AN: no, I still haven't watched it…but to console myself I'm writing away furiously…when I'm not drinking myself into an early grave with my friends from Germany. Man, those gals know how to down it…dd xx

21

He spent the days following his audience with Elizabeth in a state of bliss, his heart considerably lightened by the comprehension that he was in love with Miss Alicia Groves. This joyful mental condition hindered his work as Commodore far less than his previous melancholy, but he found it nevertheless rather difficult to focus on trivialities of business and diplomacy when his heart so much desired to ride to the plantation and ask in no uncertain terms for her lifelong commitment to him.

The correspondence between the two continued in much the same vein, although the Commodore took to signing his letters 'James' in a bold sign of his increasing regard for the recipient. Miss Groves, meanwhile, took great solace in tying the precious papers in a hair ribbon and stashing them beneath her pillow.

She was now fully recovered, and in a perpetual state of ennui in the provincial estate. She would wander in the lush gardens during the morning, and often took tea beneath the shade of a willow, reading, or staring silently at the distant sea, wondering what escapades her Commodore was undertaking on the Dauntless.

Her brother had noticed a gradual change in her comportment during the weeks of her recovery – her withdrawn little frown was replaced with a dreamy, far-off look that Groves could not understand. He was, at any rate, too late a riser to intercept the post, which invariably brought with it a carefully sealed letter from one J. Norrington. Thus he was unaware of the continuing and developing relationship between his old friend and his younger sister.

Miss Groves was careful not to mention the name of her friend to her brother, for she had enough experience of his interference in her life even as a young girl in England to realise that his intervention could only be of detriment to any progress she might have made. However, she was by no means certain of any defined connection between herself and the Commodore.

His letters were always polite and interesting, and continued long after she was recovered, and it was true that he had begun to sign himself 'James', as though he were an old and familiar acquaintance (something which gave Miss Groves great cause for happiness and hope, though she dared not return the compliment and end her letters 'Alicia') – however, unaccustomed as she was to any interest from the opposite sex, she could not discern his precise intentions.

In truth she was nervous to meet him again, though she knew she could not postpone the promised invitation to hear her play much longer. She thought it must appear rude and apathetic to her correspondent, and fought with herself to restrain the impassioned words which threatened to spill onto the paper.

She knew it would be highly improper to write such confessions of adoration and esteem to a man such as James Norrington, with his regal composure and high status in Port Royal. He could hardly be impressed by childish declarations of love, and so she refrained from telling the truth, but instead continued with her banal, safe stories of new arrivals at the estate, and progress in the building schemes.

It was Groves himself who provided her with the opportunity to see the Commodore again. Having forgotten any past designs for his friend and sister, Groves invited Norrington to dine with them purely as an old and valued friend.

This fact he announced rather abruptly at breakfast one morning.

'Elinor, dear, the Commodore is coming to dinner tomorrow evening, so please be sure to order enough wine.' He returned to his newspaper, unaware of the shock on his younger sister's face.

'Commodore…Commodore Norrington?' Miss Groves enquired, trying to keep her voice steady.

'How many other Commodores do we know, Lissy?' her brother replied somewhat impatiently. 'Haven't seen the man for aeons, and I'm sure he'll want to take a gander at the estate. Besides…he'll be happy to see you're better. He wrote you a fair few letters when you were ill, do you remember? You'll have to thank him for saving your life, won't you?' he tapped his boiled egg jauntily.

Miss Groves stared silently into space. The Commodore, at the estate! At the same dining table…perhaps sitting at her side, passing her the decanter of wine. She wondered if he would truly like to hear her play and sing…or whether his gift of sheet music had been merely a courtesy.

She was barely able to think straight that day or the next, her mind reeling with the thought of seeing him again after so long an absence. She felt that something intangible had shifted between them, at least on her part, though she would not be able to confirm this until she found herself once more face to face with him. It was with shame and trepidation that she remembered her appearance on the occasion of their previous meeting.

The thought of her gaunt face and faded eyes as she lay on her sickbed spurred her on to spend fretful hours before the glass in preparation for the Commodore, tying her hair this way and that, applying and removing rouge, practising her most charming smile.

It was in this state of despair that Elinor Groves found her some thirty minutes before the Commodore was due to arrive, sitting dejected at her dressing table, sobbing petulantly over a selection of hair ribbons.

'Why, Alicia, whatever is the matter?' Elinor asked anxiously, crossing to her sister-in-law's side and patting her heaving shoulders comfortingly.

Miss Groves, unable to speak coherently, shook her head mutely and motioned for the older woman to leave her alone, but to no avail. Mrs Groves stayed at her side, dabbing at her swollen eyes and whispering soothingly, until she had calmed down sufficiently.

'Now, come, Alicia,' said Elinor, gripping the younger woman's wrists and looking her in the eye. 'I must know what is troubling you.'

Miss Groves looked distractedly about, biting her lip. 'These…these wretched ribbons!' she exclaimed miserably. 'I…I cannot fix my hair to my liking…' she added, shaking her head at the thought of how vain and petty she sounded.

'Alicia…look at yourself,' the other said sternly. 'You are destroying your lovely appearance with all this needless crying. Now, let me dry your eyes and fix your hair.'

Miss Groves screamed internally. She could not articulate her feelings, her desire to look perfect on this most significant of evenings. She continued to sob quietly, dabbing ineffectually at her eyes with a damp handkerchief.

'Look at me,' Elinor continued in a kindlier tone. 'What is truly troubling you, child? I will be your confidante, if you will allow me this privilege. After all, I am not so much older than you. Perhaps I can be of some assistance…' she looked questioningly into the face of the tearful young woman before her.

'No…no, Elinor,' replied her friend. 'You found…your happiness, your home long ago…I fear you cannot help me to capture mine…' she trailed off vaguely and twined some of the hateful ribbons around her quaking fingers.

Elinor looked puzzled, and let her hands drop from their grasp on Miss Groves' forearms while she contemplated what might have moved the other so. 'Your happiness, Alicia?' she repeated. 'You are unhappy here? I…I do apologise if I have done anything to make you feel unwelcome here…and I am sure Theodore…' she stopped as Miss Groves held up a hand to silence her.

'Not you, my sister…how could I ever bear ill-will towards someone who has cared for me so completely…no, it is I, fool that I am, who is the cause for my current distress.'

'I implore you, do not put yourself down so!'

'I have such…such hopes and expectations…and I…I want so badly…to make my brother proud…to entertain and please my…his guest…and yet I know I never can…look at me, Elinor…so bland, so puffy-eyed…I am nothing, no class of woman beside….beside Miss Swann and others of her rank.'

In a flash, Elinor Groves understood precisely her sister-in-law's distress. She remembered similar hours of frustration, deliberating over hairstyles and dresses, and dreading to be in the same room as Theodore Groves lest he find her repulsive, or worse, ask her cousin to dance.

She ran a motherly hand up and down the other's thin arm. 'Alicia,' she whispered gently, 'wear your hair down this evening. It looks so much nicer that way.' She rose and looked meaningfully at her companion, who gave her a watery smile. At the door, she turned, and in a voice full of sympathy, said, 'Commodore Norrington would not want you to change yourself…'

Miss Groves' shocked face was a picture as Elinor left the room, smiling to herself.

AN: I know exactly how Alicia feels here…whenever I know I'm going to see…Sharpie (don't ask)…I always feel hideously ugly. Hmph. Next chapter: a rather uncomfortable dinner party with a very unsatisfying ending. Such is life. Dd xx