Will didn't mind the heat so much once he was in it. It wasn't like the sharp, skin-stretching sort of heat he felt radiating from forge or hearth, but somehow softer, like the first coaxing of a long day's dusk captured in a single giant elixir. He could understand some of the appeal, especially if it followed a colder day.

However, try as he might, the atmosphere and circumstances surrounding him made it all but impossible to relax. He tried! Thinking of Elizabeth and her enthusiasm for this moment, he really truly tried shifting this way and that, propping his heels up on the far end of the tub, anything! He even attempted her suggestion of rolling up a washcloth to cushion his head or neck against the tub's narrow ledge. But it wasn't the tub size or shape that was the problem, in the end. No, it was the way that the governor could be found in every nook and cranny of the room, surrounding him entirely. The man's influence was in the clean, geometric ceilings, and his money in the gilded mirror on the wall. His style was in the flagrant florals of his soap, which practically boasted its noticeably higher quality in the way it soothed the skin far more than the harsh, nearly-caustic bar Will kept at home. Even the view outside of the endless rolling hills spoke of the man's power—a perfect view of his dominion stretching out, out, out, with no noisy, messy obstructions in the way...

And wherever the governor was to be seen, Will could not help but feel pressed under the weight of the man's disappointment. The brand new shirt hanging on the changing screen kept the man's displeasure hanging right in front of Will's nose, in a way. It made his stomach twist, even while skimming his eyes around it. And in each additional place observed, he saw a monument to the money which he needed to strive for, yet knew he could never properly obtain. He hadn't even received his first salary payment from Brown yet, hadn't even begun to calculate what it would cost to present Elizabeth a home he could be proud of. He heard the governor's sighs and words, saw the governor's frowns, bordering on scowls. Everywhere, he heard and saw it.

Boy

Not wanted

Nightmare

Simple

Unready

Interloper

Common

Unwor—

'Close your eyes…' Will suddenly remembered Elizabeth's whisper.

So he simply … stopped seeing. Rather than allow the setting to overwhelm him any further, he held his breath, bent his knees and slipped down enough to submerge his entire upper body beneath the bath's surface, where he let the seconds wade around him, focusing only on the steadiness of his heartbeat.

One…

Two…

Three…

There was something about being underwater that had always mystified him. For a good while, he'd hated it completely. He feared it. Water was death to him, first and foremost. Being too far down under its mercy only brought back vivid recollections of fighting to find a space to breathe while an entire ship and its passengers threatened to drag him down to places he could never be found, or even remembered. Gasping, screaming, clawing—with a blast, thrust out into icy expanses so vast they could swallow him and the vessel he'd been on whole, without a second thought.

And yet… even remembering the turbulent sight of bits of ship and bodies drifting, churning, sinking to oblivion, he could never fear the water for long. In open air, smoke and men choked while greed and fire burned the world down. In the water, it was somehow… peaceful. Muted and slow. And he had the strangest feeling that, somehow, the sea would absolutely bear him wherever it was he truly belonged—be it to the arms of his father, or his mother… or another.

Someone would embrace him again in the end, even if it was only the sea herself and her ghosts. That's what he'd thought, back then.

While he'd made his peace with the depths, he no longer wished for that—to only be at the mercy of something, someone he couldn't see. How big or furious the tides were didn't matter anymore. He was through letting his choices be made for him, pulling him adrift, telling him where he could and couldn't breathe.

Why was he still choosing to hold his breath?

This heat…

His breath slipped past his lips in a few gradual bubbles. He was used to being surrounded by swelter, but this heat was neither sea nor smithy. The longer he lay submerged, the steaming water around him didn't just enfold him, it felt like it was slowly smothering him with an increasingly heavy weight beyond that of its natural itself. So he heaved himself with his arms up and out of the bath entirely, wiping drizzling, soapy trickles from his eyes as he perched himself carefully upon the rim of the tub.

The change was instantaneous. Turning his head from side to side, he marveled at the way his back already felt less tense than it had felt in… possibly ever. And now sensing the outside breeze whisking about, the room felt as though it had become almost chilled. Were the cicadas louder here, or had he just gotten used to them? Crisp garden air filled his lungs with raw refreshment, easing the burning in his skin though gently cooling caresses. It felt… wonderful, letting the open air run over his bare body—somehow almost as good as plunging into a mountain pool at the end of a hot week's work. And for a moment he could allow that refreshment into his heart as well, to lift his spirits back up just a little.

'This must be what she was talking about…'

He smiled to himself, picturing the cockiness on Elizabeth's face when he told her she was right about the hot water. He could see it perfectly: her plush lips pursing into a perfect little smirk while her eyes narrowed into crescent moons lit by laughter.

God, that woman…

How could he weigh that smile down so quickly, by passing on his disappointments, already buckling under her father's judgements? Hadn't he promised her he'd stand his ground for the entire year of their engagement? While today he was striving to keep his unleashed impulse for sharp-tongued retaliations more in check, it was clear he also really was risking falling back into the pliant patterns Elizabeth had feared and very clearly expressed loathing for—habits he resented as well. Would a reasonable balance between open insubordination and submissive resignation be so hard to find? And how could he already be taking broadside hits to his expectations, when he'd been so certain he saw these sort of things coming? He'd known last night that this type of scorn could be his lot… or at least, that the rest of "polite" society would face him down this way. It couldn't honestly be denied that the governor was very much a part of that scornful society as well. He should have seen it coming.

But for whatever reason, he hadn't. Not entirely. Maybe he'd gotten his hopes a bit too high up. Maybe Elizabeth's reassurances in the garden, or her father's more sympathetic gestures, or his own determination following last night's plans had made him overly optimistic. Maybe he wanted… or let himself believe…

He shook his head to himself.

He kept nearly thinking that and stopping himself just before the thought could take root in his mind—it wasn't something he was willing to consider unless it seemed like it wouldn't be a false hope. He'd been crushed too many times by the idea before.

For now, Swann didn't matter, not if he didn't matter to Swann. Going above and beyond, winning more than nods through genuine smiles and the like would be ideal… but they didn't have time for ideal. To make it to the finish line, down the wedding aisle, he didn't actually have to keep the governor happy, regardless of which inclinations kept rising in himself to do so. He just had to satisfy the man's most basic requirements. The governor could be both satisfied and resentful at once—Will would have to be content with that.

After all, the happiness which concerned him most was his own and Elizabeth's. That was what truly mattered. He could manage that. He was doing well enough today, he thought… With the way she'd been smiling and laughing all afternoon…

Practically glowing under the smithy's sunlit rafters, kissing him with an almost wild abandon…

For a moment, Will allowed his visions to contentedly drift towards Elizabeth's image. His eyes were skimming the bath's glassy surface, where shadows of reflections flickered in sporadic dances with the fading daylight. Eagerly, his mind followed his gaze as it settled on the opposite side of the tub, where he stared farther beyond, into a waking dream. In that place, he liked imagining that she was there with him, seated upon that far rim of the tub. They would be alone at last, able to unbind their tongues to explore each others' minds … and maybe a little more. She could stay seated on that rim, simply chatting with him. Or perhaps she would stand in the water, and eventually begin to walk towards him. With her long shins buried nearly up to her knees in the water, she could look every bit a wayward sea nymph, tossing him that teasing smile which carved those carefree wrinkles around her nose and eyes in that way he was coming to know so well. Maybe her hair would be up, baring the long lines of her neck and broad shoulders… or no, by now she'd have it fallen loose, like it was on the Interceptor or the island. And as for the rest of her…

Will gripped the lip of the tub, suddenly hesitating.

He'd dreamed of her before in states and places that made him balk by daylight. No pretenses regarding his feelings for her could ever truly hide the desires within—even Jack Sparrow had read the truth, without even knowing who either of them were. It was obvious.

For instance, he'd wondered often over their private moment together aboard the Interceptor. It was one of those "states and places" that crept into his dreams every so often—last night's discussions had brought it back to his sleep. Except the dream was shifted to the hold of a different ship, which was bearing Elizabeth and him away not from Barbossa but her father's expectations. Even though these dreams had somehow decided they were sailing into a future filled with piracy together, his mind still wandered back to the past, reliving the moment when she'd guided his fingertips to brush her breast, just before revealing the secret she'd quite literally kept tucked away all this time.

Was it only for the medallion's sake she'd led his hand that way? Or had she meant something similar to her bolder flirtations today in the smithy, seeking an excuse for his touch to come a little closer to lines carved deep in the sand? If things had been just a little different, if there'd been no medallion or black ships chasing them, would she have wanted him to…?

'Let's not… go there right now, William…' he stopped himself again, listening self-consciously for footsteps through the washroom's shutters. He didn't need his body getting worked up when he had no idea whether he'd be visited or called upon at any minute's notice.

God, what he wouldn't give for some real privacy around her—no, around here! Except… well, also around her, yes.

Sitting here picturing her wasn't like drifting in and out of sleep, quietly and properly alone, with the stars casting their spells on Will to let his hidden mind takeover his body with whatever whims amused them. This was just him, himself, sketching out his own tempting thoughts with full lucidity. And the way every little thing in this washroom made him feel out-of-place was slipping inside his head, making those sorts of thoughts feel equally out-of-place.

But that was only one of the qualms he had. The other major one…

Will dipped his head and sighed to himself.

Perhaps it was odd for it to matter to him—he knew many others would laugh if they knew his reasoning, possibly including Elizabeth as well. But until the real Elizabeth had not yet chosen to show herself to him, or expressed her approval in some other, more certain way, there seemed to be limits to what he was able to wakefully fantasize about her. Doing otherwise he knew would make him feel awkward or… or something else he wasn't sure he liked.

Which just gave him all the more reason to find an escape from their minders—being trapped guessing and assuming what was really in her mind and heart was slowly eating his sanity away. Especially, after she'd made it very clear today just how poor he was at said guessing and assuming her thoughts and feelings.

