A/N: This is set a few months after the last chapter, hence, the child is not a newborn. Sorry, newborns are a tad boring and I wanted the new OC to have some plausible space for personality development. Much thanks to reviewers!

P.S.: As to the question of when Jack will show up...I honestly don't know. I've got a vague idea of what's going to happen in this story, and Jack WILL be in it but I'm not exactly sure...when...or how. Because, you know, he can't come to Port Royal even though Norrington isn't really "hunting" for him anymore.

Elizabeth liked being the mistress of the mansion very much. Oh, all right, so she was only in charge until her father returned, but he wouldn't be back for a few months if all went well in England, and for those few months, Elizabeth was quite set on enjoying herself. He deserved a good long stay in England, and Elizabeth had had quite an ordeal in convincing him that she would be fine to stay home alone; Mary would be her constant companion, along with all the other servants currently employed at the Swann Mansion, and Christina was just a hop, skip and a jump down the rode. But in the end, she had convinced him, however long it might have taken.

"You know how I worry, Elizabeth, dearest. It isn't proper that a woman should stay home alone without a male to sort out her troubles for her. What if something should happen? What if someone should break into the mansion -"

"Father! The only people to have successfully broken into this house were undead pirates! Mr. Millar's boy is dead, although if you ask me it isn't a shame that he is so - forgive me, but he was an odd one…I shall be fine."

Elizabeth smiled from her spot on the balcony overlooking the island, her fingers curled comfortably around a warm cup of tea. She certainly did like being her own mistress. It was early, the sun having not risen yet, and she was dressed in only her dressing gown and robe. The maids were still abed and there was no one to tell her to hurry on inside and get beneath the covers lest she catch a cold. It was almost like freedom. Quite close to freedom, actually. There was no reason for Elizabeth to feel forced to go about in anything other than the least uncomfortable corset - it didn't even have to be tightly laced unless she was having company. And so, Elizabeth found herself spending her time waking up early in the morning so as not to waste the day.

In the first few weeks that she'd been on her own, Elizabeth made sure to keep her schedule open. If she wanted to walk up a bit to the stables, she did so. She tried to overcome her fear of the horses and see in them what Christina did: only a gentle simplicity and warmth of spirit, but Elizabeth found herself unable to get over their wide eyes and long teeth, and those sturdy-strong legs that looked like they could kick the stuffing out of you if they tried. Visiting the stables was a very short-lived hobby, indeed.

Elizabeth went down to Mrs. Dawson every now and again to look at the new dresses that were made, although Mrs. Dawson assured her that she need only ask and dresses would be custom made and delivered, and Elizabeth need never set foot outside the mansion. What people didn't understand, however, was how terribly Elizabeth wanted to set more than one foot outside the mansion. She wanted her whole being to be outside the mansion and far from it, all the time without parasols or lacy hats to protect her fragile skin. Either way, whenever she visited Mrs. Dawson, Jerome would try to flirt with her or entice her into joining him for a cup of tea, and Elizabeth could not oblige. It had been a while since she stopped by Mrs. Dawson's shop, and Elizabeth blamed the rogue of a man for it.

Now, atop the balcony, Elizabeth sighed. It was rather pleasant, having all one's time to one's self. She hadn't curtsied in about a month, and was glad of it! But it was also rather lonely being the sole mistress of a huge house. Mary was the only one who would talk to her honestly, but Mary was also frequently called out for tea or lunch with Commodore Norrington. And if she isn't with him, then she's over at Christina's!

Not for the first time, Elizabeth wished she could be more like her sister. Christina was clearly content with the lifestyle she'd chosen. And why shouldn't she be? She had her own house, a handsome husband, a beautiful baby to care for, and at least a year's worth of adventure to look back on when the spare moments were dreary. All I've got is a rather frightful memory of undead pirates threatening right and left - and Christina seemed virtually unaffected by that! Elizabeth shuddered, still remembering the way Barbossa's crew reeked of death when they had held her captive. Then, with a small sense of smug satisfaction, she remembered how she had eventually fought back. If only there were some sort of excitement to break the monotony now.

With a slight start, Elizabeth realized that it was Saturday. Christina and Will would be coming over with their baby, the little Isabella. Feeling she'd better rest up before the infant was brought in later that day, Elizabeth turned and walked back into her room to sleep a bit before getting up to get ready.

"Hurry, Will, or we'll be late!" Christina cried, grabbing her hat and shoving it down other her head, fumbling with the lace that was meant to tie neatly under her chin. With a frustrated groan she whipped the hat off again, cursed violently when it got stuck in her hair, and threw it across the room with an apologetic nod at the baby for her bad language. Isabella was watching her mother with a curious, almost pitying expression on her face, and Christina smiled grimly at her little girl.

"Very funny for you, isn't it, lovey? Watching mummy get all nervous just to have tea with Auntie Elizabeth? Well, its easy for you, you look like a little angel…I only pray you'll have mummy's hair when you grow up -"

"Now, now, dear, threatening the child won't do," Will said from the doorway, looking perfectly dapper in plain but well-tailored black pants and jacket. Christina stuck her tongue out at her husband.

"Oh? It's a threat that there's a chance Isabella will have my hair?" Christina asked, her eyes flashing.

