Author's Notes: Many, many thanks for all the reviews and comments. In response to reviewer concerns, I am aware that events in my prologue bears more than a passing resemblance to M.N. Theis's excellent story, "The Measure of a Man" (which I highly recommend, by the way.) Although I first dreamed up that romantic little picnic with Will falling asleep in Elizabeth's lap on the very night I first saw the movie, it's only fair to acknowledge that the very-talented Miss Theis got to it first. However, I got in touch with her before posting this fic to explain the situation, and she was all right with it. I'm a great fan of hers and would never want to muscle in on her territory. ;-)
In other news: I know some of you are wondering, so for all the Jack fans…our favorite pirate captain makes his grand entrance soon! Be patient!
Please Also Note: My internet service is going down sometime soon pending a move onto campus, so it may be a week or so till my next update. But this chapter got too long, so I had to chop it in half.
Chapter One: Of Wealth and Wedding Plans
The governor's mansion, the following morning…
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Elizabeth!"
Opening her eyes and immediately shutting them again in the offensive sunlight the maid was letting in from the window, Elizabeth groaned, "Gracious, Father, how is it that I've managed to offend you before even waking up?"
Striding indignantly to Elizabeth's bedside as she sat rubbing her eyes, Governor Weatherby Swann said sternly, "It has been brought to my attention that you spent the better part of yesterday afternoon on a…on a…picnic with that Turner boy!"
The memory of the previous day brought a soft smile to her face, and seeing it, her father threw up his hands. "By God, child, have you no sense of propriety? Spending nearly an entire day with that boy alone, unchaperoned?"
Warm thoughts of Will vanished in a flare of irritation, and Elizabeth snatched up her dressing gown. "Yes, we were alone, but as we were seated on a high hill above a very active sugar plantation overlooking the entire harbor, I doubt if anyone can accuse us of behaving untowardly."
"You had his head in your lap!"
"Then you know exactly where we were and what we were doing, so I hardly see the need for such a fuss."
"Elizabeth, that boy--"
"Father!" Brushing past the maid, Elizabeth stood in front of him with her arms folded stubbornly. In a slow, deliberate voice, she said, "My fiancé's name is Will Turner. I'll thank you to do him the courtesy of using it."
Weatherby Swann sighed heavily. "I might feel more inclined to do so if Mr. Turner would not behave as if you were already his wife and not his fiancée. There are certain conventions to be observed, even if his upbringing is beneath yours."
"Father, really!"
"His head in your lap, Elizabeth?!"
Through gritted teeth, she replied, "He was tired, and I deliberately overfed him to make him sleepy. I would prefer that my intended not work himself to death before our wedding."
She knew at once she should not have mentioned Will's work. Her father's eyes narrowed. "Speaking of his work, my dear--"
"—Father." She turned away and stared fixedly out the window. "Must we have this conversation again?"
While Weatherby Swann was painfully aware that it would be useless to refuse his daughter's hand to Will Turner if Elizabeth had her heart set on it—and to Swann's credit, he would not dream of taking so open a stance against her wishes—he still made it no secret that the young smith's situation in life was far beneath what he would even begin to consider desirable in a match for his daughter. As a result, he had attempted on more than one occasion to gently point out the pitfalls of Elizabeth's chosen husband, and the discussion nearly always ended in a fit of temper from one or both of them. Elizabeth would hear no ill word against Will, particularly as concerned things over which he had no control, such as his bloodline or his upbringing or his means.
Just as she began to fear that another insufferable lecture about Will's failings was imminent, her father's hands came to rest upon her shoulders. "I only want you to be happy."
As fast as her annoyance had come, it vanished and was replaced by a lump in her throat. Whispering so he would not be able to tell her change of mood, she answered, "I know. But I am happy."
She did not fool him. To her frequent fury, she had never been able to hide her emotions from her father. Whatever his other failings, Weatherby Swann knew his only child's moods well, and cared enough to pay attention to them. He turned her gently around, one hand raising her chin to see the glimmer of tears in her eyes. "Then what is troubling you? You've been out of sorts for days. Is it Commodore Norrington's approaching wedding to Lucinda Hamilton?"
Disgusted with herself for revealing so much, Elizabeth stepped away and went to dress herself. "Not in the way you hope, Father. I'm sorry. If I envy Lucy Hamilton, it is only because of her good fortune in marrying so soon."
