AN:  Thanks to all who have reviewed thus far!  I appreciate the feedback.  Also, I do assure you, there is much more to dear Aveline than meets the eye.  However, you are correct in your assertion that Aveline and Jack are not going to hit it off with any sort of ease.  Glad I'm starting off from the right square, so to speak. 

And Nimuea, thank you so much for your wonderful review.  As soon as I finish this chapter, I'll be reading some of your work; I certainly owe it to you.  I look forward to writing for you, and to your continued input.  It is greatly appreciated, as is everyone's.

And the words flow...

And the fog's liftin'

And the sand's shiftin'

I'm driftin' on out

Ol' Captain Ahab

He ain't got nothin' on me...

~Tom Waits, "Shiver Me Timbers"

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Morning came quickly for Aveline, who'd captured barely a wink during the night.  Her joints ached from the biting chills she'd endured throughout, and it was with some pain that she rose from bed and seated herself at her dressing table.  Nonetheless, today she would have to practice perfect normalcy, not always the easiest task for Aveline Hartwell, whose wild imagination and reckless spirit often derailed her attempts at being a gentlewoman.  Of course, her ladylike persona had been imposed upon her; had her life stayed on course, she didn't doubt, she would have found herself living in a beggar's town on some hapless little isle, scraping to get by, living moment to moment...

Aveline slammed down her hairbrush, crimson anger flooding and flushing her creamy cheeks.  "I would have been happy," she told herself, as she often did.  "At least I'd have had control of my own destiny."

In her private moments, Aveline's moods were often dark and dangerous, the fury she'd oft suppressed in feigning properness and jubilance bubbling to the surface of her being.  Sliding open a drawer, she gazed in upon the object inside, which caught the sunlight through the curtain cracks and glinted invitingly.  A tiny, delicate finger traced the roughly fashioned wooden handle of the dagger, then slid along the flat of the blade.  The deadly weapon, knowing its future sheath, was her only comfort. 

Slamming the drawer in a moment of frustration, Aveline calmed herself and set back to the task of contriving her counterfeit self.  

Lord Faulkner had primped and primed her to be the perfect lady, fought to break her spirit and bridle her fury.  When he'd come across Aveline some eight years ago, she'd been a vehement little shrew, unkempt and uncultured.  However, she had no past, at least none that she would share with the likes of the nobleman, and in her fierce green eyes, he had seen naught but opportunity.   An earl with nothing, his heavy gambling losses had cost him his vast estate, and with it, his social prestige.  No wise man would marry his daughter off to him, lest they waste her valuable dowry on the pathetic man, and if he couldn't take advantage of a father-in-law, then Faulkner would resort to other measures.

He would become one himself.

Beautiful little Aveline would one day surely fetch some young gentleman's heart, large dowry or no, and so Faulkner had adopted her as his daughter, accepting generous loans in order to prepare her for admittance into society.  It was a covert operation of sorts, however, since Faulkner was a noted social outcast about London, and so he'd taken her to the Caribbean and invited various suitors to inspect her away from the prying eyes of London's hens.  The dehumanization of it all had nearly crushed Aveline's fervor, but she clandestinely rebelled against Faulkner's plan, foiling every potential engagement she'd been offered via one mean or another.  And rather than submit herself to the depression that oft threatened to consume her, she replenished her fading lust for life with a different lust...

That for revenge.

Grasping the carved wooden handle of her hairbrush once more, Aveline ran the soft bristles over her golden-brown curls until they could be considered nothing short of lustrous, then began weaving them into a loose, elegant upsweep.  Examining the style from all angles with satisfaction, she rose, beckoning for her handmaiden, and began scrutinizing her morning dresses.

Elegant but comfortable, she reminded herself, anticipating the long hours she would spend cramped in some dark, dank corner, below the decks of a ship.  Gnawing her lip in contemplation, she finally selected a pale ivory muslin dress, which while a snug fit, did not necessitate the vigorous lace-up required of her other garments in order for it to stay in place.

