AN: bit slow updating, sorry…went to sunny Wales for the weekend. My family sat on me to stop me watching the football. Bit militaristically nationalist, they are…anyway, here we go, more morose Norrie, as promised…dd xx

10

'Will you not ask my sister to dance, Commodore?' Groves inquired politely, to break the somewhat awkward silence. 'We have only just arrived, and Alicia has not yet been introduced to any of these young men.'

Norrington blushed at his own rudeness, and obliged with a stuttered, bashful invitation. Miss Groves inclined her head slowly, still not meeting his eyes.

'I do apologise, Miss Groves,' Norrington said as he escorted her to the floor. 'I am a very inferior dancer. I confess there is little opportunity for such elegant pursuits on board the Dauntless.'

He was amazed to hear her laugh quietly at his pathetic attempt at humour. He was suddenly reminded that he was yet to hear her utter a single word, and resolved to engage her in such conversation as was within his capacity, not being of the most forward disposition himself.

As they twirled in the intricate steps of the dance, Norrington took the opportunity to observe his partner more closely.

'Well, then, Miss Groves, I trust this party is a more than adequate replacement for our doomed picnic?'

Miss Groves smiled briefly. 'I regret, no, Commodore. I am no great enjoyer of dancing and drinking.' Her voice was light and feminine, and Norrington felt his heart leap at the sound of it.

'That is truly sad to hear,' he replied, touching his palms to hers as the two sets interacted. 'Please be assured I am currently searching for a suitable date.'

'Thank you.' Her mouth twitched again into a half-smile, before her lovely head bent once more into submissive silence, and Norrington dared not address her further in her guarded state.

He was not, however, opposed to observing the swan-like curve of her pale neck, and the dark wisps of soft hair at the nape, escaping from her elaborate bun. Her understated plum dress suited her very well, he decided, contrasting perfectly the alabaster flawlessness of her shoulders and hands.

It was only when the minuet reached its climax, and he found himself at the opposite end of the set, with his palms suddenly touching Elizabeth's, that he realised he had been focussed upon a very different woman for minutes while the supposed object of his love was only metres away.

It was rather a shock to him to realise that there might be women other than Elizabeth who caught his bachelor's eye, having spent so many years and wasted nights dreaming of her and her enchanted smile. And, indeed, once he dared to look sideways at her, and caught the line of determined concentration setting her delicate jaw, he was painfully reminded of the love that had thus far defined his life.

Elizabeth turned to him, and smiled, as the dance flowed back to the original couples, and Norrington felt a flustered sense of relief to hear the quartet finally play a ridiculously protracted perfect cadence, signalling the end of the dance.

He bowed stiffly to Miss Groves, and escorted her by the hand back to where her brother stood, in conversation with some red-faced drunken nobleman Norrington had never seen before. Miss Groves raised her head a degree or so to smile her gentle gratitude for the dance, and Norrington felt this might be the right time for a refreshing walk in the night-drenched gardens. Alone. Without any confounded woman to distract, hinder or otherwise confuse him.

The night air was surprisingly cold when he stepped out of the melee into the solitude of the garden, down an impressive set of marble steps, flanked by ghostly urns and trailing plants which looked a hundred times more frightening and grotesque in the dark. Nevertheless he relished the cool air on his skin and the hint of a sea breeze cooling the film of sweat on his brow. That vile wig, he thought grumpily.

The Governor's house was set high on a hill above Port Royal, and even under the cover of darkness, Norrington could see the bay laid out below his current vantage point – the glassy sea in the distance, the outline of a hundred crooked streets populated with crooked, devious people, in their little houses, with their tiny candle lights to guide weary travellers into that hellhole.

Norrington paced for several minutes in the dark, up and down the stone terrace, before sitting heavily on the step and watching night birds flit across the clouded moon. His treacherous mind was spinning with illicit images – the hopeless thoughts he could not help but entertain – one little dance with Elizabeth, in a universe where drunken statesmen and giggling women, and Will Turner did not exist.

He could see it now, a huge glittering ballroom worthy of Versailles, and the two of them dwarfed by huge carved, gilt panels. He would be able to dance…confidently, effortlessly, with sanguine aplomb. And she would be gazing into his eyes, and promising, promising.

It was a typical fantasy, and he refused to let his mind spiral too far out of control. It was too hard, too utterly devastating to drag himself back to the harsh reality of his remote life.

He wondered, amid the cacophony of chittering crickets, whether Miss Groves had thought his dancing satisfactory. She was certainly a lovely young woman, but so vastly different to Elizabeth. She seemed to have no individual spark of fire that would lead her to rebel, or laugh with complete abandon, or run away and marry a blacksmith.

Norrington sat motionless for several more minutes, contemplating the tinkling blessing of Miss Groves' feminine laugh, and the jerk around his navel when he found himself face to face with Elizabeth's superior visage.

Not quite saved, then, he thought bitterly, feeling his skin pucker with goose bumps in the cold air.

'James?' his heart sank at the familiar female voice, and he deigned to look around. One less moment tormented by her beauty would lessen the blow.

He felt her sink down next to him and look out with him over the settlement.

'Why are you out here, sir?'

'I was too warm in the room.'

'Ah. I see.' There was a silence, but it was not awkward, somehow. It was simply a pause, while each considered the other and contemplated conversation and their shifting relationship.

'And…you hate dancing, if I am not mistaken?'

'I own it is not among my favourite pastimes, Miss Swann.' She seemed resigned to him calling her by a formal title.

'Yet, I did see your dashing figure gracing the dance floor, if my eyes do not betray me.'

'So you did.'

'Your partner danced very well. Miss Alicia Groves, I believe?' Norrington inclined his head, and wished they could let this subject alone, and talk of cakes and ships instead.

'You are good friends with her brother, are you not?'

'I am.'

'And do you see the young lady often, Commodore?' her voice had dropped a note or two, as though she was sharing some great secret, and Norrington found he had to lean towards her slightly to hear her words.

He understood immediately what she was implying, and felt ill. From her, of all people. He needed neither her pity nor her help to find happiness. The only way in which she might have somehow enriched and fulfilled his life was a dead journey, a pathway she had once dared to half-heartedly tread. But no longer.

'You are mistaken, ma'am. I have only met her once before this evening. I find her company tolerable, her brother's infinitely more so.'

'Oh?' Though he was staring straight ahead, he was sure she had raised a sceptical eyebrow. 'I was sure I saw some partiality on the part of the lady.'

Norrington refused to rise to her wily bait. 'Miss Swann, I am a bachelor of no mean fortune and of no great age. I have seen enough evidence of partiality on the part of ladies to last through this lifetime and well into the next.' He could not prevent a bitter edge from creeping into his voice, and wondered if he had sounded callous.

Elizabeth was silent in contemplation for a moment. 'But…what use is partiality if it is not reciprocated, Commodore?'

He turned his head slowly, and noticed her eyes were brimming with tears as she answered his gaze. He nodded solemnly, and smiled a little wanly, wishing he were anywhere but on the steps, discussing the fractured state of his heart with the woman responsible for it.

'You…you must be cold, Miss Swann,' he said lamely. 'Please allow me to escort you into the house.'

AN: man, this party seems to be dragging on a wee bit. Well, do enjoy and come back soon. Merci beaucoup xxx