"James Norrington is a fine man, Elizabeth, and he cared very much for you," came her father's voice from beyond the screen.
"It's pointless to dwell on it now," she replied. "I have made my choice and never regretted it. It is Will Turner whom I intend to marry, and Lucy will make Commodore Norrington happier than I could have. She will be happier with him than I would have been. It was not to be."
"Then it is merely impatience that troubles you?" the governor asked in a thoughtful tone.
Elizabeth heaved a sigh that became a hiss. "Loosen that wretched thing, Mary," she told the maid petulantly, tugging at her corset. "Yes, Father, that's all. Two years is a long time."
"Well…I have to say again that at least the boy had a sense of propriety. Waiting a bit seems the practical thing to do for a blacksmith chooses to court someone so far above his station."
Elizabeth bristled, and peered around the screen at her father. "Consider yourself fortunate that it's a blacksmith I'm marrying, Father."
He chuckled, "I suppose I must, since that blacksmith very nearly became a pirate."
"Indeed. For I assure you, if Will had chosen the pirate's life, then your daughter would be a pirate's wife." She smiled sweetly and pulled back behind the screen.
"Elizabeth!" came the scandalized response. "That is hardly a matter for levity!"
"I quite agree," she said in a serious tone, glad that he could not see the grin on her face. "How fortunate that I'm not joking."
"Elizabeth!!"
"As I said," she told him, leaning around the screen again to meet his alarmed gaze with a dead-serious one of her own, "consider yourself twice lucky. I will have Will Turner, no matter what his lot in life, no matter how long his practicality forces me to wait until he feels able to support me. So you had best be thankful Will is just as honorable a man as James Norrington, even if he possesses less means."
She left her father standing mutely while she finished getting dressed. Perhaps that will finally end his hope that I'm at all regretting my decision. I daresay the good Commodore Norrington no longer regrets it.
***
Later that day, at the smithy…
As usual, Elizabeth's sense had been correct, and Will felt considerably better about his work—and life in general—after yesterday's unexpected but welcome rest. He had been a bit startled when he woke at sunset to find his head nestled in Elizabeth's lap and half a day's work wasted, but had found himself too at peace with the world to be terribly upset about something as trivial as neglected work. Today, he had cause to be grateful, for the shop was as busy as ever. But now at least Will could approach his work with his customary dedication, rather than dread.
Adding yet another finished sword to the rack containing Commodore Norrington's order, Will smiled to himself. This batch in all likelihood would be finished on time, but after what Elizabeth had revealed about the officers' attitude toward his efforts to accommodate them, he could safely say this was the last time he would bend over backwards for their sake. Oh, he had his sense of duty, true, and he would never deliberately fail to finish an order by the appointed time, but now…he intended to see to it that the appointed time was set by himself, rather than his customers.
"Eager to please," perhaps I am, but I am no fool, Lieutenant Gillette. And I've no intention of being taken for one, in my craft or in any other way, for that matter. Will gave the bellows a yank and pulled a now red-hot blade from the forge for his next sword. Sparks flew and the steel sang as he folded it and pounded it into place, his hands acting instinctively to balance the blade with its handle. It was a satisfying action, the rhythmic pounding and ringing of metal being bent to his will, and his smith's senses told him this would be a good sword, taking shape willingly, unlike others which seemed to fight him with every strike of the hammer. As old Jonathan Brown had told Will repeatedly back when he'd had his wits, "The shaping of a sword is like raising a child, young Will. They all have their personalities, and ye can only mold it so far, for you've got to feel it too, lad, and let it grow the way it wants to grow."
That pleasant reminiscence, the easy way the cherry-hot blade took shape under his hammer, and the even more pleasant memory of the afternoon spent with Elizabeth yesterday had Will in a fair mood, and he hummed softly to himself as he worked. Time had slowed down, and he had no desire to track it; there was little point in his line of work. Lifting the sword briefly, he nodded to himself at the distribution of the metal's weight, and set it down again, ready for the last few strikes of the hammer before affixing it to its handle.
Clang! Clang! Clang! The metal of hammer, sword, and anvil rang cheerfully as Will mentally counted the strokes, knowing exactly the point when and where he would need to stop. The blade glowed red in the darkened smithy, its color telling Will as much as the weight and its shape. Nearly there…clang! Clang—
Thud! The door to the smithy flew open so suddenly and so loudly that Will launched himself away from the anvil in alarm, dropping the hammer. "What the devil?!" Will spun around, intending to demand satisfaction from the visitor for entering without knocking.
