly couldn't blame him for that.

From comments Will had made, he had found life onboard the Dutchman rather dull. The requirement that the Dutchman have a captain had been simply that – a captain – one with a living heart. The added requirement that Will's heart replace the one already in the chest had been Davy Jones' own doing. Otherwise, as long as the ship and its crew remained dedicated to its purpose, then all Will normally had to do was just be present on the ship. Granted, he had to ensure that everyone did their jobs, but he didn't have to actually do anything himself unless he so chose. Elizabeth couldn't imagine her husband ever voluntarily choosing to remain idle, so his maritime expertise came as no real surprise.

Had Elizabeth not long since become accustomed to a life, other than that of as the spoiled daughter of a politician, she would never have been able to keep up with her husband, and his in depth appraisal of the ship. As it was, Will had managed to insinuate himself into some areas of the ship that Elizabeth was either not able to, or had no intention to follow. Inspecting the cabins, the galley, the gun ports and immediately below deck had been no problem. It was crawling into the cargo holds, and climbing the riggings that she balked at. There had been a time when she would never have thought twice about doing such a thing—but never in a dress, and certainly not where potential clients could see her.

By the time Will was satisfied that he had seen and tested, he had composed a rather lengthy mental catalog of things he wanted added, removed, or modified. As he shared his list with her, Elizabeth couldn't help but remember a time when she was the one who had known more about ships than he had. Who would have guessed that the well seasoned captain in front of her was the same boy who had once been, afraid of the water?

"Were you serious about me naming her?" Will asked, interrupting Elizabeth's reminiscing.

"Her?" she answered in a startled voice. "Aren't you getting a bit ahead of…Oh! You mean the ship." She shook her head in annoyance with herself. "Yes, she's yours after all."

Will gave her a lopsided grin and nodded his head. "Done."

"Done? What did you decide on?" She took his hand and started heading towards the gangplank. She was more than ready to return home.

This time Will shook his head, but the grin remained firmly in place. "I'm afraid I can't tell you." He followed complacently behind her.

Elizabeth's eyes open wide with shock. It was extremely rare for Will to deny her anything, most especially something as seemingly insignificant as the name of a ship. "And why ever not?" she squeaked, turning to face him as they stepped back onto the dock.

"I think I want it to be a surprise," he said slyly, putting his arms around her.

"This has nothing to do with trying to embarrass me, does it?" She narrowed her eyes suspiciously and stared at him.

"No, or at least I don't think so. I'm still working on that, actually," he laughed, looking up towards the ship, squinting in the bright sunshine, and pretending to be totally unconcerned about Elizabeth's request.

"Sometimes, Will Turner…" She tried to sound angry as she pushed both hands against his chest in a weak attempt to free herself, but Will just grinned, and tightened his grip all while continuing to look towards the sky.

"I think you'll like it," he promised, finally dropping his eyes back to Elizabeth's. "Now, can we go home?"

"You sound justlike someone else I know," she teased.

Will let go a short laugh. "I wonder how that could be?"

Mercedes snuck a surreptitious glance at Mrs. Busby from beneath her downcast eyes, not once missing a single stitch of her sewing, and wondered exactly how long the woman was willing to wait for Mrs. Turner to return home. She could have quite easily have taken her work elsewhere, and left the old biddy alone in the living room, but she just didn't trust her. The way she had spoken to William had not helped matters either.

Mercedes stifled a giggle, thinking of the way Mrs. Busby always addressed her. It was obvious that she thought Mercedes was not much more than a scullery maid, and therefore not worthy of her respect. Since Mercedes knew that was not true, and placed little to no value on Mrs. Busby's opinion, she did not allow it to bother her. What she did find amusing was her annoying habit of speaking very slowly, and raising her voice when addressing Mercedes. No matter how many times someone reminded her that Mercedes both understood and spoke perfectly good English, she persisted in her ignorant behavior. Why ever does she think that speaking louder will suddenly make me understand her? Truthfully, she did not understand some of the things the woman had said to William, but the tone of her voice had led Mercedes to believe they were neither polite nor complimentary.

