The Best-Laid Plans

by etsfanfics

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

13. Refinement - Part 3

It had been with all good intentions that Weatherby had arranged the details of today's meeting. So far, more than half of his encounters with the Turner boy had revolved around grounded expectations, before devolving one way or another into offended pride. Some of that was a failing on his own part. It did not matter how base the boy's upbringing was, how mean his education, nor how choleric his temperament—as host and elder, as governor, it was Weatherby's duty to see to it in any visit that tempers were not stoked to flaring, that his guest's pride was not wounded, no matter how difficult the topics of their business became.

However, Mister Turner continued to be a walking test of patience. More and more, he couldn't decide if the boy was obtuse or grown completely allergic to respect for authority.

Weatherby wished to look at him more maturely, he genuinely did. And yet try as he might, whenever it seemed Turner was on the verge of finally acting like a man, some new impulse would arise in him, one he would answer lustily, making it clear just how ungentlemanly he still was. He seemed practically determined to turn any and all endeavors for peace into treacherous journeys with opportunities for insult at every given turn. And not just that: his opinions seemed all too readily swayed by anything Elizabeth said, while at the same time exhibiting a stubbornness that made him seem incapable of being persuaded by anyone or anything else besides her. Turner's offer for compromise the previous night had only come after an extended conversation alone with Elizabeth.

In spite of the emphasis Weatherby had placed before his daughter and her suitor regarding the importance of appearances in the public eye, there seemed an almost determined effort to utterly disregard his warnings. They had been flagrant with their affections in town, he knew from the talk that had seemed to be razing its way through every circle possible in Sunday's congregation, yesterday, and from his interrogation of Miss Trattles this morning. And today, he had the gall to come stumbling through his doors causing a childish clamor with Elizabeth, who for some reason was vested in his undergarments! What the devil were they thinking?! What weren't they thinking—why weren't they thinking?! And with Miss Trattles there too…?! Did they not understand the rumors that were already flying about, tarnishing Elizabeth's honor before the town had begun to sniff out their courtship?

It felt like a reckless disaster rolling downhill, letting this wild hobberdehoy loose in his home, with his daughter's own wild and reckless heart serving no mediation whatsoever. Elizabeth's free spirit was one thing—one he'd long accepted and hoped to nurture within reason. But with William Turner, someone he'd once thought to have finally grown out of old hell-born childhood proclivities…

They sometimes seemed like twin flames, the two of them. It could be heartwarming to see the way they burned and shone for one another, he had to admit. He could call it attraction, call it affection, attachment, call it love… It was love, yes, that was longer deniable. But love was a wondrous and dangerous thing, especially when fueled by passion. Left uncontrolled, it could flare hot and high to painful scorches, and then cool to cinders the next day. Between the two of them, Weatherby feared too much fire combined would risk eventually consuming them altogether, eventually leaving nothing left.

It frightened him, if he were perfectly honest with himself: that his darling daughter could be left with ashes in any way, once the flames had burned out. And while he did not believe Mister Turner had any intentions but the very best… Well. It was well known which paths were said to be paved with good intentions. And every day he wandered farther to, from, and closer again to the voice inside his head that taunted him with the reminder: 'It might not be too late to end this.'

Except for the light in her face.

She was shining now, Elizabeth, looking at this altogether ragged excuse for a man like he somehow lit her world with glazed sunsets and luminous moons capable of far outlasting the glow of any candle, lamp, or hearth. Vivid and sweet, the sight of her so enamored was filled both with continual surprise and equally unexpected memories.

After all, he'd felt the same, once. Every time Weatherby began to forget it, the past came rushing back with the hints of her mother's smile that were tucked behind his daughter's eyes. He remembered then how England hadn't seemed all that grey, once. It too had been green and warm when lit with his lover's light. And though it had been blown down to ashes by life's crueler winds, he would not trade those fleeting years of fire for anything else in the world.

So Weatherby sighed—it was the only way it seemed he could release this pressure of worry steaming inside himself, these days. And after that sigh, he muscled through his misgivings to wave William Turner deeper into his home, hoping this wave would appear more welcoming than the last.

Thankfully, there was a meeker wariness in the boy's face today. He raised his eyebrows and dipped his chin, before silently slipping into Weatherby's open chambers.

Perhaps the reminder of where he stood financially had been heavy-handed before, but it seemed to be what he'd needed to hear.

Shaking his head to himself, Weatherby turned to follow with his own passing through the door, when his shoulder bumped another.

"Oh!" Elizabeth tittered, as she took a hop back from the door. "I'm sorry, Father—I thought you were still waiting."

His eyebrows rose, and he found himself wondering how he could continue to be taken off-guard by the measures of his daughter's audacity after twenty years. Surely, she wasn't intending to come observe the dressing? That would be ridiculous, even for her.

Yet the way she was already taking a step back through the door made it clear she intended exactly that.

With a roll of his eyes, Weatherby put his hand out to catch her across the shoulders. "Elizabeth, for this sort of task, I think it would be best that you wait out here."

With soft but firm hands, he guided his daughter to take a step backwards, while he sidled to the center of the doorway, effectively blocking her access through it.

As expected, her mouth fell open in instant indignation.

"You have a screen!" she jousted her protest.

'Forever testing her boundaries…' he groaned internally. She never did like being barred from going anywhere to begin with, even well before Mister Turner had entered the picture. In fact, it was the same reaction she'd had to such situations since before she could even walk: pouting and fussing, even as a rosy-cheeked babe. He and her mother probably had made it worse at first, being young parents so enamored with her sweet face. They often gave into her cries quickly with swift sweeps of kisses to her eyes and hair. Once she was older, they realized too late they'd taken their indulgences too far when her pouting became more stern and stubborn, and attempts at reasoning with her became drawn out by her pursuing tedious debates.

But any time Elizabeth accepted being told, 'no,' it was more often than not a sign she'd already formed plans to try and cross her lines of demarcation by some other route or method anyway. So in the end, he'd learned that debate was generally a preferred alternative—especially since it was a practiced, professional skill of his.

"Until we've at least settled on some breeches for him, I do not want you in here," Weatherby spoke firmly, pointedly ignoring her attempt at quibbling over details. "You know it is inappropriate."

She began an attempt to creep her way around him through the door. "But I want to—"

"No," he hissed, punctuated by one hand slapping the door frame in his hasty attempt to cut her off. His voice fell with a sternness he hadn't quite intended, but it bore the gravity of his opinions down with it.

In response, Elizabeth's eyes snapped to him with a clear expression of dismay.

For a second or so.

Then one of her more typical reactions came out as expected, with her brows and lips puckering around the sour feelings and peppery responses she was obviously beginning to stir around in her mind. He rarely denied her so bluntly, even when he knew he ought to do so more often. And the older she got, the more likely she'd become to scheme out a loophole or some other form of carefully planned jacquerie when she felt it suited her.

Today's tactic seemed to be the good old fashioned compliance to the letter of the law whilst rebelling against its intended spirit. Rather than press her argument, Elizabeth simply spun about and marched with a huff to the edge of the drawing room settee, still fuming. And that would have been well enough, except for the fact that she sat at an angle with one elbow perched along the furniture's back, so she could prop her cheek delicately upon her knuckles and peer pointedly through the door straight into the chambers she'd just been banned from… once he'd moved, of course.

His tongue clicked against his teeth as he narrowed his eyes at her in annoyance.

He was unsurprised by the rebellion she leaned into by narrowing her own eyes and lifting her chin back at him, in a clear challenge.

'Do you see what you left me with, Connie? I hope you are amused by this incessant belligerence, because I am not.'

Oh, Constance. She would be laughing, for certain, while probably blaming his own influence in raising their daughter into her stubborn, wily ways. And rightly so. He couldn't truly blame his late wife for any of this—though she'd had a free mind that she had shared with their daughter, he was the one that introduced the arts of chess and rhetoric to her young mind. But what else could he have done? Not much else, back then. He knew little of the hobbies or crafts that were most appropriate for young women.

But he still had a few moves to play now. He could simply shut the door to his room and have done with the entire argument. But he did not wish to completely cut off Elizabeth's involvement—he only wished to mediate her observances. So another option would be taken first.

With eyes fixed upon his quarrelsome daughter, Weatherby stepped back into the drawing room to reach for the little table tucked near the settee's end. From a little tray he plucked a small hand bell, and twitched out a clear ring to call back his attendants from their stations in the foyer. As his servants climbed the stairs, Elizabeth held her posture steady, although her eyes were now peering almost determinedly through the open bed chamber door, and the pursing of her lips had transformed into a sort of tightness betraying a barely restrained impulse to smile.

While Mister Strother and the footmen found appropriate stations to stand at attention, Mister Lomax entered the drawing room through its main door. With a snap of his heels and dip of his chin, he signaled his readiness to receive instruction.

"Percy, if you please—" Weatherby began, then finished by simply gesturing at the ornamented screen angled for display in the back corner of the drawing room, between the doorway in which Mister Lomax stood and the entrance to his own chambers.

With two fingers, he drew a path that the screen ought to take. From Elizabeth's confused frowning, it was clear his command was vague. But Mister Lomax had been Weatherby's valet for several years now, and had become wonderfully attuned to his wants and communications. He seemed to understand the motion well enough—with another little bow, he slipped out of the room for a moment to relay the governor's command. And within a few seconds Misters Burley and Rose had popped into the drawing room to each take a hold of one end of the decorative screen, then repositioned it like a shield between Elizabeth's couch and Weatherby's opened doorway.

Even though he half-expected Elizabeth to question why the screen in this room was considered an appropriate division while the one in his chambers was not, she made no such argument. She simply glared as the change was made, then quietly reached to pour herself a cup of tea when the move was finished.

Satisfied that his footmen had effectively cut off his daughter's view for the moment, Weatherby left her to her devices, and slipped behind the screen and back into his chambers. The boy was making a badly acted show of studying the carvings in his whitewashed mantelpiece, even though there were only rows of plain and straight grooves, with nothing worth staring at to begin with.

