The Best-Laid Plans

by etsfanfics

Pre-DMC courtship of Elizabeth and Will. After Will and Elizabeth free Jack from the gallows, the couple battles with class differences, political intrigue and an entire smithy of swords, as they set out together to explore the expanding boundaries of their relationship and build their dreams for a shared future of new adventures.

10. A Little Breather

A/N: If this is your first time reading this chapter, you can skip this author's note. For returning readers, a new scene has been added right before the final scene in the carriage.

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They'd hardly begun before an ebb crept into the waves of Elizabeth's kisses. Despite wishing for more, Will let her guide them to gentler waters, until their touch slowed to a lingering brush of their lips. They shared a final breath, after which they drew apart to prevent their hands reaching for more than each others' faces or shoulders. She gingerly removed her knee from its perch on his thigh to take a step back, and still his eyes and hands traced over her as she slipped away too soon, too soon.

With a laughing sigh, she let the tips of his fingers playfully hook hers for a moment longer.

"Don't worry—I have plenty of breath left yet. However, I believe we've likely subjected Estrella to enough torment as it is. Perhaps we ought to postpone it today, for her sake."

Though lighthearted, she seemed sincere in her sympathies for their minder.

Will simply smiled in resigned understanding. After all, he could think of no one else who would be nearly as sympathetic to his and Elizabeth's shared "entertainments" as Miss Trattles had thus far been. Still, he couldn't help breathing out an incredulous "Ha!" at the novelty of hearing the suggestion come from her mouth instead of his.

And although Elizabeth tapped his cheek in a lighthearted, teasing censure, although she left his hands empty when she turned to listen to their chaperone's sarcastic thanks for such "generous" consideration, for a moment there shot a sharp look from Elizabeth's eye that made it clear to Will she still intended to collect the rest of her prize… sooner or later.

Always later.

Inside, he pushed aside an impatient snarl. A sigh slipped out in its place while he straightened his back and gripped the edge of the stone landing he still sat upon. For a moment all he could do was sit and watch Elizabeth joke and tease loudly with Miss Trattles. Whatever enchantment for her had been cast on him as a boy had only grown to hold him more strongly with time. Watching the way she seemed to glow in her laughter, he thought it could have nothing to do with the penetrating heat of afternoon sun. And when she wrinkled her nose in a playful cringe, he felt her separation nearly as keenly as though she were still in another town, so deeply his hands urged to draw her back to him.

But her eyes kept turning towards him in questioning invitations to come play again. And he smiled.

Beneath those eyes and under his thoughts Will felt his heart's persisting jig, so unhurried in its stumbling back to its normal pace, even though their session had been far less intensive a sport than what he usually applied himself to. He wished to appear calm on the outside—she was right about their need to get things under control for now. But inside it almost felt like his blood had grown hot enough to be ceaselessly on the edge of a bubbling simmer. Just one simple glimpse of the delighted light in Elizabeth's face when she looked at him, and his feelings would threaten to boil over. And if he continued to listen to the richness of her laugh, considered the lingering essence of her scent and savor, remembered the lasting feeling of the shape of her face against his skin…

Restless, he ran his hands over the top of his unruly hair and pushed himself to his feet. Sooner or later, this game of waiting would come to an end. They would be together soon, truly. He could remember that, could hold onto it when he couldn't hold her.

Although "soon" was beginning to feel not at all soon enough.

Even so, time was passing. Two o'clock rang its bells around town, turning all their heads towards the smithy's rafters where the tones hovered in the air, heeding the chimed reminder of that very fact. Will felt his shoulders droop a little in spite of himself. Thirty little minutes left for intercourse away from her father's scrutiny. They flew by so quickly… What else could they do with such a small period of time?

"That leaves us half an hour," he thought out loud. "We could do another round or two, with a couple changes. There are a few more things we could try, if you would like to end on a note of a more proper lesson."

Elizabeth opened her mouth to answer with obvious enthusiasm.

Miss Trattles cut her off. "I'm not so sure either of you can handle any more of this 'lesson' today, no matter how proper you may mean it to be, Mister Turner."

Will's returning argument was stopped by having to resist barking a laugh at the reaction crossing Elizabeth's face: a strange, open-mouthed mix of amused agreement and gross offense that somehow communicated his protestations just as well as whatever words he would have chosen.

"Don't give me that!" Miss Trattles immediately snapped back at her mistress, although the sternness of her demeanor was undercut somewhat by her own obvious mirth. "You may have never gone to a schoolhouse, miss, but you've mastered the role of class mischief-maker all the same. Half the time you may have actually been paying attention to his teachings, but the other half of the time you've done nothing but attempt to transform 'laying one on' Mister Turner into a chance at laying yourself on him—"

Boisterous laughter erupted from Will and Elizabeth, together and all at once.

"And don't you think you're any more innocent, Mister Turner!" Miss Trattles pushed on, trying valiantly to point an accusing finger in his face without breaking into her own chuckling. "You came up with your own rules this time—your mouth has been a wanderer today in every sense of the word! And speaking of wandering, don't think I didn't see your hands just now: you had more than half of whatever's-left-of-your-mind to get in one last 'touché' in a very questionable area—"

Will threw his head back in a cackle, unable to help himself or completely refute the accusation, while Elizabeth pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, shoulders bouncing with hiccuping glee.

"What about you?" she managed to squeak back. "You didn't say a word or move a muscle against our mischief—if anything you seemed content to watch!"

"That's true," Will agreed, sharing an amused look with Elizabeth over Miss Trattles' startled expression. "Elizabeth stopped us for your sake, not the other way around. If I'm a poor teacher, and she's a poor student, then you're a poor chaperone for letting us get on as we have!"

Miss Trattles looked genuinely offended at that, crossing her arms in a huff.

"I suppose that's true! But it needn't be that way, does it? If my generosity is not appreciated, maybe I ought to simply do the job the way you father prefers it be done an—"

"No!" Will and Elizabeth gasped, each taking reflexive steps forward in unison.

Silence hovered behind their dismayed shout, and for a moment Miss Trattles simply looked at them smug as can be while the seconds slipped away. If it weren't for how high his heart had jumped in its alarm, he would have laughed again. It felt a little ridiculous and pathetic, but it was obvious how the boundaries expected between him and Elizabeth were already proving much more difficult to maintain, even with their carefree attitudes. If he had to take his inhibitions back to anything like they were before, constantly pretending his feelings for her were only a placid and lukewarm fondness no different than that found between casual acquaintances, he was certain he would lose his mind and restraint altogether before their year was through.

Especially because he didn't seem to be alone in such pitiable feelings.

"Don't you dare even think it, Estrella!" Elizabeth continued, her eyes aflame and voice already bubbling again with the humor that had been chased out of Will's bones. "I may have never been to the schoolhouse, but I've had my minders before. And you know as well as any how it was I mastered my mischief making on them."

"Well if it came to that, I would simply quit!" Miss Trattles shrugged breezily.

Though he knew it mostly to be a joke, Will felt a pang of unease flash down his back and saw Elizabeth's smile drop hard and swift. It was a chilling, sober breeze of unpleasant truth that whisked away another half of the humor in the situation.

Miss Trattles's narrowed eyes leveled a sharp, canny look upon them both. "Although, I don't believe any of us here are interested in that outcome. Are we?"

The corners of Will's lips began to twitch upward as he shook his head in response.

Speaking of students and schoolhouses: somehow he felt like a thirteen-year-old lad being scolded with his friend for tramping through Mister Taylor's bushes again. Actually, stealing another glance at Elizabeth, he realized with her hair mussed in wayward tendrils, more than a couple of patches of dust and dirt upon her clothes, her sword clutched in her hand, she looked not all that different from those past times of shared tomfoolery. Those were the very times the first thoughts came to him of one day being parted from her, and they had squeezed his heart so suddenly and fiercely with fear, he thought he'd lose the ability to breathe…

"Not in the least," was her own resolute answer, jolting Will back from his wandering thoughts. She followed by leveling out the sword she still held in her hand in, letting the steel glisten in a light that matched the excitement returning to her eyes. "Not until I've gotten more opportunity to master this, anyhow."

Miss Trattles shook her head. "That'd be a better argument if you actually dedicated your time to it."

Will nearly choked. Time! Thirty minutes! They had to prepare to go soon, and here they'd been wagging their chins like time didn't exist at all. Before Elizabeth could return another barb, he reached his hand out to her sword and guided her blade down. When this earned a confused look from her, he shot her a returning look of sympathy.

"As much as I'm genuinely enjoying this exchange, the sun is moving. And I'd prefer not to lower your father's impression of myself any further by arriving late and slovenly. Let's call another truce for now and just admit we're all poor at our jobs here."

Miss Trattles rolled her eyes, but nodded in agreement. However, Elizabeth didn't seem ready to go quite so far as to admitting such faults outright.

"Well, who can really blame us?" she joked, sidling back to his side with her good humor climbing high and her falling voice low. Her fingers slipped back into his, warm and welcome. "We each seem determined to create for each other such appealing distractions…"

In an instant, the heat was in his blood again, with the way she was looking at him. He would have snatched her back up if he could, drawing her close and inviting her to rejoin him in their more intimate diversions. Instead he made due with letting out a carefully controlled sigh, taking the consolation of sharing a smile and squeezing her hand.

"With that in mind," he suggested further, once his tongue regained its bearings, "perhaps we can also agree we could use drinks and cooler air by now."

"Please!" Miss Trattles answered, with a hearty nod.

Elizabeth's mouth formed the shape of a happily tempted 'Ooh.' "I am fairly thirsty, now that you mention it."

As was he.

So with both women following in hearty agreement, Will closed shop. Together the little group shuffled out the smithy's back door towards the house. Elizabeth brought her sword along, not quite willing to bid it farewell just yet. Her delight in it delighted him, giving him a chance to revel in the rare gratification of granting her a proper gift—and not just any gift, something useful, something which he knew could become a personal treasure.

Once inside the house, Elizabeth took a heavy seat upon the nearest chair and sighed. While Will had chosen not to say anything, he'd noticed she seemed to take the stairs with a stiffer gait, and she seemed all the more grateful to have a seat at the top. He scooted her and Miss Trattles into place at the table, where he propped her sword in a temporary place of honor—a makeshift centerpiece decoration for the simple setting of wooden cups he began to lay out for their little party. As he poured his guests their drinks, he noted the figure of his master, who hadn't left for the warehouse auctions yet for whatever reason, bowing his head as he reached for his hat and silently shuffled towards the door.

'Not yet—I need you!' Will thought. And he took a step towards his master, intent on delaying him one more moment.