When Mrs. Busby had asked—no, demanded—to be served tea, Mercedes had scurried from the room, then practically ran to the kitchen to tell Mrs. Lansford. Fortunately, Mary Lansford was well acquainted with Mrs. Busby and her crowd, so no explanation was needed when Mercedes did not stay to wait for the tea tray, but instead ran back inside the house. In just the two or three minutes she was gone, Mrs. Busby had taken upon herself to see what book William had been reading when she had arrived –not that she would have learned anything from it. It would not have surprised Mercedes one bit to catch her snooping around the house. There was no way she could let something like that happen.

Even with Mercedes' still limited English when she had arrived in Port Royal with Elizabeth, her son, and Evan, she had quickly figured out that Mrs. Busby pictured herself as some sort of upper crust matchmaker. No matter how often Elizabeth had reminded her that she was already married, the frumpy gossipmonger persisted in her quest to see Elizabeth married to someone more suitable. Frankly, from what Mercedes has seen over the course of the past month and a half, she couldn't imagine anyone more suited to Elizabeth than Captain Turner – Will, she reminded herself. Then again, perhaps she didn't quite understand exactly what "suitable" meant to Mrs. Busby. Either way, she was determined to do her best to prevent Elizabeth and her unsuspecting husband, from having to face Port Royal's most annoying busy body unawares.

After finishing a neat row of stitching and tying off her thread, Mercedes secured the needle in the fabric, and set her sewing aside. Smoothing her pinafore, she stood up to walk towards the door.

"And where do you think you're going?" As always, Mrs. Busby over exaggerated her words and spoke at twice the volume necessary.

Mercedes bit her lip to ward off a laugh. "To answer the front door, ma'am. It is part of my duties," she answered demurely.

"I did not hear anyone knock," Mrs. Busby replied arrogantly, but Mercedes paid no attention to her and hurried towards the front door. Elizabeth and the Captain—Will— would be arriving home any minute now, and Mercedes was determined to warn them about their unwelcome and uninvited guest.

Elizabeth's attention was focused entirely upon Will, and as such, she was almost completely oblivious to her surroundings. Will, however, had just happened to steal a quick glance at the house as they came down Carmen Street, arm in arm. The sight of Mercedes pacing back and forth across the front steps, hugging herself, struck him as odd. He knew the girl had a tendency to be a bit flighty, and was sometimes forgetful, but this behavior was strange even for her.

"What is it?"Elizabeth asked, noticing the look of bewilderment on Will's face and turning to look towards the house herself. "What is she doing?" she asked again, amending her previous question.

"I'm sure I would have no idea," Will replied slowly, while dozens of possible scenarios, none of them good, ran through his mind.

"Mrs. Turner! Captain Turner!"Mercedes shouted down the street, scurrying towards them, obviously in a state of some agitation.

"Mercedes, what is it?" Elizabeth's voice was a study in controlled panic. While Mercedes still frequently forgot Will's request, and used the honorific "Captain," when she addressed him, it was not like her to use "Mrs." anything, except in the most formal situations. All Elizabeth could imagine was that something had befallen William. "Has something happened?"

"No,ma'am. I mean yes, ma'am, or not yet, I don't think."

"Which is it?" Will asked, sounding irritated, but immediately regretted it. He had forgotten that Mercedes tended to get flustered easily, and that getting annoyed with her, never helped the situation.

The Spanish girl took a deep breath, and pulled herself up to her full five feet, no inches, and began to speak. "Mrs. Busby is waiting for you. She's been here for hours. She keeps mentioning some agreement you made with her concerning the Governor?"

"An agreement? Of what sort?" Will was confused.

Elizabeth made a very unladylike sound of annoyance as she rolled her eyes and tilted her head back. She drew a deep breath between her teeth, and exhaled slowly, lowering her face back level with Will and Mercedes. "William," she stated matter of factly.

"William what?" his father inquired.

