Chapter 1 - History of an Affair

Ashley was, above all things, a gentleman; at least that was what most of gentle society thought of him. He keeps his private life extremely private, and his public life respectable and clean. His reputation was, if not immaculate, then irrefutably unblemished.

He sat on horseback on this beautiful spring day (his twenty-fifth birthday, to be exact), making his way to the neighboring plantation as he did every chance he could risk it. Oh, no one from his family knew that he went there, except perhaps his father, but he wasn't really sure about that, and at this point, didn't care. He was only out exercising his horse he would tell his family, but he always had a destination. And today, he sat in a field, watching the sixteen-year-old vision of loveliness as she sat in front of her house with those two simpletons, the Tartleton twins. He watched as she played with them as if they were puppets on a string, drawing them in until they were drooling over her, then shoving them away when something better caught her eye.

He knew what that "something better" was; he was no fool. So, even though one would think that he should be jealous as he watched her flirting with every man from the age of pubescent teen to men his father's age; he knew better. She loved him. She would never give herself to any of those fools. She was his. She had been his for years, actually. He knew she was infatuated with him when she was a youngster of nine or ten–she made no attempts to hide it from him, and of course, at that time, he thought it was cute, if not sometimes irritating.

But even at that early age, his father told him to stay away from that Irish trash! When Ashley brought up the fact that Ellen O'Hara was a lady, John Wilkes snorted, "Some fine lady who marries a staggering Irish oaf such as Gerald O'Hara! All she managed to do was breed three more pieces of white trash. No, Ashley–you'd be best staying away from that one. She's no better than one of our slaves–use them if you need to, but marry someone in your own class."

"But she's just a child, Father. I have no intension of using the girl."

"You will," John told him. "You give that girl a few years and she'll be throwing herself at you so badly you won't be able to keep yourself from using her. But you will keep it discreet like the gentleman you are and when you're through with her, you will come home and court someone more suitable, like Melanie Hamilton."

"But, Father! She's only eleven years old!"

"I think it would be best if you would occasionally visit her and her brother Charles from time to time. Get to know her, and over the years, you will come to want her as your wife."

"Alright, Father," Ashley agreed, still not understanding what all the fuss was about, these girls were only children for God's sakes, and he wasn't inclined to be interested in children. No, he was more interested in the workings of a voluptuous lady by the name of Madam Devereaux, a well trained lady of her profession some twenty miles south.

And so, upon the orders of his father, he began is visits to the Hamilton residence. First it was monthly, then over the following year it became twice a month. Each visit, although he found little Melanie very nice, was becoming harder and harder to bear as he had to tolerate her brother Charles. When he complained about his immense dislike of the young boy to his father, the senior Mr. Wilkes' solution was to start sending Ashley's sister, India, along on his visits. And although India soon became smitten with the boy, Ashley wasn't sure who the boy looked forward to seeing more, his sister–or himself.

By the time Scarlett had turned eleven, Ashley was sent to Europe for a grand tour, where he spent three years abroad. While there he learned things in the art of lovemaking that would have Madam Devereaux paying him for–and he also seen things that would make even that old madam blush. But seeing and partaking in such events were two different things, and young Ashley had no desire to relieve his "tension" with one of the local boys as he sometimes seen some of the men do there. At these times he would discreetly turn his head and leave them to their business. For some reason, while over there, he had developed a craving for dark-haired girls with alabaster skin and green eyes, and he made a point of asking for such when he visited the establishments of the cities he visited.

Upon his return to America and the party thrown in his honor, he couldn't help but wonder why his father always invited Gerald O'Hara to the social events over the years, but it didn't take long to realize that his father was very fond of Gerald's money, and if Gerald could be persuaded into having a few drinks during the evening visits, the Irish gentleman could be talked into many things, generally something that would end with Gerald signing over a small fortune in business ventures with Mr. Wilkes.

So, although Ashley was not allowed to mix names with the O'Hara's; there was definitely nothing wrong with taking their money, and any slight that could have been perceived due to not being invited to a bar-b-que or a ball, simply wasn't acceptable. John Wilkes loved his money.

It was during this celebration for Ashley's return that he first saw her with her green eyes almost glowing from her porcelain skin. Her dark hair was pulled back to suit her age, which when he thought about it had to be around fourteen. He watched the way she would glance up at him then glance away. Well, she certainly was learning how to play the games of a woman. His mind calculated her age and the fact that she truly was of a marrying age–but–she was forbidden. The knowledge didn't stop the sensations coiling in his groin, and before he knew it, he stood in his father's lavish lawn with nearly a hundred guests, all coming in honor of him, while he had a raging hard on that he was keeping hidden behind his hat. His intentions at that point were simple, to make his way to the startling beauty sitting beneath the largest oak tree to be seen, and make arrangements to see her later, after she had returned to her home for the evening and could sneak out without being caught.

"Ashley! Ashley, how I've missed you!"

The sound turned Ashley's blood cold. He remembered that masculine voice, if you could call it masculine. And true to his memory, he turned in time to see a teenaged Charles Hamilton rushing toward him and throwing his arms around him in a welcoming hug, while his sister, Melanie walked along behind him, smiling politely. It certainly didn't take long for his throbbing erection to minimize as this young "man" clung to him. With some effort, he pushed the boy off of him, then took his younger sister's hand as she extended it to him.

"Hello, Ashley," Melanie said in her quiet mouse-like voice. "I'm so happy to see you home where you belong."

At fifteen, she really hadn't changed much from the twelve-year-old he had left behind. She was pretty, in a plain way. She was nice, and she was to someday be his wife.

"Melanie, I'm so glad you've come to welcome me back."

"Well, so have I, Ashley!" Charles smiled his wide, half-wit smile at him as he again tried to throw an arm over Ashley's shoulder.

"Charles, have you stopped to visit with my sister, India, yet?"

"Well," Charles looked around a bit nervously. "No, I haven't."

"She's right inside. I'm sure she's been waiting to see you all day. Why don't you go and see if she could use your assistance."

Ashley turned with Melanie, but as her brother started for the house, Ashley dropped Melanie's hand as his eyes searched the beauty he had seen moments before. She wasn't there. No matter–before the hour was out, he intended to find her and see how well he could get to know his dark-haired belle.