"Let's not waste any more time, Mister Turner—I'm sure you're anxious to get home at a decent hour. Shall we begin?"

---

While bolstered by the small victory secured in his conversation with Elizabeth's father, Will could feel himself becoming overwhelmed. The day had started early, then progressed with so many new experiences bouncing through their ups and downs, it felt almost beyond belief that night had still not yet fallen. Their duel in the smithy alone would have been enough to make the day remarkable. But after that had come Elizabeth's reintroduction to Mister Brown, the airing of Miss Trattles' troubles, and his own continual stumbling through the governor's lofty expectations and bottomless disappointments. Even his bath… It had been relaxing enough to facilitate a reset Will had sorely needed, but it hadn't been quite enough to fully offset the feeling that things were coming at him faster than he could fully adapt to. He may as well have been trying to tread water in the surges of an oncoming storm.

Perhaps it'd be different if things had been normal for them overall—if this was a normal courtship, on a normal day, between normal people—or if life could calm for a few days, then perhaps he could take some time to think, catch his breath and feel… well, normal again. But nothing had been fully normal since the Black Pearl''s raid.

Which was why Will wasn't all that surprised when a small tailor's shop had somehow been created within the governor's chambers. Six of the governor's servants had presented some of their own suits somewhere in the room, surrounding him with different colors. One suit resembling silken bronze lay across the governor's bed, right beside another the color of a deep, peachy blush. Another imitated the green of aging palm fronds, strewn across the bench at the foot of the bed. A fourth suit had a coat that shone like something between a ripe hog plum and star apple, a bright, reddish sort of purple; while a faded yellow set sat upon a chair, with the coat sleeves draped over the arms like its wearer had vanished from the seat and left their clothes behind. Last of all, there was one the color of a bowl of cream, embellished with lines of elaborate, green leafy vines all along its hems. Some of the suits were ditto suits with matching pieces underneath, some came with different pops of complementary hues in their waistcoats and breeches.

It was clear the layout was meant to be for his assessment, especially when considering his prior chat with the governor, as well as the smooth, white shirt that he'd been asked to don. But even though it seemed fairly clear that he was meant to choose from among these pieces on display, the notion that he should be offered such things felt so foreign that he wasn't fully comfortable acting on the assumption outright. Especially not after Elizabeth's earlier censure about his poorly made assumptions. Once again, he found himself hesitating. What exactly he was meant to choose, how many, and whether or not he was meant to borrow, buy, or simply take—these were instructions not yet clear to Will. Was he supposed to point and give his opinion, or wait for a command for the governor, or…?

Blinking helped him catch his mind from its downhill spin. He could continue to stand here with his head swiveling from coat to coat, letting that overwhelmed feeling build inside him steadily, while he stood there once again, staring completely awkward in his uncertainty. Or he could grow up a bit, and start to actually try to fit into this strange new world around him, in the best ways he knew how.

Will made his choice, turning to face the governor. "I'm sorry, sir, but what is it that I am meant to be doing here, exactly?"

Governor Swann's gaze settled on him silently while veiled thoughts caught in the corners of his lips.

"If I understand correctly from our most recent conversations, you've only just begun to receive your salary this week?"

Will fought internally to gain control over the swift resurgence of embarrassment that washed up from his chest, over his face and head. That should have been the case, yes—and yet this weekend, this day had deviated so far from his routine with these visits atop the hill, he'd forgotten to bring it up with Mister Brown just yet. He still needed to speak to him once more when he got home, to collect his first dues.

In the meantime… he nodded. "That was the agreement I came to with my master."

Once again nodding back in acknowledged understanding—it seemed they would often cycle through this motion—Swann locked his hands behind his back and took a few steps in Will's direction.

"I will not require you to accept it…" He stopped an arm's length away from Will and rose his eyebrows pointedly under his speech, "… but I do wish to grant you the opportunity to have something a little nicer to wear to church and dinner, without having to immediately spend the money that would be better served in savings for your future home."

Will's thumb found the ruffle of his own shirt sleeve, and rubbed one smooth fold of it against the side of his forefinger. So, this was another gift after all. He should have known, after what they'd discussed the night before about eventually joining the Swanns at their pew, and at… Wait.

"Dinner?"

"Yes," the governor responded, his brows furrowing with an amusement that fanned a little at Will's low-burning disgrace. "You are Elizabeth's suitor now, Mister Turner. If your master will allow it, I would have you begin by coming here to dine with us at least once a week, in order for you to have time to court each other properly. I assumed Sundays would be the most convenient for us both."

Almost by instinct, Will's eyes flitted towards the drawing room door, but he could not find the pair he sought, concealed behind the solid wood panels of the dividing screen.

Even knowing how near Elizabeth really was, the sound of Swann's voice speaking only barely distracted from the tiny pang of emptiness Will felt at her silence and perceived absence. "However, you are not a child anymore, nor are you meant to remain a servant forever. While you've been both, you've dressed much the same. I do believe you are capable of improving your appearance on your own, please do not mistake me. But again, I must remind that we are short on time. And most men would not have to rely on their own merits in the way that you do. Many would inherit things from their fathers—"

That word reached inside Will's chest and seized his heart with a grip much too tight, forcing him to tear his eyes away from his imaginations of Elizabeth's familiar form, towards the foreign figures carved into the face of the father that stood before him. It was not his own father before him, he knew it. And yet his visage reflected some shadowy memories of his father's face all the same.

"—or brothers or some other such relations. Seeing as you have had the misfortune to lack those basic connections, I had hoped you might consider this an early gift in commemoration of the end of your indenture, to get you started a little more even-footed with your life as your own man."

For a moment that seemed itself frozen, Will could only stare. Feelings and thoughts were churning about inside him, sweeping each other aside in a slow but steady whirlpool that drained his apprehensions into the pit of his stomach. One part of his mind argued with a surprising fierceness that he ought to be able to do these things for himself.

'You can buy yourself a better coat,' came an inner voice tainted bitter. 'You can call in on your bargain with Missus Hackley again, if you need it. You've held the smithy up almost entirely on your back for no less than two years, and shouldn't need these little favors for such basic things as this. Not from him and certainly not from…'

He stopped himself.

In a way that was becoming too usual, the governor's words had been offered with good intentions, but had somehow managed to strike a sore spot—a particularly raw one that hadn't been brushed so directly by him before. Anger was simmering in Will's guts, like a caustic bile leftover from his time stewing in the belly of the Black Pearl, wondering for an uncountable time why the hell it was he had ended up where, how, what he was, so thoroughly alone.

Oh, he had Elizabeth—for that he'd always been grateful in ways he could never describe completely. In many ways he was convinced she was his saving grace and hope. He would never dismiss her support or company as anything less than a blessing, a miracle.

But while her love was a balm, it couldn't undo the way he'd been left with promises for so much before his father had left him and his mother in England—promises for things he didn't dare begin recalling now, for fear of rubbing salt deeper into the wound just pricked. Like the governor could see, he didn't have even the basic essential of a simple, everyday coat to inherit and show for any of it. Again, that stupid, godforsaken coin had been the only sign that any of those things his father had whispered before he'd left had meant anything at all.

And it was gone now—the coin as well as the faith he'd pinned onto it, for those promises to have held any truth or hope to them at all. For the second time in his life, it was all gone and he was starting over, picking up pieces of his past and trying to make sense of how some of his deepest hopes had been so thoroughly shattered.

Now, with the governor saying it so succinctly, he couldn't help but wonder: how different would his life have been, if he'd lived here in Port Royal with his own family to visit when his duties to Brown were satisfied? If he'd been able to write to his parents for the funds or clothes to garnish his master's dwindling support, if he had not wasted time hunting for his Master in the alehouses or paying off his drinking debts on his behalf, would he have been able to master his craft even more than he had already…? If his mother had still been alive, would she have been able to tell him just what to say and how, in order to make better impressions on the man standing between himself and the incredible woman he so dearly wished to bring home with him?

What did it matter? That wasn't the way of it—and he couldn't rewrite the past, no matter how much he wished he could. His mother was dead. So was his father, for certain now. He had Elizabeth, who he probably would never have met if he were honest about this alternate dream world—and that was not a thought worth entertaining for any amount of time. His parents and everything they could have offered him were gone, but she was here.

And as quickly as the bitterness had begun to fester in him, Will felt it soothed by thoughts of everything Elizabeth had bestowed him in these past two days alone. From the moment they'd met, every challenging smile flashed, every giggling whisper or encouraging word offered was like a panacea poured back over his broken heart.

Remembering as much made another part grow louder and more impatient with himself. What was the point the past had in any of this? More importantly, what point was there in resisting these offerings from Elizabeth and her father?

This gesture of Governor Swann's was a kindness, if he could accept it. He should accept it. The baths had been a kindness too, after all, even if kindness hadn't been their only motivation. Yes, the governor could be harsh and narrow with his observations and advice, but that wasn't anything unique to him. And Will had to admit that the man was right about a vexatiously high number of things—not the least of which was how much further and more quickly their little group had to move to make this marriage happen. Like the governor had insinuated the night before, Will's pride would just have to accept some aching and bruising along the way, especially because he had no family left to speak of, who could help him welcome Elizabeth into a proper Turner home.

'It's a small price to pay, isn't it? For something so priceless…'

That's what he told himself, while his eyes slipped back towards the dark wood blocking the chamber's open door.

He was on his own, building a home from nothing for her. Worse, he hadn't even begun. He couldn't afford to turn his nose up at help when it was offered.

Hesitation still swirled among the waters of hope inside him, though it was weaker. And while considering what it would save him to accept such a gift, the leaps ahead it could push him, he felt as though a weight he'd been pointedly trying to ignore lightening off his shoulders ever so slightly. Months of work, this gift could save him. Not just in the wages he'd have to earn to buy similar clothes for himself, but in the potential for better commissions and business connections, thanks to the image of personal success he could present to the world. His vying for the chance to craft more projects like the Dodson's gate or Commodore Norrington's sword, his upcoming meetings with the guild, even his negotiations with the merchants at the docks or other various —all of it involved outcomes that genuinely could be improved somewhat by a smarter outfit.