"The day you came home." Elizabeth looked him dead in the eye. "She stopped us on our way to meet you. William told her I would go meet the new Governor, or have tea with him or something so she would let us continue on our way. He was just trying to keep us from being late, but I never thought she would remember it."

Will took Elizabeth's chin in his hand. "You should know better than anyone that she never forgets a thing that might be of some use as far as her meddling is concerned."

"I'm afraid that's not all," Mercedes interrupted hesitantly. She was still a bit uncomfortable around her benefactors when they were so openly affectionate with each other in plain view of everyone else. It was not how she had been raised, and as such; she was still learning to adjust.

"Tell us," Will sighed, but kept looking at Elizabeth.

"She upset William. I didn't understand all of what she said, or implied—sometimes I don't understand English as well as I should," she apologized. "But it didn't sound very nice at all. She mentioned something about a Commodore," Mercedes wrinkled up her forehead trying to remember if that was the right word or not, "or something. He left after that and hasn't come back."

"Where did he go?" Elizabeth's voice was alarmed. She began to drag Will towards the house at a very quick pace.

"I'm not sure—his tree, maybe?" Mercedes called after the Turners while trying to keep up.

Will pulled Elizabeth to a stop at the foot of the steps. "You need to calm down before you go in there," he suggested.

"Do I?" she snapped back.

Will was taken aback by the venom in her voice. "Elizabeth, sweetheart, she's always been far too nosy about other people's business, and ignoring the things that didn't fit into her master plan. Besides, you know she's never had any use for me. It isn't worth getting upset for."

Elizabeth's eyes flashed with fury as she began speaking. "Isn't it? I spent most of my youth having Mrs. Busby and women like her plot my future for me with no interest in what I might possibly want. And then when it looked like I was going to win, that I was going to have the one thing – the one man— I always wanted, they spent the entire year clicking their tongues in disapproval anytime they saw us together. Have you forgotten all the whispering? The way they treated you? They decreed you not good enough for their social circle, and set out to make things difficult for us, but I – we survived it. We were going to be married. We were supposed to be happy forever." Elizabeth was breathing hard by the time she took a break in her tirade, but she was not finished yet. "We've literally been to hell and back to be together, and yet when I returned to Port Royal they were just the same. They refuse to acknowledge that we're properly married, or even improperly for that matter. They're convinced that I ran off with you, and had been living some depraved and unrepentant existence in some out of the way place. They insist on believing that you left me, alone and penniless, to care for your bastard child. They can say what they want about me, but they will. Not. Say. Things. Like. That. About. Our. Son." Elizabeth lowered her head, balled up her fists, and shoved them into Will's chest.

Will grunted as Elizabeth made contact. He then nodded for Mercedes to go back into the house while calmly taking Elizabeth's hands in his. "I never realized you had bottled up that much anger towards them. You never said anything before." He kissed the top of her head.

"It's everything. Calypso said we had to pay the price for what we want most. Haven't we paid enough already?" Elizabeth's anxiety level was beginning to lessen. "And what about William? He's an innocent child. He shouldn't have to even be exposed to their lies and insinuations."

"I couldn't argue any of that even if I wanted. But as I see it, we only have two choices. We can keep our heads up and face them down, or we can pull up stakes and start over again someplace new. I'll admit that Port Royal is what I think of as home, but as long as you and William are with me, then anyplace will do."

"I don't want to leave," Elizabeth whispered. She looked back up at Will and forced a very small smile. "I've made a life here for us—all of us. I'm not about to let some inconsiderate, ill mannered, dried up, old fussbudget ruin all that!"

"Then it's settled. We just have to calm down a bit and go see what she wants. I won't hurt us to be polite, but firm. She's not going to go away as easily as Mr. Tolliver, so we're just going to have to learn how to deal with her."

Elizabeth nodded in agreement. "You're right, as always."

"Not quite always, but close," he teased. "Besides, had Beckett and the Company not shown up we were going to have to deal with her anyway. We would just have had the luxury of your father serving as a bit of a buffer." He shrugged his shoulders. "Now, as soon as you're ready, we'll tackle this together."

