AN: I'm finally back...my parents sprung (sprang? springed? My English seems to have suffered somewhat) a surprise trip to Denmark on me...which was very nice, relaxing and interesting, but contained very little (read: complete absence of) Internet access. Hence, all you lovely people who reviewed and sent me best wishes for Italy (which was wonderful, and ended in me drunkenly confessing my love to Sharpie. Argh.) have had to wait a whole fortnight to read this installment, which sees the inevitable proposal edge ever closer... thank you for your patience and much love...dd xx

30

'Checkmate, I believe,' Gillette said smugly, clapping the Commodore heartily on the shoulder. Norrington scowled.

'You're cheating,' he grumbled.

'I can assure you I am not,' replied his opponent. 'If I'm not mistaken, you owe me a leg of ham.'

'So it would seem,' Norrington said with bad grace. Two weeks had passed since his argument with Elizabeth, and he was still confined to his bed, although much more agile than he had previously been. His torso was still swathed in a large bandage, and it hurt to change position too abruptly, but he was quite able to sit and read or play chess with the officers who were dispatched to his house in regular shifts to alleviate his boredom.

Despite himself, he could not help from hoping that Mrs Manning would one morning bring some letter from the Groves' plantation with the post, which was invariably comprised of bills and dull, lengthy reports. Thus far, his wish had not been fulfilled, apart from a concerned letter from Groves himself, accompanied inexplicably by an atlas.

He was grateful for the distraction his friends provided (even Appleby's misguided attempt to serenade him with an air from 'Dido and Aeneas'), for more time listening to awful caterwauling and being swindled out of the contents of his kitchen meant less time thinking about the dreaded task ahead.

For as he lay on his back at night, unable to sleep due to the aching of his muscles, he could not stop his thoughts straying to Alicia Groves and the hiatus in their relationship. It was agonizing to him that she was living a matter of miles away, but that he dared not inquire after her or contact her. He knew her opinion of him was likely to have deteriorated significantly during the fortnight since she had fled his room, and wanted desperately to reassure her that he was truly sorry for the hurtful things he had said. He had begun writing countless letters to her, but they were inevitably consigned to the waste-paper basket, or shredded in aggravation. The fear gripped him that he would be similarly unable to talk to her once they met again, just as he could not find the right words to express himself on paper.

When Gillette came to visit again two days later, he found the Commodore on his feet, dressed in a nightshirt, limping around his room, proposing to his bedpost. The Captain watched in sly amusement for several moments, before entering the room.

'She'd be a fool to refuse you, sir,' he laughed, smirking as Norrington wheeled around in shock and embarrassment and scowled at him.

'You weren't meant to be watching, Captain,' he snapped, hobbling to a chair and sitting down gingerly.

'Well, you can ask my professional opinion, if you like.'

'Oh, yes, Gillette, and how many proposals of marriage have you made recently?'

'Well…two…but I don't think I was in much of a stable mental state either time, actually, sir…I'm pretty sure the second was a man…though it's hard to tell when one sees two of everything.'

'I see,' the Commodore said disapprovingly over the rim of a cup of tea. 'Well, as you can see, I am much improved and hope to be calling on Miss Groves this afternoon.'

Gillette looked concerned. 'You can barely walk, sir!'

'Exactly. What woman would have the heart to reject an invalid?'

The Captain stared, and frowned skeptically, unsure.

'That was a joke, Captain. You needn't look so suspicious.' Norrington smiled vaguely and began fishing his slice of lemon from his cup. Gillette laughed insecurely.

'Anyway, I shall be needing your help, Captain,' the Commodore continued, shifting carefully in his chair. 'You are my cunning diversion.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'You like Theodore Groves, don't you?'

'Well, yes, sir, of course, but I don't see…'

'I'm sure you'd like nothing better than to talk with him for several hours this afternoon, would you?'

Gillette marveled at the Commodore's changed character. It seemed that his sense of humour and vivacity had been triggered into action by his injury.

'Er…sir?' he asked tentatively.

'Mm?' the Commodore replied, otherwise engaged in examining a fresh scar on his knee, evidently a legacy of the duel with Armitage.

'Do you not think it might be…advisable to ask Theodore before you start planning to marry his sister?' Gillette flinched in anticipation of the Commodore's wrath. Instead, the patient looked thoughtfully at the younger man and pursed his lips in annoyance at himself.