In truth, navigating the passage between his misgivings and his desires had become unexpectedly tricky, as it was rapidly growing more and more narrow every passing sunset. Just over a month ago, he felt as though they stood upon two completely separate islands, with a wide-stretching ocean between them. Now the gap was closing with every kiss and caress they each happily gave and took. Before long, they wouldn't just meet, they seemed destined to crash into each other spectacularly. So swiftly were they turning what had once been some of the most indulgent parts of his dreams into a habitual part of his waking reality, somehow all of it was far surpassing the pleasure those dreams had imagined. Especially because Elizabeth was just as readily approaching him as he reached for her—she was flirting with him, holding him, kissing him, everything simply because she wanted to as much as he did.

In those things she left no doubts about what she wanted. He felt he could—and did—imagine kissing her almost constantly now.

And, yes, she'd started to tease him a little here or hint at something more there—she'd even possibly invited him to take more than a look or a kiss from her in one notable, drunken scenario. Through these recent teasings and hints, Elizabeth certainly implied there was a very good chance she would be pleased to hear he spent his lonesome hours picturing her in less-than-prudent ways. Hadn't she herself taunted him a few minutes ago with thoughts of her doing the same thing, in the exact manner as him—the exact same state of undress—as him?

But she said not to assume—to ask.

So… as long as she had not yet revealed herself to him first in person, or at least so long as she had not fully clarified her intentions between them, it felt almost… too forward to intentionally picture her in anything less than he'd ever seen her before—like taking something from the woman he loved, when she had not yet properly granted her full approval.

He would ask first, even if she laughed at him for it.

With that in mind, instead he went on imagining her soaking her feet in the shift she'd worn earlier today, with the skirts pulled up into her lap… maybe just far enough to give a peek at her thighs.

And he…

He could definitely hear Paterson's coughs near the door, footsteps coming up from somewhere downstairs, the outside chattering of voices passing along the whistling way below the open windows. Even with the room mostly sectioned off, it was all too much, too open, for him to ease his mind into proper relaxing indulgence. He could not help but feel like the governor's ears must be open in this sporadically pierced silence—and even though it was nonsensical, it somehow felt like those ears would manage to capture the sounds of his very thoughts. Then there'd be yet another place where Elizabeth's father would find fault in him, another, deeper low his reputation with the man would trip down to.

If it were possible.

Regardless, Will would just have to accept that this little bathing moment wouldn't be the shared experience of rest Elizabeth had hoped for him to take advantage of, entirely.

'But she told you to think of nice things—to think of her,' the gentler part of his mind reminded. 'Just close your eyes and go to her, instead of wallowing in all those other worries, like she asked.'

Those other worries…

Once again, his eyes shifted to the clean, starched shirt waiting for him atop the changing screen. He was struck for some reason by how foreign it looked, how almost unsuitable it felt for him. The only other garments he'd seen as white as that were the ones worn by Norrington and his men. Really, it was laughable how he hadn't considered how easily her father wouldn't notice Elizabeth's change. Next to the gifted garment lay his own shirt, hardly any different from the one she'd borrowed, and appearing only one shade away from a perfect yellow in comparison. Every flaw in it stood out like a sore thumb in this setting, its holes feeling so much more plentiful and cavernous, its weave so thick that it nearly seemed knit from cable.

'Refinement,' Paterson had called the gift—if it really was a gift at all, and not a loan.

Ha.

What a word that was: refinement. The pictures it called to his mind had so little to do with the delicate linens dangling nearby. And through those pictures, Will realized there were many, many things in the world that went through processes of refinement, making it perfectly reasonable for two men to imagine altogether different meanings for that very same word. While Elizabeth's father clearly seemed to believe in a social significance that involved swapping worn garments out for something softer, expensive and bright, he, a lowly blacksmith, thought of refinement as… Well, what else would he think of if not glowing iron?

He'd never tended to a refiners' fire himself, but he'd visited both foundry and finery a few times before. He had friends who worked their fires, and understood the labors they put into each ingot or billet that he laid to his own anvil. He'd handled the ore when it was raw and stone-like, and watched the founders smelt and cast it molten into dozens of shapes and sizes. He saw the efficiency behind this technique—the details and quantities of useful goods that could come from the founder's many molds was almost without parallel. But there were certain things that could never match the work and fire of the forge. Iron cast was only so pure, and could be shattered when placed under enough pressure. The hours spent by stringsmiths burning and beating a cast iron pig helped transform it from a brittle, charred rock into something flexible and enduring.

Something he would make even stronger and more useful—or when opportunity was granted, something that could be considered beautiful.

But it required hard, hard work from a small army of hands behind his own. And in a way, that of the crux of all their conflicts: where the governor saw elegance, Will saw sweat and toil. Perhaps in something of an irony, the governor meant to turn him into something cleaner and brighter, with powders and combs and whatever other little delicacies made men appear like gentlemen. But Will himself could already predict the punches he would feel, bringing down a hammer on himself, trying to forge his own person into something different—something better for Elizabeth, for her father… for himself, if he could. That was the refinement he actually foresaw.

And in that way, his own idea of refinement would take that silky white shirt and turn it into another ugly, yellow rag in hardly any time at all. In making what he thought was something better, he would destroy what the governor valued.

And how could he himself seem valuable to a man like that?

'How are we supposed to find any common ground when we keep facing the world in such opposite directions? We can hardly look each other in the eyes, we're turned so far apart. Even if we looked to the ground beneath our feet, we'd see something different. If it weren't for Elizabeth…'

He scrunched his brow as he paused, and let himself slip back down into the water's warmth. The soothing temperature caressing his limbs did not reach the hollow pit of ice that was opening inside his stomach.

If it weren't for Elizabeth, the governor would have forgotten about him eight years ago. He was certain of it. Not one glance would have been spared for him—he would have only been a nameless sum on some balance sheet listing monthly charitable donations. Perhaps the leader of their vast colony would spare a kind word if they crossed paths at the chapel on Sundays, just as he did with everyone else. There was no real affection behind anything else her father extended, not in the sponsorship of his apprenticeship, not in the weekly food baskets, not this bath, and certainly not Elizabeth's hand—not for him. How could there be?

To the governor, Will was… a problem to be solved, a project to complete, a prospect to use and throw away.

Just like he was with practically everyone. It was no surprise: he'd long known that the world was a wide, dark and lonely place. The only ones who ever wondered where he went if he ever disappeared were the people to whom he'd put himself to good use. They missed his hefted hammer or someone who would put their broken things back together. The face behind the tools mattered little in the end.

'But not to her. She wants you to be happy…'

No, not to Elizabeth. If all the world was pitch as night and all other lights went out, then her love would have been the one star that somehow stayed shining, brilliant after all this time. And she herself would be the outstretched hand he'd somehow manage to catch in the dark. Even if nothing else changed, that would have to be enough.

But the night and the currents he waded through were growing deep. God help him if he didn't hold on tight.

He sank back into the water's heat.

The familiarity of bathing felt like being submerged in a pool of Eden, softly seeping pain and weariness from Elizabeth's body while pure contentment seeped back in. All around, flowers and perfumes bore sweetly scented dreams behind her closed eyes. With the sounds and movements throughout the house brought to a temporary peaceful stillness, she could hear through open windows the trees composing a concerto just for her.

But today Eden wasn't enough. How could it be? When between her fingers slipped only the emptiness of torpid waters, and none of what she had hoped for, what she wanted…

With an unhappy sigh, Elizabeth craned her head back and grasped the edge of her tub in inexplicable aggravation, trying to fix her mind upon the birds' ballads. Yet today temptations were creeping further and further through her, until they were almost literally itching in her fingertips. Her own voice taunted her now, like a ghost from the recent past haunting her head.

'Enjoy yourself…'

Ha!

Uncomfortably shifting about again disturbed the water's stillness, making its surface match her mounting restlessness. Her earlier suggestions had been meant to entice Will, to try and overtake his visible doubts with the sport of gentle teasing. She didn't know what had become of her handiwork. And now she was the one taunted, trapped imagining the feel of her hands combing through coffee colored tresses, then tiptoeing down, down, down from one daydream deeper into another.

She imagined: instead of in separate rooms like this, what if they were already in the drawing room together, with him seated upon the floor before her, where he could lean his head back upon her knees? And once his locks were outspread across her lap freely uncoiled, she could put aside her comb and instead cup his face, bow forward, and place a kiss in his hair, at the peak of his brow, on the bridge of his nose between his eyes… until she'd picked her path home to have her lips welcomed back eagerly by his own.

She ought to have stopped her thoughts there, if she were remotely good or proper or decent.

But if she wasn't…

And if Will wasn't with her in the drawing room, but instead still reclined in his bath just like this, and father stepped away somewhere so they were without anyone else nearby to disturb them—Elizabeth could imagine what it might feel like to keep kissing him slowly then, letting her hands trail down his neck and shoulders, along the lengths of his arms. Perhaps he'd capture her hands in his, and whisper a sultry invitation that would set her heart a-thunder, make her burn inside-out. Then she could slip her hands free from his to trace a different path, exploring instead the feel of his chest breathing and beating under her palms until her fingers grazed the glassy surface of the water. Would he be warmer, still? Or would the open windows' winds chill the droplets encrusting his skin, making her warm to him? Would the water keep its heat longer enfolding two bodies instead of one? What would he say when her fingers wove back into his, and her feet dipped into the little reservoir surrounding him?

She really ought to have stopped her thoughts there.

But it was enticing, so enticing, to wonder a little longer what it would feel like to sit astride his lap, slip into his arms, nestle into his embrace, and press much more than kisses against naked skin… Especially while knowing the real her wouldn't have to wonder what waited in the water forever. Certainly, for now she had to endure the frustration of separation and supervision. But in a matter of months she really could tangle her hands in his hair again, then fasten her mouth against his throat like he had done to her today, only… more. And all the while he would take those hands of his and run them along her back, her sides, her… her backside—

She covered her mouth with both hands, and dipped low enough in the water to conceal her snorting giggles from Estrella's ears in the next room. But her bubbling didn't last long. There was another itch now—not quite literally, yet feeling it, Elizabeth understood why Violet called it such a thing in her more bawdy conversation. It was more than simple yearning—not an emotion alone, but a real, sensational urge in her body. Like an actual itch under her skin, it began as something of a tickle, whispering of a need to be touched, to be "scratched away" if she wished for relief. And yet it was somehow worse, roaming up and down her spine, until it restlessly settled deep between her thighs, to mingle with an almost angry little tension twisting low in her belly.