He found himself nearly toe-to-toe with a very tall, clearly-noble man with aristocratic features, in the hideous gray wig that never seemed to go out of fashion among statesmen, dressed in finery to rival even Governor Swann and Elizabeth, with a bearing pompous enough to put Commodore Norrington to shame. He sneered down his nose at the smith, before Will, seething over the rude entry while he was at a delicate point in his work, demanded curtly, "Are you looking for something?"
In a bored tone, without really looking at Will, the visitor replied, "I am looking for your master, boy."
Under most circumstances, manners were of great importance to Will, and it was not as if he was unaccustomed to being patronized by the gentry. All the same, he had just been interrupted at a crucial stage in his craft all because this rude stranger had not seen fit to knock upon his door, and now saw fit to treat him dismissively. Picking the dirtied hammer off the floor and setting it down on the worktable, he replied with barest civility. "Then you have found him, sir. I am my master."
"You?" The man lifted an elegant eyebrow in mock-astonishment and chuckled, looking Will up and down.
"Yes, me," said Will curtly. "I assume you had some purpose in bursting into my establishment without the courtesy of a knock? Or shall I show you to the door and return to my work?"
His voice now quite frosty, the man replied, "I should take you up upon your latter request, if I had not been told that a William Turner's establishment was the only reputable smithy in this wretched fishing village. Am I to assume that you," his eyes wandered over Will's dirty work clothes and mussed hair with an air of faint disbelief, "are that smith?"
"I am William Turner," Will confirmed, equally coldly. "To what do I owe the honor of this visit to my humble establishment, sir?" He supposed he should make at least an attempt at politeness to this obviously upstanding visitor, but the man's manner (or lack thereof) had added insult to injury, and it was not to be borne.
But like the most pompous of gentlemen, the stranger cared little what lowly Will Turner thought of him, or even how he reacted, and simply went on with his intended purpose. Pulling out a sheaf of papers and thrusting them at Will, he said, "These are the designs for a matching dagger and belt knife that are to be a bridegroom gift. If you complete them in a satisfactory and timely fashion, your fee shall be, I daresay," he ran disdainful eyes over the smithy again, "better than you're used to."
Taking the papers, Will eyed the designs. Complicated and elegant, but nothing he could not manage, given time. Rather challenging, even. "When would you require them to be completed?" he asked, mentally forging the two weapons in his head.
"Within forty-eight hours."
The papers forgotten, Will looked up in astonishment. "Two days?! I am very sorry, sir, but that will not be possible."
The man's expression was now a combination of outrage and incredulity, that Will would dare to refuse him. "What?!"
Steeling himself in determination not to be bullied, Will explained, "I have no apprentice as yet, sir, and thus all work in this smithy falls to me. I am at this moment in the midst of completing a large order of swords for the Commodore of the fort." Seeing the man's eyes preparing to bug out of his head in affrontry, Will elaborated tightly, "All military orders have priority, sir," without dropping his eyes.
The stranger took a threatening step forward, and might even have appeared rather threatening, if his several inches in height over Will were not counteracted by that ridiculous wig. "Young man…do you know who I am?"
Affecting a slightly bored tone of his own, Will replied, "I'm afraid you did not honor me with an introduction, sir, but regardless, I am unable to have the knife and dagger ready within forty-eight hours. Seventy-two hours at the earliest."
"I will not tolerate insolence, you obstinate brat!" the man's face was taking on a purplish hue.
Will found that he was beginning to enjoy this. In his mildest voice, he answered, "I am merely stating a fact, sir. It will be quite impossible to complete the knife and dagger at the time you have requested."
"Then I shall have to look into taking my commission elsewhere!" the man threatened, his face now quite red.
"That would be my recommendation," Will said with a slight bow. However much this man could afford to pay him, it was not worth setting aside all his other commissions—and certainly not worth the prospect of having to deal with this customer again.
The younger man's calm acceptance of the withdrawn offer of commission left the visitor positively shaking with rage. Stepping toward the door, he growled, "I am the most prominent visitor this crude little outpost has seen in many years, boy. Be assured, the governor will hear of this."