This wasn't just a gift of clothes—it was extra silver in his pocket, an investment in his and Elizabeth's future. Thanks were in order, not haughty rejections.

And yet…

"I am at a loss for words, sir—" he began, wanting something more elegant to say than a common, paltry "thank you."

But a physical weight fell upon his actual shoulder, the clap of the governor's surprisingly heavy hand, and somehow the action shut his mouth. With its unexpected nudges, Governor Swann pressed Will's attention away from his sympathetic eyes, guiding him to turn about and walk towards the changing screen tucked away in the back corner.

"They are not needed."

Of course not. The governor didn't want or expect anything of him. Not when he came from nothing. All he expected of him was… what was it he'd said?

'To secure Elizabeth's comfort,' he repeated to himself.

For now, he tried not to dwell too much on how the governor believed that would best be done, and simply focused on following his lead towards the bedchamber changing screen.

"Likewise, you won't be needing those for a while," the governor added. With a wave of his ringed finger, he indicated the brown waistcoat and breeches Will currently was wearing. Will barely had time to bundle his uncertainty up on his brow, before Governor Swann had turned to where his valet was standing at attention. "Percy, if you would assist him, please, so we can begin?"

A small jolt of alarm rushed through Will, realizing that the assistance offered was going to be an uninvited effort and frankly unwanted effort to help him change his clothes.

"Oh, I can manage it myself," he stammered as clearly as he could. When Percy slowed to a halt with an unnecessarily judgmental cocking of one eyebrow, Will added a hasty, "Thank you."

Percy looked to the governor for further instruction. For some reason Will did the same.

The governor simply rolled his eyes and gestured for Will to disappear behind the changing screen. "Then remove, please."

Though he once again felt a little awkward doing so near Elizabeth's stern father, Will dutifully complied with his command, slipping behind the screen. There he quickly stripped himself down to his borrowed shirt and stockings. He'd barely laid his breeches aside, before a flash of color was suddenly laid out under his nose: the vibrant ruddied-purple suit, with an accompanying short waistcoat and breeches the color of a pale gold. While the breeches were fairly plain, the waistcoat was embellished with a floral texture that was interwoven with a slightly darker gold, giving the fabric an interesting dimension in the light. And that same gold could be found in a few simple accents along the wine-colored cuffs and lapels of the main coat. It was vibrant and sumptuous—maybe not on a level of ornateness as the governor's wardrobe, but far above anything Will had ever been allowed to touch before.

And it was altogether too much to accept. How could he? His clothing could barely be called dyed, rough, colorless and plain as it was. If he were to walk into town or church dressing like a parrot, when everyone knew he couldn't afford things even half as nice, it would be bound to turn heads and make tongues wag in questionable ways. What a coincidence it would be to suddenly have such niceties after disappearing on a pirate adventure! And how convenient would it be, happening at the same time he began to slip in and out of the Swann's social circle, how many steps above his actual standing?

The entire thing was an obvious farce already—the shrewd would understand what was happening between him and Elizabeth, new clothes or no. Not to mention, those around town would be able to see them both coming and going—that was unavoidable. Even so, the last thing he needed was to draw the attention from the upper classes so quickly, to be the topic on everyone's lips for the wrong reasons.

And yet… if he started this dress session by rejecting suits left and right…

"Is something the matter, sir?"

Will winced internally. While the face and voice of the governor's valet remained calm and level, he could hear an undercurrent of annoyance over his extended hesitations.

He forced out a smile for his answer, then plucked the offered clothes from Percy. "I'll manage—thank you."

A curt bow signaled the valet's withdrawal for the moment, leaving Will to his dressing.

He slipped easily into the breeches. While their finer materials felt smooth and novel against his skin, and the brass buttons fastened the band a little too loosely around his hips, they were the same as any other breeches, in the end. But draped over the waistcoat was a heavily starched roll of white fabric that had been pressed into a long, crisp white band—a cravat, he realized after he'd picked it up and began turning it about in his hands.

Though they were a common enough accessory for men of any notable standing to wear, his standing had never been notable. His apprenticeship made him completely beholden to Mister Brown for his dress, and the man had never bothered with cravats himself. The Caribbean sun being as hot as it was, with its air so very thick and heavy, meant that most working men dressed more casually than those back in England for their day-to-day. The result was that Will had never been given the chance, the means to wear a cravat himself before. Not a real, proper one, anyway—he'd tied himself some different simpler neck cloths plenty of times before, but nothing so voluminous or… stiff as this, apparently. While it still bent as easy as cloth, it held its rectangular shape, even when he gave it a bit of a flop.

When he'd looked at them on clients or neighbors or any other men he'd come into contact with, he'd marveled a little at how elegant they could look despite their knots seeming so simple. Yet now that he was cradling the cloth in his hands, he couldn't seem to bring to mind any of those specific knots he'd seen before, let alone envision their tying.

But he wasn't going anywhere else today. This little activity was just meant for trying things on… hopefully. His breeches didn't even fit right. He could fiddle with the finer details later. So, he set the cravat aside, and made quick work of shrugging into the provided waistcoat and dress coat. After fastening the brass buttons up to the base of his throat, he worked to smooth out the most major wrinkles from his sleeves and tired nerves. Then he took a breath and stepped back out into the open spaces of Governor Swann's room.

It wasn't more than a second or two before the governor was frowning once again, and Will felt himself growing weary of it.

What was the problem now?

"Where is your cravat?" Governor Swann demanded.

Oh. Evidently it hadn't been optional.

"I…" Will began, before deciding he probably ought to fetch it. He stepped back behind the screen, plucked it back up, and returned to his place in the center of the floor. "I wasn't certain whether it was really necessary…"

The governor frowned deeper from a combination of open confusion and incredulity. "Of course it is! We cannot see the complete look without it. Now go ahead and put it on."

Put it on?

Will looked down at the cloth in his hands. It couldn't be that hard. He'd learned all sorts of knots over his past sailing ventures and work. What was tying a little flounce into a handkerchief compared to a sheet bend or a hitch? He could figure something out.

Except he didn't even know if he ought to start with the cloth draped across his spine or wrapped against his throat first.

Shame began to rise in him, stoking the heat of his most recent humiliations back to life across his neck and cheeks. He was twenty years old and holding this simple necktie with barely more comfort or familiarity than if it had been a sloughed off snake skin he'd plucked out of the street. It made him feel stupid and ill-prepared.

Well. It wasn't as though he was any stranger to such feelings, being thrown into new worlds as often as he was lately. The stupidest questions were the ones left unasked, he always thought.

He started his confession after raising his eyes to look the governor in the face again, "I have not previously been afforded much opportunity for wearing one. Before."

Unable to help himself, Will stole a glance near the chamber's outer door, where the governor's valet stood at attention—the valet he'd assured he could manage dressing himself.

The governor blinked surprise for a moment. Then to Will's relief, a sympathetic sort of understanding appeared, as he seemed to comprehend what it was Will was actually saying.

"Of course," he responded succinctly.

Then he gestured for Percy, who quietly transferred the cravat from Will's hands to his neck, where it was deftly wrapped, turned and tucked until sculpted into some puffed shape close underneath Will's chin—very close, considering his neck wasn't exactly the longest one in the world. After the valet instructed Will to unfasten some of the waistcoat's upper buttons, he secured his artistry snugly against Will's chest, before giving it a final fluffing to make sure it peeked out strategically from under the waistcoat's gilded front.

It was… snug. He'd never had a collar or kerchief creep this far up his neck before, and even though it wasn't necessarily choking him, Will found himself fighting the urge to shove a finger under the tie, to try and work it a little looser.

The governor didn't seem to notice his discomfort, nodding with a much more pleasant expression.

"Much better," he remarked, satisfied. He waved Will closer to the center of the room. "Now if you would stand over here so we might look at you…"

Will took two large steps forward, into the path of late afternoon light that had begun to filter deeper into the room as the sun made its final approach on the western horizon. He tried to stand tall and straight as the governor observed him head to toe—both to try and better fit the slightly baggy clothes he wore, and to give him an excuse to lift his chin a little, easing somewhat the stifling feeling the cravat was already beginning to give him.

"… and turn around…" Swann instructed, with an illustrative swirl of one finger.

He obeyed, holding his hands out to give a better view of the colorful coat, while he took his time revolving in place for the governor's evaluations. The man was silent for a few heavy seconds, leaving Will hanging with a building suspense on what his opinion was, and whether or not he'd have to defend his own opinion that this coat was far too much of a spectacle to consider. Didn't he see it too, how much of a jester, a pretender these clothes made him look?

It wasn't until Will had his back to the governor that he heard him begin to mutter, "Yes… you look much more sophisticated."

His heart sank a little—how was he going to avoid devolving into another argument…?

"But that color…" Swann sighed unhappily.

Unable to resist, Will chimed out his opinion in a swift and insistent, "No."

To his surprise, he wasn't the only one who had said it. At first, a surge of relief lifted Will's heart back up, as his voice had rung in perfect unison with the governor's—they actually had agreed on something! Then the surge subsided and was replaced by a second, smaller wave of amused disorientation, as he acknowledged how a third voice had joined their chorus.

Turning about to face the governor again, he found Elizabeth standing right behind her father in the drawing room, her face blooming from the transition out of her previous unhappy scrutiny to the full blossom of her smile, colored with a little self-satisfied smugness.

Her father did a double take between his task and his daughter.

"Elizabeth!" he sighed mightily. "Do not make me close the door. You should not come in here until you are called—what if he'd been undressed?"

Will felt a flush creep up the back of his neck.

"Something inappropriate might have occurred, if you are to be believed," Elizabeth verbally pressed back while pressing forward into the room. "In any case, I knew from your talk he wasn't and isn't, so it doesn't matter. I want to see his options too, offer my own opinions."