It was a sort of niggling that no spa water of any warmth could begin to relieve.

She was suddenly aware of her own self to an extent she'd only felt a handful of times before—while lying in bed, caught in a sharp desperation from imagining a love she'd dreaded had been stolen from her. That fear was gone now—in its place she had hope. And with it, her heart was pounding, slow but so strongly that every beat felt like a determined strike between her breasts, insisting she pay attention to her desire. She closed her eyes and pictured Will's, simultaneously dark and scorching as he looked up into hers, with the very same desire reflecting back. She felt hot, so very hot even to the tip of her nose. She thought of the way his lips felt so recently pressed against her wrist, her neck, or tangling madly with her own mouth. And her body prickled with a sort of misplaced anticipation as she clenched her thighs together, then ran one foot up and down her opposing shin, aching to be touched…

But in doing so, a part of the illusion was shattered.

Even more keenly, while cupping her own hands one with the other and pressing them to her chest, Elizabeth noticed how forlorn she felt with no real body actually lying beside her. There was nothing, no one else for her to embrace or wrap round—her imaginings were only intangible memories hanging in plain air and lucid water. And the one whose company she craved lay four rooms away…

Four entire rooms, one straitlaced father, and most of a goddamn year away.

She so hated waiting. She knew in truth it hadn't been long—only a handful of weeks since her father first indicated their courtship could be official. But in many ways it felt like eternity had been packed into this one month, with the way there were so many cannots and must nots that followed them everywhere with her father's devoted servants. Again, her tongue began to feel weighed down by every little thing that had remained sitting upon it, waiting to be given to Will's ears and no one else's. Even now, moments before, all she'd wished to say to him was how she wanted to wash his hair for him… and maybe hold his hand and talk… and maybe join him soon, very much in the manner she had just imagined…

Ah! How her impatience riled her! In fact, she had half a mind to stand up this instant and march across the upper landing, clothes be damned! Her hands slipped back under the water, and as she shifted to rest her head more comfortably upon the edge of the tub, she bit her lip to hold in more giggles of the thought of bursting in on him in nothing but her banyan, barely wrapped, and—

A quiet clatter made Elizabeth jump out of her thoughts, hands flying back to grip the tub's edge and eyes snapping open in alarm.

A tray had been set down, nothing more than that. But she'd become so distracted she'd almost forgotten that she had yet to dismiss Estrella properly. Her maid had swept back into the room and walked right up to the tub with a tray of vittles, and she had hardly noticed it happening. With rapidly rising blushes Elizabeth tried to regain control over her thoughts and racing heart, in order to form a less mortifying eye contact with Estrella again.

Still she knew she was being listened to, even as Estrella stepped back to the other side of the privacy screen and hovered nearby for her next instructions. She was always being listened to, always!

'I might … be a bit out of control,' the more rational part of Elizabeth's mind admitted. 'Estrella's always been wise to my feelings for him, even when I thought myself discreet. But the last thing either of us needs is her witnessing how filthy my thoughts have become so fast.'

Filthy?

True, she'd been told all her life by so many that true love was pure and good, while lust was its dirty corruption, shameful, fleeting, a kiss of death to be avoided in a healthy marriage. They were two sets of feelings in direct opposition, especially for women. That's what everyone said.

But it didn't feel filthy or conflicting. Like the opposing skies of night and day: her emotions and attractions were gradually taking turns, often overlapping. It didn't matter if it was by sun, moon, or stars, heart, mind, or body, the passing hours were always creating something so awe-inspiring she almost forgot to breathe. Even now, her calming heart was determined to remind her just how breathtaking it all actually felt to her, re-conjuring up the one hundred ways simply kissing Will made her feel—those stirrings were far, far away from what she thought filthiness would ever feel like.

And there was nothing about these little licentious longings that felt like they drove away or otherwise undermined all she experienced when she saw Will's smile lighting up like a firefly or softening into a peaceful rest or fading from unhappy thoughts. Even the way he simply looked at her, when they held each other close or caught eyes from across a table, unable to resist sparks of bliss lighting their faces, felt so far and away from the bitterness of dusty earth. If anything, his touch and what it had begun igniting in her had begun to give all these little moments a new meaning, almost. Somehow it made her feel like she needed him, all of him, to simply be safe and content more and more desperately, no matter how far away he wandered from her arms. And when he was in her arms… by glance, by touch, by kiss, there were hardly any other ways she thought he could make her feel other than exhilarated, treasured, divine.

How could she not crave more?

And how she craved more! Without meaning to, her mind began to fill itself with thoughts of the tender press of Will's lips upon her wrists, or his breath hotly brushing her jaw with hushed and sacred vows—

'Lord, not right now!'

She snarled to herself and sat bolt upright, disrupting her bath water with the angry wakes made by her effort to break herself free from her more deeply entangled obsession. Why couldn't her mind and body at least wait until bedtime?

No—why did she need to wait until bedtime? Why did she always have to be watched and listened to and minded like a child?! Why couldn't she be alone? Why couldn't she have him alone?

Though Estrella didn't laugh, Elizabeth could hear the amusement in her voice as she tittered behind the screen, "Is there something else you need, miss?"

"What would make you think that?" she responded with attempted casualness, while trying to massage the last imaginings of Will from her eyes and fingertips.

When she opened them again, and finally managed to blink away the remaining splotches of pressure from her vision, she found Estrella re-appeared from behind the screen, looking at her with an expression unnervingly unconvinced by her pretended nonchalance.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes back at Estrella, and drew her knees to her breasts, hugging her legs close around her shins.

"Alright, I cannot seem to relax. I've too many things on my mind."

It wasn't really a lie—she would just allow Estrella to assume those things involved vexations of a completely different nature than the ones that were still leaving behind small ticklings in her tail.

"Anything you would be interested in speaking about?"

Elizabeth frowned thoughtfully.

It was a typical question, especially for Estrella—she did have a tendency towards being somewhat nosier than any household staff ought to be. But for some reason, Elizabeth was struck by how atypically unsure she was of her answer. While she'd confided in Estrella regarding smaller concerns over the years, she'd always tried to keep her feelings for Will as hidden away as her—as his medallion.

His medallion. The one she'd kept from him… A gift from his father…

Quietly, she refused to allow the knots in her stomach to turn sour.

But to Estrella's question about sharing her thoughts: once her feelings for Will had begun transforming from amicable to amorous, and while his feelings for her had also seemed to have remained friendly or to have become hidden by him, she'd tried to keep her love a secret. Very poorly, admittedly, but in spite of her sloppiness and slip ups, still she'd tried. In fact, trying to keep her secret was a habit so firmly entrenched, her first inclination was to turn Estrella away. It was probably more than coincidence that she felt so inclined to hide her feelings for him when they were transforming again—this time from purely deep affection to something that was also, well… erotic, clearly.

Who could she trust with the full truth about her disreputable feelings?

No matter how she loathed it, it'd already been made clear how falling out of favor with Jamaica's more stringent families would affect the perceived legitimacy of her and Will's marriage. If she or he failed any parishioner's expectations, their union would simply not be accepted. And if the world did not accept their marriage, her father had indicated neither would he.

And when it came to that, Elizabeth couldn't help but think of the prior night, and the way Will had somehow seen feelings she hadn't even been willing to acknowledge to herself, staring straight through the shadows into the middle of her heart: no matter how complicated this all became, if there was any way to keep even one finger on her relationship with her father, she wanted it. She could impulsively talk of eloping night and day—even if things came to a point of facing her father's rejection, she would run away with Will in a heartbeat. After all, she knew the saying and leaned on it often: ask for forgiveness, not permission. Her father would never disown her outright or turn her away forever, if she ran. He loved her more than that—he loved her truly, she knew it.

But while she had chosen Will's love to accompany her into her future, that love from her father had been an important part of her past. It would break her heart to lose his support, to have him forever resenting her husband, to forever see shame and regret in his eyes when there could be, should be pride and love over the family she'd chosen to build with a man more than worthy of that admiration.

This was the entire reason why she'd agreed to Will's compromises, despite resentments and wishing better for them both now. It was why the wrong people could never know that she entertained such "unladylike" thoughts and desires for him while they were yet unwed. The misunderstanding in the carriage with Mister Burley had made it even more clear how much more careful they needed to be. Estrella was indulgent, but not everyone on staff was. And there was that ever-looming threat that Estrella could be replaced if any of them were perceived by her father as crossing a line.

So she had to keep this secret for just a while longer. From the staff, from her father… perhaps even from Will, for now. Just to be safe. Oh, she would flirt with him and leave her hints still—she was so very eager to steal some truly intimate time with him, and taunting him felt almost irresistible. But she still wasn't entirely certain whether he'd hesitate once he understood the full vigor in her longings—the ways she could squirm and awaken her body just thinking of him, the ways she spent thinking of him. She doubted he would be uncomfortable enough to turn her away or seek out supervision, of course, but… perhaps he would be worried enough that he might keep his hands to himself a little more.

And if she were honest, she couldn't bear to give up these new physical attentions from him now—she was too obsessed, too greedy for that.

So if he could not yet know, it was certain no one else could…

Except, suddenly, she remembered: Violet, Amelia, and Mary already knew. She had tried to keep the truth hidden from them, for far more complex reasons than she'd had in the past. Despite her efforts, they'd manage to coax it out of her, to see her secret for what it was. None of them had chided her or made her feel in the wrong for what little wickedness she dreamed. In fact, she knew their secrets as well—Violet's very real affairs, Mary's no less real resentments, Amelia's unfortunately real heartache. If she could ignore her misgivings over the Blackwells' intentions, her friends had helped her feel quite comfortable with her wicked little secret, in the end.

Violet included, somehow.