Will bowed again and bit hard on the inside of his mouth as the nobleman stormed back out, leaving a vague impression of ruffled feathers in his wake. Will chuckled quietly to himself and turned back to the anvil as if he had never been interrupted. However, his heart sank at the sight of the unfinished blade; the metal had cooled and hardened far too much for any hope of saving it.
Picking the blade up and examining it mournfully, Will shook his head at the waste. It would have been a good sword. He sighed and took the folded steel back to the forge; the metal could still be used, but this blade as it had been could not be salvaged. He sighed again as the hot coals claimed the metal and murmured, "Perhaps it was not meant to be."
By working fast, he managed to finish one more sword that afternoon, and was contemplating putting in a late night toward completing another when there was a frantic rapping on the door. Opening it revealed a wild-eyed and disheveled Elizabeth, accompanied by one of the governor's manservants. "What's wrong?!" Will exclaimed in alarm.
"Nothing!" she hastened to assure him, coming inside. "I was just in a hurry." She was forced to pause to catch her breath, then went on, "I realize it's short notice, Will, but would you come to dinner at my father's house tonight?"
A wave of utter horror swept over him as he glanced over his filthy clothes; they along with most of his exposed skin were covered in dirt, sweat, and grease. "Elizabeth, I can't possibly make myself presentable in time for a--"
"I know, I know," she laughed. "That's why I brought George." The valet nodded solemnly, hiding whatever opinions he had on his mistress's suitor behind the typical servant mannerisms, and Elizabeth added, "It's rather short notice for everyone, just an informal meal with Commodore Norrington and Lucinda Hamilton. Lucy's family has arrived from England for the wedding, but the ship arrived late and there's no time to arrange a proper banquet."
Will wavered; Elizabeth's clear eagerness for him to be with her was difficult to refuse…but then her idea of informality and his were two very different things. "I…"
Her face turned serious. "It would make me very happy if you were there," she said, her liquid brown eyes sincerely. He felt his resistance crumble, and she caught it, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, Will, say yes!"
With a helpless laugh, Will nodded, and she clapped her hands once in excitement, kissed his cheek despite the dirt on his face, and gave the manservant a highly unladylike shove forward. "George, accompany Mr. Turner to his rooms and see to it that he's…presentable!" Her playful laughter followed Will back into the small suite of rooms behind the smithy where he lived.
It was amazing how quickly one could tidy oneself when awaited by a beautiful and impatient lady—and assisted by a capable servant. In less than an hour, Will was escorting Elizabeth back to her father's house, dressed in his finest garments and wearing the cloak and hat his fiancée liked best—the ones he'd bought after returning from rescuing her from Barbossa. He looked well; his best clothes saw little wear and thus lasted longer than most people's, despite Will's ascension to the ranks of Port Royal's most successful merchants. So he was well-dressed—not like a nobleman perhaps, but presentable.
Elizabeth only accompanied him through the front door. "I must go and dress myself," she explained with a quick glance at the parlor door, where cheerful voices could already be heard. "George, please tell my father that Mr. Turner has arrived. I'll be down shortly." She leaned forward to swiftly kiss his chin, then hurried away up the stairs.
Will found himself alone in the dim foyer, already regretting allowing Elizabeth to persuade him to this. The doors to the parlor opened, and Governor Swann emerged. "Mr. Turner, I'm so pleased you could come," he said in a formal voice that sounded anything but pleased.
With a socially correct half-bow, Will replied carefully, "You honored me with the invitation, sir."
"Yes," Swann's face wore a perpetual expression of uneasy cheer in Will's presence that he had adopted almost as soon as Elizabeth's affections became known. "I could hardly fail to when my daughter practically begged me on her knees." Will decided that it was best not to answer and forced a smile. "Take Mr. Turner's hat, Simpson," Swann ordered the butler curtly. "Let us join my guests until my daughter appears."
Shedding his hat and cloak into the butler's hands, Will followed Swann into the parlor, trying to pretend his jacket had never been mended and his shoes weren't scuffed from arriving at the governor's mansion on foot. He entered the brightly-lit room to find a small crowd of people dressed in glittering finery and engaged in the kind of society small talk that promised to expose Will as an impoverished ignoramus to their eyes within minutes.