Elizabeth took a deep breath, unclenched her fists, and stretched up to lightly kiss her husband's lips. "What would I do without you?"

"You do quite well, but I'm not going to let you try it again," he laughed and kissed her back. "Shall we?" He offered her his arm as they headed into the house.

Mrs. Busby was quick to take advantage of Mercedes absence and began her inspection of the room. Other people might have said that she was snooping, but she saw her inexpert investigation as something akin to her civic duty. She knew of very few people who had even been invited inside of Elizabeth Swann's house. And that is exactly how she thought of it – as belonging to Elizabeth Swann. Mrs. Busby didn't care how many times Elizabeth insisted that her name was now Turner, and had been for a decade. She just couldn't believe that the social climbing upstart that had left Miss Swann, both at the altar, and then in jail would have ever seen fit to make an honest woman out of her. The very thought that Elizabeth had been ravished by him, and then left to raise an unwanted child on her own offended Mrs. Busby's delicate sensibilities. She snapped open her fan, and began to flutter it anxiously in front of her face at the mere thought of how Miss Swann must have been both used and abused.

Mrs. Busby quickly pushed her disturbing thoughts from her mind, and continued to nose around the room. The furniture, although fashionable and well made, was nothing to be envied. The random assortment of bibelots on the fireplace mantle appeared to be nothing but a collection of rocks, shells, and other totally insignificant items. Most likely collected by that boy. The swords above the fireplace were a bit unusual too in that they appeared to be well used, and quite possibly even have sharpened blades. Mrs. Busby sniffed in disgust. That was just not done. In her world, only the homes of men with an extensive military background should be entitled to such a display, and even then, the swords should be decorative only. They most certainly did not have blades that were chipped and dented from use. That would be gauche.

She pressed her lips together in an arrogant sneer as she heard light footsteps enter the room.

"Girl, it is about time that you returned. The tea has gone cold. Fetch me some more," Mrs. Busby demanded haughtily, with a dismissive wave of her hand towards the tea tray.

"I hardly think anyone would believe me young enough to address as 'girl,'" Elizabeth commented. She spoke so softly and sweetly, that Will halfway expected to see honey dripping from her words.

"Oh, my dear Miss Swann," Mrs. Busby gushed, her earlier animosity towards Mercedes redirected, as she practically charged towards Elizabeth. "I was so afraid that you had taken ill or something." She suffered one cursory glance at Will, who stood quietly beside, and slightly behind, his wife, his hand placed possessively on the small of her back.

"And what would cause you to believe something like that?" To anyone else she may have sounded the refined lady she had been raised to be, but Will could hear the venom behind her words. No one trifled with Elizabeth. After all, she had gone toe to toe with the East India Trading Company, the Brethren Court, one disgruntled and sometimes vindictive sea goddess, and who knew what else.

"Why?" Mrs. Busby expressed her undisguised shock at being questioned in such a manner. "Because you missed your appointment with the Governor, of course! And after all, Mr. Busby and I went through to arrange an introduction! The Governor holds Mr. Busby in very high regard, but I'm sure you're aware of that." Mrs. Busby reached forward with her hands to clasp Elizabeth's, but Elizabeth kept her arms firmly at her sides.

Will could tell Elizabeth was struggling to not clench her small hands into fists, but there was really nothing he could do to help her at the moment. Realizing that Mrs. Busby still chose to pretend he wasn't present at all— as she always had—he barely suppressed an amused smirk. It would not have surprised him to learn that she had come to the wedding that wasn't, with the hopes of Elizabeth changing her mind at the last minute, and returning to James, her first fiancé. He bit his lower lip to stifle a laugh. She's consistent at least.

"I don't recall that I had any such appointment," Elizabeth stated firmly, but still using a mostly friendly tone. And I don't care what the Governor thinks of Mr. Busby. She moved slightly closer to Will.

"Dear me! How could you have possibly forgotten? I expressly arranged it for you weeks ago. That boy said you would be there." She made no effort to disguise her distain for William.