God, if that woman were here now, she'd almost certainly be a devil on Elizabeth's shoulder, plotting how to help secure her and Will's chance to be truly alone for an afternoon, to "scratch that itch like it was meant to be scratched…" And Amelia would scowl and start a row, while Mary would insist they get a hold of themselves or grow up. Then Violet would insist on proving just how "grown up" she was by talking even bawdier than before, until they'd all practically choked her into silence. And once that moment was passed, they would listen readily to Elizabeth's woes, and battle over each other to slip in helpful bits of insight between Violet's terrible advice.

And they would orchestrate an escape attempt for her and Will. Finally she and he could be alone and free—maybe not to fuck, this time, but to simply be in each other's presence as their natural selves, together.

She needed more friends like them, here in Port Royal. Allies. Someone besides Will and her father, both of whom she did confide in and loved across oceans and back, but… Oh, sometimes she simply wanted to speak to another woman, for no other reason than there would be a little less about her life she would have to explain.

Could Estrella be that friend? Was it even possible when she was currently a servant on her father's payroll?

With some disappointment, Elizabeth offered Estrella a polite smile. "Not today. Thank you."

Elizabeth found herself watching Estrella's face for a sign of hesitancy or disappointment—any indication that Estrella had asked to speak, because she genuinely cared a little for her mistress' well-being in addition to doing a job well done. But there was no such hint. Her maid simply bowed her head with a practiced curtsy, and disappeared back behind the screen, waiting to continue the tasks she was paid to do. And that was the way of it, really: until Estrella or Elizabeth could step away from serving and being served, there could never be proper expectations for honesty. That was how the world worked, wasn't it?

A sigh slipped free from her chest without Elizabeth summoning it.

How strange it was that even coins without skulls engraved upon them could still come with their own curses. She really was hardly ever alone in this house—that part of her frustrations was soundly founded. And yet, lately it seemed like she was also never in proper attendance with others either, not when she wasn't with Will or her father.

Yet she was once again alone enough to let her thoughts slip to other places.

And they did, readily. After all, there was no point in dwelling on disappointments that would not be changed for a good while.

So first she noticed a subtle fatigue settling into her limbs, where excitement had just been humming. She slipped her hands back under the water, and ran them over her shins again, probing her knees and kneading little circles into her thighs, simultaneously relieved and repulsed by the dull pains she worked through. All this from a couple hours' play, and the wading in and out of emotions that were starting to pull at her body with a building threat of riptide…!

Clearly, she would have to put in a lot more work and care into her swordplay, if she wanted to be able to feel like a normal human being after her exercises. It was almost a marvel the men she knew simply went on with their lives as though their battles hadn't affected them at all—how could Will manage all that practice while working as often as he did? Was he purely made of stronger stuff or simply more used to it? Well, he hammered and hauled away all day for a living, didn't he? Of course he was stronger. She could feel it when they played their little sports together, and became entangled in their tiny physical contests. She could also feel he was used to it. For it wasn't just the power with which he'd hold her that told her of his abilities, it was the surprising steadiness she could feel in his heartbeat and breathing when his chest had been pressed to her back.

When he'd been right against her body…

Like a moth transfixed, her mind flitted back to the smithy, and the way his hair felt tangled between her fingers while his mouth seared her neck. Then wandering and wandering, her mind was wandering again into more tantalizing memories of the burning she'd returned to him when she'd practically attacked his mouth on the entry's landing; or the way her knees had brushed his thighs when she'd leaned into him. And from there her thoughts wandered on to yesterday, recalling the thrill that had shot through her when Will had boldly put his hands upon her leg, to draw her closer to him. She couldn't decide which was more blush-making: the way he'd actually touched her, or the way she'd immediately wanted those hands to climb higher to touch her more… the way she imagined they might here, if…

Elizabeth gasped to herself. 'I'm already here again? How?!'

She needed a distraction, any distraction, to maintain her sanity at least until nightfall—when she wouldn't be caught frigging herself in her maid's earshot.

Funny enough, the first reliable disturbance that came to mind was the earlier sight of her chaperone's palm pressed to Will's forehead, keeping him in his own place with a firm determination that belied her softer features. Estrella! She was the chaperone! And like she'd done at Brown's table, Estrella could push the call of Will Turner back from Elizabeth's mind, while she herself lacked the conviction to do so on her own.

So, "Do you like this job?" Elizabeth blurted out.

She felt a little stupid after saying it. But it was the first thing she'd thought of, and she hadn't wanted to wrestle for any better idea. Her unsatisfied desire was becoming outright tiresome.

For many seconds there was only silence for Estrella's answer, and it only made Elizabeth feel more foolish. She began to wonder whether she'd spoken in a muddled rush, or at too quiet a squeak, or with too little regard for a social boundary Estrella may have rather remained between them.

Fortunately, Estrella's voice eventually crept around the changing screen with tentative confusion, "I… I beg your pardon?"

If there was one thing Elizabeth Swann truly hated, it was retreating. More often than not, it somehow felt far more awkward than simply committing to a strange question. So she repeated, more carefully, "Do you like this job?"

She couldn't picture Estrella's face or the moods coming off of her, but she could tell she was rolling words over in her mind, likely trying to be the good servant instead of a truly trusty companion.

Like Will had tried to be once.

That realization set Elizabeth's teeth on edge. And when Estrella finally began to answer, "It's a far cry from being a chambermaid, if that's what you're asking—"

Elizabeth cut her off with more bite than she'd originally intended, "It's not. What I'm asking." Regardless of her intentions, her directness bit all the same, enough that the teeth of her words cut through the silence between her and Estrella, leaving it almost limping in shock. Quietly she added, "And you know it."

She heard footsteps next, dulled taps of leather upon wood telling her Estrella was wandering closer to her side of the changing screen. A few thoughtful breaths could be counted between them.

"It's the best job I've ever had."

Elizabeth's lips twitched. With all the carefully orchestrated dinner parties and public fetes she'd attended at her father's side, she knew a cautiously diplomatic answer when she heard one. And whatever for…?

Well… perhaps it should be obvious.

All her life she considered herself broadminded and fairly gracious compared to others of her class. She never treated anyone on their staff violently, or censured them so deeply to fall into hurled abuses. She considered herself forward thinking and unafraid of it, touting her beliefs in justice and freedom for all persons. Didn't she love a man so below her station hardly anyone in her class knew he existed, until he'd made a name for himself … committing multiple felonies?

To put it one way, the spoons made for her mouth may have always been silver, but she did not believe in scorning those who relied upon wood.

However, lately she was beginning to realize that her absence of flagrantly cruel or antagonistic tendencies towards the lower classes had not automatically facilitated the presence of wholly considerate ones. And until as recently as the first days returned from her rescue, she hadn't started giving proper thought to the lives of her servants beyond their roles of serving her. Even then, her thoughtfulness could be fleeting. Hadn't she already been responsible for earning Estrella a threat to her job? Hadn't she been part of the cause for Estrella all but breaking down into hysterics in the carriage?

Certainly, this could be the "best job" she'd had so far, compared to what she'd been doing…

"But it still is not easy for you," Elizabeth surmised aloud. The best of the worst would still be poor. The way Will spoke of many aspects of his life recently had made that perfectly clear.

Estrella made a sound that could have been either a sigh or a laugh. "You and Mister Turner don't exactly leave much room for ease between you."

Elizabeth hoped it was a laugh—she was laughing to herself now.

Then Estrella added, "But I don't mind it so much."

Yes, that was why she threw a tantrum in the middle of the street this morning, panicking over her and Will's openly physical flirtations. She felt a hint of guilt tapping at the glass in the back of her mind, as she thought of all the casual thoughtlessness she'd extended to her servants in the past. They way she would snap at Estrella for speaking out of turn, while she herself demanded the freedom to do so for herself and Will.

Maybe she was a bit of a hypocrite…

"I appreciate your lies," Elizabeth answered, hugging her knees tighter to her chest. "But they are not necessary."

"I wouldn't call it a lie, miss."

"Your half-truths, then," she pushed back.

Estrella didn't say anything in response to that, quietly confirming her answer to be less straightforward than she'd previously admitted.

Elizabeth was neither surprised nor upset. She knew a lie when she heard one—it was one of her favorite weapons in this world of social scrimmages. She might have taken offense a few weeks ago, probably considering Estrella's lukewarm answer to be an insult to the image of uncommon graciousness she had built for herself. Now her eyes were being opened, after catching glimpses of a world that had once been hidden away from her, behind velvet curtains. A world where people slept and ate and worked so similarly and yet so differently from her, all at once.

The world of her future husband.

She shook her head to herself. "You have been a good servant, Estrella. If you are dissatisfied with your work, I would like to know it. I want… I want to be better to you."

She wanted to be better to everyone—to be more of the hero Will believed she was, and the hero she saw him.

There was another moment of thoughtfulness before Estrella responded, "I shall keep that in mind, Miss. Thank you."

And suddenly the conversation seemed over. There were other things Elizabeth wished she would like to say, but she didn't know what they could be. For once in her adult life, she was finding her bath to be downright uncomfortable. If they stayed silent, her thoughts would inevitably keep slipping back towards Will, if only to once again start innocently wondering how he was. But they wouldn't stay in place, then. They'd take the same path they'd been treading today towards much less innocent thoughts, and sitting there while being unable to satisfy herself in those thoughts seemed like a prospect completely miserable. She'd much rather get dressed and have something else to do with her hands, while waiting for him.

Yes, that seemed like a much better course to take.

With a nod to herself, she announced her decision, "I think I'm finished, actually. If you could fetch me a towel, please?"

Evidently, Elizabeth's command had been anticipated. Without delay, Estrella popped back around the changing screen with a large cotton towel already held aloft for her mistress' use. Taken aback by her servant's prompt response, Elizabeth awkwardly scrambled to raise herself to her feet, feeling somewhat incredulous as she did so, over how stiff and achy her knees were once again.

'Is this normal? Will seemed to think it could be normal… He didn't strike his legs on the ground in his story, though, just leaped about like the oversized monkey he can be.'

As she stepped out of the tub, onto the cooler hardwood floors and into the silky-soft embrace of Estrella's prepared towel, a smile twitched at her lips. Maybe "Will" would have been a good name for that terrible little monkey of Barbossa's… if she didn't hate it so much.