Not that there was much chance of avoiding that, if the reception he received was any indication. Most of the guests glanced up as the governor entered, but summarily dismissed the modestly-attired youth in his wake. Probably a footman or household messenger, they undoubtedly assumed. And Will was not terribly surprised that Swann failed to announce him; although technically Will was the governor's future son-in-law, thus meriting an introduction to the guests, acknowledgment of such an unsuitable match in this regal company would prove quite an embarrassment for a society man.
Left alone again just within the parlor doors like the unwanted guest he was, Will tried to remain inconspicuous while searching helplessly for a friendly face in that roomful of cultivated disdain. And rescue finally came…from the most unlikely source imaginable. "Mr. Turner?" Will blinked at the sight of Commodore Norrington approaching him.
"Commodore," he acknowledged with a cautious nod.
Norrington, though stoic as always, appeared to be the only man in the room who did not find Will's presence offensive. "I am pleased to see Elizabeth persuaded you to join us."
"Thank you, sir, I was honored to be invited," said Will, feeling like a parrot despite his rush of surprising gratitude toward the Commodore.
Norrington too seemed slightly at a loss for words; their usual topics of conversation (namely Will's work and piracy) would be out of place here. At that moment, a bubbly voice exclaimed, "James? Can this be the famous Will Turner?"
Will prayed he was not blushing as they were joined by an extravagantly-gowned young woman with light golden hair piled elegantly over a face that did not look to have ever seen the sun's rays, her skin was so pale. Her light blue eyes twinkled mischievously as she flashed a dimpled smile at Norrington, who responded with a small smile of his own and offered her his arm. "Mr. Turner, may I present my fiancée, Miss Lucinda Hamilton."
Will stepped back and bowed to her as graciously as he could, despite the fact that he felt like a ruffian before this gleaming work of high society art. "Miss Hamilton. I am honored to make your acquaintance."
Even if he had not already heard a great deal about Lucy Hamilton—the match between her, the daughter of a very wealthy English politician and Commodore Norrington was the subject of much town gossip—he would have been able to tell she was younger than Elizabeth and far less aware that a world existed beyond the gilded halls she frequented. Her wide eyes took in Will, a shabby, unpredictable intruder in her elegant life, with fascinated curiosity as a child might view a large and potentially dangerous dog that has slipped through the fence and come into the yard. In that voice that still seemed on the verge of a giggle, she remarked, "So you are dear Elizabeth's suitor? How lovely! She and James speak so highly of you, Mr. Turner—and not merely your swords," she added, giggling openly at last.
Will forced himself to give her what he hoped was a smile and she beamed at him from Norrington's arm. Norrington himself seemed to like his betrothed, and while she both intimidated and confounded Will with her looks and small talk, he supposed that a society man like the Commodore would find her sort of company quite pleasing. (In truth, he had long hoped Norrington had indeed fallen in love with Lucinda Hamilton at first sight, as the rumors had it, for reasons too obvious to merit naming.)
Just then, the door behind him opened, and it was with a rush of relief that he turned to see Elizabeth, now resplendent with a fresh gown and curled hair, coming to his side. "Elizabeth!" exclaimed Lucinda immediately, leaving her fiancé's side to kiss Elizabeth on both cheeks. "You are unforgivably late! I was forced to ask James for an introduction to this elusive beau of yours, and my poor father's not even had the pleasure of seeing you yet!"
"Indeed I haven't," said a voice from behind Will. It was not an entirely unfamiliar voice. Will slowly turned around, and his heart landed somewhere below his ankles. Looking down at him with an expression that would have been called a sneer in less-than-polite society was a startlingly tall man with light brown hair just beginning to gray, steel gray eyes, and elegant, haughty features that gave him a strong, proud face where other men were beginning to lose their features with age. While he was undoubtedly close to Governor Swann's age, he looked younger and far more vigorous. Even without the curly wig he'd been wearing before, Will recognized him.
It was the man whom Will had refused a commission from this afternoon at the smithy.
Walking slowly past Will and allowing his eyes to slide away as if the young man did not merit a second glance, he gracefully took Elizabeth's hand and brushed her knuckles to his lips with a bow. "My dear Miss Swann. I must say that I took the tales of your beauty to be a girlish exaggeration by my daughter, but now I see she has failed to do you justice." His voice was low, throaty, and anything but fatherly. Will felt his blood boiling.
Elizabeth's eyes widened in surprise, though what exactly the effect had been on her, Will could not be sure. Governor Swann cleared his throat. "My dear Sir Reginald, I do beg your pardon. I present my daughter, Elizabeth. Elizabeth, this is Sir Reginald Hamilton, only just arrived from England."