While the governor pursed his lips and rolled his eyes, Will felt his heart flutter foolishly with excitement over Elizabeth approaching him once again. She hadn't even been gone, not really, just tucked out of sight and sound for a few minutes. Yet seeing her again, it mattered not at all—somehow, he'd still felt her absence inside him, and was elated to feel that part of him being filled by her return.

As always.

He felt his face soften as she met him with her own warm look. The tenser feelings inside him calmed a little, as he settled his gaze into her smile, gratefully. But when her hands met his shoulders and began to smooth the fabrics he wore in gentle strokes across his skin, his pulse kicked up in a flurry. A rush of heat flooded his face. And he realized that her closeness, the look in her eyes, and the ups and downs of the day, were coming together to nudge him dangerously close to a physical reaction he didn't care to experience under her father's watch.

He stilled her hands by carefully clasping her wrists.

"Welcome back." It came out almost like a croak, and the silliness would have managed to defuse the situation if it weren't for her incredible smile and breathless laugh.

"Thank you," she chimed.

At last, she removed her hands from him, though in a tormentingly languid manner that left two trails down his chest, burned deeper by an accompanying and strangely appealing look from her assessing eyes. He was simmering under his skin again, and it felt deeply dangerous with her father's figure looming in the corner of his eye.

Blessedly, she took a step back and switched airs, tipping her nose up and flashing her teeth with a teasing jest. "Now stand like you've got little besides air in your mind."

Will barked a single laugh before he could stop himself. Behind her on either side, her father tutted loudly, while her father's valet shuffled for a moment, self-consciously. When he didn't respond to her in any other way, her face and tone shifted with her impatience.

"Come on then, let's see it!" she insisted, with her arms crossed. "Give me your best dandy impression."

He found himself hesitating one more time, his eyes flitting to her father. He didn't want to offend the man, his host, his benefactor, his future-in-law. But Elizabeth's dark eyes were sparkling, and she more than anyone was the one he did not wish to disappoint—especially after all the concessions he'd requested they make lately. So, he took a fortifying breath through his nose before throwing it up into the air, puffing his chest out, raising a pinky and pointing out the toes of one buckled shoe.

The governor was frowning, but Elizabeth grinned with delighted humor. The thrill it shot through his heart made it the only thing worth considering. So, Will did his best to maintain the silly pose, even though it required him to balance a great deal on his other foot and keep his hand aloft in a way that began to grow tiresome. He fought with the weight and wiles of his own body, while she circled him thoughtfully, her eyes roving over him in a way he could almost feel.

Eventually, she returned to stand before him, sending a small jolt through him when her fingers clasped the lapels of his coat and gave it a little, straightening tug.

"I must admit: you clean up quite nicely, Will Turner," she spoke in a quieter voice than before, wafting to him on the scents of her freshly applied powders, making his mind twirl more pleasantly back to the washroom...

His words caught in his throat as he responded, "Do I?"

"Mm," she affirmed.

Her eyes were downcast, and her fingers began to wander across his front again, sending shivers down his body. He captured them once more. Did she understand what her touch was to him?

"Then what is it you are you thinking with that frown?"

When she looked back at him, she was actually smirking. "I shall tell you in a moment. I do not wish to influence your opinions."

"You already have."

He knew she was against this outfit—or had been moments before. And seeing as he'd already had reservations about it, that had practically sealed its fate of rejection. He was only curious about her reasons, and whether there was anything worse to it. Besides, with the bit of playfulness he could see in her eyes right now, he'd listen to anything she had to say just to win the pleasure of more teasing.

"Tell me what you are thinking first," she requested. "Then I shall answer."

'That your hands make my madness, and your eyes my distraction? That the very sight and sound of you threatens my downfall?'

Lips twitched with self-conscious amusement over the theatrics in his mind, as his thumbs began to stroke the backs of her soft hands.

Outwardly, he confessed, "I cannot—your nearness has ensured there are no thoughts left to do with what I wear."

There was something hot behind her eyes, and when her lips parted to answer, the anticipation of it flared into a very dangerous feeling—

"Elizabeth," the governor snapped quite suddenly, "this is exactly why I wanted you out of here—you are him, not helping each other, you are distracting. We haven't got much day left, let's please make a decision and move on!"

The way her father had accidentally echoed some of his own thoughts about distraction made the interruption more amusing than vexing, and Will couldn't help a small laugh of relief as the heat inside burned a little lower. Elizabeth, however, was vexed. And while she turned to shoot some other expression in her father's direction, Will held his breath for a moment to slow, forcing himself to cast his eyes down and take in the sight of the silks on his body—and not airy cotton across hers.

'Focus,' he said in his head. 'You do have your opinion to give. Look at this garish disaster and remember what you thought—how you feel about yourself.'

He picked his eyes up to find hers again, and with his tongue he managed feebly, "Coming back to this suit: I think it is very beautiful."

Elizabeth turned back to look at him with another glitter in her smoky eyes, another appealing twitch to the corners of her lips. "Not unlike yourself."

His eyebrows rose at her open flirtation. Why were they doing this? His blood was simmering so steadily now, the chill of her father's observation couldn't completely douse it. What was this meeting even about again, if not wooing this wonder with everything he had in him?

'The suit! You're sharing your thoughts about the suit!'

"It's bold," he added, his mind starting to slip in its efforts to translate his jumbling thoughts to speech.

"Also like you." She didn't miss a beat.

He cocked a doubtful eyebrow at her. He wasn't really all that bold to her, was he?

She cocked a pointed eyebrow back at him, looking smug through her unspoken answer: yes, he was.

He felt his heart swell from her confidence. Yes… Yes, he could be bold, for her. He could be daring and creative and so deeply foolish, if it lived up to any part of the good she saw in him, expected of him. Somehow, that reminder was the tug he needed to mentally plant his feet back on the ground for the moment.

After bringing Elizabeth's hands back into his fingers' cradles, clasping them low between their bodies, Will looked back to the governor.

"I do also have reservations about the color," he stated without tension or reservation.

Elizabeth squeezed both his hands, quickly pulling back his attention.

"I personally am not completely put off by the color," she needled him with a voice that made him question whether or not any part of her was serious. "It reminds me of rubies. And you wore that lovely red cape quite nicely, after all."

Will shot her another expression mixed between doubt and delight. She was flattering him rapid-fire, and while he wasn't sure why she was, he had to admit he liked it. But a part of him was hesitant to believe her—or at least believe that just because she had liked that particular outfit, that didn't mean it'd be acceptable to anyone else in her class. A worn wool dyed with one of the least expensive pops of color he could get, accompanied by a felted hat that was a whole century out of fashion? Certainly not! It may have evoked some of her swashbuckling heroes, yes, but other than that, there was little other use for it. He hadn't worn it to impress the governor or commodore or anyone else of similar influence. It had been cheap enough to trade for, while still looking like something that could maybe catch the eye of Elizabeth and also the eye of….

Ah, that didn't matter anymore. Things had turned out much better than he'd planned for, and now the relative flashiness of that cape was serving a different purpose in this game of courtship he hadn't expected to have the privilege of playing. So, Elizabeth liked the look of reddish clothes, did she?

"Is that a hint that you like the look of this one?" Will asked, and pointed to the suit that resembled a pale rust.

"Perhaps…" she hinted with a twinkle in her eyes, which drifted across the suits surrounding them. "Now that you mention it, I think that one and possibly the yellow could look quite nice sitting beside some of my favorite dresses."

Will couldn't help the short laugh that burst from him. Their thoughts were on very different paths right now.

He responded in jest, "Oh, that will make our situation very secret and subtle, for certain."

"Wouldn't it?" she laughed back, then slipped her hands free from his to lay back on him. "But I do have some other reservations about the style of it…" her voice trailed off as her face became thoughtful. For a moment, her fingers only traced the gold patterns decorating the coat's trim delicately. Then whatever she'd been mulling over struck her with sudden clarity, and she pirouetted away from him to speak to her father in a whirl of skirts, "It's a bit pretentious, don't you think?"

Relieved satisfaction took Will, as much from her shift the topic farther away from the little spaces between them, and closer to their common opinions on this suit. She seemed to understand the source of his misgivings somewhat, after all.

The governor had been running one hand over the wrinkles in his brow, as if to soothe them away by force. "I'd prefer something more understated, yes."

Will's heart did a silent cheer—they were all on the same page about something, for once.

"I agree," he eagerly solidified. "I would prefer not to draw more attention to myself than will already come naturally."

"Oh, it's too late for that, I'm afraid," Elizabeth remarked with her head turned to send him another mischievous look from over her shoulder. "You do know there's a broadside ballad going around, about you?"

That random piece of news slapped him squarely between the eyes and made him blink for a moment. But after the initial surprise of her words had passed over him, he was able to find his mental footing and remember how she'd been teasing and joking with for the past few minutes.

So, he looked at her with skepticism. "There is?"

Elizabeth's eyes widened with a funny sort of excitement. "Have you not heard it yet?"

"No!" he laughed, starting to feel bewildered—was she actually joking? "How's it go?"

"Well… I haven't heard it yet either, to be honest. It was published on Saturday. I thought you might have if you've been to the taverns recently. But I read—"

"I believe that's settled. The sun is waning," Governor Swann repeated with no small degree of annoyance. "Remove, please. Both of you."

He'd meant different things by it for each of them: for Elizabeth to remove herself from the room, while Will was meant to remove his current outfit, in order to replace it with the next one. They all understood that meaning well enough. But it seemed Elizabeth's playful mood was particularly persistent today—her father's world left behind low hanging fruit, and the impish glint in her eye made it clear she had no intentions of passing it by untouched.

"Oh," she sighed to her father in an exaggerated pretense at misunderstanding, "but I thought we were meant to keep our clothing on in each other's presence. However, if you insist, Will—"

"You know what I meant!" her father snapped. "Get back in the drawing room now, please!"