She tried to wrestle her attention towards the silliness of that thought, while focusing on taking the towel from Estrella and patting her body dry. And only that—no pretending someone else was involved, especially with someone else's eyes hovering about so closely! She was only mostly successful—while a certain someone was not allowed to re-enter her thoughts in the way he had before, her attention was stolen by the hypnotic way the water swayed back and forth in the tub, settling gently back towards stillness. It was still steaming a little.

Her mind was once again tempted to imagine Will reclining in it, suggesting now that she was out of her own bath, maybe she really could creep through the hallway to the other side…

'Ah… I'm thinking about him again already, aren't I? I'm becoming hopeless…'

But then maybe it wasn't her fault… She genuinely doubted she would be so pathetic if she were simply allowed to be with the man she wished for, the way she was wishing. Wasn't it a part of human nature to desire things all the more when they were forbidden? That was what the very first pair of people did, wasn't it—why such things were called a forbidden fruit? And she had been kept from him in some capacity for years and years by this point—simply finding the chance to speak to him had been a challenge until recently. Now that she was learning his touch, and wanting it and its secrets so constantly, it was making her wish to shriek with rage. If his love was a meal meant for her to eat, then she would practically be starving!

'One could argue, then, that I need to find a chance to be alone with him soon, otherwise I'll become incapable of controlling myself.'

Yes… Yes, this chaperoning business wasn't just annoying—she could argue it was counterproductive! Perhaps she could even prove it would be the cause of the very thing her father wished to avoid, if it were kept up… That would not do! It was now also for the good of the reputation her father so wished to protect that she needed to find a way to steal away somewhere with her future husband.

It was an argument she knew her father wouldn't accept, but it didn't matter—she did. And it was enough to give her a little bit of an idea.

With a smirk, she mustered the mental energy to temporarily push back against her impulsive daydreams fiercely, by thinking of the scoldings and other efforts put forth by Estrella, again. In doing so, suddenly a different image appeared in Elizabeth's mind: of Misters Paterson and Burley hauling their buckets up and down the stairs, to and from the cook house. And for a moment, she was sufficiently distracted from her longing by her sympathy. It made her think of how daunted she had felt looking up that staircase for a single climb, with her legs growing sore and tired. And they were expected to do it many times over! On a normal day, that work would have made a proper difference—she'd have chosen to lay in the water until she grew cold. But she realized today they would have done all that work almost for nothing…

It seemed so… almost… well…

"It's a bit of a waste of good water, isn't it?" she sighed out loud.

"You weren't exactly expecting it, I suppose," Estrella reassured after only a split moment's thought.

Another simper crossed Elizabeth's lips, as she began to wrap her towel around herself. That was certainly true… but it didn't exactly change the truth of Elizabeth's different observations, only distracted from them. It was an excuse.

She turned her head to look her maid straight in the eye, and to study her more carefully.

"You're rather shrewd when it suits you, Estrella," she drawled thoughtfully.

Her maid looked at her with carefully guarded confusion. "Thank you, miss?"

But she needn't be so worried—in this Elizabeth was completely sincere. So sincere, she may have also been a little eager to capitalize on Estrella's shrewdness, for the sake of the idea cooking in her mind.

She offered her maid a genial smile. "What would you think if I requested my father to chaperone us once in a while? To give you a day off to catch up on other things in your life…?"

Estrella's face flashed rapidly between surprise and delight, before settling into suspicion. "I would think the loveliness of your proposition does not match the scheming look in your eyes."

The pleased laughter which Elizabeth had prepared to enjoy died with Estrella's accusation, and instead she scowled at her maid with open-mouthed offense.

"It is not—I am not scheming! I'm…" she scoffed through another more-than-half-a-lie. Her stated proposal was completely sincere—the arrangement could be mutually beneficial. Mutually!

But it was clear from the way Estrella's eyes were narrowing under the weight of her skepticism that she knew far more than the less-than-half of the truth being fed to her. Shrewd, indeed! It was a look that reminded Elizabeth very much of Amelia and Violet, whenever she'd tried to pretend her feelings for Will were purely chaste affection.

So she gave up her protests with a resigned sigh, "I'm merely tired of eyes and ears always needing to be upon us. I can hardly sit here for want of his company—it's driving me mad in ways I know would not be if only we weren't so restricted in simply talking. And you've made it clear how mad it's already driving you, having to be those eyes and ears."

While the suspicion did not fall from Estrella's face, it was overlaid with a more cautious facade of listening. Elizabeth's heart stirred mightily inside her, encouraged by the potential sympathy before her.

"I need to be alone with him—truly, properly alone."

Estrella opened her mouth to protest, but Elizabeth knew what she would say and cut back in first.

"Improperly then! Yes, I admit it! And I don't care when or where. There are things I wish to say to him that no one else deserves to know, and we don't deserve to whisper so fearfully. It isn't filthy or wrong, what I want. It's only…"

Intimate. Secret. A private treasure reserved for the swiftly shrinking space between him and her, and no one else's goddamn business. For a moment, Elizabeth pinned Estrella with her eyes, pleading with every possible faculty for her to understand this small piece of what she was admitting. To have some mercy on her, just as she was extending a small mercy to Estrella.

While she was certain Estrella understood, still she emphasized the most important part of her identified scheme in a low, conspiratorial voice: "If we were to slip away on my father's watch, he would only have himself to blame—not you."

Estrella sighed at this and cast her eyes down—it was not the reaction Elizabeth had hoped for. Fretfully, she drew her bottom lip between her teeth as her chaperone weighed the offer Elizabeth was leveraging.

"But is it wise, miss?" Estrella eventually whispered her quiet worry. "For either of you?"

Elizabeth watched the weight of those worries play across Estrella's face for several moments, and felt a tiny tinge of affection stir within her for Estrella's thoughtfulness.

No—no, of course it wasn't wise.

But who said anything about love being wise? Wasn't it said that people were fools in love? Certainly, she didn't believe herself to be a complete idiot—she prided herself in being intelligent and clever. But she felt she was beginning to understand that notion, knowing now what the desperation for the presence of another soul felt like. She needed Will—needed him alive and safe, needed him in her sights, needed him in her life, needed him in her… everywhere, every way. And if she were honest, she doubted anyone could call those most desperate things she'd done for his sake driven primarily by reason. Even her acceptance of the commodore's proposal, which had been an admittedly hasty calculation but a carefully made calculation all the same, had been spurred by panicked urgency over the swiftly approaching tragedy of Will's death. None of it had been truly, purely "wise."

She refused to regret any of it. Wisdom had its place, an important one certainly. But sometimes it merely stood in the way of more important things.

Ironically, it would be unwise to admit as much to Estrella. But Elizabeth found herself once again at something of a loss for what else to say. She'd thought her idea to free Estrella from her responsibilities would be an almost surefire gambit—an enticement that opened her maid's ears to the possibility of a greater escape plan. She hadn't expected this show of… genuine caring.

It was then Elizabeth realized she knew so little about Estrella, personally. Her parents were still alive, Elizabeth knew. She liked the opportunities she'd been afforded to borrow books from the Swann collection. She was a talented seamstress, and a less talented cook. She had an expressive singing voice that enlivened the latest broadside ballads, and a sharp mind and tongue—things that ought to not be well-known, considering servants were generally meant to remain silent.

And she really was a wonderful maid and chaperone. Elizabeth could think of no other person she'd rather have in her place right now. Even when she really wished she could escape Estrella altogether lately…

'Why should she offer such caring when I've really done such a poor job of showing her even the most basic appreciation?'

Her eyes fell back to the tub and it's still, warm water. Then a new idea struck her—another one that could benefit herself just as much as it could benefit Estrella. And she grinned brightly again as she tipped her chin towards the large copper basin.

"Why don't you take it?" she asked Estrella.

Estrella was visibly taken aback, perplexed and possibly even a bit disbelieving. "Miss?"

"The bath," she clarified back, although she knew Estrella was aware that's what she meant. "I can dress and entertain myself for a few minutes. Why don't you take a few of them to try the water?"

Now Estrella's demeanor was openly suspicious. "Is this a bribe?"

Again Elizabeth's mouth fell open in a show of offended disgust.

"What? No! Of course, not!" It was. "I simply would hate for all that work fetching the water to have been for nothing. That's all!" That was still true, at least.

Still the width of Estrella's eyes did not return to normal. Instead, her mouth joined their squinting with a deeply unconvinced crumple, as she balled her hands into fists and perched them akimbo upon her hips. "I do not think that the governor would appreciate the appearance of me shirking my dut—"

"He doesn't need to know. I'll give you a chance to enjoy a little reward for your work, while you help spare me the embarrassment of explaining to my father and his footmen why my bath was so brief. You won't be shirking anything!" Elizabeth insisted, and took Estrella's wrist to coax her closer to the tub, and offer her a little honesty. "Listen to me, Estrella: I ask you these things, because you're the best maid and chaperone I could have asked for at this time—truly! I still don't know how well you know Will or for how long, but you've made it clear for quite some time what you think both of him, and of him and I. I can't think of any other person who could be so gracious and supportive of this courtship. You have been indulgent. And I think you deserve some extra compensation for all the trouble I've put you through already. Don't you?"

Estrella's eyebrows had changed course and were now cocked with intrigued surprise. It seemed like her speech was making the impact needed—and not one lie had been told in the process.

Eager to solidify her victory, Elizabeth closed with an offer: "Consider it an expression of my apologies—that's what it truly is."

With her lips still bunched by internal debate, Estrella's eyes spent several seconds slipping back and forth between the bath's quickly cooling waters and Elizabeth's only-somewhat-lying face. Would she take her olive branch and first tiny bid for friendship? Or would they forever be only a lady and her servant?

"Alright," Estrella eventually conceded slowly. Then with a carefully controlled smile, she turned and bobbed her practiced, professional curtsy. "Thank you, miss."

Elizabeth smiled back. "I'll be in the main chamber."