Inclining her head, Elizabeth said graciously, "I am honored to meet you, Sir Reginald. Welcome to Port Royal. I do apologize that I was not present to greet you when you first arrived."
Lucinda Hamilton giggled. "Of course you were not present; you were too occupied with snaring this dreadfully handsome young man of yours for us to meet."
Now every eye in the room fell on Will, and he felt his face growing very hot. Elizabeth moved at once to his side, sliding her arm gently into his. "And as I promised, Lucy, here he is. Sir Reginald Hamilton, this is William Turner."
With a very soft laugh, Sir Reginald looked down his nose at Will, his eyes lingering on the scuffed shoes and not-quite invisible mend in the shirt and murmured, "Thank you, Miss Swann. In fact, Mr. Turner and I met this afternoon." As Elizabeth raised curious eyebrows and Will contemplated impaling himself on that newly-made sword, Hamilton glanced about until he had the full attention of everyone in the room and elaborated delicately, "At Mr. Turner's shop."
There was the faintest rustle of silk and taffeta as the gentry reacted to the confirmation of the rumors that Weatherby Swann's eligible daughter was indeed being courted by a blacksmith. Will forced himself to keep his head up—even though the pattern of the carpet had suddenly become fascinating. If it weren't for the gentle squeeze of Elizabeth's fingers on his arm, he did not think he would have managed.
Again, it was Commodore Norrington who took the helm. "Mr. Turner's establishment is the finest on this island, Sir Reginald, I daresay even in the entire Caribbean. I would hardly call it a shop, as he is patronized by the most discerning clientele in the colony. I will have my officers' swords crafted by no one else."
Both Will and Elizabeth shot Norrington grateful glances as the guests eyed each other, and the tradesman in their midst, thoughtfully. Will could almost see the calculations running over their faces. Tradesmen as a rule were not to be given the same privileges as gentlemen, but in some cases…an exception might be made…if it were not merely a tradesman but an accomplished artisan whose work was especially admired…perhaps…
Then came the words Will had been dreading. He supposed it would have been too much to hope that Hamilton would not be searching for ways to humiliate him as thoroughly as possible in response to the afternoon's events. "Indeed, Commodore? I had heard much the same thing, and thus it distressed me greatly when Mr. Turner was unable to accept a commission from me."
Heads swiveled back to face Will, including Elizabeth's. To any other observer, her delicately arched eyebrows might have displayed nothing more than idle curiosity, but Will could see her eyes wide with alarm. Sir Reginald was not a man to be trifled with, even if he were not the soon-to-be father-in-law of the fort's commanding officer and a close friend to the governor. Swallowing, Will managed to keep his voice steady as he replied, "I do apologize, sir. But as I said then, I would have been unable to complete your…commission without depriving Commodore Norrington of a timely delivery of his swords." He shot what he hoped was an apologetic glance at Norrington, deciding if the Commodore had elected to almost-defend him twice this evening, he was the closest thing to an ally Will had in this room apart from Elizabeth.
To his intense relief, Norrington gave a dry laugh, and agreed, "Perhaps I should apologize myself, Sir Reginald, for I confess to being a rather demanding patron of Mr. Turner. I shall endeavor not to burden him so in the future so that his skills may be put to the use of men outside the fort."
That left no way for Hamilton to press his attack without embarrassing his daughter's betrothed, so the man left it, but the coldly amused look he tossed at Will indicated that there would be more blows to come throughout the evening. You've made a powerful enemy, Turner, Will thought.
At that moment, a maid entered and whispered to Governor Swann, who in turn announced to the guests, "Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served."
Will could not help tightening his grip upon Elizabeth's arm at the way Hamilton's face turned towards her speculatively. He had heard from the local wives in town that Sir Reginald's wife had died two years ago, and that the now-retired member of Parliament was contemplating moving himself to the Caribbean permanently to be near Lucinda, who had been living here with her aunt and uncle since her mother's death. God forbid!
He felt Hamilton's eyes on them with every step into the dining room, and it was all he could do to pull out Elizabeth's chair properly and seat himself opposite her. Fortunately, he had two more guests between himself and Sir Reginald, so he would not have to look at the man's elegant, smirking face throughout the meal—for which he was immensely thankful, because he feared he would wind up unable to keep his food down.