---

She left with her fingers tracing a parting path along his jaw, and his longing for her flared back into risky temperatures. Unwilling to let the chill of her father's eyes quell these delectable feelings so soon, Will fled back behind the screen, where he could let his ardor burn down more slowly. The day felt so strange by now. His thoughts were becoming an enticing, muddled daydream, as he shed the ruby suit in haste, more than ready to change his outfit and return to Elizabeth's presence.

He wasn't entirely sure what was happening between them—she'd never been shy about demonstrations of affection with him before. But today she seemed particularly… brazen. But then she'd always been that way as well… So what was it, really?

"Let's try something a little less startling in its differences," he heard the governor sigh from his side of the room.

And within a few moments following, his valet had presented to Will the second suit of the day: the brown one, far less glaring in color while still an obvious improvement over Will's current offerings with its brassy buttons and the notable silkiness of its fabrics. To bring out the warmer hues of its color, it was paired with a light bronze waistcoat; and to prevent the look from seeming too plain, said waistcoat was long, so as to better show off it was painted from collar to hem, and all along its bottom with richly detailed vines, blooming with flowers of different, carefully muted colors. With a waistcoat so big and grand as that, the breeches were a plain, simple black.

Understated but…. well, refined. If it weren't for the quality of the painting and the silk itself, it would have seemed like a modest step upward in Will's wardrobe. And that was exactly what he needed.

Quick and careful, he covered and buttoned himself up. The clothes were somehow even baggier than the one before. But nothing could be done about that by him, so he stepped out from behind the screen once more for the governor's assessment, feeling a small sense of hopefulness that this one would win his approval.

His reaction was promising.

"Ah!" Governor Swann sighed almost happily. "Yes, come here and turn around again."

Suppressing the urge to grin, Will returned to his designated spot in the center of the room and began to turn about—this time with arms held aloft a little awkwardly, to try and minimize the look of the coat's bagginess as he did so.

While thoughtful, this time the governor sounded genuinely pleased. "Yes-yes… That's much better, if I do say so myself. Reserved yet still a little more sophisticated."

Yes, exactly! It was richer, but in a way that could be easy to miss from afar or at first glance. And if he could simply avoid coming too close to those members of the upper class—which, to be fair, was all of them besides the Swanns—he wouldn't have to explain where it was that a humble blacksmith's apprentice acquired such a fine waistcoat. Hell, he could avoid wearing the waistcoat altogether for a while, if he could figure out a way to have it done without offending the governor.

This was better—this was good.

"No," Elizabeth's voice swiftly disagreed as she entered the room again, scowling.

Will frowned back, puzzled—he hadn't remotely expected her rejection, let alone soundly and swiftly. "No?"

"No," she said again more firmly, crossing her arms and shaking her head.

What? Even her father was looking at her like she was speaking nonsense. Well… actually, perhaps that didn't count for much of anything—the governor tended to look at Elizabeth that way plenty often. But the point was Will was in real agreement with the man about a topic where he hadn't expected it, even though Elizabeth felt differently. It occurred to him that her playfulness had been returning before, and she could be toying with him once again. But as he studied her, the way in which she was screwing up her face while studying him back, not approaching him at all, seemed to make it clear she was being completely serious.

Will felt almost baffled. "What's wrong with it?"

Now it was Elizabeth's turn to look dumbfounded.

"What do you mean 'what's wrong with it?' Look at it!" She waved a hand up and down, indicating to his entire person instead of any particular component. "It's… frumpy. And I cannot abide the cut of that waistcoat. I'm sorry, Will, but you look like you're being swallowed."

Her father gave a small awkward laugh. "Oh, we can fix that with a bit of tailoring. That's nothing at all."

That was true—it was the normal thing to have done anyway, having one's clothes taken in or out to suit themselves, whether by a professional's hands or his own. She knew that as well as anyone—why would it matter if the clothes were currently a little over sized?

Yet the look Elizabeth shot her father was sharpened by her scrutiny.

First she turned to his valet with a short request, "Some pins, please." Then as the servant followed her command, she finally walked back up to Will, leaving his heart stuttering strangely from the sureness of her steps and commanding air. She pinched the front of his coat with one hand. "Take this off."

He obeyed her as well, making an effort to demonstrate care as he draped the coat over the top of the changing screen for temporary safekeeping. When he returned to Elizabeth's side, her arms were crossed again and her face still creased with analytical musings. She did not circle him like she had done with the ruby suit, instead simply staring intently at his front, seeming to assess the painting running up and down the bronze silk.

Somehow he felt less at ease this way, with her staring not just at him but almost through him, and not saying a word about why.

When her father's valet returned with a tin of pins held aloft, and her ponderings were not broken, the governor hopped forward in her place.

"Look," he called, and had Will stand facing the large mirror over the governor's writing desk. "We take in the waist here…." With his valet following his indications, Governor Swann had the waistcoat artificially cinched through pinned darts along Will's back, helping a great deal with the saggy appearance of the outfit. "And do the same on the coat. Maybe add a little bit of gold trim later to bring out the buttons… It'll look lovely."

Will suppressed a wince—not gold trim on the coat! Its comparative plainness was what Will thought was its advantage…

Elizabeth seemed similarly unconvinced, with her eyes narrowed nearly to slits by now, and the fingers of her right hand drumming against her left arm.

Eventually, her face relaxed a little, when she suddenly focused her thoughts back on him. "What do you think, Will?"

He cocked an eyebrow. This was a strange way she was going about things today, asking him his opinion, when she'd clearly already made up her own mind and was ready to argue about it anyway.

"I think it's nice," he stated with aplomb.

Her eyes narrowed again and she tipped her head to one side for thought. "Are you saying that, because you genuinely enjoy it, or because it's more expensive than what you have and you take comfort in the similarity to your current colors?"

He let out a long slow breath out of his nose.

God, the way her observations could come at him like a brandished knife threatened to drive him mad in more ways than one. If she were only observant, that would have been one thing. But her approach and tone reminded him how there were times where it felt like Elizabeth used her razor sharp discernments like argumentative weapons—as though she had to be the one to know better in any ambiguous circumstance, even if there was no point to winning the argument to begin with.

But this time was just silly. What useful argument was there? This wasn't some philosophical examination or a fight for right and wrong—it was a waistcoat. Meant for him. He either liked it or he didn't. It didn't matter why.

And even if it was more than that for her for some reason, even if she was still fretting over whether this change in his appearance would push him into a backwards motion, there had to be some limits to their reasonable worries, right? What difference would it really make if the suit was bronze or grey or a bombastic purple? The color didn't change what was happening—it only made the changes he faced a little easier or harder. So what if he didn't want to take a harder, bigger leap for these specific, smaller transformations? There were other mountains, more important ones he was getting ready to climb first—like convincing her father he was a person worth giving a damn about. That was part of why this entire compromise was being made with her father to begin with.

He knew she hated making concessions—in other places it was something they had in common, especially after he'd tasted what it was like to take the reins on his life, to refuse accepting 'no' for an answer. But after years of laboring sun up to sun down, Will knew how important it could be to take the easier way, whenever it was a real option. Otherwise, they could tire out well before they reached their goal.

"I don't need to love it. I just think it looks nice, and that's enough," Will pressed back.

Elizabeth didn't continue arguing the way he'd expected—but she did wrinkle her nose in an obvious show of distaste.

With his face pulled to one side, he allowed his amusement to roll over him for a moment, taken by how adorable her investment seemed, despite being so clearly annoyed. "Why? You don't think so?"

For a moment, she actually seemed hesitant to give her answer—or perhaps she was just fishing for a diplomatic way to phrase it with her father listening. Either way, the slowness to her answer was notable enough compared to her earlier candor and flirtatiousness, Will worried her revelation would be unintentionally insulting. Did the suit look outdated? Or was she simply disappointed by an outfit she found boring?

Eventually, she gave up her hesitancy altogether.

"It's cutting off half your legs!" she spat, and chopped through the air to gesticulate towards his knees, where the bottom lengths of the waistcoat landed.

What? That was all? With all that waffling, he would have thought it would have been something more potentially offensive.

"Really now, Elizabeth!" the governor's voice signaled a warning to her that she was somehow crossing a line. "That's a perfectly normal length for a waistcoat. Maybe a little old, yes, but once more I would remind you that things can be adjusted…"

Elizabeth scoffed back and rolled her eyes, leaving Will even more puzzled. He hadn't been aware she had such set opinions about menswear.

He couldn't entirely contain his baffled laughter when he asked out loud, "Does it really matter all that much?"

She huffed in open frustration. "I think it makes you look like a giant, hobbling, painted brick, and I don't understand how you don't mind that. It doesn't do your figure justice at all!"

While his eyes remained fixed on Elizabeth's exasperated expression, two distinct thoughts battled for attention in Will's mind. With an exhilarated rush, he kept mentally replaying her words and turning them over and over as though examining a surprise gift. She liked his legs! Or something related to them. She hadn't said it in that many words exactly. But even if she hadn't said it in that way, she'd suggested the look of him was worth appreciating in one form or another, and his legs figured somewhere into that.

Which meant this waistcoat most certainly had to go.

Yet at the same time he was reveling over this development, a niggling picture tickled in the back of his mind more and more strongly: of a brick wriggling free from one of the smithy's walls, bouncing to a stop in the middle of the street, where it sprouted tiny, legless feet, and began waddling towards the edge of town. After somehow collecting a bouquet of flowers in arms that didn't exist, the little brick would try to brave the governor's hill with a face just like his painted flat and weary. Elizabeth hadn't meant anything so literal, obviously. But this picture was so strange, it eventually distracted him altogether from his relishing in Elizabeth's admiration. When his thoughts returned to the room in which he stood, and once again his eyes met hers, so disarmingly earnest and insistent, something in him broke through the walls of his bafflement.

He grinned.

Slow and small at first, he grinned. Then as relief spread Elizabeth's lips wide in her own grin, the image in his mind twisted and changed to something even more ridiculous with each passing second. It wasn't long before he was picturing himself as a man-sized brick, literally struggling to fit in at the governor's latest gala, grinding and stiffly wriggling through ballroom doors, and bumping his way across crowded dance floors, while Elizabeth struggled to hold onto his too-wide breadth, framed as it was by such sharp, rough edges.

