Chapter 1: A New Beginning
Author's Note: This chapter has been slightly edited.
Disclaimer: All characters were created by Margaret Mitchell. I'm just trying to give them a different chance at happiness.
April, 1861 The day after the barbecue at Twelve Oaks
"I wouldn't want to wait."
Katie Scarlett O'Hara awoke as if from a nightmare. Her words of the previous day echoed through her mind over and again. Had she truly spoken those words in response to Charles Hamilton? Why not Brent or Stuart, or at least one of the Calverts? They had all buzzed around her at the barbecue. She'd had the attention of every unmarried man there, except for that horrid Butler man and. . .Ashley. Ashley.
Scarlett groaned aloud remembering her embarrassment in the library at Twelve Oaks. She had blurted out her poorly concealed secret to Ashley, and he had been kind enough to not laugh at her. She remembered the feel of his hands on her arms, as he held her close and explained that he loved her too, just the same as India and Honey. The love of her life thought of her as a sister. She tucked that thought aside. Pa would never have consented to that anyway.
The fact that that cad from Charleston had witnessed the scene, and was lowbred enough to comment on it hadn't helped her frame of mind, either.
Upon leaving the library, she had run into Charles Hamilton. With excitement he informed her that the war had begun, and renewed his proposal of marriage, asking her if she would wait for him. For reasons which no longer made sense, she had responded with that ridiculous answer. Her pa had readily agreed, and favored a wedding before Charles left for war.
"I wouldn't want to wait." Scarlett whispered the words once more while opening her eyes to the bright, sunny spring day. A sudden though immediately brightened Scarlett's day. "Why, Mother won't want a quick wedding! She'll insist on a long engagement. I'll have a chance to fix it."
That happy thought gave Scarlett courage enough to start the day. A glance around the room revealed a bouquet of flowers on the windowsill. Curiosity peaked, she threw off the covers and moved to examine the flowers. A dozen blue violets surrounded by baby's breath. The handwriting on the accompanying note was small and neat, but she didn't recognize it.
Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep:
A maid of Dian's this advantage found,
And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep
In a cold valley-fountain of that ground;
Which borrowed from this holy fire of Love,
A dateless lively heat, still to endure,
And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove
Against strange maladies a sovereign cure.
But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new-fired,
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast;
I, sick withal, the help of bath desired,
And thither hied, a sad distempered guest,
But found no cure, the bath for my help lies
Where Cupid got new fire; my mistress' eyes.
Scarlett sighed. Pretty words with no sensible meaning, why, only Ashley would send a girl something so silly. But she was sure he spoke his heart when rejecting her yesterday, and besides, was not written in his hand. Cade might—there was something about his eyes yesterday, the way he stared at her. Her mouth turned down as the obvious answer occurred to her.
Charles.
Of course, he would be just as interested in books as Ashley and Melanie. His declaration of love the previous day had been clumsy, but she was sure he meant it. He'd probably copied the poem out of some silly book—he'd be too shy to recite it for her, but obviously took the time to write it for her. And the servants would have no qualms about delivering flowers from her fiancé to her bedroom. Scarlett paused in thought once more.
What did she love about Ashley, and how many of those wonderful qualities did Charles share? While he wasn't as handsome as Ashley, he was certainly was good looking enough. He apparently shared that annoying love of boring old books. He also had eyes only for her, a trait in which Ashley was sadly lacking. His eyes weren't bad either. The last time he held her hand, once he got over his nerves and stopped crushing her, she had felt a little something, maybe. Maybe marrying Charlie Hamilton wouldn't be so bad. Better than that old maid in pants, Frank Kennedy, in any case.
Meanwhile, aboard a train to Atlanta
Charles Hamilton felt like he was eight years old again, and could barely contain himself in his seat. He still couldn't believe his good luck. He pinched himself occasionally to be sure he wasn't dreaming. Scarlett O'Hara agreed to be his wife, and Mr. O'Hara offered his consent and blessing. Charles was on his way home to draw up the necessary paperwork and collect his mother's engagement ring. He couldn't wait to see Scarlett's beautiful eyes when he presented her with the sapphire. He paused for a moment with that thought of her eyes. Maybe an emerald would be more appropriate? No, surely Scarlett would appreciate the sentimentality of receiving his mother's ring.
"I wonder what she thought of the flowers and sonnet," he whispered softly, imagining Scarlett finding the violets upon waking. What would those emerald eyes look like in the first light of morning? How long would her raven hair fall once released from the pins? What would it feel like to wrap his arms around her small form, to kiss her perfect lips, to run his fingers through her hair? He sighed and shifted slightly in his seat. That line of thought was dangerous, or he would embarrass himself publicly. Mr. O'Hara was in favor of a brief engagement, before he joined the army. Charles only hoped the priest would be agreeable.
Author's Note: In the Victorian era, blue violets symbolized faithfulness and love. While Scarlett probably wouldn't know this, I imagine Charles would. The poem is Shakespeare's Sonnet 153.