"Surely you cannot mean to creep away now, Mister Brown," Elizabeth's voice called suddenly. "I was looking forward to an opportunity to finally become reacquainted with one another."

Surprise drew Will and Brown's attention to her, stopping each man in his tracks before they turned their eyes upon each other. It had never been spoken of directly, and therefore there were no stated reasons why, but somehow they'd both seemed to come to a silent understanding that Brown's presence would best be minimal around Will's newer, more "refined" visitors. However, at this moment, there was little time for even nonverbal debate about it. In fact, already the opportunity seemed to have slipped passed: Elizabeth had slid her cup across the table as an offering for Will's master, a well-practiced display of cordiality.

"Please sit," she requested, "and come say hello."

Brown's wide and wrinkling eyes looked to his apprentice, hesitant and also candidly hopeful. Would it be alright…?

Will hesitated, debating. It still felt novel and strange, the meshing of their two worlds. But as filled with imperfections as it was, this was a world Elizabeth would have to come to know one way or another. It wasn't as though Elizabeth was ignorant to the challenges encumbering his master—she'd learned enough in pieces over the years. Her expectations for the man would be fair. And there was no denying the fortune of catching Brown when the man was sober for a first formal chat, although the odds had admittedly been much improved lately.

He had been improving lately. And if Will never gave the man any opportunity to feel human, never granted him the chance to act like the good man Will knew he was inside, what incentive would there ever be for the old Brown to come back out of the shadows? He was still good. Somehow, Will was finding he needed to believe that.

So he simply nodded, seeking out another cup for the table for Elizabeth, along with a little extra beer.

His cup had yet to be served, Brown yet to be fully seated, but Elizabeth was already smiling at the master smith with accomplished grace.

"I've heard a great deal about the work you've done restoring the neighborhood and harbor, Mister Brown. My father is deeply grateful for your generous workmanship…"

"Is he now?" Brown blinked with visible skepticism. "I wouldn't think a man so high and busy as he would take notice of such things."

"Of course he would! The welfare of our citizens is always his concern," she replied. "Now, Will has mentioned a few projects I'm quite curious about, if you don't mind speaking about yourself for my sake for a moment…"

Will almost felt irrelevant next to the ease with which she commandeered the conversation. Within seconds Elizabeth had proved her upbringing as a hostess of inspiring value. By her the party was swiftly launched into animated dialog, and Brown's bowing head was raised, the gloom on his face cast away altogether by her kind and clever flatteries. Within a handful of minutes, his master was grinning at her as though he was with an old friend, and for a little while Will could only watch her work in wonder. But her charm was also turned on him, and before long his mouth was summoned open to join their conversation with his own pleasure. And of course, Miss Trattles was drawn in as well.

So it was lady, maid and apprentice soon came to recount together the highlights of Will and Elizabeth's brief but lively duel for a bemused master blacksmith. As the little tale went along, each took increasingly louder amusement from the story leading up to the alarm Elizabeth had caused with her nearly bone-shattering attack, until laughter filled in where the sunlight could not reach in the room's shadows.

"I confess I'm already beginning to feel some after effects," Elizabeth declared with a guffaw, rubbing one hand over her right knee. "I feel more foolish than clever now. Tomorrow I somehow must be the most exemplary guide for our new staff. Just you wait: I'll be crawling up the staircase and assuring our housekeeper everything is perfectly normal."

A fresh ripple of laughter swept about the table. Will felt his cheeks beginning to pinch from how much of the day he'd been grinning and giggling. With his sights set on Elizabeth, his mind pictured her bedecked in her wardrobe's finest fashions, dazzling, colorful… and clawing her way back up the staircase to her chambers on her hands and knees, as though she were hauling herself up a Jamaican mountainside in the most absurdly elegant way she could attempt. His imagination added Miss Trattles and the rest of the staff to the mental picture, following their mistress' lead up and down the stairs to support her claimed normality—all just to avoid admitting to a little aching in her limbs…

"I'm not sure what the problem is, miss," Miss Trattles eventually joked. "For you, that is perfectly normal."

"With this one it is, leastways," added Mister Brown. As he did, he surprised Will by waving a finger in his direction to indicate he was 'the one' being talked about. "Between his wild luck and all the harebrained ideas he's tried in the past, I genuinely believe it's more than one miracle he's managed to stay in one piece this long."

Will caught Elizabeth's knowing smirk almost immediately, and he wondered which of their many misadventures she was imagining when she replied, "Oh, believe me, sir, I know."

"Actually," Mister Brown continued with a laugh, tapping Elizabeth's hand as his reminiscence came alive in his eyes, "Your little injury reminds me how, once a few years ago, the lad laid himself out for nearly half a week, working out some crazy scheme—"

"It wasn't a scheme," Will cut in, laughing at the suddenly recalled memory and feeling his cheeks grow a little warm from relived embarrassment. "I was trying to master a special maneuver—"

"That's right!" Brown exclaimed, punctuating his excitement by grabbing and tapping his cup to the tabletop. "In any case, it was one of your little sword tricks you was so obsessed with. You really overdid it that time, you stupid lamb. Tell the ladies how it happened."

The women's faces turned towards Will in unison. Time was passing, he knew it. But Elizabeth's curious mirth dazzled through the room's dimness, and, ah, there was his blood simmering for her again. She so loved stories… It was one of the first things he'd learned about her, watching her enraptured expressions flicker in the lantern lights, while Mister Gibbs and the Dauntless' other sailors painted tales across the sea-deep night with only the colors of their voices. And for a moment he was struck by how long and often the simpler parts of his life had been hidden away from her, how many days were now ahead to spend unveiling those parts of himself piece-by-piece. Their lives—their life— would be filled with stories to share now.

He hoped he could make his part worth sharing.

---

While Elizabeth was fully aware of how soon they'd need to leave, she'd become so entertained by the turns of the afternoon, she couldn't bring herself to break away from the conversation just yet. Will had virtually always been open and honest with her, telling her about anything he felt was notable in his life whenever she asked. Yet their separation throughout their youth had been so thorough, her opportunities to acquaint herself with his experiences in the lowtowns so very few, there were parts of her that felt like he'd been expelled to another country for six years and had only just come home. He often referenced names for which she had no faces to envision. And when she did have faces in mind, she hardly ever knew enough about them to fully appreciate the tales he related. How could she? He had too many memories made in too many places she'd never once set foot.

Realizing the man he'd lived with all this time could be such a prattle-basket felt a little bit like striking gold. So Elizabeth made no mention of the time, instead trusting that Estrella would draw their attention to it when their last few minutes were up. She felt Will's eyes searching her, and wondered what sort of reasoning she'd have to invent to persuade him to stay and tell stories a little longer.

However, to make things twice lucky, Will seemed plenty content to prattle along, all on his own.

With a quirk to the corners of his mouth, he looked her straight in the eyes as he explained, "There was a Sunday a few years back, where I'd decided I absolutely had to learn the perfect s—"

"No, no, no!"

Elizabeth jumped a little at Mister Brown's interruption, which had been accompanied by a hearty slap to the table top.

"You gotta tell the whole story, Turner. Don't go cuttin' out the details," the master smith broke in gracelessly, before turning to face her instead. "It started, miss, when your father sent you up north for your Ladies' Training —"

She caught a look of flummoxed vexation crossing Will's face, and to her amusement, he interjected himself right back into the story:

"I can tell it! I'll tell it," he insisted, laying his hand on his master's arm while trying to take back control of the moment.

Brown waved both his hands in a gesture of surrender, while Will shook his head to himself and scratched his knuckles along the underside of his chin.

He started over, "He's right, I suppose: it started the day you left. I'd spent the entire morning running myself ragged, so I could be allowed to come say goodbye and wish you well. I'd been told I could not leave until all my work had been done for the day, and—"

"And every time he asked if he could be done, I kept givin' him more tasks," Brown apparently couldn't resist cutting back in with a boisterous laugh.

Elizabeth bit her lip at Will's less-than-enthused sideways glance. But even as she brushed a consoling hand against his shoulder, she only barely kept her laughter to herself while his master went on regaling them.

"We were up to our eyeballs in problems that day. He was practically in a panic by mid-mornin', wantin' to leave and all—to see you. But the water delivery hadn't come in thanks to a wagon breakdown, and I was sendin' him up and down the street to fetch it for us on top of everythin' else, so as we could have enough for the day. It was a right mess."

A jolt of recognition ran up Elizabeth's spine. Brown's comment about Will's water fetching had conjured for her a memory.

"I saw you," she gasped to Will, as the picture from yesteryear suddenly swam before her eyes, clear as the day she'd lived it.

With Will's eyes watching her, surprised and a little mournful, Elizabeth could see and hear and feel the moment all over again: the desperation she felt fighting in the depths of her disappointment, while her eyes roved from face to face as they crossed town; the clatter of the carriage wheels as they were suddenly rolling behind, beside, beyond him in a clipped gust; her heart leaping into her throat and choking her as she barely managed to crack the window open and call out his name…

"I'd wondered where you were, and wanted to wait for you. But father wouldn't accept such a long delay. I was heartbroken that you hadn't come. When we passed you in the street with that yoke on your back, I shouted for you, but..."

She felt Estrella's hand upon her back, soft and compassionate.

"I heard you," Will answered softly, blinking when he met her gaze, as though he too were coming out of the same memory. "You passed so quickly, I hardly had a chance to free my hand for a wave. I was…"

Of the myriad emotions she felt running through her, she recognized more than half of them running through Will's eyes as well. Too many, too fast to name; confused between a heartache not yet old enough to be forgotten and a hope so young and tender it felt almost fragile. But that hope was there, summoning them out of their past regret into a present filled with promise.

Rather than say anything, Elizabeth simply stretched her hand open upon the table. Will took it, and their fingers wove together in grateful, reassuring union.

"Talkin' 'bout heartbroken:" Mister Brown spoke again with a chuckle softened by sympathy, "you could tell what happened the moment he came back. It was like he'd been doused—face turned all the way down, eyes like a ghost, wouldn't say a word for the rest of the day. I felt terrible. And my wife was furious with me…"

Elizabeth felt Will's hand twitch a little at Brown's mentioning of his wife, saw his brow furrow for only a moment. But Mister Brown pushed on, only pausing to present Elizabeth with a brief, bittersweet smile.

"Anyhow, we went down the street for suppin' that night—Missus Brown was in a fury, and me and the boys got to tryin' help this one take his mind off of things." He clasped his hand over Will's nearest shoulder and gave him a teasing little shake. "But then of course, it turns out half the tavern's talkin' about the departure of the governor's daughter most of the night."

"Oh no," Elizabeth laughed, although inside she could feel herself becoming annoyed with the townsfolk of the past. "What could there possibly be to gossip about after one day's absence? Nothing happened for a good while!"