A brick, she'd said! Now a brick was all Will could think of.

And he began to snicker with her, quietly.

"Come now! It isn't as bad as that!" the governor tutted after several seconds had passed, trying to cut through their distraction. "It's just because his head's undressed—once that's added, it'll all come together nicely."

Oh no, now the dancing brick in his mind had a hat too? How would it ever stay on—would it slide off anytime the brick tottered side to side? How was a brick meant to take its hat off at dinner time? Will caught his breath and shook his head, while more and more stupid ideas and questions flooded his mind.

"No…" Will responded at length, "I'm afraid now that it's been said, I cannot picture myself as anything besides a large brick, dropping into your pew on Sunday and blocking everyone's view in the chapel."

"Because that's what it looks like," Elizabeth pressed.

"For the love of…" Her father threw his hands up in worn-out exasperation. "Remove! Both of you!"

---

The afternoon pressed on steadily with less and less fanfare. Will doffed and don suit after suit, working his way through the small collection one at a time. The stiff cravat seemed more and more noticeably uncomfortable with each change, and he struggled against his impulse to tug at it, or tear it away altogether.

The pale rusty colored suit was more favorable in its cut, but the governor disliked the noticeably worn, faded look to its fabrics. And even though Elizabeth declared its lightness would match quite nicely with the peach details in one of her dresses, the coat hue was similar enough to the bronze waistcoat that giggling comparisons to bricks were practically unavoidable. It was vetoed by the governor.

The yellow suit was liked better by all parties, especially in how it was paired with a slightly shorter pale purple waistcoat, which the governor felt helped balance out the coat's fading. But otherwise, it was fairly plain, and somehow not quite perfect. So it was put to the side as a possibility.

It was the green ditto suit that truly first moved the room's opinions. Will felt different as he put it on and stepped out to present himself for the Swanns' adjudication. Unlike before, the silence that followed was somehow lighter, lifted by a sense of appreciation.

He was able to catch a look at himself in the governor's mirror, and with some mesmerization was able to turn his shoulders this way and that, to see a bit of what he looked like from completely different angles, including a little bit of his back. The waistcoat was a bit shorter, something more like his everyday brown vest, with its hem sitting just a lighter higher than halfway up his thighs. And the breeches were more slim and fitted compared to anything else he'd worn before—not tight, but certainly less voluminous, especially where they buttoned at his knees. Even though the color was not as vivid as the ruby suit, or as shiny as the silken brown suit, it was also not as worn or faded as the peach or yellow suits—it was humble but not drab, its color reserved and yet still lively. A very happy medium.

When the silence extended long enough that it seemed no opinion was to be voiced by Elizabeth or her father, Will broke it himself, declaring, "I like this one much better."

"Yes…" the governor answered slowly, with a finger touching the thoughts upon his lips. "It's a little plain, and some tailoring will still be required for a proper fit. But it shouldn't require anything beyond standard alterations, I should think."

That was as good a compliment as any Will had heard from the man before—practically a glowing review. It made him lift his chin and straighten his back a little with a small charm of satisfaction. But while the governor's opinion was crucial, it wasn't the one that mattered to Will the most…

"So?" he asked, turning to face Elizabeth. "Do I look like a walking shrubbery to you?"

"No," she breathed in a pretty chuckle that dipped her head. Then she let her eyes rove inchmeal from his head to his feet and back again, a motion that made him shift and stir inside. She added lowly, "I think you look very well favored… actually."

There it was again: that undying fire between them, fanned back awake by encouraging brushes from her breath. Looking at her now, it seemed there was smoke and flame in Elizabeth's eyes, so different from the sweeping tempests he typically saw. He could almost feel a tangible heat from her gaze dancing over his skin, even so thoroughly covered as he was, neck to foot. It made his pulse restless and he could feel it thrumming more and more insistently in his ears, his throat, his chest, his—

Governor Swann broke the spell, stepping into Will's sight like a barrier between them and replacing eyes like ink with eyes like ice. Blinking through a rush of embarrassment, Will tore his focus in a different direction, pulling at the ruffles of his shirt sleeves as though trying to adjust some bunching and sort himself out.

How was today so fraught with these feelings? Had their sword fight been that much of a mistake…?

"… Let's try the last one," the governor's voice cut into his musing. Will pushed himself to clear his thoughts enough to follow the man's gesture towards the final suit, cream colored and leaf-adorned. "Just in case."

He obeyed, far too distracted by the specter branded in his mind by Elizabeth's mesmerizing, dark eyes, to remotely consider or care what is thoughts on all these suits amounted to anymore. He was tired of colors, and tired of trims, and tired noting fits and fabrics.

When he stepped back out from behind the screen, his eyes fixed on the drawing room doorway, to watch Elizabeth walk back in and meet her gaze once more. Once she entered, she only spared him a quick glance, before she began looking him over with a mood and procedure that was far more routine than before.

"It looks… nice…" she said in a level voice that suited the unexpected feelings of disappointment inside him.

Will moistened his lips, hoping for the excitement of her looking at him once again, instead of the suit.

"There's certainly nothing wrong with it," he answered. "And yet somehow the green was better."

Especially when comparing Elizabeth's reactions to each piece.

"What if we changed things up a bit…" she suddenly suggested.

Then Elizabeth brushed past him behind the screen. When she returned, she had in her hands the green breeches he'd just doffed. Without explanation or warning, she closed the distance between them and pressed the waistband of the breeches against his hips, clearly intending to help them all picture him dressed in more than one color at once. "What do you think?"

She looked at him expectantly, and her eyes were a wonder. What were they even talking about again? He couldn't think of much about anything right now besides the way her fingers were brushing his flank—definitely not about fashion. And he…

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Oh, fuck. Why was that happening now, just as she was calling attention to his lower half? He knew it wasn't entirely in his control, but he liked to believe he'd been so good at keeping his thoughts mostly in their place, somehow magically holding his blood back from boiling over. But the truth was that he'd been lucky that the only other thing that had set him off today had been at a time and place so concealable.

Did it really have to happen now? With her standing right in front of him?!

'Don't panic—absolutely do not panic. Just calm down and breathe and remember your waistcoat covers you,' the rational part of him reminded him gently.

That was right. It wasn't as though becoming proud at strange or awkward times was a completely unusual occurrence. He'd never admit it out loud, but he'd gone so far as to fall into dangerous daydreams in church, of all places, before. At least this time it hadn't happened just from looking at her or seeing her voice, like a few other times. It would pass in a moment. If he could just calm his heart and clear his mind, his other parts would follow. And the best help he knew would come if he stepped back, coaxed her hands away, said something.

But, oh, she was looking right at him, standing so close. And, god willing, there wasn't a single part of Will Turner that could begin wanting to look or hear or feel or be anyone, anything, anywhere else that wasn't closer. Her dark, brilliant eyes were drawing him in so deep, and her scent was like a gust of paradise. There was a hint of a smile on her lips, and he could still vividly recall their touch and taste from only a handful of hours before.

Closer, closer, his pulse was chanting; all he wanted was to be closer.

"Step away from him, please, Elizabeth," Will heard her father's voice as though it were coming from across the sea.

His own breath tripped on its way out his chest. And while Elizabeth turned her face to roll her eyes at her father, her spell was broken enough to allow a little jolt of clarity snap through his mind.

That's right: her father…

While Will's heart slowed for a moment, it was not calmed by the reminder of how closely they were being watched—of how Elizabeth's father could possibly recognize what was happening to him, without being able to see the actual proof so fortunately concealed behind a thin curtain. How could he have forgotten about the governor? Had he not been chanting his presence, stewing over it, resenting it for half the afternoon?

He had to step back—carefully.

As Will took that ginger step backwards to slide a little further away from Elizabeth, her head snapped back on him with confusion creasing her brow. There wasn't a chance in hell he would willingly explain himself here. So he tried his best to offer a smile that wasn't a cringe before reaching out to try and take the green breeches from her hands without touching her.

"I'll just change…" he muttered his excuse.

Then he sent silent thanks outward that he was able to turn away and conceal himself behind the changing screen, where he could take his time to breathe and methodically plot out in his mind the orders he would fulfill come tomorrow morning.

---

It took several minutes, but eventually Will found a way to still his mind enough that his body followed.

A new game—and not a fun one—was being played now, as individual pieces of the various suits were shuffled about in experimental mix-matches, and they quibbled over this and that. Thankfully and unthankfully at once, Elizabeth seemed to be distracted by this effort, and for several minutes no longer teased him so heavily. Their focus was on completing the task at hand.

Green breeches alone against cream coats was a combination thought awkward by the governor. Will traded the coat for the brown he'd liked before, but even though he enjoyed the medley of colors he saw in the governor's mirror, he found he liked the coat itself less. And seeing as the governor was insistent the fabrics' textures clashed terribly, it was put aside. The more they traded options, the more out-of-place the leafy accents of the cream waistcoat felt to Will, and the more overwhelmed and discouraged he began to feel regarding this whole endeavor. In and out he was of different pieces, with them constantly coming back to parts of the green suit, which they all clearly liked best. But Will could no longer convince himself looked humble enough to begin wearing immediately. The governor's desire to make him look better seemed to pull in direct opposition with his own desire to not stray too far too quickly from the humility of his neighbors, his master.

Eventually he ended up in a somewhat unexpected outfit, emulating an earlier color combination he'd liked by wearing the rusty suit's yellow waistcoat with the green breeches and his own worn brown coat. It was meant to be a compromise of sorts.

But the governor insisted, "I would prefer if you had more fashionable colors than this."

"I'm afraid I am not yet prepared to agree," Will snapped back with a little more bite than he intended.

He chided himself, reminding himself not to let his temper flare as he argued his opinion. He'd forgotten to eat during his bath, and he was growing very hungry. He was growing very tired. He wanted it all to be over and done with. Why did this have to be so long and complicated?