"Good morning, Miss," Roberta greeted her as she entered her bedchamber, but gasped when she laid eyes on her beautiful mistress.  "Miss Hartwell, your hair!  You shouldn't be doing these things yourself, Miss, you know that."

"Hush, Roberta, I simply need you to lace me up.  I am quite capable of otherwise dressing myself.  You know that."

"Oh, Miss, I wish you wouldn't be so bold.  It only serves to infuriate his Lordship."

Aveline turned, observing her waiflike handmaiden with a critical eye.  "You are, nonetheless, my servant, and if all I require of you is assistance lacing my dress, then that is all the service you shall provide."  Pleased with herself, she stepped behind her dressing screen, joined momentarily by Roberta, who carried her corset.

"Turn, Miss," she murmured, and Aveline complied.

"Loosely, please.  I needn't be gasping for air all day long."

Roberta arched a knowing eyebrow behind her mistress' back.  "Why, Miss?  What mischief have you planned?"

Aveline hesitated a moment, wondering if she should scold her or maintain her nonchalance.  "Roberta, you know better than anyone that mischief is not tolerated by 'his Lordship'.  It only serves to infuriate him."  That said, she smiled, wholly satisfied with her response.  Nothing about Aveline was more customary than her sharp tongue.  She could feel Roberta's scowling eyes boring through the back of her head, and didn't care in the least.  Better that she want to avoid her mistress today, for such negligence would provide Aveline with an increased number of opportunities to escape her care. 

"I don't know, Miss.  It has always seemed to me as though Lord Faulkner has provided you with far better treatment than you'd have received were you sold off by Captain Sa—"

"Roberta!" Aveline spun around, staring up at the slightly taller woman, warning gleaming in her malachite eyes.  "Do not finish that sentence.  We do not speak of that man.  Your impropriety is unimaginable this morning."  Her tone was dark, almost unnatural to have come from within the lovely young lady she pretended to be.

"I'm quite sorry, Miss.  I heed your warning."

Nodding, Aveline turned to allow her to complete her task and, once the corset had been fastened, she dismissed the intrusive woman with a wave of her hand.  She hated to treat Roberta with such disregard; however, such coarseness was a necessity today.

Alone in her bedroom once more, Aveline scrutinized her visage in the dirt-smudged mirror.  The perfect picture of elegance, she smiled contentedly before reaching for and tying on a delicate straw bonnet, hating the fashionable accessory's hold on her fragile throat.  Who would imagine a satin ribbon could be so confining?

Aveline exited her bedchamber and ventured down the small, carved wooden staircase to the first floor of the small estate.  Lord Faulkner awaited her in the entrance hall. 

"Good morning, Aveline.  I trust you'll be joining me for breakfast?"

"No, your Lordship, I will not be joining you.  I'm afraid I'm not very hungry this morning."

Lord Faulkner raised an eyebrow at her, suspicious as always of his young ward.  "No?  Then what exactly do you plan to do this morning?"

Aveline shrugged, feigning indifference.  "I'm not certain yet.  I thought perhaps I could take a morning walk along the waterline, near the harbour.  I do imagine there will be a great number of naval officers gathered there, the finest gentlemen."  She flashed an attractive smile, her eyes glinting with conspiracy as she leaned closer to the earl.  "Perhaps I might catch the eye of a handsome young lieutenant."

Immediately liking the sound of this, Faulkner nodded his head at her, offering her a smile of approval.  "Very well, Aveline.  Have Roberta accompany you.  It wouldn't do to have a proper lady traipsing about without her handmaiden."

He and Aveline turned their attention to Roberta, who had stood at polite attention near the stairs during their discussion.  "Yes, your Lordship," she replied with a customary bow of her head, but Aveline could see in the woman's blue eyes that she was sorely displeased with the notion of chasing after Aveline all day.

"It really isn't necessary, your Lordship.  Having Roberta accompany me, that is.  I mean, I believe I would be better able to attract Her Majesty's Navy without having my handmaiden watching my every move.  Men are deterred by such protectiveness, you know.  Better to keep a distance than ruffle the feathers of an earl."