"I think you know well enough, lass. Life gets tiresome down here, and people talk to make it less so—you happen to make a right pretty topic in a dull and ugly world. So people's chins are wagging, and Turner's sittin', sinkin' in his chair. He was lookin' right whey-faced by the end of the hour, he was."

She heard Estrella chuckle and felt a little pang of pity, picturing this young version of him so obviously miserable. But a knowing smile slipped back onto Elizabeth's lips as she examined the present form of Will over again. He had perched his face within the cup of his mouth, partially concealing his reaction to the turn the tale was taking. Even so, she caught the embarrassed laughter in his eyes when he finally looked her way.

And her nose wrinkled in amusement as she ran her free hand down his arm, cooing against his cheek sympathetically, "Oh… you missed me."

"Worse," he admitted. "I couldn't stop thinking about what I'd wanted to say to you… And then it felt like everyone everywhere was talking about how big your debut ball would be, or whichever landowner they'd seen or heard or smelt going to see your father, asking about you—it was all marriage talk and predictions, the entire night."

"Oh, god…" she sighed and rolled her eyes. Of course, that's what they'd all been saying. But, "You know my father would never have allowed me to be married off right away like those other families, Will. That would never have happened."

"I didn't know, at the time," Will responded and reached for his cup with his free hand to take a fresh drink. "I didn't know anything about how it was supposed to work. And hearing everyone else talk about it that way, it was starting to all feel so final," he chopped the table with the side of his hand to punctuate his words, "like even though you'd be coming back to Port Royal one day, everything could be different—that morning could have actually been our last goodbye, and I'd missed it."

Elizabeth's heart clenched for him while her mind began pulling her back into her own, similar feelings of despondency from that time. While she'd known back then that a marriage wouldn't come quite so soon, she also knew the promise of one would finally start to take shape and loom over her like it never had done before in her life—and that there would be new, unpleasant expectations and duties barring her life from that day forward. She too had felt as though some indefinable point of no return had come, and pivotal parts of her happiness were being packed away—including, almost assuredly, her association with Will. It had felt like such a bitter pill to swallow, she remembered. But rather than stewing in sorrow, she remembered seething in anger…

Will began to chuckle, and Elizabeth snapped back to the present.

He gave his head a single shake and ran his thumb in a loving stroke along Elizabeth's. "I'd begun to convince myself it was all possibly over, and you'd never be able to speak or even look at me again, not once. I halfway wanted to crawl into an alley and die—on the basis of nothing. I was a fool."

Elizabeth sensed Estrella move, and when she glanced her way found her smiling as though she knew the truth of his assertion from something in her own experience. Then the sparkling humor in Will's eyes surprised Elizabeth so much, that all ruminations on past regrets were once again cut off.

"Aye, you were sixteen, and already out of your mind for her—for you, lass," Brown sighed, and picked up his cup to touch to hers in a little salute. Then he took a drink of beer and leaned back in his chair. "'You might as well have kept the moon and stars from him, Jonny—how could you not see it?'' my wife says to me that night. She was right. By then, anyone who knew him knew it: he was out of his mind and a lost cause altogether."

Another stroke from Will's thumb conveyed his agreement: from the moment they'd met, he'd once said. Elizabeth felt her heart give a happy skip in return.

"Anyway…" Will picked up the story, eyes still shimmering his amusement, "As I was saying, I managed to become convinced you'd never look for me again, after all those gentlemen started calling. So later in the week, I—"

"No, no!"

Elizabeth began to laugh with Estrella before the annoyed expression could fully settle on Will's face. What was the point of Mister Brown asking him to tell the story when he clearly wanted to tell it himself?

"The entire story, Turner. Why're you skippin' the middle parts? She ought to know!"

Will pressed the thumb and forefinger of his free hand into his closed eyes. "That's not—this whole diversion is because we were talking about the stairs."

"Aye," Brown nodded, "but things happened too beforelike, and it was funny as hell."

Now Elizabeth's curiosity was beginning to be properly piqued. She'd already wondered where this story was going, but now it was taking paths that appeared to have nothing to do with the original destination of the conversation. Yet she was starting to get tiny peeks at the boy Will had been, and while they revealed no earth-shattering surprises, she found them delightful and endearing.

She glimpsed at Estrella for any sign they were running out of time, but her maid showed no such sign. Instead, she simply smiled with an odd little expression seeming almost smug. Whatever that was for, she couldn't figure out.

Meanwhile, Will let out a frustrated huff of air, arguing with his master, "Not that funny. Besides, we don't have time for—"

"So I walk away to get caught up with two cohorts from the guild, leavin' Turner alone with me boys," Brown launched back into his story, ignoring Will's irritated growl entirely. "And obviously they've been noticing Turner's sufferin'—he's got a case of lovesickness as fierce anyone ever did see, and by the time Nathaniel Marshe comes by, he sees it too, instant-like. So he and the boys put their beers and heads together, and start thinkin' Turner just needs a bit of the good old fashioned remedy, if you know what I mean without sayin'—"

Elizabeth felt heat rush through her cheeks, as she very much did know what Mister Brown meant. As "civilized" as father's government tried to ensure Port Royal was, it was still a major port city where coinage flowed almost more freely than freshwater—and where money and people flowed, there always seemed to be debauchery. While it was no Tortuga, certain entertainments were … tolerated amongst the masses, and Elizabeth knew well enough that wenching in various degrees was a well-known pastime of men amongst all classes. It shouldn't have been surprising that a young man with such, ah… energy and feeling would seek… company where he could find it, even just once or twice in his life. She'd even considered it before, that Will likely had… well…

The point was, if Brown was meaning what she was certain he was, then that meant—

"And just what sort of direction are you going with this here story, Mister Brown?" Estrella scolded suddenly, loudly. "'The old remedy?' Begging' your pardon as I'm no prude, but all the same I must question whether the story of a man's first exploits are an appropriate topic of conversation for—"

"It's not so bad as that, Miss Trattles," Will reassured Estrella (and herself) with a roll of his eyes on his master's behalf. "At least, not when I tell it. But it's also not so important to know as he says it is. If you would prefer it, we can skip to the point I believe we were meant to make from the beginning about my ultimate humiliation."

"I promise it's a laugh, though," Mister Brown tried to entice a skeptical looking Estrella.

"To some people," Will added. Then he turned to look at Elizabeth with an apologetic cast molding the questions in his expression.

The blush in her cheeks began to spread across her face, and she realized a little too late that she'd begun to clench Will's hand. Estrella and Mister Brown were watching her too. Evidently, the direction of the story was now her call. And there was no way around it—she could hardly ever resist the call of curiosity.

"Did they take you to a brothel, Will?" she asked, trying to keep some good humor in her voice.

Will's mysterious smirk somehow soothed her undefined misgivings. "… Yes. But—!"

"Mind you," Brown interrupted again, "they didn't tell him that was their plan! I'm not sure what it was they said—"

"They said we ought to take a walk somewhere to clear my head," Will spoke loudly over his master, with a hand laid heavily upon the man's shoulder. "Nothing else. So out we went, I thought, for a simple walk—"

"And they end up at the Queen's Peace—"

Suddenly Estrella gasped. "Wait a moment! I think I know about this. Is this the window story?"

Elizabeth blinked in perplexed surprise. There were stories about Will that Estrella knew? Involving a specific bawdy house? How?

Will released an aggravated breath.

"Yes, but the window part of the story isn't what it sounded like. That's just bloody Nathaniel Marshe— Listen!" He released Elizabeth's fingers to chop both his hands against the table in a gesture of frustration. But even as he opened his mouth, his lips unveiled the whites of his teeth as his frustration mixed with laughter. "By the time I start to realize what they were actually on about, they get a hold of me and drag me inside. I didn't ask for any of this. I don't want to be there—I want to go home. It's been one of the worst bloody days of life, and they might as well have squeezed lemons in my eyes and called it medicine—I swear to god."

Mister Brown had long since begun to cackle by this point, even though the story had only just begun, and the sound was contagious. While Estrella was stifling her laughter behind her fingertips, Will gestured and effused enthusiastically. And Elizabeth couldn't resist the combination of the awkward picture he painted with all that was happening before her. Already, she was laughing too.

"So I'm this scrawny kid, writhing around trying to get loose and make a run for it. But it's three-to-one. Marshe goes blathering on to the abbess about how I 'lost my heart' to a woman I'll never have, and now I'm 'losing my mind' and need a proper woman to 'cure me.' And all this time she's just nodding along, because the only thing keeping me from throttling him with my bare hands are Jon-jon and Ollie pinning me to the wall. So, yes, I look a bit mad."

"Oh my lord…" Elizabeth groaned, beginning to understand where the story seemed to be going, and mentally cursing the "friends" of Will's past.

Will saw her epiphany, nodding at her as he continued, "I end up tossed in a room with two girls and a mandate to not come out until they've 'fixed me up.' I have no money—the boys have kept it all. And they are sitting outside like a bunch of jackasses, thinking they're doing me a favor…"

Suddenly, he came to a pause, with his hands held out as though his words had just escaped him. Elizabeth felt her laughter begin to quiet. That obviously wasn't the end of the story. Estrella had an expectant look on her face, while Will kept staring into a void with an increasingly perplexed expression, little pieces of words forming and dying on his lips without being audibly uttered. Surely the outcome of the situation wasn't hard to remember… but evidently explaining it was.

Her gut began to twist in combinations of unpleasant feelings: anger and unease not the least of them. "Jackasses?!" There were several choicer words out there for boys like them! How could those idiots have thrown anyone to a den of wolves like that, when he so clearly did not want it? She loathed people who believed they knew what was good for someone, better than they knew themselves. How many ways did "No!" need to be said before it would be accepted by those boys? And those… those women—what would they have said or done, when they were after his money? It was a crude, almost cruel situation!

But Will had obviously escaped it eventually… How?

Of course, it would be Mister Brown to shove the tale forward.

"And you know what happens next?" the man guffawed. Then he gave Will's back a hearty slap. "This boy got his arse dragged into a brothel in an attempt to make him forget one name, and instead somehow walked away with the women there all yapping about it instead."

Elizabeth blinked. Will… talked his way out of a situation? Will? On god, she loved him to the moon and back—as she knew he did her—and he did have a certain knack for simpler styles of eloquence in very specific circumstances… But even today, his words were not generally his best weapon when backed into a difficult position, without being openly argumentative. That he could negotiate himself out of such an awkward position, while sixteen and drunk… That couldn't be right. How?

"But the best part is, after he—"

Will stepped back into the story, declaring, "I'm getting to that—you wanted the whole story, so hold on."