Will glared at her through narrowed eyes. "That boy is our son," he clarified, but to no avail.

Mrs. Busby reaction indicated she had heard him, but she still refused to acknowledge him as she continued on her harangue. "Yes, yes, yes, Governor Selkirk will be a fine catch, and what with you having all the qualifications to make an exquisite First Lady, I can't imagine a better match. We would have to agree on an explanation as to how you came about having a child, but I'm sure we can manage, and oh yes, that horrid Spanish girl must be let go. She is both lazy and insolent, and we can't have that!"

Will slipped his hand from Elizabeth's back to her waist, and held her at his side. He did not have to look at her to know she was again beginning to fume, and with good reason. Her could feel her body tense, and hear her breathing quicken and become shallow. She was angry—very angry— and he didn't exactly relish the idea of sticking around to see her explode. It wasn't like he could do anything to help. Even when they were children, Mrs. Busby had not approved of their friendship. Once it went beyond that, she had adamantly refused to accept it – not that it had been any of her business. But as with everything else that happened in Port Royal, she had made it her business, and was still just as relentless in her pursuit of securing a more suitable match for Elizabeth, well more than ten years later.

Elizabeth was beginning to lose her patience. "I know exactly how I came about having a child. Would you like me to explain how it happened in detail?"

Will choked and decided now would be the perfect time to make his exit. He turned his head towards her, kissed her temple and whispered, "I think I should go find the boy in question."

Elizabeth turned her face towards his, put one hand on either side of his face and moved in to kiss him full on the lips.

Will recoiled, astonished at her sudden move. Elizabeth was not shy about showing affection, but this was a bit out of the ordinary. "Mmph," he mumbled as he felt her lips part not as an invitation, but more of a demand. He put one hand on either side of her waist as he tried to take over control, but Elizabeth was loath to surrender it to him. A small voice in the back of his mind told him that this was all for the express purpose of annoying Mrs. Busby, but he certainly was not going to complain. Were not they still making up for lost time together?

Elizabeth's face was flushed and she was out of breath before she finally, reluctantly, broke off the kiss. She smiled faintly and contently, to realize that Will had no more resistance to her charms than he ever had. She kept her face close in to his, staring at him, while he slowly opened his eyes. He smiled back at her, almost imperceptibly nodding his head, assenting to whatever she chose to do next as far as unyielding Mrs. Busby was concerned. He kept his eyes locked with hers as he placidly backed out of the room.

"Will?" Elizabeth asked as soon as he was into the hallway.

"Yes?" he replied, partway expecting some admission of undying devotion to complete the scene.

"You forgot to close the door."

Before closing the door, Will flashed Elizabeth a smile with the tip of his tongue stuck between his teeth teasingly. It was something he only did when he was either very happy or thought something was terribly funny. Something gave Elizabeth the impression that this time it was both, and that he might just very well extract some kind of revenge later – not that that was an entirely bad thing.

"As I've told you before, I believe that Governor Selkirk will excuse your youthful indiscretion when I enlighten him as to certain unfortunate incidences in your past," Mrs. Busby pretentiously tried to ignore what had just passed between Will and Elizabeth, but Elizabeth could see through her act, if for no other reason than the recent appearance of the matching red stains of embarrassment on her cheeks.

"And as I've told you repeatedly, I am already married. That man," Elizabeth gestured towards the closed doorway, "is my husband, and has been for more than ten years. "

"And I'm sure he would appreciate your offer to serve as hostess at the ball he is throwing to celebrate the anniversary of his first year as governor of Jamaica."

"Are you even listening to me?" The more irritated Elizabeth got, the shriller her voice became.

"Why yes, I am," Mrs. Busby responded, "but I was also there the day he left you standing at the altar. I'm afraid that in my book, any man who does that, most especially one who is nothing more than a common laborer, should be forced to relinquish any and all claims to his former betrothed."