Lord Faulkner's thin lips formed a wicked grin.  "Quite right you are, Aveline.  Always thinking.  Roberta, you needn't go."

Roberta issued her young charge a skeptical look, but handed her a parasol with resignation.  "Yes, your Lordship.  Take care of yourself, Miss Hartwell.  Don't get too much sun."

"And freckle?  I wouldn't dream of it."  Her falsest smile in place, Aveline gratefully and gracefully exited the manor, making her way down the stone stairway and off toward the harbour, to scout out the harbour and make the final preparations for her getaway.

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'KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.'

"Aurgh," Jack groaned, lifting his sleepy head to encounter a spinning room.  Hurricane?  Couldn't be...

'KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.' 

Standing on wobbly legs, Jack staggered across the room, bumping into more than one item of furniture along his way, but to no concern. 

"Jack Sparrow, open this door!"

He rolled his eyes – Anamaria.  Wrapping long, slender fingers around the brass doorknob, he slowly turned it and opened the cabin door to reveal the bold woman in britches, who happened to be aiming a pistol at the captain's heart.  "This is about your ship, i'n't it?" he slurred, shooting her a drunken look of confidence.

Anamaria's jaw dropped.  "You're drunk again, aren't you?  We're sailing with a storm at our rudder and you're locked in your cabin drowning in rum!"

"Well... I suppose it could be worse, I mean, I could be drownin' in the Caribbean."

The angry woman huffed, shifting her weight and tightening her grip on the pistol.  "I'm not tagging along on your little leisure trips any longer, Jack.  I have tried to be patient with you, but sailing with a joke crew under a drunk captain doesn't suit me any longer."

Jack pursed his lips, a comical pout that might have been believable had he not been hung over.  "Oh, come now, love—"

"Don't call me that," she snapped.  "And you're not going to bargain with me anymore.  If you don't make good on your word in three days, then I'll be forced to take matters into my own hands."

The captain relaxed his neck, allowing his head to roll lazily to the side and causing the trinkets in his hair to jingle with the motion.  "And how do you propose to do that?"

Click.  "I'll take the Pearl."

"Commandeer.  Commandeer the Pearl."  He flashed a flattering smile as he pushed the hand that held her gun gently aside.  "An' I'll tell you, I'd really rather you didn't."

Anamaria tucked the pistol into her trousers, opting instead to point a finger at him.  "Well then, Captain Jack Sparrow, I suggest you sober up and start making good on your word.  I'm not a fool, and I'm not going to wait another year for you to repay my services."

Jack arched an eyebrow in lewd contemplation.  "There are other ways I imagine I could repay your services, Anamaria.  Savvy?"  A suggestive smirk curled its way under the corners of his moustache.

Click.  "Three days, Jack Sparrow.  Give me your word or be sayin' hello to Davy Jones."

"All right, all right.  A ship she wants, a ship she'll get.  The next one that comes along, we'll ambush 'er, throw the crew overboard, an' the vessel... is yours."  He punctuated his proclamation with a flagrant gesture of one arm, characteristic of the flamboyant pirate.

Once again, Anamaria tucked the pistol away.  "Deal."

"But," he waggled a ringed finger at her, "You'll have to sail agreeably under my command for the next three days.  And assemblin' a crew will be up to you."

"That won't be too difficult."  She turned and started away from his cabin.  "We're coming up on Tortuga."

A delighted expression graced Jack's face once Anamaria had departed.  "Ahh, Tortuga."  He took a few steps backward and re-entered his quarters, gazing out the huge windows at the ocean they'd left behind.  "Drink up, me hearties, yo-ho..."