Wait, it was right?

"What…?" Elizabeth finally voiced her confused surprise and spared a glance at Estrella. "I thought you were going to say you climbed out the window…?"

"Oh, I tried," Will responded with a smirk. "The door had hardly been shut before I had one leg over the sill. We were on the upper story overhanging the wharf, but I had it in mind that if I leapt far enough I'd overtake the pavement and make it into the water."

"Will, what?!" Elizabeth gasped, simultaneously shocked and much less surprised at once. This sounded a bit more like him.

He shrugged. "I think I could maybe do it now, if I tried."

"Will!" This man…

"I mean that it's precarious but not impossible!" he insisted over Mister Brown's coughs and Estrella's disbelieving scoff. "In any case, a fuss was made over it. Both women were certain I'd miss the water and break something, and each had a fistful of my clothes in seconds… Actually, now that I think about it, they probably believed I was unwell and needed protection from myself."

"I wonder why!" Estrella chided sarcastically, though whether her bite was more aimed at Will or the boys who'd backed him into his corner was uncertain.

Will waved her comment off. "In my defense, I'd eaten less and drank more than I probably should have—I was a little drunk. And I was… exhausted. Not just from the day's work, from everything. I could only think of death in my past. For my future, I felt as though the weight of The Anvil was being dropped on my shoulders, with no thought to how it could crush me. And once I started thinking, it occurred to me the only warmth left for me in the world was meant to be the damned forges I was meant to master, without…"

He stopped himself, glancing at Mister Brown as he swallowed.

The room was quiet.

Elizabeth felt a soreness in her heart rise up, as it resonated yet again with the feelings hovering beneath Will's words in the air. In the shadows of his master's house, she could almost picture him on that night: young and desperate, framed between a window's inky starlight and the world's narrow expectations for him. Had that been the same hour she'd gazed upon the sea beyond the window nearest her, lamenting a similar, seemingly inescapable fate?

Reaching as though to touch the connection between them, her hand wandered to his brow and swept her fingers along its thoughtful creasing. When his eyes found hers, they showed no chill from the past's dreary nights.

"I was overwhelmed. Those women saw it, and persuaded me to stay with them for a few minutes. And we… talked." His lips quirked to one side, and he nodded when Elizabeth began blinking her surprise. "They were the first people that day to actually ask and listen to me about what I was feeling. They asked me about you, gave me a little advice. They told me a few of their own stories about who they loved or longed for… They were kind to me."

This wasn't what Elizabeth expected, and a part of her felt ashamed for it.

She'd been surrounded her entire life by people who preached that poor people had poor character—that anyone whose nature was truly good would rise in the ranks and be bestowed upon with Heaven's gifts in rewards for that goodness. She'd long decided that was false. Otherwise, in her eyes, Will would have been an heir to kings, while several titled men and women she knew would have had their plantations burnt to ashes for them to feast on, long ago. But perhaps, without her realizing it, those beliefs had crept into her perspectives in more subtle ways than she'd realized. She'd assumed those women would be little more than bloodsucking leeches, only intent on getting their coin in whatever way they could, adding to Will's poor experience. After all, the world could be harsh and cruel when not shielded by a castle of wealth—so perhaps a part of her had always assumed people so exposed to the world would turn mean and wicked themselves because of it.

But Will hadn't. Even before truly meeting her, he'd already had a gentle nature alongside his feistier habits. And it would stand to reason that he wouldn't be the only soul to somehow make his way in the world keeping a habit of kindness under a toughened hide. Besides, it also made more sense now, how he would've talked himself out of the situation: the other women were the ones who guided him through his talking.

Her lips quirked his smile back at him. "They sound far more considerate than the boys who took you there." She remembered whose boys they were. "No offense intended, Mister Brown—I apologize."

"None taken, lass," the elder blacksmith replied with a good-natured dismissive wave of his hand. But suddenly his smile began to falter, and eyes grew a little misty from memories of his own. "Their own mother was offended by their foolishness. Not that that would've been a new experience. Men of the Brown family don't seem to make the best drunks..."

Sensing the somber tone creeping into the room, Elizabeth attempted to salvage the moment with some levity, joking, "Who does…?"

It seemed to work. Brown's eyes jerked into focus, and after a moment of visibly regaining his mental bearings, he offered her a little smile then gestured at Will.

"He seems to not do quite so bad, if you truly want my opinion." Then he began to laugh again. "But maybe he ought to finish the story first before I say so!"

What was that supposed to mean? And what about that suggestion was making Estrella begin to snicker to herself? With brows scrunched low, Elizabeth's head swiveled back in Will's direction, once again seeking to satisfy some intrigue.

"And why's that?"

"Well…" Will went on, a bashfulness beginning to creep across his lips while humor swam through his eyes. "As I was saying, we were talking. While we talked, they took their hands from me, sat upon the bed. Eventually, things came back round to their, uh… well, their business. They'd put me at ease enough to ask whether I'd be interested in learning a thing or two—for your sake, they said."

She cocked an eyebrow and rolled her eyes. She wasn't annoyed by him. But the story was beginning to remind her of greater annoyances she had with accepted social conventions surrounding sex and intercourse. No matter how typical it was, she'd always thought it a bit hypocritical that men were allowed—practically expected, even—to learn the ways of the marriage bed from public ledgers. It generally seemed like a transparent excuse for validating their own transgressions in a way women were not afforded—especially when the whores themselves were scorned for it.

Not that it was Will's fault, or that of the two unfortunate women who propositioned him.

"It didn't matter, anyway," Will reassured her. "Because… "

He hesitated for a moment. Brown grinned while stroking his chin, and Estrella put a hand over her mouth. Elizabeth's raised eyebrow lowered back down into a confused position.

The corners of Will's lips twitched upward. "Elizabeth, are you certain you love me?"

A snort escaped from underneath Estrella's hands.

Oh, god—what was he asking that for? She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously as she cautiously answered, "You ought to know by now I do…"

"And just how much youthful foolishness are you willing to tolerate before you change your mind?"

She openly glared now, baring her teeth at him with a snap, "Will Turner, are you meaning to confess you swived two unfortunate women at—"

"No, no, no!" Will laughed in tandem with the sudden roaring of their two companions. "Although, I wouldn't say I'm exactly proud of what actually happened."

She simply stared at him. He needed to cut the chase.

"Did I mention, through all our conversation, I'd never left the window sill?"

Realization struck Elizabeth, and as her eyes widened back open, she felt the pit of her stomach begin to fill with a tiny sense of dread.

"Oh, no," she whispered.

Estrella and Brown began to laugh openly again while Will nodded, "Oh, yes. And I don't recommend such a seat after any amount of drinking."

"What happened?!" she gasped, clutching his sleeve. Obviously, he hadn't ended up too harmed, or she would have certainly heard of this story long ago. And yet, she couldn't help her investment in the twists and turns of the tale.

"I'm still not completely certain," he confessed with a wince. "As I was trying to get both my feet back to the room's floor, something went wrong. My head was more groggy by then, but I remember my toe clipping the frame, my left hand grabbing onto nothing where I was certain the wall should have been, my right fingers slipping their grip, the girls screaming… Whatever I did wrong was just wrong enough that, before I knew it, I was falling backwards. And I fell from that upper story…"

Elizabeth's fingers curled instinctively tighter against his arm.

"… onto a cold, wet…"

Her breath caught in her throat.

"… wagon load of horses' shit."

Her mouth hung open while Mister Brown and Estrella howled and cackled at the revelation of what they'd no doubt been anticipating the entire tale.

"Excuse me?!" Elizabeth cried, too shocked to think of anything beyond the mental image of Will's scraggy, younger form splayed on his back upon a pile of muck, staring at the stars in a drunken stupor.

He shrugged and ran a hand across the nape of his neck, as if to wipe away the remembered sensations from off his skin. "My shock was worse, believe me. I don't know if it had happened for you as well up north, but in Port Royal it had rained earlier that evening, so the mess was much more sodden than it ought to have been. And it soaked me head to heel while I laid there, just… confounded over how I had gotten there, and even more so knowing that I was still alive, somehow. Once I'd gotten my bearings enough to try to climb out of it, I got my knees and arms burrowed in it. It got inside my coat sleeves, it was all up my chest… I was slathered in shit."

For the moment, Elizabeth could hardly make a sound, only managing to bring her hands to rest over her still-open mouth. While Estrella's laughter had been adorned by a disgusted cringe, Mister Brown had begun guffawing so hard he'd started coughing. He had to take a few drinks to calm himself.

Will kept narrating, noting, "It was one of the most disgusting things I've experienced in my life. And in my mind at the time it was…" He paused, sighed to himself, then continued, "… it was all Nathaniel Marshe's fault."

"Aye!" Mister Brown finally was able to gasp, just as Elizabeth's mind had begun processing what Will was saying. "So you know what this genius does? He grabs two huge fistfuls of shit, before marchin' back into the brothel callin' 'Marshe! Marshe!' like a skinny shit monster—"

"Oh, no!" Elizabeth began to laugh while looking at Will, who had screwed his face up in a comically guilty expression, his eyebrows raised high and bottom lip tucked behind his teeth.

"Aye, aye! And he runs into him pretty quick, seein' as the boys were runnin' out after him already, thanks to the ruckus the ladies made. And when they do meet, Turner wastes no time shoving a handful of horseshit into Nathaniel Marshe's face."

She ought to have been mortified, Elizabeth knew. It was crude and petty and immature and, frankly, rather disgusting… and exactly the sort of revenge Elizabeth would have loved to have witnessed herself. No matter how terrible she felt doing so, she couldn't help joining the chorus of laughter ringing anew through the room.

"Anyway," Will sighed with some resignation, "you've heard the worst of it, and there's not much else to tell. He obviously became upset, and we got into a messy fight that got us all thrown out of the building. None of us are ever allowed there again—which hasn't been much of a problem for me, but Marshe has hated me for it ever since."

"Good!" Elizabeth choked, withdrawing her handkerchief from her pocket to dab the tears forming in her eyes. "He got what he deserved."

"Whether or not he did, I had to jump into the sea, then strip naked and sleep in the stable that night. Monday was spent on laundry, and the rest of the week was spent working extra to pay it off, in addition to the pretty invoice Mister Brown received," Will listed off matter-of-factly. Then with a final shrug of his hands, he concluded, "And that's all the story of the circumstances directly before the moment where I'd somehow convinced myself I needed to learn the perfect somersault, or I'd have lost you forever."

Elizabeth stared at him for half a beat before her mind fully understood the words he'd said.

"Will, what…?"