If it weren't for the handful of brushes against the gown Elizabeth had been wearing on Isla de Muerte, Will would have thought the shirt given him was silk. It felt lighter and more smooth against the skin than anything he'd ever worn in his entire life—except for where it was more starched, around the ruffled cuffs and properly stiffened collar. Not a crease was out of place, not a smudge, fray, tear or anything. If he hadn't seen the more well-off folk wearing such whites already, he wouldn't have believed such flawlessness was possible. He never came close enough to have observed it before, but there was even a little bit of a shininess to the cloth when held at different angles. It was practically perfect.

And it looked so foreign against his sun-kissed skin, made to appear all the more dark with the bright shimmer contrasting against his wrists and chest in ways the pampered faces of the governor or even some of the navy officers somehow didn't quite seem to do. If ever there was a sign he was among the working class, that would definitely be one of them.

'Oh yes, you're definitely blending in with this wardrobe change,' he thought sarcastically, and self-consciously ran his hand back over his smoothed upper lip and chin. His hands smelt ever so slightly of flowers.

To his surprise, an equally bright, silken pair of stockings had been hung beneath the shirt, and Will put those on as well. However, no breeches or other top layers had been provided for him, so he simply climbed back into his ratty, old brown set, which looked far worse and even more out of place once paired with his loaned crystal-white undergarments.

He felt foolish, again. Inadequate.

Perhaps he could negotiate the acquisition of some more abandoned laundry from Missus Hackley—then he could own something with at least a little color to it, something that would look decent next to white. And maybe an actually white shirt. It would likely settle their debt and return the two smiths to having to pay for her services…. And paying for the better laundering to keep those clothes so spotless would eat much faster at his funds.

But he had to start keeping up appearances soon.

'Worry about that later. Get your first week's pay first, then work that out next.'

His hair was beginning to dry. Remembering Elizabeth's expressed desire to comb it through, he set about quick work of finishing up the buttons of his waist coat, followed by giving the washroom a quick final look over. He'd accidentally left quite a few puddles about the floor as he'd exited his bath for dressing. So he took a moment to use one of the large, smooth towels he'd been left to mop up his mess. Once that had been done, he folded the soft cloth into a neat square, much like he'd done with his bedding, back when he slept in the Brown's loft. There wasn't really much else to straighten out, other than the downgone shirt he'd worn here—on a last-minute impulse, he refolded that garment to appear more neat as well. While he flapped the raggedy old shirt as free from wrinkles as he could manage, he forced himself to push down the anxious feelings that began to bubble back up inside him, realizing and gradually accepting he would now have to face the governor again and account for Elizabeth donning such a grotty rag.

That was going to be a conversation where he most certainly couldn't afford to fall back on defensive barbs or shouting. What could he do instead…?

"Well… he hasn't thrown you out just yet," he muttered to himself a small reassurance.

It was a small thing, but it mattered. The governor could have taken the opportunity provided by Elizabeth's slipping away to have him quietly dismissed, and yet he hadn't. It didn't exactly guarantee that the governor hadn't, or still couldn't, change his mind about his daughter's marriage. Will certainly had a feeling that, to the governor, he was a suitor currently standing on ice that wasn't just thin, but actively cracking. But he hadn't plunged into the water just yet.

So what could he do or … not do? He certainly couldn't run—if there was anything he refused to do, it was to run from a fight. He'd rather lose a fight head-on and be forced to try again than eat up time fiddling with different possible outcomes, which mostly would not happen anyway. And while navigating this courtship and its misunderstandings might not have been a real fight, so to speak, it sure felt like an ongoing battle of some sort. Except his available weapons and moves were limited. He couldn't start a row—that would only make things worse, as usual. Obviously, challenging the governor to a duel was also out of the question, although an amusing one. But he also couldn't take the governor's unhappy assessments of his and Elizabeth's behavior lying down either.

That left the one remaining course of action he'd relied on to get him out of the most sticky social situations in his life:

"Just tell him the truth."

It was like a magic incantation, the advice his mother had ingrained in him from when he was small. While it didn't always summon the outcomes he most wanted, telling the truth more often than not revealed a great deal about where different people stood, who they were, by pushing them to answer his truth with something worth knowing in return. Sometimes people offered acceptance or gratitude, in which case the matter was often quickly settled to everyone's satisfaction. Sometimes they offered disbelief or rejection instead. Even then, Will felt there was a gain that made it worth it: knowing that a person was displeased was better than not knowing anything at all. He could see more clearly what his new obstacle was, and could get to work trying to find a swift solution instead of wasting his time trying to read someone else's mind.

That wasn't his strong suit anyway, mind-reading.

Yes… He should offer some of the truth to the governor. Then even if he couldn't make the man accept it, at least he and Elizabeth would understand which way they were headed with her father, and they could chart their course accordingly.

It was just as he finished his folding that it occurred to him that he would likely be bringing his shirt home with him anyway. So rather than lay it upon a cabinet as he'd originally intended, he tucked it in his arm, and forced himself to keep his eyes up. That way he would not become fixated over again at the ugly contrast in colors the different fabrics had. He couldn't continue to let himself dwell on the negatives of the past and present—this whole affair, this whole marriage, was meant to take him and Elizabeth towards a better future together. The different hues and weaves of their garments showed the difference between them now, yes, but that difference in color could also represent other things—like the difference between his present and his future.

He was an apprentice now, it was true. As he was now, he didn't have a choice but to wear worn hand-me-downs and whatever else Brown felt so inclined to impart on him. But he was on his way to being his own man, one who could buy things for himself. And if he played his cards right, he could one day have white-starched, wrinkle-free shirts just like this one, all on his own.

Yes… His present and future—that was what really wrapped his left arm.

With a final nod to himself to steel his wits, he reached for the washroom door.

There were three things that caught Will's attention immediately upon passing back through washroom door: the magnificent breeze from the sea, sweeping up the hillside and through the governor's front windows; the hurried busyness of the governor's valet and butler, shifting through a small pile their master's wardrobe upon his bed, probably sorting for laundry day or some other like chore; and the governor's voice coming in from the drawing room, sitting between these chambers and Elizabeth's.

"How was your bath?" the governor asked quietly.

Will was surprised by the question, but began to walk towards the drawing room door, opening his mouth to answer as he went.

"Lovely, thank you," Elizabeth's voice responded, before he spoke or arrived.

Will halted, feeling himself flush with some embarrassment over the mistake he almost made, responding to a question that wasn't actually directed at him. He took a quick glance over his shoulder, trying to glimpse within his peripheral vision whether or not the governor's servants had noticed his awkwardness, but could find no sign of any reaction.

He heard the sound of Elizabeth greeting her father with a kiss, and he chose to change direction and instead walk out the door that led to the upper landing. That way he could have a few more steps concealed behind a wall on his way to the drawing room's main door—more time to recover from his private embarrassment, and more time for the Swann family to get through their little greetings.

As he crept quietly, her voice rang off the stairwell's high ceilings like a songbird, "I am indulged by you to an extent I fear I will never understand. There's only one thing I can think of that would have made it better."

"And what would that be?" her father asked, just as he arrived in the doorway.

Elizabeth caught sight of him immediately, and her bursting smile lit her eyes and his heart up at the same time.

"Will!"

His responding smile came from a mingling of the irrepressible joy every sight of her ignited, alongside a little tickle of amusement. For a split second, Will noticed deep outrage cross Elizabeth's father's face, as he was seated upon the settee at an angle that seemed to leave Will's entrance just out of his purview—he therefore seemed to believe, for one little moment, that the crying of his name had been Elizabeth's highly inappropriate answer.

It would have been all the more distressing, after the day's earlier misunderstandings. But of course, her rushing to greet him clarified the situation quite quickly—her cry was just a silly coincidence. Probably. And for once, her father looked comically, visibly relieved as Elizabeth took one of Will's hands in her left, cupped his face in her right, and planted a soft lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. He answered it instinctively, his free hand satisfying itself by settling at her waist.

"How was it?" she asked, almost breathless with excitement for him.

Her happiness was infectious, and the stony dread he'd felt weighing his stomach down before suddenly felt light enough to be almost insignificant. Once again, the demanding tasks before him felt like they could be easy.

"Much more pleasant than I expected."

"You feel better now, yes? More loose?" Her left thumb stroked his hand with an eager energy matched by the petting of her right hand along his shoulder, almost as though she couldn't wait to coax his good report out of him quickly enough.

He squeezed her fingers back. "Shockingly so, yes—thank you."

Then he pulled his gaze away from her and turned it on her father. While Will had hoped to meet the man's eyes, he'd turned very pointedly away from his daughter's encounter.

So Will called out a little louder, "Thank you, Governor Swann, for your generosity."

"Oh! Of course!" The governor seemed surprised by his abrupt inclusion in their conversation, and blinked a little as he turned back towards the embraced couple. "It isn't much, but I realize these gatherings have not been the most pleasant experience for the three of us—I was hoping… to break that pattern somewhat."

There was still a detectable tension in the man's demeanor, and Will couldn't tell whether the governor's answer was a plain and simple untruth for Elizabeth's sake, or a genuinely heartfelt truth that simply lay uncomfortably close to the misunderstanding hovering over their heads, out of her sight.

He kept his gaze steady, hoping the governor would see his sincerity for what it was as he replied, "I would like to do the same, sir."

It didn't land the way he wished. The governor gave a little laugh that didn't seem exactly… pleased… and turned his head away once more. As footsteps of servants downstairs ticked the seconds away between them, Will caught Elizabeth's confusion in the laxness that crept into her fingers, and gave them another quick pair of presses against his palm in acknowledgement. This confusion would not continue.

Yet just as he opened his mouth to speak, Elizabeth's voice sounded first, "Whatever could you be doing with so many of your old garments, father?"

Will looked at her, and soon realized her confusion may not have had anything to do with the interactions between him and her father at all—her attention had instead been commanded by the activity going on in her father's chambers. He hadn't realized it was anything out of the ordinary or otherwise notable.

In a controlled motion, the governor reached out to the coffee table before him, where he'd previously set a saucer and teacup. "I think we're overdue for a few adjustments…"

Elizabeth's mouth pursed into little O as she prepared to ask one of many questions beginning with a W. But just as she did, the governor's footmen ascended the upper landing bearing an array of colorful garments in their arms. Swiftly, they swept like a small parade into the governor's chambers, where they deposited their cargo on any available surface they could find throughout—the other half of the governor's bed, his chairs, his changing screen…

The governor tipped his cup in a salute towards Elizabeth and Will, "… with a little bit of charity thrown in."

