Author's Note: Hello and welcome to chapter nine of "Rubicon". This chapter jumps ahead a bit and is meant to provide a small break between the events of the masquerade and what's to come. I would like to thank everyone who took the time to read and leave feedback for the last chapter ElfLuver13, sudoku, NazgulQueen, DemonicSymphony, Faith-Catherine, Tiera-Tarie and Astraeas Dreams. Your comments are greatly cherished, thank you all! As always, I do not have a beta for this fic, so any mistakes that appear are my fault and my fault alone. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean.

April 7, 1731

Dearest Diary,

I have scarce had time to myself these past few weeks. Modest afternoon tea parties, lectures on the virtues of Grecian philosophers and genteel concerts have filled most of my time. It seems that all of Port Royal wishes to impress me, or so Lady Jane said.

She says that never before has such a quiet place hummed with a thrilling social schedule. It is most ridiculous, I think and she agrees. The local gentry make lowly attempts to increase their status. It is nearly laughable, but I am polite. They cannot compare to England, no one can.

The opulence of London, the theater, the art and wealth. No. The Caribbean shall never be England. I suppose I must accept this rustic setting with good grace. But Cutler eases my plight as does Lady Jane. Without them I think I should go quite mad.

Just last Thursday, Lady Jane and I attended a lecture on classic history. The speaker (I cannot recall his name) tried rather unsuccessfully to compare Julius Caesar and Alexander the Great. (He should have left that to Plutarch, in my opinion.) Shortly after the lecture, some of the ladies and gentlemen gathered for refreshments in a small garden. There, I overheard the talk of one foolish young girl. She is the daughter of a Navy Captain and I did not even bother to learn her name, she vexed me so.

Standing amongst her companions, she tittered and laughed shrilly.

"I say that Marc Antony was a much better man that Caesar," she said. "At least he found some enjoyment in his existence. My, I should have loved to attend on of his grand banquets!"

I thought I should faint upon hearing such mindless chatter. Poor Lady Jane sighed and shook her head.

"Thank God for you, dear Anne," she said and walked away, vowing not to listen to such stupidity.

I would have followed her, but that young wretch continued on and on. She insisted that Marc Antony was a great man and Cleopatra was a wondrous woman. I could barely keep myself from throttling her.

"Have you ever read the works of Plutarch?" I asked her at last. She stared at me for at least a minute.

"Why yes, some of it," was her reply. "Though I did not understand all that business about Gaul. Rather silly, if you ask me. Caesar should have let them be."

I managed to restrain my anger. Cutler says I have a vile temper, though it takes a good while to work myself up into a fury.

"Than you have no proper place in society!" I said and walked away. She stood there for a long time, quite dumbfounded.

Lady Jane congratulated me thoroughly. She has become a dear friend, I think. We are two peacocks in a musty henhouse. Though I am afraid I have not been wholly honest with her. When she inquired as to my cough, I lied. I said I had a cold.

I do not have a cold.

It has been hard keeping such a secret, especially from dear Cutler. He is most observant and questions me more than anyone. I have learned to take care every time I cough now, pressing a handkerchief to my lips to try to stifle the sound.

I have not told him of the few specks of blood I have seen upon my handkerchief. He says I often look pale and my eyes are swollen. I tell him nothing. Oh, I should not wish to worry him. He seems quite troubled with his duties here.

Cutler speaks of Governor Swann often. He told me, the night after our masquerade, of the man's full part in this sordid tale. Apparently, Swann pledged his allegiance to my husband in exchange for a reprieve for his daughter. But of late, the old man has not kept to his word.

Cutler fears he will turn his coat. And so he told both Swann and Norrington that Miss Elizabeth was dead. Now this is not true, but it shocked them enough to hear it. I do not think he should have told Admiral Norrington though (yes, he is an Admiral now) he seems so heartbroken.

I do not see Admiral Norrington often now. But when I do, he always greets me politely and looks at me in a pained way. I have added his name to my nightly prayers.

I feel I should write only of happy things. And lovely happy things have happened. Lady Jane and her husband have invited Cutler and I to a foxhunt. Lord Nesbitt is hosting the hunt at his plantation just outside of Port Royal. It should be a pleasant change, I think. Cutler is most pleased. In fact, he had two foxes imported from England to chase after. I am amazed the animals did not die during the crossing.

The ship bearing the foxes also brought grand news to me. A letter, from Harriet. She is most well and expecting her first child. So joyous was I that I read the letter over many times and now keep it in a small box upon my dressing table. She did not mention the incident with uncle and I am glad for that. Perhaps uncle was shamed enough to hold his tongue or perhaps Harriet now sees him for what he truly is. I care not, as long as she is not angry with me.

When my time is not distracted with frivolous concerts and gatherings, I spend every moment with my son. Oh how he grows! Though I am afraid his temper has not improved.

He cries often and loudly. One such evening, when he would not quiet, Cutler and I took him out into the garden. The soft air calmed him some, but he squirmed in my arms until I thought I should drop him.

We sat upon the lawn and Cutler took his son upon his knee. Young Cutler quieted then and listened to his father speak. My husband told many tales, stories that we enjoyed as children, stories of knights and ladies and dragons.

I do not think young Cutler understood much. After all, he is under a year old. But still, he enjoyed the sound of his father's voice and the attention we lavished on him.

He has begun to talk himself, murmuring small, nonsensical words at first. Now he calls for us, forming our names on his tiny lips. "Ma" and "Da" That is all he knows. I love hearing his sweet laughter and seeing his smiles. A shame that he must be raised in such a crude place.

The hour grows late and I am weary. I tire easily now, too easily. Though whenever Cutler approaches I try to appear vigorous. He seems to think I am or so I hope.

Lady Anne Beckett

Author's Note: I actually have several one-shots written that go along with the "My Friendliest" and "Rubicon" series, if anyone would like to read them. They were originally posted on LiveJournal but I would be happy to post them here for everyone to read. Please let me know. Thanks for reading!