In the spring of 1860, Pierre Robillard extended an invitation for one, Scarlett O'Hara of Tara, to come and visit him in Savannah. Feeling restless with County life, Scarlett accepted. After all, Ashley Wilkes had gone visiting. Why shouldn't she?

She had been in Savannah for a few days, when boredom resurfaced. Her Grandfather was a creature of habit which meant that he ate alone, read alone, and bullied his servants for a while, before retiring to bed. He hadn't really expected his grand-daughter to visit and her presence here unsettled him slightly. She reminded him greatly of his dear wife. Solange, like Scarlett couldn't enter a room without everyone being made aware of it. Their rare silence spoke volumes. They had similar taste in jewellery and despite the difference in fashions, they both loved bright colours.

On a wet afternoon, Scarlett found herself in the library. The sight of the dusty books depressed her but there was nothing else to do. She reached for one at random. Don Juan. Inside the front cover, she found the inscription: For you, Pierre, my love and passion, always and forever. That was all she could make out, for it was a very old copy and slightly dog-eared. She opened the book and began reading.

By the end of that afternoon, Scarlett had realised the truth between men and women. She now knew that while men may profess love for a woman, it wasn't always the kind that led to an altar, a ring and the promise of forever. A man's love was not only about if he actually liked a woman, but it was if he dreamt of her. Her undressed and in his bed. Her hand moving slowly down his body. In some cases, it was her mouth and the thought of it touching his...

Then again, man was not always to blame. A woman could always expect the same treatment. Scarlett was not so green to believe that men were always satisfied by their wives. After all, there were many of the slave's children that did not wholly resemble their mother. Of course, a lady never noticed this and if she did, she must never talk about it.

That night, she went to bed, thinking over what she had learned. She had always been adept at catching a man's attentions. With the slightly longer stare on the gentle hand on a man's arm, she could have them eating out of her hands by the end of the day. It didn't always take that long!

Now that she thought about it, the county boys were always eager to catch her attention. She had thought it was because they wanted to marry her. Perhaps they did want her, only not in the way she had been brought up. Fiddle-dee-dee! Did that mean Ashley only wanted her?

It was too horrible a thought. However, it would not go away. The seed of doubt had been planted. By the time the spring of 1861 had come around, the seed had grown into a tree. It was the night before the Barbeque, where Ashley was to announce his engagement. The news had hit her like a ton of bricks. Her Ashley, to marry that simpering ninny! It was not to be borne.

And yet, there had been moments when she thought he would propose, only for him to clear his throat suddenly and not be able to look her in the eye. It wasn't possible that the man she had loved since she was fourteen only wanted her. Could it? Ever since that rainy afternoon, she would curse the day she heard of George Gordon Byron and his Don Juan.