"Well, I agree with both of you and neither of you at the same time. So where does that leave us?" Elizabeth drawled. She had long stopped walking in and out of the room for every little clothing change, and now sat slumped in her father's desk chair with her temple propped up on one hand's knuckles.

When Will looked at her, the weary smiles they exchanged seemed almost like instinct. Even crouched half-asleep from boredom, he couldn't help it. His heart fluttered again happily and soothed some of his irritation. With no pretenses between them, she always seemed like a dream come true.

"At least consider the green or yellow," pleaded Governor Swann.

Elizabeth suddenly wriggling to sit up straight stopped Will from arguing back right away.

"You do look very fetching in the green coat, Will," she added. "I think darker colors suit you, somehow."

He wanted to argue back, but against Elizabeth it remained much more difficult. He craved the appreciation of her eyes almost as much as he dreaded the critical eyes of those who would be the final judges of his character, of the acceptability of their union. No, he craved hers more, if he were still honest. Especially after today, when his appetites had been allowed to grow with so little abandon.

Her eyes were penetrating again, warming and waking him like they hadn't done in many minutes. The sun was almost down; the mansion's many candles had been lit, casting glints of gold over her unassuming beauty. The air felt thick between them, and somehow unforgivably vast.

All he could make of the words he'd wanted to say, was a single broken, "I…"

Why couldn't they be closer…?

It was a question growing more raw and aggravating through every additional hour spent apart. With a long deep breath, Will tore his eyes away from it, to look towards the major part of its answer.

Elizabeth's father had also long given up standing, and was seated on another chair closer to his unlit fireplace.

"What about blue?" he offered quite suddenly. "I think blue could look very nice on you, Mister Turner."

Will's brow pinched from bewilderment. Blue? Where did that come from? Was the governor losing track of the options they had? There was no blue suit.

"I would try it if there was an option for it here," he responded, trying not to let the depths of his frustrated discomfiture show.

"I'm sure we could arrange something," the governor grunted, as he put his hands to his chair's arms and pushed himself to his feet. It was clear that even he was finished with this whole situation, and he cast worn-out eyes on Will. "What if we just settle for now on what we agree on? The breeches and waistcoat seem like a suitable match for now, yes?"

"Aye—" Will began in relief, before catching his casualness, "That is, I think so, yes."

The sounds of Elizabeth also standing mingled with a hiss that sounded to his ears suspiciously like an irritated, "Finally, fuck me…"

Renewed frantic, hot rushes of embarrassment washed all over him, summoned back by the extremely real likelihood that he had either heard something she hadn't meant for him to hear, or worse, that his hungry mind had drawn from her mouth suggestive words she hadn't actually said at all. He pressed his lips together, and resisted the urge to look back at her to confirm the truth anyway which way or another.

"If that's what we can agree on, so be it," her father sighed. Not for the first time today, Will felt grateful the man could not read his thoughts. "But I'm keeping the two coats here for you, until you've come to your senses about them."

He waved for his valet to collect and put away the green and yellow coats.

Will frowned, feeling his pride stir in protest, and no longer feeling patient enough to placate it.

"That isn't necessary, sir," he insisted with some haste. "What you've given is more than enough help to get me started. I shall acquire more things on my own as I—"

"Oh," the governor waved his hand again, this time in that motion of casual dismissal he favored, "don't think about that so much now. This is a gift."

Another gift. So many gifts, lately. And it was one thing to be showered on by Elizabeth's tokens of affection, but to receive so many at the hand of this man, who still held no real affection for him, felt… Oh, could he say it without seeming like an ungrateful, stubborn ass?

Unless that was what he truly was…? His inclination was once again to argue—why did he always want to argue?

Despite this, in Will's moment of deliberation, Governor Swann seemed to see something that wasn't just… stubborn ass-ery. Will saw the governor watching him with something he almost dared to say was sympathy—he never was quite willing to presume what his softer expressions could or could not be, when they weren't meant for Elizabeth.

"Whatever the case may be, we must make haste to present you as an upstanding gentleman before the coming assembly. Once that has passed, we can revisit this over again."

"The assembly?" Elizabeth cut in, coming to stand beside Will's left shoulder. "I thought this was meant for Sundays."

Even more grateful than he was for the governor's inability to read his thoughts, Will would never stop marveling over the times Elizabeth seemed able to perfectly echo to his. Knowing full well the precariousness with which his heart had suspended him the entire afternoon, he let his fingers seek out hers, fully willing to accept whatever falls he might take for the gift of her soft skin cradled against his.

"In the end, it is for everything that matters," the Governor stated firmly. "Now, allow us to take your measurements for your alternations, and we'll have done with all of this."

---

At last, the fitting was over, and Elizabeth was more than ready to have her treasured guest back in her immediate company. Although Will looked frazzled after his emergence from the changing screen a final time, she also sensed a subtle satisfaction in him she hadn't observed after any other prior encounter with her father. Her father seemed to feel much the same. And for Elizabeth, there was an overdue sense of relief in the thought that, for once, everyone was pleased that they had met.

It was twice a relief, actually. Beyond Will's disagreements with her father, she'd previously sensed a tense discomfort in him after she'd overstepped with the breeches. Her father's pointed glances had made it clear he'd noticed her faux pas as well, confirming she hadn't imagined her mistake. She'd gotten carried away, let herself forget that they weren't playing scandalous secret kissing games in the garden, and were under her father's scrutiny. It was only obvious why he would recoil. So for the rest of the evening, she'd committed herself to a seat on the edge of the room, satisfying her increasingly rampant urges by toying with her handkerchief whenever she wished to reach for her lover instead.

But after all those long minutes watching his shapely figure turn and turn about, while she sat wringing her handkerchief into her own spontaneously spun rope, she was unwilling to resist herself any longer. She leaped to her feet to meet him toe-to-toe. And when his natural smile greeted her, his hand turned out in quiet search for hers, she took advantage of the invitation. She ignored his hand altogether, instead re-capturing him by the lapels of his coat. Then she reached from her toes' tips for an upward boost to place just one sweet, indulgently lingering kiss upon Will's lips, softer than she was still used to but still tasting of joy.

When they parted his smile was crooked, and it made her feel giddy. Well… giddier.

"I think we've had enough of that," she breathed, referring to the overlong chore they'd just endured.

His consolation was obvious when he nodded his agreement, written in the clearest lines of his current expression.

Sometimes she pitied the people who only knew Will to be anxious or brooding. The sight of his laughter was already carved so deep into his young face, its sound etched so clearly in her heart, she couldn't dream of him ever losing his smile. She found herself counting the wrinkles bunched at the corners of his eyes, and fighting every urge to encircle his neck with her arms, falling into him like she still dreamed of even now.

When she felt his hands settle on her waist, she almost gave in.

Except father chimed back in, "Why don't we eat, settle down, and maybe enjoy a bit of a game?"

Oh? She turned to look at father with some surprise. She'd thought for certain he would be intent on saying good night. The sun had already gone down, and Will was certain to have work in the morning. They all were, actually—even her. Tomorrow would be the day the new housekeeper arrived, and at last she would have to return to her own duties keeping house, for a time… The thought almost seemed more painful than her bruises. But she and her father were granted the chance to rise at comfortable hours. Will, she knew, rose in an immediate race with the sun, and generally retired to bed much earlier than they did, when he could help it. With that long walk down the hill back into town, it would be a late hour of the night before his head hit his pillow.

It was with this in mind, Elizabeth turned her eyes back on him, watching wordlessly for whether he felt he had any remaining time or energy left after this long, eventful day.

Will's smile slipped. And even though she knew it was coming, knew it made sense, Elizabeth's heart slipped with it, watching words of polite rejection dancing behind his eyes.

What she didn't know was coming was her father being so insistent, adding, "I'm willing to lend you a horse home tonight, if it will help you stay a little later."

A fresh thrill of surprise rushed through her. Her head whipped back again, her attention starting to feel like a tennis ball in play.

"Who will accompany him?" she asked, almost too eagerly.

She didn't care if she was transparent—the idea of one last independent adventure for the day, getting to see Will home and possibly kiss him goodnight away from observation was too enticing. There was a hunger in her that had been plaguing her all evening, which one last serving of vittles would not sate. And she had yet to collect her complete prize from their duel…

"Mister Spotswood," father answered with finality. His eyebrows were raised as he said it, acting as though he were somehow privy to at least the general direction of her straying thoughts. "You may see each other off at the stables—I'll not have you going out together after dark."

She huffed, and ran her upper lip across the edge of her bottom teeth to hold her irritated arguments. They'd already battled enough today, and pushing for more now would be a risk. She would just have to find another way to win her time alone with Will—and if she couldn't win it, then she would find a way to steal it.

"Mister Turner?" her father spoke around her, seeming set on letting her sulk and scheme.

Back again Elizabeth's attention traveled to her beau.

"I appreciate the offer…" began Will's careful reply, before he paused to wrestle with his answer.

'That means 'no…'' Elizabeth thought with some dejection. Waiting until this coming Sunday to only repeat this afternoon over again, supervised and stilted, seemed almost an unbearable prospect. She didn't want any more of this. She wanted more yesterdays, more hidden retreats and escapes into town, more secrets. She wasn't ready for this weekend to end, for them to part ways for possibly days, with nothing but letters to break the boring drudgery of the lives they'd been dumped into.

But Will's thoughts stopped. She could see it in his dark eye: a peaceful stillness settling in him as he peered back into her mind, seeing something inside of her. Was she changing his mind? Or was this something else entirely…?

Whatever it was, Will finished his answer to her father, "… I hope it won't be troublesome for me to accept."

The smile he shared with her was tired but genuine.

A final crack of sunlight burst in her heart, warming her inside-out. And for a moment all she wished to do was slip her arms around him, to tuck her head under his chin and hope the dusky warmth blooming inside her could cross back into him, letting him feel the beautiful way he made her feel.

But it would have to wait a little longer. They were in the middle of a conversation with someone else entirely, and within a second moment, Will's attention had shifted back to her father.