Charity…?

The fingers Will had settled on Elizabeth's waist curled enough to pinch the cuff of his loaned shirt self-consciously, the old stone of dread settling back into the pits of his guts once more.

Elizabeth spoke for both of them, realizing aloud, "This is why you actually had our baths drawn, isn't it?"

His fingers clenched hers, his guts twisted at her voicing of the implications running through his own head—this was what was meant by the refinement. He would begin to dress like a worthy man now, whether he had the funds ready to do so or not. It could have been a thoughtful gift… Instead it felt like something of an insult—an unspoken expression of the belief that, before he could even touch the clothes being offered to him, he must be made clean enough to do so.

Evidently, the effort he put into always, always sponging his body spotless and changing into a fresh shirt before he climbed up that stupidly steep hill, mattered little to Governor Swann.

"No. I spoke the truth before. There was simply more than one advantage to take from the opportunity at once," the governor responded lightly before taking a sip of his tea. Then without a single glance or word to be spared for Will, he stood and swept into his chambers, addressing instead the servants still crowded inside, "Now if the four of you gentlemen might gather here, I believe there are some interesting options you might consider…"

Will felt his breath shudder in his bones as he tried to let his hurt out slowly, instead of in a burst of hot steam billowing from the water thrown over scorching coals he felt inside. It wasn't that bad—a little thoughtless, perhaps, but not much worse than that. But not for the first time, he stood confused and stinging more than he cared to admit. The list of his faults was back, chanting on their own in his inner ear:

'Simple. Common. Unready. Dirty—'

It was the gentle touch of Elizabeth's hands carefully weaving under his arms to draw him closer to her, the somehow-cool press of her cheek against warmth of his neck, and the brushing of her sympathetic voice through the still-damp tangles of his hair, that pulled him out of the trap his mind was weaving for him.

"I'm so sorry, Will."

He said nothing, only leaning into her in answer. Her words and touch were like a balm on a burn. His hands found their place encircling her about her shoulders, taking the comfort she offered in her closeness readily, by falling into the simple, novel feeling of each one of her breaths pressing her stays against his chest.

"I didn't mean it this way—I didn't realize…"

While the stone of disappointment still sat heavy in his belly, the tightness in his chest eased somewhat. He was able to breathe out the rest of his frustration into the dry fragrance of her hair, "I know what you meant."

He felt Elizabeth's fingers flex more tightly against his back, as she burrowed her face against his shoulder. "I don't know what's come over him. I'll speak to him, I swear it. He's been so strangely unpredictable—"

"No," Will answered, more sternly than he intended. When he pulled back to read her expression, he found it twisted with concern and a little fire of her own. "That is… thank you, Elizabeth. But I must improve his esteem for me on my own merits."

The fervor in her face flared into a fight with bared teeth. "Even so, it doesn't give him a right to treat you—"

"Let me have the chance to ask it of him, myself," he pushed back, careful to keep his voice low in mindfulness of the open doorways between this room and the next.

When her eyes still raged, her lips parted with the clearly blistering urge to insist on his aid, he laid a soothing hand against the side of her neck, tracing the pad of his thumb along the edge of her jaw. She closed her lips and swallowed her retort, but her eyes kept smoldering with combative heat.

"I need this, Elizabeth. For the future good of this family, let him and I try to sort this out ourselves and find our common ground, first. Please."

She didn't completely agree—he could see it in the way she looked at him. But he could also see her disagreement battling with something else softer in her heart. Her eyes were continuing to sear even as they began to shine with a little extra wetness, forming from the fierceness of her feelings.

"I will give you space, if you require it. But I do not believe you need to face these challenges as alone as you believe," she breathed shakily. "This is not to be your family, Will, it is ours. And I will not stand by with my senses turned aside and my mouth closed while you are lashed unjustly."

Though the timing wasn't appropriate in the slightest, he was temporarily arrested by the enchantment her blazing spirit cast over her already breathtaking beauty. However, his heart stumbled over itself in a confused mix of not only exhilaration from hearing her name this family as theirs, but also from a shock of distress, over his stepping into another presumptive mistake.

"That is not what I meant—"

"I know it," she cut in sharply. Before saying anything else, she held her breath. Then she pressed her cheek back against his, seemingly attempting to calm herself before she let it back out in a slow and steady sigh. "If you do not wish for me to make any requests of him, I will restrain myself in that. But I reserve my right to express my displeasure."

"You may say whatever you wish—I would never truly request otherwise," he insisted, pulling his head back to meet her fiery eyes once more. "But if you speak for me, that leaves little room for me to speak for myself. I only ask that you give me time to speak first, when the matter involves my own honor. That is all."

Again she took a long moment studying him, her eyes alight with thoughts and crashing emotions as they flickered over his own. "And what happens when it concerns mine as well?"

He could only blink at that, with his mind failing to assemble a clear answer, even though he knew there was a simple one. Somehow, it hadn't occurred to him that she may need to defend her honor before her own father. Despite their disagreements, the governor always seemed willing to stand by Elizabeth's side, determined to defend Elizabeth's life and reputation by even staking his own. Her father's commitment to protecting her reputation in the aftermath of the Black Pearl''s attack had been so all-encompassing, it had almost erased from Will's mind the circumstances that had led to their childhood separation.

Almost as though materialized from thought, Governor Swann's form reappeared framed by the doorway to his chamber.

"Mister Turner?" he called in a quietly cool tone. Then with a step to the side, and a bit of a sweeping gesture into the room behind him, he gave the indirect command, "If you please?"

Although Will's hands dropped and he made to take a step in the governor's direction, ready to take his next attempt at confrontation, Elizabeth's hands had slipped down over his arms, where they tucked her fingers into the loose ripples of his sleeves, halting him. Her head whipped briefly in her father's direction.

"One moment, please, father!"

With his hands rising to rest at her wrists, Will welcomed back her attention with his questions for her written on his brow.

Her eyes were shaded under the cloak of her downcast lashes. She sighed again, deep and slow under the weight of her tangible worry, before speaking to him in a hush, "Do as you must if you must—but I have one request."

Will let out a breath that he himself had been holding. "Name it."

The ghostlike feeling of her fingers tracing the folds in the shirt's fabric as she let it loose tickled him. When Elizabeth's eyes snapped back to meet his, they were both fathomless and conflagrant, and he felt his blood begin to simmer anew from more than just her courage.

"Do not delay it—speak as soon as you are reasonably able. I don't wish to hold my tongue waiting for you for days on end."

He opened his mouth to assure her that speaking tonight had been his intention.

But her fingers closed once more, this time taking a firm hold of his arms beneath the sleeves she touched. "Also do not shun my support entirely—let me stand beside you when you need it."

The corners of his mouth twitched—after all, that was two requests. But his amusement was brief, as her request led his mind back to his former question… And he now knew what he needed to say.

"He was unsettled by seeing you in my shirt instead of yours," he confessed lowly, his eyes slipping towards the governor's impatiently shifting form.

"Oh, god…" Elizabeth tipped her head back to groan, eyes rolling in high frustration before turning to also look at her father. "I had a feeling when he was looking at me…"

Her father's eyebrows rose in response to the receiving the pair's attention without their obedience.

Turning back to Will with eyes once again downcast in contemplation, Elizabeth ran her hands down the length of his forearms to hook his fingers with her own. Though she pulled her hands back to grip in a tighter play, he knew she would let him go, trusting him to speak to this matter on his own. But this was a matter that concerned her honor as well—she was the one her father believed to have been sullied by his chivalrous intentions.

"I think we should tell him what we did today," Will said.

Dark, shrewd eyes flashed back in his direction, piercing him with her careful calculations for several seconds. Eventually she gave her head the subtlest of a shake.

"He'll forbid it for certain, take Estrella away—"

"Elizabeth," Governor Swann interjected with heavy exasperation, "we do not have all night."

"Just a moment," Elizabeth pressed back. "We are having a discussion. I will send him to you once we are done, if you please."

Lips pressed thin, her father shot them both a displeased, somewhat suspicious look, but accepted her assertion, and disappeared somewhere back inside his room.

Now obviously cognizant of the time they were taking, Elizabeth jumped right back into her hissed insistences, "He cannot know yet, Will."

Half of Will agreed with her—the half that wanted to keep concealed the little world he and Elizabeth had once built for themselves to frolic in together, safe and secret like it was meant to be. But an opposing half was speaking in his mind, deeply persuasive, warning him there'd be no way forward with his love's father without truly dispelling the man's most looming doubts.

"Do you really think he'll feel a little swordplay is a worse alternative to what he already seems to believe about our activities?"

Her face fell a little, even as her cheeks bloomed with a gently flustered dusting of rose, possibly at the implications mentioned. It was clear she accepted the logic of his argument, and yet…

"I don't want to risk losing this," she still held on in earnest. Her fingertips clenched his as though they were her anchor, as she cast about for a compromise. "We ought to tell him what we told Mister Burley. It isn't a real lie, it just … leaves out a part in the middle."

Will felt his heart sink a little and he followed the path down with his eyes, knowing he felt he had to stand his ground in a way that would disappoint her. But he could not see a way to relent. The technicalities of what was a lie and what wasn't wouldn't matter to her father, when it came down to it—only if he felt deceived.

His eyes were lifted again, to look at Elizabeth unblinking. "He has little reason to trust me already. If I mislead him now and it's discovered later…"

A frown of disagreement crossed her brow and pursed her lips… but to Will's surprise, Elizabeth nodded in some semblance of unhappy understanding. She obviously disliked it—that had not changed. For whatever reason, she was taking a path less tread for her and choosing to accept his argument anyhow. But even though he was grateful for her concession, he found it didn't create the relief he would have expected. Instead, his heart clenched a little inside of him, when all at once his mind was struck by the memory of a similar sight of her from the night before, reluctantly giving in to his urging that they compromise with her father…

She was giving him so much, and what was he giving in return? Pirate playtime? When did he begin to turn into such a person as this, taking what he could and giving so little back? Was that who he was, truly…? A pirate like that?