---

Another few minutes were spent dotting some final i's and crossing remaining t's. The much briefer, less embarrassing point was finally circled back to: once upon a time, Will had spent a weekend jumping so many times in a row that his thighs had seized up on him two days later, and he could not take the stairs to the Brown's house. He had meant to help Elizabeth understand how un-silly her little injury actually was, as he had done many foolish things himself over the years. Instead, he worried the long tangent may have tarnished the hard-won respect he'd managed to earn from her over his pirating escapades.

But she was laughing, in the end, and the sound was better than music.

Now, as the room was beginning to calm again, he finally wrapped up his narration. "I swear to god, Elizabeth, that Tuesday morning I had to physically bend my own legs with my hands, my thighs were so stiff. And the pain from coming down the stairs…"

He drew a sharp breath between his teeth, and cocked his head to the side at the biting memory.

Elizabeth shook her head at the same time he did, wiped her eyes one last time, then croaked out, "Mere trifles compared to the pain I am feeling now, I assure you."

"Oh, I do not doubt it," he chuckled back.

Then, feeling a little awkward and uncertain of how she could ever look at him at all the same, knowing he'd once taken a dive, however accidental, in a pile of manure, he laid his outstretched hand back upon the table. Without a moment in passing, she looked at him with her dazzling eyes and slipped her hand back into his.

He sighed. Something was wrong with them both.

"Thank you for the story," she said with all the sincerity he'd ever seen her say, before turning her head back to his master. "Both of you."

"Anytime, lass," Mister Brown responded with a content nod. "Anytime you wish."

The sounds of the active markets drifted back between them, as all four persons fell into a pensive silence. It was nearly time to go now, Will was certain. But as he remembered the ungainly ways he tried to make his way up and down the stairs during the times he'd just related, the image from earlier came back to him: of Elizabeth claiming she would have to crawl her way up and down her own staircase while healing from her bruising.

"So," he couldn't resist asking, "what is going to be our excuse if you end up having to climb the stairs at home that very normal way we were talking about, before?"

"Practice," Elizabeth returned with a quirk of her eyebrow and not one beat missed. "And you'll be doing it with me, to make it extra clear."

"Oh, shall I?"

"Do you want to properly impress my father, or what?"

A single laugh escaped Will's lips. Then he shook his head and shrugged.

"Of course. I just didn't realize that the necessary groveling would also double as a means of travel," he answered. "Maybe then it could actually be useful."

Now the imagined scenario popped into his head of the governor clamoring up his staircase on his belly like a lizard, head held painfully high to keep his long wig from brushing the steps, expecting Will to copy his example exactly while his valet followed behind, holding his coat tails up…

"If only!" Elizabeth's sigh interrupted his silly daydream. She set one hand across her chest in a show of pretended relief. "The pains it would save me, trying to keep this little sport of ours a secret for a while longer."

"A secret?" Brown asked. "Why a secret?"

Will opened his mouth to answer, but Elizabeth spoke faster.

"Just an abundance of caution," she laughed. "I'm certain he will grant his blessing to my education eventually, no matter how unconventional it is—it'll prove useful for my future protection, after all. But he has a tendency to resist at first things that are less conventional, and there are some things too good to risk losing to a father's well-intentioned doubts. No matter how innocent…"

While Mister Brown began to scratch his neck thoughtfully, Miss Trattles openly snorted at her mistress' word choice. Undeterred, Elizabeth's glance glittered towards Will from the corners of her eyes, and his smile somehow spread wider. He found himself feeling warm in more ways than one, eagerly joining her in a wordless reliving of an entirely different, not-so-innocent part of their secret. And his sight settled on her lips, where he envisioned more than her smile…

Ah, why did they have to go back to her father today? And did they really need to be kept under such close watch for every joined hour of every shared day? The longer this supervised affair went on, the deeper his aggravation grew that he now could stand close enough to hold Elizabeth, yet still find himself holding back instead. While her eyes shone and her elbow bumped his sleeve, here he was, setting his fingers to his mug's worn grain to distract from their itching for the sensational depths of her silken hair. And though his mouth could dip beside her ear, his tongue would still be half bound by overshadowing civilities.

If they were going to keep playing pretend, couldn't they pretend at propriety instead of pretending at happiness? Would it be so terrible to simply disappear from prying eyes and ears for just for one hour, and say nothing of it, to let their love be only between them two… truly secret?

As if she heard the dilemma inside his mind, her hand brushed and settled over his with a smoothness that contradicted the fierce shock sent up his arm. Mentally, he shook his head to himself. This was getting ridiculous. Here they were in the middle of a genuinely fantastic, engaging conversation, and somehow he still couldn't keep his mind or body from desperately longing to once again come closer to her. Was it two thirty yet? Probably. Half an hour felt like such little time with how quickly it passed. And yet somehow it seemed like it had already been an eternity since…

One hour. If he could convince Miss Trattles to meet them at the carriage after a short, public but unsupervised detour to the fountain… perhaps they could slip into the greenery and walk along the banks of the stream alone for just one hour. They could tell her father that they'd simply gotten a little lost from town and time or… Something.

Elizabeth was still watching him with that widening smile. His heart kicked up in another frolic, while his lips parted, ready to "invite" her with half a word, followed by taking her hand and flying out the door ahead of Miss Trattles' excuses—

"About that:" Brown unknowingly cut in, with his finger gesturing between Elizabeth, Will and her sword, "I can't right decide if this whole thing surprises me or not. Forgive me for sayin' so, lass, but you could be a right troublesome tib back in the day, what with the way you two was always underfoot at close quarters. And you both thought you was so clever running away to that beach, with your wee sticks stashed in the roots of that old buttonwood—"

"You knew about that?" Will asked, caught by enough surprise to finally tear his eyes from Elizabeth's. Although, risking a glance back revealed she was likewise taken aback somewhat.

"Oh, most everyone 'round here knew about that!" Brown chuckled.

"It's true," Miss Trattles agreed.

"What?" Elizabeth laughed through her astonished skepticism. "How? Whatever for?"

"Well…" Miss Trattles responded slowly, as though it were her first time considering it. "You weren't the only children running about these parts of town back then, for one—I seem to remember a few others who would join you now and again. And it's not like children are renowned for their secret keeping. For another: jesting as you do about being 'normal,' lass, it was a right curious thing seeing the governor's daughter running about as you were. Seeing you hitching your hip to a lad clearly meant to stay down here with us 'humbler' folk was especially strange. Enough that it was something people seemed fond of watching and talking about, anyway."

Will could only stare for a moment, thinking. The times he and Elizabeth had still been able to play on the beach ended months before he'd been formally introduced to his future master. But really, how could he be surprised? They'd been young and obviously far more conspicuous than they'd believed—he could especially believe that now, after watching Denys try to hide his playmates' "river expeditions" from Lucy and his mother. It would not be shocking to know that servants had kept their eyes on them from afar, people close to Elizabeth in particular. And he could understand Miss Trattles' reasoning for some folks at the docks and whatnot. But regular craftsmen in town…?

"Aye," Brown agreed. "Half of us just didn't want trouble comin' to us from you being swept out to sea on that beach, while the other half was wonderin' how long the fantasy would last. Once you flew up to the mansion and Turner here came down… well, that seemed like it'd be the end of it. And if you don't mind my sayin', you seem such a proper lady now, I'd hardly recognized you when you came back 'round here, so it didn't seem like you'd… you know."

"One might say that was by design," Elizabeth answered with a hand rising to pat down the strands of hair on her head she'd recognized to have sprung astray, her eyes slipping back in Will's direction for a moment, "though not necessarily my own."

Will swallowed a sigh. It was a small but pointed reminder of what was happening around them. There were still things to be done before returning to the mansion by three o'clock. The breeches Elizabeth had rejected needed to be returned to Missus Hackley. And to Elizabeth's point, there was the matter of his face needing to meet another razor… followed by meeting her dear father once again.

It was upon this thought that his swallowed sigh slipped free, and he ran thoughtful fingers over his lip and chin. He didn't feel like going—to shave or to meet the governor again. Ideas of running away for the afternoon were still teasing his mind, and becoming increasingly tempting. But promises were promises….

Instead of fighting his assignments, he cleared his throat to gently re-insert himself into the conversation. "Speaking of changing appearances: I could use your assistance for a moment, sir."

Brown's responding smile was strangely gentle. "I was beginnin' to wonder if you'd changed your mind."

The way Elizabeth failed to conceal a somewhat sullen pout caught Will's eye. Comical as it seemed, her expression somehow managed to mirror his own feelings on the matter.

In fact, if he knew her at all, her mind was in a similar place as his: wandering back to their debates on the starlit carriageway and in her father's lamplit office. He'd sworn to the governor he'd make adjustments to his appearance, while also swearing to Elizabeth and himself they wouldn't be at the expense of his character. Shaving seemed a simple enough place to begin. Especially seeing as, until recently, he had been a regular at the barber's anyway, preferring a clean-shaven appearance for many years. But then that preference had been because…

He shook his head. She was still looking at him with searching eyes, as though to ask the question one last time: was he certain, did he really need to do it? He brushed a comforting finger across the back of her hand.

"I'm not certain it's much of a choice anymore, to be honest," he admitted.

Elizabeth said nothing. But as Will's master nodded and disappeared in his room to fetch the relevant equipment, her pout shifted into a more serious frown, and she turned her head away from him.

The change in her demeanor surprised him. He'd thought they'd had an understanding. "You're disappointed?"

Again she said nothing, choosing instead to lift her near-empty mug back to her lips as if to avoid responding altogether. Miss Trattles' gaze fell while something of a knowing smirk crossed her features, but she too kept her lips pressed tight in silence. At that, his surprise began to melt into confusion.

"Why?"

Miss Trattles' wide eyes slid to observe her mistress with interest. Elizabeth declined to answer still.

He had a guess at her thoughts: perhaps her previous misgivings that his father would chip him away a little at a time ran deeper than she'd originally wanted to admit. After all, the more he thought about it, the more he felt that making changes for her father's designs, as she had earlier called them, seemed to entangle appearance and character together.

But that was just the way of the world, wasn't it? The whole reason why they were even having this debate with her father? Whether it was right or not, appearances were the windows through which people judged a person's character—his character. Who William Turner actually was would never matter to her father's people if they felt his appearance spoke otherwise. That was certainly why he'd chosen to spend these past few years smooth chinned and straight-laced, even though it had cost him bits of his soul. Somehow he'd bought into the idea that appearances must reflect character, and only a character approved by the powers that be. He'd convinced himself that the most upstanding thing a man ought to aspire to be was one of the naval officers, men he'd for many years believed were the keepers of their island's peace, defenders of his present against the piratical terrors of his past.