"Of course not," was father's answer. With a little pause, and a smile she recognized was not easy but not without gentle intentions, he added, "You are … always welcome here, Mister Turner."

For a moment, Elizabeth felt her lips part from her wonder, and her anxiousness for Will's affection was forgotten. They were trying. Her father and Will, they were genuinely trying to offer each other courtesy and understanding. And, yes, their exchanges were still stiff, and halting, and weird, but for once they weren't pieces of a larger battle.

A flash of something ran through Will's eyes for a moment—something like pain, but not like it all. She'd seen it in him before, but like always, it disappeared as quickly as it had come. This time, he settled instead into a look of cautious contentment.

"Thank you, sir."

The decision was finalized with her father's smile, still not quite as easy as it might have been in better circumstances, but without most of his past pretenses. Together, everyone vacated the governor's quarters and migrated to the drawing room. Father's footmen repositioned the ornamental screen back its corner, then dismissed themselves to complete their long task of emptying the two bathtubs.

Elizabeth took Will's arm and led him to a seat beside her, on the couch. Father called for fresh drinks before reclining in the arm chair to their left, and for several minutes the group dined on the remains from tea time, each content to be silent for a few peaceful moments.

Eventually, father struck up some conversation, asking Will about his business for tomorrow. This spurred an easy discussion, where each one of them took turns sharing their expectations for the rest of the work week. Will had a project he wished to start for a large house being built on the edge of town, and wished to meet with some masters from his guild. Father would be occupied with his own meetings with officers and community leaders at Fort Charles, discussing measures related to the island's future security. And she would be cooped up in this house, training the new housekeeper and planning a formal welcome dinner for the aforementioned officers. Mediocrities… but hopefully ones that were meant to end for her, soon.

As that topic of conversation was drawn to a close, they'd all eaten their fill, and began to relax in their chairs. Elizabeth took advantage of the opportunity to sidle closer to Will once more, watching for any sign that she could accidentally be imposing herself on him again in a way he felt was uncomfortable. But he only smiled with sleep creeping back into his eyes, and held his arm out as an invitation for her to nestle herself against his side.

She practically dove into his offered embrace, almost crashing her head against his jaw in her eagerness to finally wrap her arms around him and snuggle back together. When she tucked her head under his chin as she'd wanted earlier, she heard a laugh grunt through the back of his throat. And though she knew it would likely earn a scolding, she responded by turning her face to plant a kiss beneath his jaw. Her arms felt his breath catch, but she heard no sigh or scoff from her father's direction, and decided to believe it was perfectly acceptable.

Of course, she was avoiding looking at father for any other sign of disagreement, but that was neither here nor there.

Eventually, Will gave her shoulder an affectionate squeeze. And content as she was to simply lean against him, talking for hours more, Elizabeth found herself once again truly, deeply regretting that the night would soon be coming to a close. Time was unfair. She wished she could walk up to one of her father's clocks, press her fingers to its hands, and stop the minutes from passing altogether. If that were possible, she would have done it many times by now.

Or, better yet, she'd wind the hands forward around the clock over 300 times, until she reached the night that would be their first with no goodbye.

The first night where everything would be made perfect.

As though a charm had been laid over her, suddenly she vividly imagined herself and Will in another place, surrounded with blue starlight and one single lamp turned low. They'd be holding each other as they were now, but on a bed entangled in sheets and little else. And the firm body her arms encircled would be bare for her, as hers would be for him, so his fingertips could trace their little strokes directly across her arm, and their chests pressed skin-to-skin…

She swallowed and flexed her fingers into Will's side, coaxing herself to come back to the place and moment she actually was in, now: in her drawing room, not… that other place. Father was quiet, but he was still in the room—and that was definitely not a fraction of any part of her fantasies. She felt as though she was on fire, and all the heat was seeping out through her face. But piece by piece, the daydream was banished, until the rhythmic sound and sensation of Will's breathing pressing against her arms became the only reminder of what had taken her there to begin with. And before that…

What had she been thinking about before that? She'd forgotten completely.

Well, it didn't matter. The night was growing late, and…

Oh! With another twinge of sadness, she remembered that Will would be leaving soon… That was what she'd been thinking about, before. And how much she wished he didn't have to go…

Elizabeth drew her head back enough to look at his face, to try spotting the sleepiness she felt and heard inside his chest. His eyelashes were cast down into some deep thought, but he seemed awake enough for now. And if he was willing, she wanted him for as long as she could have him.

"Are we still interested in a game?" she suggested, pulling apart enough to sit back up straight. The separation began to help her cool, inside and out. When Will blinked like he'd been snapped out of a reverie, she explained, "We have cards and dice, and a few other games besides. Almost anything you could fancy."

A contagious glimmer came back to Will's eyes, and his lips twitched for her in a hidden message. It was only a smile, a small one she could not resist. Yet while she couldn't really be certain, she chose to believe he was saying in his mind, 'I fancy you.'

She was certainly thinking it about him.

"Ah, yes," her father spoke in a sound that seemed he too had been pulled out of deeper contemplations, "What is it you play, Mister Turner? Elizabeth has indicated the two of you enjoy a bit of gaming and sport together."

Elizabeth's gazes tangled with Will's for a second, and she resisted bursting into laughter. How different her and Will's amorous games played in the garden and smithy were, compared to the parlor games considered proper for a courting pair…

"I like a good round of Whist, when I can get to it," Will answered her father. "But I'm willing to try other things, if you feel I ought to know them."

"Whist is enjoyable enough—nice and quick too," father agreed, and rose to his feet to migrate to the permanent gaming board in the room's opposite corner.

Will followed her father's example, standing with a bit of a grunt, then offering Elizabeth a hand up. While her knees protested against her rising, she was grateful to feel like the worst of her pain would soon be behind her, and her legs were less stiff overall. Together, she and Will met her father at the table, where Will quickly drew the nearest chair for her, and helped her position her seat.

"But perhaps something a little less … stimulating tonight?" the governor asked, and took a seat to Elizabeth's left.

She felt a tiny jolt in her chest at her father's choice of words. He couldn't possibly know what her thoughts had been throughout the larger portion of this day. And yet it seemed so pointed… Perhaps he was growing concerned over the persistence to their open cuddling?

"Have you tried chess?" he asked.

Will sat to her right, with his brow wrinkling from concentration, as he tried to adjust his own chair's position and answer her father at the same time. "I'm sorry, I cannot say I have…"

She could hear in his voice a little echo of the shame she'd heard through her father's door, when confronted over the cravat. She'd been too slow from eavesdropping to be able to lighten the situation then, and regretted it. So when Will was settled enough to catch her eye, she touched her hand to his arm to call his attention.

"Well, you gave me quite a good lesson today—why not let me teach you something in return?" she offered, hinting at completely different parts of her visit to the smithy for each man listening.

As she hoped, her father didn't react, while Will dipped his head to laugh privately to himself—signaling an acceptance of her offer, as much as a sharing of their little secret.

Satisfied by his nod, she stood and gestured aggressively for Will to slide his chair to the right and make more room for her to sit more beside him. The table was not meant for more than one player to sit on each side, but with some jostling the managed to share half of the table on the one side, with their hips and shoulders nearly pressed flush.

With a teasing, pointed look across the table, Elizabeth declared in a challenge, "We'll be a team against father."

Normally, father was one happy to return her banter or to playfully chide her cockiness before a bout. But as he opened the table's drawer and drew out the chess pieces, she noticed there was a different crease in his brow, an almost somber thoughtfulness in his eyes.

And only then she realized how easily her words could feel like a warning, a prophecy, if the three of them weren't careful. She began turning their possible futures about in her mind, mulling over the way that they always seemed to sit in this configuration lately: she and Will seated close, connected by whatever acceptable way she could find, and father some way across the room, with more and more coming between them.

The distance wasn't a problem—though as with any close relation, it was striking Elizabeth just how much it would hurt to one day kiss her father goodbye. They would part one day, whichever of her and Will's children that could be born would not remember him for long, and she would be as ready for it as was reasonably possible. No, though she aggressively pushed that sadness to the back of her mind, that wasn't the real problem. The real problem to her was the way she currently questioned whether her kisses would mean the same things that they did now, whether her father and Will would be able to wish each other well out of sincere feelings or mere obligation.

Will's partnership sat at the center of everything she wanted for her future. It would break her heart to have his differences with his father become an uncrossable chasm. But if she had to choose which side she would stand on…

The shadow over her father's face passed, and he held out the drawstring bag of pieces for Elizabeth to take with a smile.

"If you are interested, of course," he noted to Will, softening Elizabeth's prior enthusiastic acceptance on Will's behalf. Then he raised his eyebrows, almost as though he were leveling Will a warning. "It's a real gentleman's game—a contest of patience and strategy."

It was likely meant to only call attention to the increasing lateness of the hour. But in plenty of other circumstances, her father's comments could be seen as a jab at Will's impulsiveness. As Elizabeth accepted the bag of pieces, she couldn't resist an assessing glance at Will's reactions.

Thankfully, the look on his face was an earnest one. He nodded his understanding. "A game that the military's officers might play together, I gather?"

Her father cocked an eyebrow at the same time she did.

"Regularly, yes," he said.

Elizabeth had a feeling she knew what Will was getting at—or several feelings, really. Officers were the men who would be surrounding her father this entire week. Officers were the men who surrounded her father most any week, who her father continually seemed to hold in highest esteem… The man her father had hand-picked to be her husband had been an officer.

He'd fallen down this trap before, and she was determined he wouldn't fall for it again.

"But not just military officers, Will," she insisted, laying her free hand on forearm. "Father and I have played it together for years. It really is good sport for the mind for anyone—there are lessons to be taken for almost any position in society."

She wasn't certain whether she had redirected him from her feared machinations in his mind. But one way or another, she had secured his attention. And the prior earnestness that had colored his eyes before mixed with an intensely bright determination.

"I'd like to play," Will answered. "Teach me."