The governor re-appeared in the doorway, hovering impatiently with his arms fastened behind his back after apparently hearing the absence of Will and Elizabeth's whispers. Elizabeth glanced at him, but said nothing else. It was finally time to move on.

Will's heart began to ache. How could he leave her heart sinking for the sake of keeping his pride afloat? What was the point of honor and supposedly good deeds, if their rewards weighed so heavy to the person reaping them? Hadn't he already learned that even the best weapons could just easily defend a man as it could drag him down to hell? That one person's gold was another one's curse…?

No. He knew what he would do now.

Carefully taking Elizabeth's shoulders in his hands, Will sent her a smile he hoped was reassuring. The one she returned to him was half-hearted, but she offered it all the same. So he brought his lips to rest in one last kiss settled in the very center of her forehead.

"I'll set this right."

"Thank you for your cooperation," Governor Swann sighed with audible exasperation while Will approached him. Once more he gestured into the chamber behind him. "If you would please come this way and stand before Mister Lomax, we will finally start by taking some measurements."

When Will stopped just before the bedchamber door, his heart began to pound. Rather than pass through the door, he took a breath.

"Governor," he called, earning another turn of Swann's attention in the form of a subtly annoyed frown. "Before we begin, I would like a moment to speak with you and Elizabeth, sir."

While he watched the governor sigh in irritation, Will heard the subtle swishing of Elizabeth's skirts as she passed by the coffee table to perch herself upon the settee. From behind the governor, his entire staff of footmen were still muttering and mulling to each other.

"Privately," Will added.

For half a moment, the governor merely stared at Will with a guarded expression. Eventually his eyes flickered towards Elizabeth, lingered for another pensive half-moment, then turned back into his room. While her father called his requests for his servants to vacate their chambers, Will chanced a glance back in Elizabeth's direction. Her eyes were brighter again, lifted by curiosity and lit with a little hopefulness by her inclusion. He offered her another smile, hoping to convey his reassurances. This time her returning smile had a fuller measure of her heart in it, coloring over the traces of apprehension sitting in the corners of her mouth.

As the governor's footmen stepped into the upper landing, they made sure to shut the doors of the upper chambers one at a time: the governor's quarters, the drawing room, and finally Elizabeth's chambers. Their footsteps could be heard journeying down the stairs, and once Will felt satisfied that no ears were close to the current room's shutters, he looked back to Elizabeth's father.

He cleared his throat silently.

"I have expressed my appreciation for your generosity, sir, and I mean it sincerely. Your gifts and gestures have been far above what I could ever ask or expect."

A pause came to Will's mind as he turned a few words around in his mind, wishing to speak more carefully than he had in the past. There were parts of his heart that stung, and parts of his tongue that wished to avenge it. But this wasn't life or death anymore, and he could afford to stand back and consider the ways men spoke that made them wiser than boys.

'Don't attack. You always attack, lately. Speak to him like a client, if you must.'

Slowly, he continued, "But I must admit that I am sensing a spirit of obligation and resentment behind it that makes me question the sincerity in its motivation."

He let the words dance soundlessly on his tongue for a little moment, re-running them through his head and questioning whether they were too blunt to be polite. Was any of this truly polite to men of this standing, or was this approach another habit of simple tradesmen and farmers?

The governor frowned.

"I believe I have made my intentions very clear," he said. "And I also believe we understand the demands of the reality of the situation."

Frustration began to flair in Will, and he set his jaw as it rose and fell in him like a wave. The purpose for these changes was not the issue—it was… How could he say it?

"Yes. Even so…" he answered, piecing his sentences together frantically and carefully at once.

He felt Elizabeth's eyes on him, and realizing she would know what to say, he turned to meet the touch of her gaze. What would she say…? He didn't know exactly—but he knew whatever she said would be what was in her heart. He could see the strength of that beautiful heart in those piercing eyes, in the way her hand was gripping the back of the settee. He imagined her fingers wrapped around his instead.

'Tell the truth.'

He nodded to her, to himself. The gaze he turned back upon the governor was level.

"… I was already clean when I came here, sir."

There was a subtle change in the governor's expression, his emotions being shuffled into a more stolid form. But he was listening.

Will continued, "I understand what you have said concerning your intentions, and I will choose to believe them. But the timing of these circumstances, and the advantages that you suggest they offer, have made it seem as though you see me as someone…"

The ending of his implications hung unspoken. Ah, was there a way to say it without accusation? Maybe not—but the governor's face was changing again, this time bearing something closer to introspection. It could be skipped—he understood what was meant anyhow. Hopefully.

Perhaps he ought to clarify. "I do not believe it to be intentional, sir, but I feel I must share how belittled I have felt today."

The governor cast his eyes down at this, shifting his stance in a way that signaled discomfort. Did he feel remorseful or offended? Waiting to find out felt like waiting for a tossed coin to touch the earth.

Before a side could be chosen, Will pressed on a little more, trying to influence the governor's reaction a little more by offering his own misstep for consideration, "I also realize that I too have made a mistake that might in turn seem belittling of your daughter."

The governor's face shifted from ambiguity to something stern.

"I know what it appears to be to you, seeing Elizabeth returning while wearing a man's clothing," Will rushed to add. "But the circumstances are not crass, I can assure you."

"Then explain them to me," said the governor.

Here it was. The moment of truth in a more literal sense than Will had ever considered before. Instinct was screaming inside him to be forthright and honest—to tell the truth. But Elizabeth was beside him, her eyes looking up, watching and waiting with her own worries and hopes lingering on her lips…

"We…" Will began cautiously, "… visited the smithy today. Elizabeth may explain it to you better, but the sum of it is that she has expressed an interest in understanding the life we may lead together. As a part of that, she wished to learn some of the intricacies of my work. I provided some demonstrations, and gave her opportunities to try some tasks for herself."

There were alarms ringing in his head, warning him that truth hidden would always come to be unveiled one way or another. But when he turned to look at Elizabeth, the blissful gratitude he found lighting her face made his heart soar out of his mind's reach.

They smiled together. Wisdom be damned here—this felt right.

Her father didn't seem to agree, turning to Elizabeth with some indignation. "He put you to work?"

"I requested the chance to experiment myself," Elizabeth answered firmly. "If I must admit it, I was most interested in his swords and wanted an excuse to touch them."

Her father rolled his eyes, but seemed on the way to being appeased. At least he wasn't bristling anymore.

"Will was generous enough to explain some things about their crafting, and allowed me to sharpen a blade on the grindstone. The smithy was hot, and the work more strenuous than I expected. I kept on my jacket, which proved to be a poor choice—I sweat clean through my shift!" she relayed with a laugh.

Now the governor was shaking his head, but Will thought he could see the corners of his lips hanging less low…

Looking back to Elizabeth, he found a woman calm and confident, with a sparkle returned to her eyes as she finished her side of the story.

"Will could see I was uncomfortable, and offered me his shirt so that I could ride the carriage home clean and dry. That is the truth of it."

The governor said nothing for several minutes, obviously taking in the pair's shared defense and considering it from other angles in his mind. After silence counted enough seconds, Will caught his eyes turned back to him, silently asking whether he was through speaking.

Will bowed his head once in an attempted show of humility.

"I did not consider what the appearances would imply, sir, and for that I apologize. But my intentions were pure, I swear to you."

That was that. More moments passed with the governor's unspoken thoughts filling the space between them, reminding Will of the tense suspension in time he'd spent standing before judge and jury not so long ago. As it had been then, they'd done all they could do for their case now—all that was left was to wait and discover the governor's thoughts, to hear his judgment.

"You have been rather careless when it comes to appearances," Governor Swann declared slowly.

Will felt his gut clench, but kept his chin high. There was no anger in the governor's voice.

Still, Swann leveled a serious look in Will's direction, as he spoke matter-of-fact, "There was far too much questionable talk about the two of you yesterday. This business of holding hands and exchanging affections in the public sphere has not gone unnoticed. There are very strong suspicions regarding your decency. And such carelessness will all but confirm in many minds the idea that your relations have been born from unsavory circumstances."

Impatience flared within Will, but he worked to temper it. He was beginning to understand the feeling Elizabeth had expressed to him about her father, how all she saw in him were secrets now. Why couldn't people just say what they meant?

Once the surge of frustration had abated somewhat, Will responded, "I would prefer to be told as much directly, sir."

"As would I," Elizabeth's voice cut in. Will turned to watch her upholding his assertion, surprised by how much easier he felt keeping his composure with her advice and support at his side. "We may disagree on many things, father, but we do want to work together with you. Please."

The sunshine was growing softer, and the governor's heart seemed inclined to follow it. The frown rippling his face relaxed as he studied Elizabeth, pensive and quiet.

"Yes…" he agreed in a voice that began at a hush. Then he raised his chin, and turned his attention back in Will's direction. "I accept your explanation, your apology, as well as your grievance."

While the governor was not done speaking, his mouth wavered in an open shape waiting for the right words to come to him. Yet something loosed in Will's chest—something that had been tight for so long, he had all but ceased to notice it…

"I must admit I have been careless in my own way as well," Governor Swann said, at length. "Tensions are clearly high—they have been high for the past month and a half for all of us. And I believe someone here once offered another someone a certain wisdom: that there's only so much a person can take."

Will's eyes wandered to Elizabeth, his thoughts warming himself in their sunny memory of lying on the beach with her hands tracing loving lines through his hair. There was a peculiar look on her face, something happy and restless all at once. Her eyes flickered in her father's direction, and Will turned back to find the answer behind her unfamiliar mood.

Instead he found something even more unfamiliar: a smile so genuine from the governor, he was almost certain he'd misunderstood it at first glance. But it was not a mistake.

When the governor spoke again, he spoke kindly, "Perhaps we can use this little change as a chance to change our outlooks on each other?"

A hand was extended for Will to shake. Was this it? The real start to something better between? He was almost reluctant to consider it. But he saw delight radiating from Elizabeth—he could pin his heart to hers.

He took her father's hand.

"Thank you, sir."