"That's not even true. We were arrested, in case you've forgotten. And furthermore, no one put you, or your socially acceptable retinue, in charge of deciding the rules for everyone else. Even when I was still considered adequate to belong to your circle, I never cared for your rules. Why should I start now?"

"But we can deliver you from this, this," Mrs. Busby scowled and gestured at the room and its contents, "mediocrity. You just have to cooperate a bit, is all."

"Trust me, if I needed rescuing, I could manage quite well on my own. This is what I chose for myself, with my father's consent and approval, I might add," Elizabeth spit out haughtily. "Will and I are happy. All we want, all we've ever wanted is to be left in peace." She huffed, and dropped onto the sofa.

Mrs. Busby blinked several times as she considered the various aspects of Elizabeth's tirade. "Well, I suppose if you insist on being so stubborn, then I shall have to offer my services elsewhere." She pressed her lips together disapprovingly, and raised her chin arrogantly. "But even if you do insist upon lowering yourself to life among such common people, the least you could do is attend the Governor's Ball. As the daughter of the former Governor, God rest his soul, it is your duty, like it or not."

Elizabeth looked plainly at Mrs. Busby all the while remembering how much she had loved going to balls and dancing all night. How long had itbeen since she'd had that opportunity? She had to admit that Mrs. Busby was right, in a sense; it was her duty to attend. She could only imagine what Will's reaction was going to be; the stuffy, overly formal events he had been forced to attend, in the months leading up to their wedding, had been painfully dull for him, and now she was about to drag him to another one.

"I suppose you have a valid point," Elizabeth sighed resignedly. "I'll go, but only out of respect for my father."

Mrs. Busby clapped her hands together delightedly. "This is so very wonderful. I shall instruct the Governor's majordomo to include you among the invitees. I do believe I've already pointed out that Mr. Busby has a significant amount of influence with the Governor?" Mrs. Busby bragged.

"And Will."

"Of course, he will continue to cultivate that influence. He would be mad not to!" It was quite apparent that her husband's connection to the new Governor was Mrs. Busby's pride and joy.

That makes no sense whatsoever. Is she going to insist Will isn't here still? Elizabeth looked at the older woman in confusion before sorting out what she had said. "I meant my husband—Will or more appropriately Captain Turner. I'm not negotiating that point."

Mrs. Busby flinched at the strength in Elizabeth's voice, and decided it would be prudent to not push the issue. "Very well, yes, of course," she made no effort to hide her disapproval. "The ball is in six weeks. That should be sufficient time to acquire something suitable to wear for you and him," she sniffed.

"No doubt," Elizabeth said curtly. "Now if there is nothing more you need to discuss with me, might I show you out?"Elizabeth stood up, and started guiding Mrs. Busby towards the door.

"Why, yes, yes, of course. I can see my own self out actually." She was not accustomed to having her visits forcibly cut short, and was therefore flustered. "I shall bid you a good afternoon and be on my way, then!"

Elizabeth followed behind Mrs. Busby as far as the living room door. She was not surprised to find Mercedes waiting patiently on the other side. She was sure the girl had not been there when Will had left, but that didn't really matter. What did matter was that when she was needed, she appeared unbidden – quite a useful skill around the Turner household. Mercedes nodded to Elizabeth, a half smile on her face, and then directed her attention to escorting Mrs. Busby from the premises in the most efficient but polite manner possible.

Elizabeth glanced up the stairwell and noticed that her bedroom door was standing wide open. She assumed that meant Will had taken the time to change clothes before going in search of William. Her first instinct was to go find the pair of them, but she refrained. Mercedes had told them that William was upset about something, and Will needed to learn that sometimes being a parent meant soothing hurts that were not necessarily physical. Perhaps William could even provide some comfort for his father too. Elizabeth knew Will would never complain, but it had to be disheartening to know that there were still people who treated him with contempt for no reason other than having fallen in love with her and her with him. No, no matter how much she wanted to be with her husband and son right now, she knew it was best that she keep her distance. If they needed her, they would come get her. She quietly closed the living room door behind her, and headed up the stairs.