But he knew better now, understood the world much more fully compared to the black and white simplicity he had once believed—

"Augh, she fancies your whiskers, sir!" Miss Trattles broke through his thoughts with an aggravated tone.

Will blinked. She… what? That couldn't be her real grievance, could it?

The rosiness blooming over Elizabeth's complexion suggested that it very well could be.

"Estrella!" she hissed. "That is not for you to tell!"

"Apologies, miss," Miss Trattles responded, looking and sounding not remotely sorry with the simper upon her face. "Thought he ought to've figured it out by now, what with the way you two've been carrying on."

"I had not," Will confessed, with no little awe watching Elizabeth fluster and turn her frustrated eyes aside. To him it was still a wonder she found any specific aspect of him genuinely fanciable, and was not merely attached to him through their shared experiences and interests. Learning and re-learning such things never failed to kick his heart up into a tiny frenzy of elation that burst across his face. And especially knowing that she should think so now, after he'd made such a fool of himself with his terrible stories… his blood was a simmer of excitement again.

Clearly, she felt his eyes. As the face of her scowling began to crack and let slip a smile, she cupped her hands over her mouth to conceal it, and avoided looking at him altogether.

Feeling playful again, Will grinned while scooting his chair around the table's corner, to draw closer to Elizabeth and speak more quietly in her ear.

"Would this happen to be one of the secrets you've meant to keep from me, to your advantage?" She smelled like heaven, with slightly less perfume and little more her own self. Unable to resist the opportunity of their closeness, Will brushed the back of one finger over the fading fervor in her cheek.

She let her hands fall away, leveling a teasing, determined smirk at him with her gaze as bright and sharp as her sword upon the table was meant to be. "I'll never tell."

"Not with words."

His fingers settled softly beneath her chin while his lips bent towards hers, seeking from them a different answer to his questions.

The firm press of Miss Trattles' hand against his brow prevented their contact.

"Ah-ah-ah!" she chided from the spot she reached across the table. "I've decided you two have a daily kissing quota, and you have long since passed it today. Off with you."

---

Will had just finished replacing the water in Brown's just-emptied basin, ready to wash the rest of his person after his tidy shave, when Elizabeth once again demanded his attention.

"Will, look at this!" she hollered, emerging from his own room at once.

Whatever he had expected, it had not been the sight of her stripped to her undergarments, while presenting her other sodden armpit for evaluation, her nose wrinkled and mouth agape in horrified mirth.

The choked snort that slipped from his throat couldn't have been held back if he'd tried.

The front door was shut, so there was no risk of exposure to the rest of the world… unless, of course, Mister Brown returned from the market earlier than expected and walked in. Still, it was something of a surprise that Elizabeth had chosen to mirror so brazenly the thirteen-year-old hellion that had been his most treasured friend in their younger years. He almost felt as though they'd both traveled to the past. How many childhood moments had they spent comparing the marks of aftermath left across their bodies from a forbidden, little duel or some other adventure stolen under her father's nose?

'Some things really do never change…'

"I even put powder on!" Elizabeth lamented with some awe.

As if to prove the point of his musing, she went about trying to show him the full extent of sweat which had soaked into her clothes, pivoting about draw her loosed hair forward to better expose her back and neck to him. Although her stays obscured the majority of her cloth, he could see that her fine cotton shift had grown somewhat marshy, likely sticky. He would have liked to say he had done his job in making her work on her first day of "training," but knew the weather and her choice of clothing were just as likely culprits.

If only he could do his job here in continuing to keep his eyes and thoughts from wandering towards some of the specific things that had changed with time.

"Augh, not in your undergarments, miss!"

Miss Trattles leapt forward and frantically grasped at Elizabeth's shoulders, desperate to restore her mistress' modesty by wrenching her far enough back into Will's little bedroom to shut the door.

However, Elizabeth wriggled free and batted a hand at her minder. "Oh, hush, I'm still covered, one way or the other. Besides, it's nothing new to him."

Then she turned her eyes back to Will, holding out her free arm to show how funny it seemed to her that even her sleeves had become quite damp. He couldn't be certain whether she was more proud, fascinated or surprised at herself, but there was one thing she obviously was not: ashamed. In fact she was practically aglow, beaming with rosy cheeks and several little tendrils of hair clinging to her skin in a slightly wild but beautiful frame for her face. And although she was in fact very sweaty, somehow her comfortable enthusiasm for sharing with him what many would consider to be her own mortifying revelation left him with an unexpected feeling of honored contentment.

And perhaps a little silliness from her still-cringing grin, tongue nestled between her teeth as she was wont to do.

The responding smile that blossomed on his face was instinctual, rekindling that familiar, pleasant warmth of affection deep within him.

"So you've discovered the secret that lies beneath my tunic on an average work day," he teased.

He set the borrowed wash basin and ewer upon the dining table, then raised his own arm for assessment. In contrast to her riding jacket, his loose and breezy sleeves had done their job for him, and for possibly the first time, he was significantly less sweaty than his normally-primped counterpart.

She looked almost comically offended at how better off he was.

"It makes a difference with the coat, doesn't it?" he laughed.

The wrinkles about Elizabeth's nose deepened. "It's awful! How can you bear it? At least at sea it can be cool enough that those coats aren't so smothering, but here..."

At that moment, Miss Trattles finally managed to coax her back into the bedroom with a particularly hard yank of her arm. Will hoped the snickers Elizabeth summoned from him followed her ears while she left.

Whether or not she heard him, he could soon hear her voice calling out to him, "Ugh! Remind me to bring an extra shift next time! I meant to wash up here, but I almost think it might be worth it to wait and do so at home…"

As he ran his fingers trough the tepid water in his borrowed basin, Will grimaced to himself. The suggestion of returning home in her muggy clothes called to mind the loathsome sensation of putting his own coat over a tacky, half-damp shirt. Surely, she didn't desire to have to put up with that on her way home? It didn't seem right at all…

He cleared his throat.

"You know," he called back, "they're not quite as nice as your own things… but you only ever need ask to borrow a shirt or stockings or anything, were it ever to spare you discomforts from your own."

A part of him winced again right as he finished speaking. Why did he offer that? To spare her from her discomforts from…? His shirts were beige lumps of linen which had had the daylights beaten out of them so often they practically all were fraying along their hems and seams. It was barely a better gesture than, "Please accept this holey sackcloth, my lady!" How could it be anything but a noticeable step down for her? Besides, the carriage ride made the trip so much shorter and less arduous than a long walk—any discomfort from her dress would be fleeting at best.

Before he could brush off or otherwise reconsider his offer, Elizabeth had already poked her head back through the door frame, eyes softened by relief and lit with anticipation.

"That sounds lovely, Will. May I trouble you for a shirt now?"

His tongue tangled itself between his inclination to dissuade her and his wish to grant her whatever she asked for. He couldn't say no to her. But in truth, he couldn't voice much of anything else either—not even a simple "yes." As such, he simply clamped his mouth shut with a nod, and in a few quick steps joined the women in his room. Miss Trattles gave a tiny squeak at his appearance, and stood in front of her mistress with both her hands holding up Elizabeth's outer petticoat in a makeshift privacy screen. He heard Elizabeth tut impatiently while he went about digging in his trunk for whichever shirt he could find which was the least awkwardly old and threadbare.

Although he could hear the women hissing whispers at each other and moving about behind his back, not much else was said for several moments. In quiet, Will fretted over the missing button on one shirt, or the hole appearing in the back of the collar of another. Why had he opened his mouth when he was so behind on his mending? When had all his shirts turned so… yellow compared to her garments? Had they always looked like that?

"You know, now that I think about it, perhaps I ought to bring some clothes of my own to simply keep here, instead?" Elizabeth eventually suggested. "It would be less conspicuous than carrying changes with me everyday. And it would be much more comfortable if I could have a pair of jumps to wear instead of my jackets…"

He wasn't sure what a jump was, but didn't bother asking—she knew what she was talking about, even if he didn't. What he did understand was her suggestion of keeping a few pieces of her wardrobe down here in his Mister Brown's home. And while it was somewhat unusual…

"I suppose it does make sense," Will contemplated aloud.

She was already leaving her newly acquired breeches here, anyway. What were one or two other things to help her enjoy improved comfort in their visits? In fact, he could think of a good handful of additional reasons beyond their dueling where it might be useful to keep a freer costume handy for her. If she wished it and it could be done without making her father suspicious, he'd even be willing to bring her things back from the mansion that very evening… Perhaps they could convince Miss Trattles to stuff something at the bottom of the dinner basket which Will assumed he would be offered again.

At last he found a shirt he felt was the most suitable for her. He shut the lid of his trunk as he rose to his feet, and held the humble garment out for Elizabeth or her servant's taking. Miss Trattles accepted it on her mistress' behalf, with a look of weariness about her that prompted a feeling of remorseful sympathy in Will.

But Elizabeth's eyes had turned up towards the space where her mind had begun to hover: in the clouds, dressed with an expression that was equal parts dreamy and calculating.

"I think I'll bring a spare pair of shoes as well—like yours," she suggested. "And some extra powders. And perhaps a brush, and a small mirror—"

"Shall I just build you your own chest to move into, then?" Will asked with an eyebrow raised in lighthearted inquiry.

Elizabeth snatched the shirt from her maid's fingers. "I shall bring my own of that as well."

"Oh, yes, that'll be far less conspicuous, miss," Miss Trattles sighed, as she swept her hand in a motion meant to shoo Will towards his bedroom door.

"It could be!" Elizabeth insisted. "Will could simply take it home with him after one of his visits—no one in town would have to know it was meant for me. Now help me out of this."

She spun on her heel to offer the laces of her stays to her attendant, but in doing so also presented them, as well as the smooth skin of her shoulders and neck, in Will's direction. The urge to reach for her was instant and strong, and he made himself drop his eyes to still the sensations he felt surging through his veins.

"I'll just change outside…" he muttered and finally let his feet carry him back to the house's main room.

As Will unfastened the buttons down his front, there was a silence throughout the house again—a situation most unhelpful in turning Will's thoughts away from the way he heard his blood rushing inside his head, or the way his fingers could practically imagine feeling the delicate twists of the ties running up Elizabeth's spine as—

'That's enough! '

He growled a little to himself as he slapped his face with hands cupping the basin's tepid water.

'It's broad daylight outside. She's minding her own business. You forgot your cake of soap and a spare shirt, like an ass-head. And you have to face her father soon. Get a hold of yourself!'

For a moment his mind fell into a compliant silence, almost as though he'd shouted out loud forcefully enough for his cry to linger in the corners of the room. Then he began to think again, slowly, carefully. And in a tentative admission, he began to realize maybe this entire idea of private training was a mistake.