He felt twice relieved when conversation at last turned to the impending nuptials of Lucinda Hamilton and Commodore Norrington. "We are to take our honeymoon in Paris," Lucinda was saying happily. "Poor James has not been back to England since he arrived here as a lieutenant in the Royal Navy."
"Ahem, it is quite true," Norrington confessed, smiling at Lucinda. "I shall have to rely upon my wife's guidance in reacquainting myself with all the finer things that Europe has to offer." Will thought he did detect a fondness in the officer's manner toward Lucinda. She was beautiful, to be sure, but now with Elizabeth in the seat next to her Will felt there was no comparison. Elizabeth, with her darker skin, hair, and liquid eyes, gave off an aura of depth and complexity, even mystery. Next to Elizabeth, Lucy Hamilton's pale features and dazzling smile were rather bloodless.
"Dear me," said Governor Swann, "our Commodore absent for nearly two months! I shudder to think if the fort will still be standing by the time of his return!"
They all laughed on cue. "Tell me, Commodore, how is the construction of my daughter's house coming?" came the already-much-reviled voice of Reginald Hamilton from two seats beyond Will.
"It is nearly complete, Sir Reginald," replied Norrington easily. "All that remain are a few, shall we say, aesthetic touches," they all chuckled along with him again, "and my bride shall find a home of her own awaiting next Sunday."
"It's such a lovely thing," sighed Lucy.
"My dear girl, is it entirely proper for you to see it?" exclaimed a tall, matronly woman with an enormous feather in her hair from further down the table.
Norrington chuckled, "I do beg your pardon, Mrs. Fitzgerald, but I fear it was my doing. Being an uncultured soldier all my life has its disadvantages, one of them being that I am quite unprepared to give direction in the construction of the type of house best suited to be the residence of a lady."
Lucy beamed, "And as it is to be my home, James has been very kind in allowing me to give some direction. It's rather small, of course, but then a grand palace is hardly seemly for a colony." They all laughed again. "There are twelve guestrooms, each with its own fireplace. Not that fireplaces are needed so desperately here in the Caribbean, as James informs me, but I simply could not become accustomed to living without a fireplace in the winter. I wonder how my blood shall take to this climate!" She fanned herself expressively. "And there are forty windows—very great windows, to let in the breezes in the summer, and a splendid verandah."
Somewhere in the long description, a very cold knot seemed to settle in Will's insides. Everyone else at the table, Elizabeth included, was listening to Lucy with attentive curiosity, even envy for the young bride about to move into her own home. "It's rather small, of course…"
How long would it be before Will could afford to build Elizabeth any sort of house? Let along one with, what was it? Twelve guestrooms? His practical side knew that Elizabeth would not think twice about lacking such things, but here and now, seated in this room of glittering splendor listening to this conversation of all that Lucy Hamilton's fiancé was giving to her, he felt ill. I'm a madman. How could I hope to offer Elizabeth anything that even begins to amount to what she deserves, what she has a right to? How can I possibly live up to what is expected for her?
The object of his tormented thoughts was staring fixedly at him. Will found himself suddenly looking directly into Elizabeth's anxious eyes across the table. His face must have betrayed him, and he cursed himself for giving her cause for alarm. He dropped his eyes to his plate, in time to hear Norrington say, "And thus, we've only three days remaining before all these mad formalities are complete."
"And it cannot be soon enough for you, eh, Norrington? Eager to settle down to wedded bliss?"
"I confess, Lord Henry, and I can only hope that Lucinda shares my anticipation," replied Norrington, smiling at Lucy in a way that confirmed Will's suspicion that there was truly a bond between them. Norrington had proposed less than three months ago, and already their wedding was upon them.
As Sir Reginald raised a toast to the happy couple, Lucy fondly took Norrington's hand, and Will felt a stab of intense physical pain at the sight of the diamond ring sparkling upon her finger. He himself had proposed six months ago, but he had had no ring to give Elizabeth. I have nothing to give Elizabeth. Across the table as more talk of wedding plans and wedding gifts floated around them, Elizabeth's brown eyes were huge as she stared at Will in dismay.
***
As the meal mercifully wound to an end, Elizabeth was cursing herself. She had been horribly selfish in cajoling Will into coming here tonight. She knew being among the wealthy made him uneasy, even at her side, but she had asked him to come solely due to the fact that she would enjoy the affair more with him than without him. And so she had all but bullied him into coming, without a thought for the consequences. Oh Will, I'm so sorry!
