Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean or its characters.

Author's Note: Welcome to chapter five of "Rubicon"! I'd like to thank everyone who read and left feedback for the last chapter, merry, ElfLuver13, sudoku, and Astraeas Dreams. You're kind comments were greatly appreciated. As always, I do not have a beta for this fic, so any spelling or grammatical errors that occur are my fault and my fault alone. Enjoy!

March 17, 1731

Dearest Diary,

I am much more rested now that I have slept. And only such rest could be found in the arms of one so dearly loved and dearly missed. No longer am I weary or miserable or distraught. Content. Yes, that is word. I am content and so very pleased. It seems that separation, that nearly two years apart has not caused our love to suffer. And I am most happy for it.

We breakfasted together and Cutler told me a great many things. His time in the Caribbean has not been without incident. That meddlesome pirate, that Jack Sparrow has caused him much grief. Cutler told me the man is rumored to be dead and I am glad for it. I'll not have a worthless wretch disturb our happiness. Let the devil have at him, I say.

I have not seen much of Port Royal, but already I find it pleasant. The little I saw of the garden amazed me. Only in books and paintings had I viewed such exotic plants. The air here is sweeter too, fragrant, like the perfume worn by fashionable ladies. Cutler says the weather can be most harsh at times and I should learn to ignore the heat. I think it should be a nice change though. England, while lovely, was damp and chilled at all times. I should like to see the sun now.

As to the house in which we reside, it is most splendid. In the foyer there is a grand staircase and a bright chandelier that welcomes each visitor. The adjoining room is a sort of parlor, but the furniture is dark and so are the curtains. I don't care for the style of the carpet at all and Cutler told me he meant to replace it. A parlor should be cheery, in my mind, warm and well-appointed. The previous owner of this house must have lacked some taste.

The nursery, however, is most beautiful. The walls are a light blue and there is a balcony that overlooks all of Port Royal. Adjustments must be made, yes. I should like the old four poster bed removed and stored away. But in end, I find it most fitting for our young son.

I had much to attend to, as it was. After breakfast a letter arrived from a local woman. Cutler told me she was the wife of some naval officer, charming but a bit foolish. She had invited me to tea the next day.

I was not tempted by her offer and Cutler said I should turn it down anyway. The wife of a lord should not be entertained by someone she is not acquainted with, especially a person of the lower classes.

I replied with a hastily scrawled note, giving her a meaningless excuse.

I then took up a seat in the so-called parlor to await the arrival of several merchants. The first was the seamstress of course. Apparently, the women of Port Royal hold her in high esteem. They say she knows the most of London's fashions. But I know better.

The designs she presented me with were nearly a year old and I was very put out. I spent much of the hour detailing the changes in dress. She altered her designs, made the skirt fuller, added a good deal of lace around the collar and continuously told me that she was honored to serve Lord Beckett's wife.

I finally dismissed her and then followed the carpenter, the silversmith and the milliner. The latter occupied the most of my time.

Afterwards I retired to the gardens and strolled about for a good while. Cutler was in town, meeting with Mr. Mercer and Mr. Norrington.

I like Mr. Norrington a good deal better than Mr. Mercer. Though he was always polite to me, I found Mercer to be harsh. Cutler is in constant need of his assistance though. His work with the East India Trading Company can be most dangerous, evident by Jack Sparrow's escapades. He must have a harsh man, I suppose, someone who might intimidate any pirate.

Though Cutler is quite intimidating enough. And I am so proud of him for it. Cautious and meek men achieve nothing. The same, I believe, holds true for women. Lucretia, while noble, could not resist Tarquinius. Women ought to be strong and cunning, if only for their own protection.

I enjoyed my time spent in the gardens and took young Cutler along with me. He fussed some, but I was able to soothe him by pointing to all the pretty birds that sang. They enchanted him, I think. He fell silent and watched them flutter back in forth in an array of colors.

During the afternoon I had much time to think. And think I did. There was a certain incident at breakfast that concerned me.

As it was, Mr. Norrington joined us briefly and Cutler questioned him regarding his duel with uncle. Poor Mr. Norrington. I do pity him, truly. He seems to terribly lost and alone. Cutler even told me that he was for a time engaged to that wretched Miss Swann. I fear the man is suffering in some way. But that is not why I saved him. No, not at all.

I knew Mr. Norrington had not completed his task. He had only wounded uncle, left him alive and breathing. There must be some gentleness left in him, I think. I can see it in his eyes sometimes, a brief flash, a distant glimmer. He is like a crushed rose. Petals bruised and torn, but still beautiful.

I knew Cutler would be most upset with him, terribly upset. And so I lied. I told my husband that Mr. Norrington spared uncle's life only to please me. I am not sure if Cutler believed me, but he accepted my explanation and sent Mr. Norrington away.

At once I felt so overcome with guilt. I should never lie to my husband, I love him so. I cannot even begin to recall all that he has done for me, the affection he has bestowed upon me, the tender fidelity.

But as I thought it over, I realized I had only lied to protect Cutler. It was for his own good.

Mr. Norrington is a worthy man and he is quite valuable to Cutler. He seems to know much of the Caribbean and he is loyal. If he had told my husband the truth, I know Cutler would have been quite angry and punished him. That would have been irrational, I think. He needs Mr. Norrington and it would have been a great shame to lose his service just now.

I saved my husband from his irrationality, from the harm his rage would have brought. I am not like Lucretia after all.

Cutler has just come home. He is moving through the house, calling my name. He knows to find me in the garden.

Lady Anne Beckett.