For years, sword fighting had been one of his best personal catharses, a means of directing nearly every passion or struggle he fought with into something… else. Something useful, instead of something that solely, slowly ate him alive from the inside out. It proved to be a method of release that had worked well enough for him and for what it was at the time. Least ways, it was enough to help him bear with pretending to be something the "civilized" world wanted when it looked his way.

So it had seemed like such an obvious, temporary solution to his and Elizabeth's conflict with her father and the long period of regimented courtship that now stood before them. After all, was not dancing considered a perfectly valid, physical way to cut loose and let off some steam? Of course it was! And what was swordplay, if not a bit of a dance… with swords? Perhaps it was a dance of different purpose and consequence, making its dancer a less vulnerable, greater force to be reckoned with. But it was like a dance, all the same.

And what sort of dance was not better in its diversion with a capable partner?

The problem, if it could be called that, was how Will had not predicted how adding Elizabeth to the experience would so quickly and thoroughly philter his once-dependable means of escape into… whatever today had been. In the past, his "dance partners" had been either nefarious figments cast over his own shadow, or colleagues from the informal little fencing club he'd helped form a few years ago. But Elizabeth…

A smile crept back to life as he relived bits and pieces of their still-fresh session in his mind: the literal and figurative twists and turns they had taken, the toying touches, the delight and determination reflecting off her under the dusty shafts of sun. He hadn't had that much genuine fun since… well, the last time they'd fought together. And how spellbinding and breathtaking Elizabeth had been with her hair flying loose beneath those shafts of cursed moonlight, raging like a hurricane to win him even one single, additional chance to simply keep breathing! When she turned into a storm like that, her eyes flashing at him, for him, sparking in him jolts of wonder and fervor like bursts of lightning, he…

His smile began to slip. And he groaned as he clapped more water over his eyes, trying to massage away his quickly straying visions of her.

But his mind seemed unwilling to let go of its baser fixations, handily replacing those thoughts with the more recent images of her laugh, and her smile, and her still standing in his room, presenting her laced back in an unintentionally tempting invitation. Perhaps he really had been foolish, suggesting these lessons. Was this obviously another one of his ridiculous oversights? Or had he chosen to ignore the exhilaration he already knew from watching her eyes burn, hearing her breath heave, feeling her body move in time with his—

Breathing! Will resisted the urge to lean his palms heavily against the table by running his hands through his hair and letting the water drip down his neck. Instead, he tried desperately to douse his untrimmed candle of a mind, thinking only of his own breathing. Not hers. His.

Not hers!

…

Holy hell, tonight was going to be a terrible night for sleep.

He let himself fall into a deep crouch, hanging lightly onto the table's wobbling edge with his fingers, pressing his forehead firmly into its worn wood and feeling utterly pathetic.

'Admit it, Will: this cannot work. Being with her is driving you more mad than ever, and you only have spent a handful of days together—your lesson has only been for a quarter of one! Something very different has to happen from now on, or you could end up in serious trouble with old Big Wig very soon…'

He took and held one deep breath for the same length of time he hung onto that final thought. Any untoward conduct, and Elizabeth's father would end everything. Or try—Will wouldn't take any fight lying down. Still, there was enough of a battle before them as it was, and he'd rather not make it worse.

His breath escaped him as a sigh. Then a tiny, finally, actually helpful thought crept into his mind with the softest whisper of an idea:

'Perhaps it would be better to introduce her to the club for future engagements…'

He perked his head back up, letting his eyes wander the dark ceiling as he rolled the suggestion around in his mind.

The club? Could he..?

It would out their short-lived secret and risk her father's scorn. But that would be better than the reaction to the positions in which they risked being discovered if they continued to play at this sport alone. Besides, Miss Trattles clearly could only take so much—at this rate, if they didn't drive her mad, they'd surely drive her away. And it would be genuinely terrible to be assigned a stricter chaperone. Yes… Yes, the boys would be bound to absolutely shatter whatever spell was cast between them effortlessly, making everything easier for all three of them in the long run. Especially after he'd disappeared from their meetings for as long he had—showing up again with two ladies in his accompaniment would prompt merciless torment on his part. But it'd be worth it. He would be able to consider any and all potentially amorous moods thoroughly killed on the spot.

It could be just the solution they would need.

Even better: training with the club would grant Elizabeth more experience in her practice through observing and sparring with a slightly wider variety of partners. It had certainly helped him. And that was the whole point of this venture, wasn't it? Helping her stay safe, happy, strong—he'd sacrifice anything that was asked of him, to achieve that in the end.

'Anything?' his mind seemed to taunt him, drawing attention to how he could still taste salt and dust mixing with the sweet scents of Elizabeth's perfumes.

When the door to his room sprung back open, his curses and blessings held his answer, together.

---

The afternoon was growing late by the time Estrella took her seat in the carriage, right beside Simon Burley—the worst possible footman they could have asked for, considering the circumstances. Across from her sat her charges and the headlining performers of the day's rollicking spectacle: Miss Swann, looking suddenly, unsurprisingly fatigued as she leaned upon the shoulder of a freshly washed and clean-shaven Will Turner for their ride home.

And the sigh Estrella sighed came in a chord of many feelings.

On the one hand, she felt lucky. A few weeks ago, she'd been hauling water up the mansion staircase, beating out rugs or working out myriad stains from equally myriad linens. Today, she got to sit on her ass, have a drink, run her mouth, and watch two happy, stupid lovers pursue one of the most absurd courtship rituals she'd ever observed in her life. Given the choice, it was obvious which set of duties she preferred.

Prime seats at the playhouse couldn't have won her better entertainment than the living drama she'd been witnessing these past few weeks. Actually, she'd already been eagerly following it well-nigh from the day she'd joined the governor's household, and she was more than happy to be paid to watch it continue up close. What a messy love story it had become: years in the making, appreciable to her for the many shades of adoration on display, all held back by handfuls of heartache and wrapped in many more lengths of longing. Figuratively speaking, she couldn't look away, even when it was expected of her. Instead, over the years and by one way or another, she had found herself shifting from passive observance to somehow cheering for this unconventional twosome. How could she not? They'd had love forlorn, love unrequited, love won; there'd already been tearings asunder, near deaths, a failed wedding engagement, multiple family disputes, and even pirate adventures! After all that, and with newer quests for their union appearing daily, this latest act of their tale had become the most exciting one so far, for certain.

But it was also becoming the most stressful.

The chance to hear and see more for herself was only one third of the reasons Estrella had accepted the change in her position. She was most drawn by the promised raise in her salary, paired with the opportunity to leave her old tiresome tasks of scrubbing, and dusting, and dumping chamber pots far, far behind her. When the governor had dangled before her nose the promise of extra coin in her pocket and fewer manual labors on her back, she could think of no good reason to decline such an advantageous promotion... at the time.

What she hadn't considered was the way she would be trading the task of keeping the Swann family's mansion clean for keeping its reputation clean.

And when it came to the governor's daughter, if a person rearranged the letters of Miss Elizabeth Swann's name enough times, eventually they were bound to discover it spelled "trouble" in at least three different languages. While she wasn't cruel or uncaring, Estrella knew from multiple past experiences that the young woman would stop at nothing to get whatever it was she wanted most. Names and titles were damned to her the moment they stopped serving her desires. And seeing as she seemed especially hellbent on tearing down anything, anyone that stood between her and her swain, well…

Somehow, last month's mountains of laundry were starting to feel like the easier chore.

Right now, the lady of the manor was nestling herself quite comfortably into her lover's side, obviously not content in the slightest with the meager contact of modest brushings of their hands. Estrella was supposed to chide them for it. But it felt as much of a nuisance to her as it was to them. She'd been in love before, knew something of what it was like. And as far as she was concerned, this was nothing but a harmless cuddle that ought not to be a bother to anyone. Unfortunately, there was always a world of eyes turned towards the Swann family, and those eyes attached to mouths that would happily decry such a posture as a scandalous intimacy for a couple not yet wed.

More fortunately, the carriage had pulled out of the town's boundaries, and Estrella had more time to continue to shirk her duties in favor of falling back into daydreams about finding her own love story. After all, she thought there was no real harm in the lovebirds' affections, especially now that they were out of sight of those prying or judgmental eyes.

Well… most of them.

Though he was young, Mister Burley was something of a stickler when it came to codes of conduct and things being done in proper order. The result was that he had a reputation amongst the staff for being something of a snitch and spoilsport. He didn't seem to mean anything by it—it was as though he found some comfort in predictability and routine. But whenever something seemed out of place, no matter how small, it could be counted on that he would bring it to Mister Yates' attention. As Steward of the House, if Mister Yates believed anything untoward was happening between Miss Swann and her beau while on Estrella's watch, he most certainly would bring it up with the governor.

And after the things Governor Swann had heard at church the other day, Estrella was already on thin ice with him.

This was why, when the carriage swayed aggressively into the main ruts of the road, Estrella began to feel her fraying nerves buzz after Miss Swann groaned most indiscreetly into Turner's ear.

"I didn't expect to become so sore so quickly."

Estrella knew it wasn't meant to be anything indecent. The pair had been at their secret sword fighting sport for over an hour, and now there were consequences to be felt for the more novice lass. That was all. But with a small jolt of dismay, Estrella realized there was a certain sound to the comment, to her voice, that could be questionable to outside ears. After all, what reason did any respectable lady have for soreness that didn't involve a long horse ride or a dusk-to-dawn ball?

She found herself glimpsing with a bit of anxiety at Mister Burley through the corner of her eye.

At first, his face appeared like a well-trained mask of stoicism. However, she had sat with this footman at hundreds of meals over the years, served at many of the same events. And she felt certain she could spy a flicker of confusion shining under his brow which could not be wholly disguised.

Her nerves began to churn outright.

'It's alright, it's alright! It's only talk of a little sport. Nothing else to be made of it,' she thought to herself, hoping that her compatriot would look her way, and that nothing more awkward would be said before she had a chance to pull Burley aside and explain the situation.

"Your knees?" Mister Turner asked Miss Elizabeth innocently enough, but with an accompanying smile lightly teasing in its concern.

Burley's confusion began to visibly deepen.

"And then some, no thanks to you," Miss Elizabeth chided back, her own expression turning puckish with a squeeze of her beau's arm, which caused a pit to form in Estrella's stomach. "Well, thanks to both of us, I suppose. Climbing the stairs is going to hurt something awful for the next day or two, I fear."

'Lord above, would you two hear yourselves?!' Estrella wanted to hiss, and opened her mouth to do so.