When at last they'd finished the dessert and rose from the table, Elizabeth intended to fling formalities to the winds and go straight to Will's side. It had been all she could do not to slide down in her chair as his face had gone steadily paler, and his expression more forced, throughout the meal. But no sooner had she started around the table than she found herself blocked by the rather large obstacle of one Sir Reginald Hamilton. "Are we to lose the pleasure of your company so soon, Miss Swann?" he asked in that voice that might have sounded silky to other women, but merely felt rather slimy to Elizabeth.
Feeling her heart beginning to race in desperation, she stammered, "I…no, of course not, Sir Reginald. I am just…I must…forgive me," she gracelessly sidestepped around him, heading for Will's retreating back into the parlor. "Will!" she hissed, catching his arm.
He turned and looked at her with stormy eyes. Desperately, she threw convention to the wind and drew him from that well-decorated viper pit across the hall into the darkened conservatory. It was stuffy from being closed off, so Elizabeth pushed a window open and pulled him in front of it. "Will, forgive me."
He looked at her in surprise. "Why?" he asked in a flat voice. "It's not you; it's me. I'm worthless to you."
Her stomach twisted at the bitterness in his voice. "No, you mustn't think that--"
"Why not?" he whispered furiously, his eyes bright with emotion. "What do I have to offer you in a marriage—other than a lifetime of poverty," he added in a bitter voice.
She could not stand to hear him speak so, and pressed a hand over his mouth. "I want only what you offered me from the beginning. Yourself, love. You know that I want only you. No, Will," she seized his hands when he started to protest. "If James Norrington had offered me all the mansions and diamonds in Europe, I would still have chosen you."
Will sighed, and she raised a hand to his face, caressing his cheek gently. He drew forward and let his forehead rest against hers. After a long moment, he murmured, "I'm sorry. I will succeed in this, Elizabeth." She nearly gasped in relief to hear the determination return to his voice—the same determination that had once saved both their lives. "No matter how much or how long I must work, I shall build you a house, and we shall marry."
Elizabeth's relief chose to manifest itself in the form of a hysterical giggle, and Will looked at her in confusion. Unable to properly explain her mirth, she simply flung her arms around his neck. "I love you," she sighed, managing to keep her voice serious. "And I would gladly marry you now and live with you behind the smithy."
Will smiled hesitantly while searching her eyes, clearly trying to discern if she was joking. As it happened, she wasn't, but then he grinned more broadly. "I am sorry, my lady, but our wedding shall have to be postponed until I can afford to keep you in style." His tone grew haughty, reminding her of Sir Reginald's, and she giggled. "You shall have a mansion on a hill with fifteen guestrooms--"
"Only fifteen?" she asked coyly. "My dear boy, that's far too small. I demand twenty!"
"Very well, twenty it is," Will replied, pointing his nose upward and adopting an even snootier accent. "There shall be four hundred windows and a bonfire in each room--" She nearly collapsed with laughter. "And you shall have a diamond ring the size of a billiard ball!"
Gasping with laughter, she wiped her eyes and admitted, "I never truly cared much for diamonds. It seems a lot of fuss for a stone that looks like cut glass." She slid her arms around his waist, glad to see him in better spirits. "And you may keep your twenty bedrooms and hundred windows. I will be content with any house so long as it is ours. And I don't need a ring."
He embraced her tightly, his voice muffled by her hair. "Really?"
"Really." They gazed out the window, the moon providing the only light into the room, and she turned her face toward his. "Never doubt it, William Turner. Whether you are a pirate or a blacksmith, I am yours, and you shall never be rid of me."
She felt him sigh against her. "Then it appears I have no choice but to surrender."
A sudden rap on the conservatory door sent them leaping apart. "Elizabeth! Your father's looking for you!" hissed Lucy's voice from without.
Elizabeth sprang for the door, Will a step behind her, and a moment later Governor Weatherby Swann encountered his daughter, her unsuitable suitor, and Miss Lucinda Hamilton engaged in perfectly proper conversation admiring the chandelier above the staircase.
To Be Continued…
Coming Up Next: The Commodore ties the knot, we get introduced to a mysterious and beautiful sword…and the wedding reception ends in disaster for Will and Elizabeth.
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