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Aveline marched jubilantly toward the surf, enticed by the soft, salty foam that beckoned her at the waterline.  The sky had darkened with the coming storm, the crashing of the crystalline waves rougher than she was accustomed to.  Casting a glance over her shoulder to verify her solitude, she dropped her parasol on the sand, slipped off her shoes, and grabbed two handfuls of soft ivory muslin, hiking the skirts up to her knees that she may wade in the water a moment.  She laughed as the ocean's playful tongue laved her feet and ankles, appreciating its gentle affection.  She scrunched her toes, loving the feel of the rough sand in the tender crevices between, and she raised her chin to the horizon, allowing the sea wind to caress her face.  Only in private could Aveline be herself.  Only here, away from prying eyes, away from earls and suitors, could she drop her façade.  A gust of wind, no doubt borne from the tempest now only a hundred miles or so off shore, whipped past her, chilling and thrilling Aveline as she shut her eyes, surrendering herself to the sensation...

"Miss!  Your parasol!"

Her eyes flew open, and her head snapped in the direction of the strong voice.  A young male officer, who appeared to have been walking from the village to the harbour, was now racing across the beach in a bluecoated whir, chasing after her windborne parasol. 

Oh, God...

"Here you are, Miss..."  The officer walked toward her, smiling expectantly. 

"Aveline Hartwell," she replied sweetly, taking her parasol with one hand and allowing him to press a dry, gentlemanly kiss to the back of the other.  "I am much obliged..." she glanced at his coat "Lieutenant...?"

"Lieutenant-Commander Fulbright."  The Lieutenant-Commander was young, decidedly attractive, and... stiff.  His eyes were gunmetal grey, his smile warm but lackluster.  He stood at perfect attention as he addressed her, and Aveline wished she hadn't had the misfortune of making the man's acquaintance.  Having someone on the pier this afternoon who might recognize her, certainly added to the difficulty of her task, and it was no easy one to begin with.

"Thank you, Lieutenant-Commander Fulbright.  I don't know how I let it get away from me."

"Well, to begin with, you weren't holding it."

Smile politely, bat the eyelashes once, twice...  "Yes, well, I... I thought I might take a moment to enjoy the warm water."  How ridiculous it sounds. 

"Yes, and what brings a beautiful young woman such as yourself to the shoreline without a handmaiden while a storm gathers in the distance?"

"I suppose it was a tad reckless of me.  Destiny, perhaps?"

Fulbright raised a speculative eyebrow at her.  "Destiny, Miss Hartwell?"

"Well, had I come accompanied by my handmaiden, I certainly wouldn't have had the great fortune of making your acquaintance, Lieutenant-Commander."

This brought a self-assured smile to the officer's face, and Aveline mentally applauded her ability to charm. 

"Well... I ought to be going, Miss Hartwell.  But may I call on you?"

Aveline exuded false elation as though Port Royal were a stage, and Fulbright, her doting audience, armed with roses and admiration.  "It would make me tremendously happy if you would.  I live at the village's edge, in Lord Faulkner's manor.  He is my guardian."

Fulbright removed his hat, bowing to her in departure.  "I shall make a point of calling on you, Miss Hartwell.  Hold tight to your parasol."

Smiling, Aveline gave the aforementioned accessory a feminine twirl, and watched in relief as the Lieutenant-Commodore finally made his way to the harbour.  Good God, could her luck be any worse?  Having earned herself an admirer in the Royal Navy would not be to her advantage should her destination be discovered. 

At that moment, Aveline's eye caught the bowsprit of a ship appearing from behind the cliffs, and she knew at once that her ship had come in.

But how to divert Faulkner?

Desperate for new ideas as she mentally redrew her plan, Aveline scanned the harbour.  Redcoats, bluecoats... She noted her newest would-be suitor engaged in conversation with Commodore Norrington, who had spent the entire year chasing Jack Sparrow about the Spanish Main to no avail, and hanging his other, less important captives in large, public displays which would never change the fact that he had let not only Jack Sparrow, but Elizabeth Swann slip through his otherwise capable hands.  She thought him quite pathetic for dwelling on his losses.  But then, who was she to judge?

Aveline smirked.  Perhaps there was some advantage to having attracted Fulbright after all...

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Lots of Aveline, I know.  So necessary, though.  Plenty of Jack to come in Chapter 3!!  ~Q