But again: Mister Burley was watching. If Estrella didn't correct them in just the right way, Miss Swann would only put up a fight—one Estrella knew she likely would not win. They weren't truly doing anything wrong, after all: they'd already established a habit of embracing even in front of the governor himself, and nothing they were saying was actually crass. Yes, Miss Swann would be guaranteed to fight back, and possibly even resort to doing or saying something actually suggestive in an act of spiteful rebellion.

There was also the complications that, despite the actual sport of their conversation being innocent of intimate relations… mostly… Miss Swann had made it clear she wished to keep their swordplay secreted from her father, for the time being. And seeing as the governor had yet to either overtly state or imply there was anything strictly wrong with his daughter taking up the sword, there were technically no orders from him that could overrule Miss Elizabeth's will. Nearly every other servant, every other maid or footman, would be happy to keep this admittedly juicy little secret to themselves for as long as was necessary.

Except for Mister. Bloody. Burley.

And if Burley could see Estrella was that much of a pushover with Miss Swann, rather than a proper tempering for the young lady's conspicuously ardent relationship, she'd be seen as a poor chaperone in need of replacement. She'd be reported to Mister Yates for certain. And rather than facing a demotion to her old, familiar and half-missed position, there was a chance she'd simply be dismissed. Fired. Looking for work in places where the lords and ladies were almost guaranteed to be far less magnanimous than the governor and his daughter.

She would have to chide the pair carefully and make certain Burley understood nothing was amiss. But the right words to say hadn't come to her yet. So, while still sensing ripples of shocked concern from her seat mate, she instead used the guise of the carriage's rocking up the hillside to prod Mister Burley pointedly in his side. His head turned to face her at last. With his attention won for a moment, she pursed her lips and shook her head as firmly and discreetly as she could manage.

'It's not what it sounds like!' she hoped he understood, somehow.

His brow began to furrow, as if to question, 'Then what is going on?'

Across from them, the snuggling pair seemed oblivious or unconcerned with the fuss their conversation was causing, carrying it on without pause.

"I'm sorry," Mister Turner said to his companion, eyes glancing over her in that gentle way Estrella had seen nearly the moment they'd been introduced.

"For what?" Miss Swann returned with a dramatic sigh, wriggling her body to better burrow with his. "I can't remember the last time I enjoyed myself so thoroughly. And seeing as I think we both taught each other a thing or two, it'll be all the more enjoyable next time… at least enough to find ourselves in less questionable positions."

While their mistress' eyes slipped shut, Mister Burley's flashed their whites with alarm, and Estrella only just resisted slapping her palm to her forehead. God, it couldn't get any worse now. She needed to say something immediately—what could she say?!

"Nothing like a little practice," Turner agreed, then laid a kiss within Miss Elizabeth's honeyed locks.

While Miss Swann's face was pure contentment, the look of consternation flashing over Mister Burley all but pushed Estrella into a panic. Why weren't they listening to themselves?! Holla! There were other people in this carriage! And still Estrella was at a loss for what she could say besides, 'STOP IT, STOP IT, STOP IT, YOU FOOLS!' With another bump of the wheels, Estrella all but rammed her elbow into Burley's ribs.

Mouthing an angry, 'Ow!' he turned his head, glaring at her.

Her own lips pressed into a thin line, she shook her head even harder. 'It's. Not. What it sounds like!'

'Then what the devil is it?!' he practically scowled back.

It was innocent! But it was secret! And it was…

Absurd! All of this was utterly absurd: the governor's daughter, so in love with this lowliest of commoners, each was practically in an oblivious stupor for the other; her father so desperate to deny it, despite being completely unable to deny her; and fucking Burley bothering to have two tiny shits to rub together over it, despite having absolutely nothing to do with any of it… Ab-surd!

Which was why, before she could stop it from escaping, when Estrella finally opened her mouth, all she could do was laugh.

It began small at first, but as the carriage rolled along and thoughts of everything that had happened over the past two days rolled with them, her chuckles rolled like a downhill snowball into a belly-busting cackle. Miss Swann and Mister Turner looked at her, snapped out of their spell with blinking bewilderment, and she laughed even louder. Was it even that funny? No, it was not! Yet somehow that thought made her begin to positively roar. Rocking into Mister Burley and catching sight of his annoying face screwed up in a fantastic mix of confusion and disgust made it even worse. All she could do was lay her head back against the carriage seat and let her anxious mirth go free in a fit of madness.

Oh, she was ruined, wasn't she? God, she hated her job sometimes. And her stomach hurt now. She might as well have kept laughing before she started crying… Except it was a bit too late for that now, as tears were pricking at her eyes.

"Good lord, Estrella, what's the matter with you?" Miss Swann finally demanded, although her voice was colored with much more mirth than irritation.

Somehow, the sound of her mistress' voice laced with amusement was a relief, and Estrella's body began to calm enough that she could at last offer up her advice:

"Begging your pardon, Miss, Sir," she managed as she slowly caught her breath, "but perhaps it would be best if the two of you watch the way you speak of your new hobby—it might give certain people the wrong impression."

She tipped her head towards Mister Burley's confused complexion to emphasize her point. While Miss Elizabeth looked bewildered for a moment, Mister Turner looked as though flint had struck behind his eyes, and a little spark of comprehension discernibly caught flame and grew as he visibly replayed their brief conversation in his mind. By the time Miss Swann had looked at him and finally lit her face up with the stunned understanding she caught from her partner's eyes, all Estrella could do again was laugh.

And laugh.

And laugh.

Fortunately, the absurdity of the moment was not lost on her charges, and instead of continuing to crack up alone, Miss Swann and Mister Turner began to join her mad little song, until it was clear that Mister Burley felt he'd been surrounded by a batch of raving lunatics. It wasn't until the carriage had begun its final turn up the governor's hill that they all began to calm.

"Please forgive our slips of tongue and temper, Mister Burley," Miss Elizabeth sighed. "I pushed myself into Mister Turner and Mister Brown's workshop today, and they were kind enough to indulge my curiosities in their craft. In the process, we had a brief accident where I was careless enough to trip and fall upon the concrete. That is all we were speaking of."

Estrella wasn't sure that'd suffice. However, while Mister Burley was still palpably suspicious and somewhat disturbed by their rowdiness, he did thankfully seem to accept Miss Swann's explanation for her strange conversation with Mister Turner. He offered a simple nod in answer, then turned his attention out the window.

The carriage pulled up to the mansion. However, approaching the property gate, it slowed to a somewhat precarious halt upon the slope. With a frown, Mister Burley popped open the carriage door and left to help Mister Willoughby, who was scrambling in surprise to open the gate. The rest of the party remained waiting in the pleasant music of the surrounding forests. Inevitably, Miss Swann's and Mister Turner's eyes drifted back to each other again, visibly warming each other's expressions as they met. As Miss Swann's hand left her lap and reached to brush across her lover's lips and chin, Estrella averted her eyes to the swaying branches and fronds out her window.

"It's not so bad, is it?" she heard Mister Turner's soft voice beseech.

Miss Swann made a tutting sound with her tongue, drawing Estrella's eyes back to their exchange. What was 'it'? The mess this situation had become?

"I never said it was bad," the young lady insisted. Then cupping the side of her swain's face, she pressed her reassurances against his cheek, her lips kissing and speaking at once, "You're tremendously handsome either way."

Ah, the shave. Estrella resisted shaking her head to herself.

It wasn't as though this was a new look for Mister Turner—in fact, it was the reverse. Whenever she'd crossed paths with the blacksmith over the years, he'd always kept a mostly-smooth face. It was his still-recent time upon the sea that seemed to have adjusted his preferences, almost acting as an outward signal for the other ways his adventure had changed him. Switching back to his former, more familiar face hadn't seemed to bother him overmuch.

Until he learned of Miss Swann's tastes, apparently.

With her mouth still pressing firmly, playfully against the side of his face, a lopsided grin broke through Mister Turner's observable desire to continue speaking seriously. This time Estrella's urge to shake her head couldn't be stifled. He was won over so effortlessly by Miss Elizabeth's admirations. And after the way their day had gone, Estrella practically expected him to try and draw Miss Swann into another mushy kiss—enough so, she began to sit up, preparing herself to awkwardly separate the pair for a second time.

Fortunately, their entanglement took a different turn. While it was clear the man was genuinely flattered, he was not deterred from his inquisition, responding, "But you prefer me the other way."

The fingers of Miss Swann's right hand continued to ghost around his mouth, quietly individuating the touch of their past and present in a sweet intimacy Estrella felt compelled to watch and spurn simultaneously. So she watched with half an eye as the truth of Mister Turner's observation was overwritten upon Miss Swann's face with a tenderness in her regard.

Lips pulled into a smile, she simply shrugged. "It's only a little hair."

"Which I shall grow back," Mister Turner insisted with an earnestness that almost made Estrella laugh again. "Once the banns are read, bargains with Brown and the barber will be off."

"So I'll have my pirate groom?" teased Miss Swann, the shifting of her tone and touch raising a warning bell in Estrella's mind.

It began to toll when Mister Turner brought his mouth back to Miss Swann's ear, whispering another secret. But although Estrella could not hear the words he spoke, the visible ardor it ignited in Miss Swann's face made the meaning behind his answer clear: "In every possible sense, yes."

Oh, hell and devil take him!

This job change was supposed to pave a path to easier sleep at night; instead it was becoming a tightrope walk over deep, crashing waters—and these two fools were the ones asked to somehow hold fast the opposite ends of her rope, despite their candid desires to simply run away together. It was almost a miracle they hadn't each already let go and dove into the sea. At this rate, with their grips slipping more and more, it seemed almost inevitable the entire thing would come crashing down. Love and lust were such powerful influences….

"Will, I—"

With a loud harumph barely disguised under a cough, Estrella cut Miss Swann off from further fueling the fervor of their exchange. And when her mistress shot her with the expected glare of reproach, Estrella responded by tipping her chin out the still-open door of the carriage to remind them the gate was opening—their time alone would end at any moment.

Miss Swann's eyes rolled theatrically. Yet for once, whatever protestations or other acts of rebellion she might have made were withheld, and instead she drew her hands away from Mister Turner with a deep sigh of regret.

"I'll have to tell you later, I suppose," she groused, turning her attention back out her window.

And not a moment too soon. The sound of the gate clattering open announced the end of their ride. Mister Burley shut their door, and with great effort from the horses, the carriage was drawn forward towards the manor house. But a notable energy lingered in the air, letting the secret whisper of Mister Turner hover around them. In the thick of it, Estrella couldn't help but note the way Miss Swann's fingers had begun to fidget with themselves, while she shared a dozen more impatient glances with the man sitting at her side.

How were any of them supposed to survive the perils lying in this courtship?

'God Almighty, should these two be separated again before they're wed, make certain it's after they're far, far away from my responsibilities…'