"If by hair you mean...bird's nest?" Will teased, but at Christina's murderous look he put his hands up in defense, or perhaps in surrender. The first few months after little Isabella was born were difficult - Christina was an emotional young mother, who alternatively felt incredibly blessed with the beautiful little baby she'd given birth too, and at other times quite terrified of the child. It was ludicrous to Will that Christina should be terrified of the baby, who was about as dangerous as a newborn kitten, but with some gentle probing he had found that Christina was not so much afraid of the baby as the thought of hurting her. Another thought that Will found foolish, because ever since little Isabella had first drawn breath both of her parents had been madly, desperately, and completely in love with her.

"Love, little Isabella would be blessed to have any one of your features -"

The baby gurgled in a way that sounded almost sarcastic.

"And I suppose fifteen years from now you'd be beating the young boys away with a stick, is that right?" Christina quipped, picking up the cooing child and kissing her on the cheek. Isabella seemed to find this objectionable and wriggled desperately, blowing bubbles and pulling her mother's wild tangle of hair.

"I'm a blacksmith, Christina, I think I could do a sight better than sticks…"

"Don't you go ruining our daughter's chances at courting, Will! I wont have it," Christina warned, handing the baby to Will to smooth her dress in the mirror. They were already running late for tea with Elizabeth, who was always anxious to see her niece, and Christina always liked to look her best in the old mansion. Elizabeth was still thin and pretty, and Christina, though always in her sister's shadow physically, had no desire to appear the crone before her time.

"We'll talk about Isabella and boys in a decade or so, all right?" Will asked, shifting the baby onto his other side and tugging Christina out the door. "You look beautiful, not a day over eighteen, my love…" he murmured, kissing her hand and leading her into the carriage. Isabella laughed gaily at her father's words, and Christina pouted at the child.

"Be nice to mummy, Bella. Just because you've so recently tumbled from heaven…" she teased, kissing her daughter again on one soft, chubby cheek. The baby pushed her mother's face away, and for a moment Christina looked sorely hurt. Will saw this and, shifting Isabella once again, leaned in to kiss Christina on the neck.

"Don't worry, love, she's just a child. She doesn't want anyone to hold her anymore - she's certainly got her mother's independence," he whispered. "And it only took her nine months to figure out that she can take care of herself perfectly fine."

"She doesn't seem to have a problem with you holding her," Christina remarked casually, nuzzling Will's neck before he had time to respond and smiling brightly as Isabella reached for her hand and tried to pull off her rings. The small child gave an impudent yell of frustration when the rings wouldn't come off. "But it seems she has your temper."

"My temper?" Will looked affronted. "Need I remind you that you were the one who made a bonfire out of my clothes -"

"You shouldn't have left them laying around, Will, and I told you about a million times to pick the damn things up!"

"Correct me if I'm mistaken, but I thought the home was your frontier…"

"Oh, so your sweaty, dirty, disgusting used clothes are my responsibility? Is that it?"

"Who brings home the food?"

"Oho, then! Who cooks your bloody food! Who walked around like a - a miniature island for nine months carrying your child? Who gave birth to her, just so that she could plainly favor you!" Christina broke off in a sob and pushed his hands off her when he tried to console her. The carriage slowed to stop and Christina wrenched the door open, dashing her tears aside and feeling even worse for wear.

"I'm your wife, not your slave, Will! And I will not simper around and pick up YOUR MESS for the rest of my LIFE! I WONT DO IT, Will!" Christina shouted, angrily trying to smooth her skirts and wishing she could lace up her corset a bit tighter. For God's sake, I still look like a cow!

Elizabeth would of course look stunning, and Christina had just smeared what remained of her powder across her face. Elizabeth would look like the perfect young maid…And I'll show up the desperate, half-mad housewife! She held out her arms for Isabella, who was whimpering and on the verge of tears having witnessed her parents fight. Will did not look eager to hand over his daughter, and Christina, realizing this, almost started to cry again.

Will handed the baby back to Christina. "I'm sorry, Christina, I know it's been hard for you…" he said quietly. Christina sniffled, hugging her daughter close and trying to find some small comfort in the tiny, warm body in her arms. For once, Isabella didn't pull away. She pressed what might have been a kiss to her mother's collar bone. Then Christina realized that Isabella was in all likelihood hungry, and instead of trying to comfort her mother, was asking to be nursed. Christina sighed ruefully.

"You don't know how hard, Will," she said thickly, hurrying up the path to the doorway.

"I would if you told me!" he said under his breath, angrily. Christina sighed and felt on the edge of breaking again.

"I can't!" she whispered desperately. How could she tell him that everything was perfect and wonderful, and he was the kindest, most gentle, caring, and understanding husband a woman could ask for? How could she tell him that Isabella was the surely the most beautiful baby any woman could ever wish to bear? How could she tell him that she loved the cottage and loved the garden; that her food was slowly becoming more and more edible and would soon even maybe be tasty, that her hands were no longer rubbing raw from the laundry soap and that the sitting room floor was always, always neatly swept in case of company…and yet she felt like something was missing? It was awful of her, wasn't it, that she should miss the Pearl and Jack and the crew; that she should miss the crow's nest and wearing men's breeches and boots? It was terrible that she should hate her pale skin and soft, womanish body and instead wanted the salt and the sun and the sea?

"Oh, please don't let me be like my mother!" Christina prayed softly, hiding her face in Isabella's thick curly hair and inhaling the baby-scent which for once didn't mean that the child had soiled herself.

"What did you -" Will asked, but was cut off by Elizabeth herself answering the door, looking like Aphrodite herself.