Author's Note: This is my "teaser" chapter. You don't really get much information, except for what you already knew from the summary. Still, I'm going to set up the premise: What if we had a post-GWTW story told from the perspective of a potential new suitor? How will Scarlett handle another strong, dynamic male presence in her life if she perceives that Rhett has left her for good and all? *dramatic music plays*
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story (except for the ones that I make up- they are mine! *evil laugh*). The major characters, Scarlett, Rhett, et al belong to Margaret Mitchell.
Andrew Peek held out his dollar bill to the streetcar porter, giving him a nonchalant smile as he paid for the ride.
"Mis' Kennedy's, suh," the man said, taking the bill gratefully once Andrew made it clear that no change was expected from the half dollar fare.
"Thanks," Andrew replied, disembarking.
It was a Saturday afternoon, a particularly hot one for the third of October, but Andrew shivered with impatience as he made his way through the busy street, bustling with shoppers and streetcars. Atlanta was growing, even in the recession as it was. But Reconstruction was endless, he reminded himself. These ain't Southerners spending money. No sir, these were transplants from the North hoping to sniff out an advantage. Andrew just happened to be seeking an advantage to, though Northern he was not.
Making his way through the throng at last, he opened the shop door and took a look inside the mercantile. "Fine, quality goods, hardware, variety," Andrew read the sign underneath the black bold letters reading Kennedy's Emporium. He shrugged, "Let the buyer beware." Pulling the nearest clerk aside, he said in a more serious tone, "Mr. Kennedy if you please, sir. My name is Andrew Peek and I have an appointment."
The clerk looked amused. "Mr. Kennedy ain't here."
"I'll wait. When is he expected?"
"You'll be waiting a good long while. Mr. Kennedy's been dead a good seven years."
Andrew's eyes narrowed. "It may be good and well to act smart to folks here in Atlanta but where I come from it's a sign of disrespect. Now I made an appointment with Mr. Kennedy and I want you to produce him, now."
"I'm afraid that is impossible, Mr. Peek."
Andrew turned around hurriedly at the sound of the female voice.
He quickly removed his hat, then asked with surprise, "You are -"
"Mrs. Butler, now. Formerly Kennedy."
"You are the proprietor of this store? Sole proprietor?" He eyed her with interest. He had rarely encountered a woman in business, particularly one so appealing as the one which stood before him. He eyed her with interest, raptly taking an inventory of her charms with an experienced eye.
She looked up at him with dancing green eyes, so distinctive that the devil incarnate could lose himself within their depths. Her black brows slanted upward, like a pair of wings. Her heavy chignon held hair of the same shade of ebony, and her magnolia skin was set off by full lips.
"Mr. Kennedy has been deceased for several years, Mr. Peek."
"I see," Andrew said hesitantly. "And Mr. Butler is..." his voice trailed off, deliberately adding the additional unspoken question.
"My husband's business endeavors force him away from Atlanta for long periods," she said, her tone unwavering. "Mr. Kennedy's store is my own enterprise and I act with full authority in all matters concerning it."
Aha, Andrew thought to himself with pleasure. Mrs. Kennedy-Butler wasn't nearly as innocent as she was supposed to be, and with a longing look, but without further question, he offered her his arm.
"Suppose you show me the books?"
She nodded, and extended her gloved hand, which he took, allowing her to lead the way to the accounting room at the back of the store.
Andrew noted the pointed toes of her boots tapping nervously on the wood floor as he gave the ledger a cursory glance.
"As you can see, we have been very successful..." she began.
"I can see that you are breaking even, which is a credit in these hard times. As to successful, I'm not sure. You mentioned sawmills as well?"
"I did. Well, not my sawmills, my – Ashley's – they're – "
"Do the sawmills exist or do they not, Mrs. Butler?"
She attempted a polite smile with trembling lips.
"They do exist. But they're doing so badly now that Ashley's not...what I meant to say, Mr. Peek, is that I am going to buy them back from him and you're going to buy them from me, along with the store as our lawyers discussed."
Andrew stroked his chin. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable buying something from someone who doesn't actually possess the thing I'm looking to buy."
"But I will possess it. They were my mills before Ashley – "
She turned her back on him, and Andrew stood up unconsciously.
"Are you quite alright?" he asked with not a little discomfort.
She faced him slowly, her chin tucked tightly into the high boned collar of her dress. There was no point in her trying to explain to him the ins and outs of her situation – none of that seemed useful to relay.
"I am only standing in this room with you, Mr. Peek, because of a death in the family. We're all of us still reeling. My sister-in-law. Ashley – Mr. Wilkes's – wife. He is inconsolable and the mills are no longer profitable. I wish to sell them while they're still worth something. And your attorney said you were interested in property in town, not just the mills – and the store – it is what it is but I have no further use for it. Not now. You can look at my books and know that you'll turn a profit off of it instantly. And once you possess the mills, you'll have lumber at your disposal as well."
"And what of you? And of the bereaved Mr. Wilkes, if I may be so bold?"
"We'll be going home. All of us. And leaving Atlanta behind."
"Ah. Well sit down, why don't you?" he said coaxingly, indicating the chair opposite his. She moved closer, staring for the first time at his face. He had the blackest of hair, the bluest of eyes, and an expression that reminded her of a highwayman. His face was unconventional, proud and imperious, but gentle enough to break into laughter at any moment. His close clipped beard was liberally streaked with gray, but most likely belied his true age, which was thirty-eight.
Her glance was avid in impassioned curiosity.
"What is it that you're going to do with my store?" Her voice had changed, raw silk had turned to dark honey. It was throbbing with intensity, and it piqued Andrew's attention.
"Sell it." Andrew attempted his previous nonchalance, noting as she stood up again her slender waistline and the bosom that lurked underneath that high collar of rose colored lace. He glanced up at her again. Her beauty was not that of a fresh-faced innocent. Far from it; this was a woman very conscious of her power over men, and she knew how to use it to her advantage.
"And you, Mrs. Butler, do you make a habit of conducting business without your husband's consent?"
She gave him a tiny, mischievous smile, then murmured, "Would your lawyer have taken the time to converse with mine if I was not serious about making the sell? Would you have come if you were not? No. I think you have answered your own question, Mr. Peek."
There were so few surprises in life, Andrew thought, that you had to make the most of every one you encountered. Tantalizing himself with his own restraint, he laughed aloud, "Done then, Mrs. Butler. I will buy your store and the sawmills at the price we discussed. But I will expect a meeting with yourself and this unfortunate Wilkes fellow before I sign the papers."
"That's quite impossible, Ashley is indisposed." She sputtered indignantly, gathering her white pique skirt in one hand and moved to exit.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Butler, those are my terms."
"But he's in no condition –"
"Is he dead along with his wife, Mrs. Butler? Then he is in a condition to talk, and I will talk to him. And to you."
"Without my husband, surely it – "
"Your husband allows you to conduct your own business affairs, you have already said." He looked directly into her fascinating eyes.
"I did, but –"
"This is no different, then. If you would call at the National, around 8:30. Bring Mr. Wilkes with you. I will bring the documents and have the cash in hand."
She nodded, only appearing a little flustered, then left the room, shutting the door loudly behind her.
"Damn it," he muttered aloud. Mrs. Butler was entirely too desirable, and in her unprotected state, entirely too available. He was no stranger to affairs, but he had his reputation to maintain. Such a figure...such a vivacious...and dare he say it...smart...female?