Author's Note: Hello and welcome to chapter nineteen of "Rubicon". I would like to thank everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter, Lyra Lupin, Tiera-Tarie, and Astraeas Dreams. I have no beta for this fic, so any grammatical or spelling errors that appear are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Pirates of the Caribbean.

September 12, 1731

Log,

I have decided that we shall have a party. A grand party, with fireworks to light the sky and music to charm the heart. After all, we deserve some cheer on this Godforsaken spit of land.

It has all been arranged. All of Port Royal is caught up in the frenzy, no all of the Caribbean. Word has spread and a fortunate few have received coveted invitations. They all whisper. "What is doughty Lord Beckett plotting now? Already he has conquered the waves, does he now intend to make war upon the land with such a fuss?"

Ah, what great leader has not been blessed with such fanfare? Did the Greeks and old Romans enjoy their games and sport? Did they not languish away in green groves, drinking wine from gold goblets and striking the lyre?

I say I deserve such cheer as does Anne. Parties delight her so and I should do anything to see the flush return to her cheek and joyful light glint in her eyes. She is weary yes, but happy. Or so she says. The planning of the party has fixed her mind on merry things and she has not time to worry over what her sister does in England. Nor does she have time to sit in her chamber, thinking over matters that should not cross the mind even in the light of day.

She bears the burden of my secret now and the weight of our child. Oh, I fear it will be too much for her.

The days have not cooled but the nights are now gentle. A round moon sails in the skies often and I have taken to staying awake at all hours, lest I should catch Anne sleep-walking. She does not traverse the halls quite so much now that the doctor has.

Doctor Hall visits nearly three times a week. He speaks to me little and I find I have not the heart to question him. Anne looks well though, much better than she did when the consumption first ensnared her. She bustles about the house and sometimes (when I reluctantly permit it) goes to town.

Ornate decorations have been purchased. And delicacies. For what should a grand party be without a sumptuous table? Wine casks fill the cellar and all day long, young lads have been rolling them to and fro.

I suppose I should not remain locked away in my study for the festivities are set for tonight. There is a certain air of excitement-and danger pervading Port Royal. Admiral Norrington was quick to notice it, as always.

I simply do not know what to think of the man. He is most obedient, yet something keen and cautious brews in his gaze. Does he know a secret that I do not? Does he have some sordid plan of his own to overthrow me? The law-abiding citizens of the Caribbean seem to hold some sort of nostalgic affection for him. As does Anne.

I trust my wife, more than I trust myself in many ways. But Norrington, well, I can put no evil past him. I am reminded of hearty Agamemnon, sailing home from Troy only to be murdered by a usurper who had seduced his wife. Does this man intend to do the same to me?

I pray not. Anne would not let the fellow near her, at any rate. Her devotion has never wavered and I know she is capable of no disloyal wickedness.

Though perhaps it is her pity that troubles me. She pities this Norrington and I worry that she might indulge him in some manner. Were he to ask her a malicious favor, veiled with innocence, she might aid him.

I only hope that her swift and clever mind stays her hand.

As it is, I have invited Norrington to the party. It is expected and ever do I struggle to obey the sacred rules of propriety. But I also wish to keep the man close at hand. Every movement shall be watched, each word calculated and digested. I will let no evil befall my household this evening.

Despite my suspicions, I am happy in the knowledge that my business upon the waves moves along smoothly. Jones refuses no order I give him and Swann's infuriating protests have fallen silent. And no other reports of Elizabeth Swann have reached my ears. Perhaps she was just a phantom, riding upon the sea as a lovely ghost with no place in either Heaven or Hell.

My dreams, likewise, have ceased. Anne makes no mention of specters haunting her as well. Should I be convinced that it was all an effect of those wretched summer months? The heat is known to torment the mind. Could it in fact, account for our nightmares?

There is much chatter coming from the garden. Looking out the window I can see the servants hurrying about. Some stop to admire the grand fountain that has so recently been placed upon the lawn, nestled about by thick hedges and patches of bright flowers. Undoubtedly such a magnificent sight will be the talk of all the Caribbean. And on the morrow tongues will wag as to how Lord Beckett and his lovely wife are surely the most gracious hosts.

I only hope that we might have some merriment tonight and that all trouble should be cast off in favor of joy. But what is this certain feeling of foreboding that fills me? Why do I sense a tremulous stillness, as when a storm blows in and rocks the waves with its fury? Why does my mind turn to thoughts of peril?

Ah, perhaps it is the ill effect of excitement and nothing more. A fragment, a mirage upon the horizon that I cannot discern nor ever will.

It is nothing more than fancy.

Anne calls. The hour stretches toward the evening. I must dress.

Lord Cutler Beckett.