'You know, you're right, Gillette,' he said slowly. 'Damn! Ah, I knew you would have some use, Captain,' he continued musingly. Gillette tried not to look affronted by the Commodore's unconscious dismissal of him.

So it was that, later that afternoon, refreshed by a jug of Mrs Manning's tonic and dressed in full naval uniform, the Commodore arrived at the Groves' plantation in his carriage.

His heart was beating wildly as Gillette helped him down, passing him his cane. He was very aware of Theodore Groves' protective attitude towards his sister, and recalled the shock on his face when he had first heard the Commodore declare his love for Alicia, before the duel. He wondered dumbly what on earth he was doing here, and tried to turn around and head straight back home.

'Don't be a fool, Commodore,' Gillette said sharply, guiding him by the arm towards the front door. 'I'd be thrilled to bits if you came and asked to marry my sister.'

'Oh, God, Gillette, what if she refuses me? I shall go mad…' he leaned heavily on the cane after knocking twice.

'From what I hear from Miss Swann, she's highly unlikely to do anything other than smother you with kisses,' replied Gillette solemnly, staring straight ahead at the door. Norrington groaned.

'That woman!' he hissed in exasperation. 'I do wish she would let me run my own life…'

'That's just what I said, sir,' Gillette said in reply. 'But she said you'd made such a poor job of it so far that it wouldn't hurt for her to step in. To be honest, sir, I think it's a better occupation than embroidery or painting or that sort of rubbish.'

Norrington looked sharply at the Captain, and was about to make a scathing comeback, when he heard footsteps within the house. He swallowed nervously.

'Good luck, sir,' Gillette said softly, stepping back as Theodore Groves himself opened the door.

'Commodore Norrington!' he exclaimed happily. 'What a pleasant surprise! We hadn't expected to see you on your feet for several days yet,' he continued, motioning for the two officers to enter.

Groves looked around the hall wildly. 'My wife and sister should be about somewhere, wait there a moment, sir, I'll just have a look around for them, they wouldn't want to miss you…' he began to walk away, but Norrington caught his arm with the hand not gripping the cane.

'Don't, Theodore, don't call anyone,' he said, his mouth dry. 'I should like to talk to you briefly in private…I…I have something of a rather delicate nature to ask you, if that is alright.' He could feel his heartbeat escalating.

Groves nodded in assent. 'Of course, James,' he said genially. 'Won't you come through to the parlour, gentlemen?' he motioned with his hand to the well-lit sitting room.

Gillette smiled ruefully. 'No, Theodore. I'll just stay here and look around a bit, if that isn't a problem.'

'Not at all, Captain,' Groves replied. 'My butler will be happy to bring you wine or tea if you like.'

The Commodore followed his host slowly into the parlour, his mind spinning with the various speeches he had composed, dissected and discarded during the previous sleepless night. He lowered himself onto a rigid armchair and licked his lips fearfully.

Groves sat down too, flicking out the end of his fine coat beneath him. 'So, James,' he said amiably. 'What can I do for you?'

Norrington opened his mouth, and paused. He could hear Gillette chatting to the servants outside in the hall, and the sound of plantation workers shouting and singing as they made their way to the fields. It was warm in the room, and his back was beginning to ache a little.

'Well, Theodore,' he began uncertainly. 'The fact is…I…you see, I've come to see you…well, I wanted to ask you…I thought it best to seek your…permission…that is, Gillette thought…and when I spoke to Miss Swann…well, I'm sure you understand…oh, dear, I seem to be making a dreadful mess of this,' he concluded miserably, massaging his temples in consternation.

Groves looked at him shrewdly. 'Have a nip of gin,' he said suddenly, rising and pouring two small measures at a counter in the corner, noting how the Commodore's hand shook as he handed it to him.

Norrington drank the stiff spirit in one, and wheezed a little as it burned the back of his throat. 'Ahh…much better, thank you, Groves,' he said, his eyes still watering. 'Well…quite simply, I…' he inhaled deeply, and felt the alcohol numbing his senses and his reserve.

'I would like to marry your sister,' he said firmly, setting his empty glass down on the table by his arm.

AN: and there you have it...but obviously, being the devious devil I am, I'm dragging out the inevitable for another two chapters. Hope it's worth it in the end. Come back soon, unless my parents decide we're all off to Brazil. Unlikely, I know...dd xx