Author's Note: Thank you to all who reviewed the previous chapter. Obviously this story is slightly AU, although I plan on keeping all of Scarlett's major milestones (the three husbands and the children from each). To saragwtw, I've always thought that one of Scarlett's greatest tragedies was the fact that she became a mother at 16, with no support system to speak of, and I've wondered how her life would have been different if she had a 'choice' with regard to having Wade. All the feedback I get is valued and appreciated!

Chapter 2

"Mrs. Hamilton? Scarlett? Are you sure that you're alright?"

Scarlett was still very much in a daze and barely made out that the words were coming from the mouth of Rosemary Butler, who stood at the doorway. Rosemary hesitated only a moment more before taking a seat at the end of Scarlett's bed. Concern was written all over her face and she declared, "you're not well at all! If this keeps up, we'll need to summon the doctor for you instead of Mr. Hamilton."

Scarlett shook her head and turned her face toward the window.

"I'm fine," she protested, then as if on command, her stomach began to roil strangely.

"Rhett was very concerned," Rosemary pressed.

"He's a low down, common…" Scarlett's voice trailed off as she recalled whom she was addressing.

Rosemary only smiled. "He is a rotten sort. But I do love him, and he does mean well. And he was very strict in his instruction that I see to your wellbeing."

"I'm fine!"

"You're with child, Scarlett! That's not a shameful position for a married woman to find herself in."

Scarlett folded her arms across her midsection and grudgingly met Rosemary's startling blue eyes, which blazed with mischief.

"Why ever did you try to hide it?"

"Nobody from home knows yet," Scarlett sighed loudly. "I didn't tell anyone."

"Really, Scarlett, you could have spared yourself the trouble. Oh poor thing, I know you were concerned about your husband, but you shouldn't have risked your health by traveling."

"I didn't think much about it," Scarlett protested forlornly.

"That much is obvious," Rosemary scoffed. "I assume that you hadn't written Mr. Hamilton to tell him of your condition before his illness."

"No."

"Well? Don't you think that you should tell him?"

Scarlett looked up at Rosemary with widened eyes.

"Where is he?"

"Come on, I'll take you to him." Rosemary held out her arm for Scarlett. Observing her as she stood up, Rosemary laughed aloud. "You aren't showing yet, dear. No wonder you haven't told anyone. Just wait though; you won't be able to draw your laces in a few weeks."

"My stays are already loose," Scarlett moaned.

Rosemary gave her a sympathetic look. "I wouldn't want to bring a baby into the world with the war on."

Scarlett scoffed internally as she followed Rosemary to the end of the hallway. Nor would I, she thought, but I suppose I don't have much of a choice at this point!

"I'll let you have some privacy," Rosemary said softly, urging Scarlett on. She was hesitant in her footing; her legs felt as though they were made of lead. What would Charlie look like? After five weeks apart, she wasn't even sure that she remembered him.

It took all of Scarlett's determination to enter Charlie's sickroom, and she braced herself for whatever waited for her there; after all, it was the least she could do to make sure that he was alright. If nothing else, perhaps seeing him would ease her worries somewhat.

She eased the door open and found her husband sprawled on his back with an arm folded over his eyes.

"Charlie…?" Scarlett said softly, moving hesitantly toward the bed. His lack of response compelled her to reach out and touch him, if only to ascertain that he was indeed breathing. His face was unshaven, although she could see under his patchy beard a mass of raised red splotches upon his face. The redness spread down his throat and chest, possibly lower, though he was thankfully covered by the modesty cloth of sorts.

Charles was mumbling incoherently to himself by the time she reached him. He looked strangely at Scarlett as she awkwardly fumbled for a cup of water by his bedside and attempted to press it to his swollen lips.

"Charlie?" she tried again, feeling completely overwhelmed. She tried to think about what her mother would have done. Hurriedly bidding the boy in the hallway to fetch her a basin of water and fresh linens, she began to speak what she assumed were soothing, calming words. Charlie's brown eyes were glazed with fever, but they focused on her face as she spoke to him.

"You're beautiful," he managed to choke out. "An angel."

"Hush, Charlie," Scarlett ordered. "It's me, Charlie. It's Scarlett."

With a muffled cry, Charlie's head flew upright from his pillow, flinging away the hand which rested upon his cheek. Scarlett backed away from the bed hastily and fled from the room. Somehow she managed to walk down the long hallway without stumbling and with all the dignity that she could muster. Why had she come? She moved past the chattering house servants, her distress intensifying. Where was her room? If she could only make it back…everything would be alright and she could sleep away the memory of Charlie's disfigured face.

In her unhappiness and haste, Scarlett managed to walk directly past the man who observed her enter another room with hooded, dark eyes. With a broken sob, Scarlett threw herself upon the bed and began to wail loudly. It was all too much for her to endure. First losing Ashley to mealy-mouthed Melanie, then the hasty marriage to Charlie, then the war, and now the thing and Charlie's illness…she poured her heart out into the soft pillow, a rush of emotion overcoming her as she gave herself up to it.

Soothingly, a large hand began to stroke her back.

"That's it. Let it all out, honey."

Wiping her eyes frantically, Scarlett sat up and met the gaze of the man who sat on the bed next to her.

"What are you doing here? Don't you dare touch me!"

"My apologies, Madam. I was merely concerned by all the noise coming from my bedroom."

"Yours?"

"Indeed. I did warn you that mine was directly next to yours."

She pulled away from him with an outraged huff. "You really do have no decency, Mr. Butler!"

He laughed aloud and flashed another broad grin. "In my defense, you were in my room. Now if I were lurking about in yours…"

"Oh, you're impossible!"

"Now, tell me why you've been carrying on so. My sister said that you went to see Mr. Hamilton. Was your visit unsatisfactory?"

Startled by the realization that he had both heard her tears and questioned his sister about her activities, she stared up at him confusedly. "Do you do this to every lady in your acquaintance? If so, it's no wonder you're not received."

Again he laughed loudly. "My dear, you are an original. I believe that's why I take such an interest in you. But I truly am sorry that you had to observe Mr. Hamilton in such a condition."

"He didn't even know me!" Scarlett cried. "What if he dies, and then I'm here and alone and then…it's just so…"

"Indeed, it would have been far safer just to accept his proposal without actually going through with the wedding. That way you would have been at liberty to love Mr. Wilkes at your leisure all the while maintaining a respectable front."

"Stop it! Stop it; I don't want to hear it!"

"Don't shout, Mrs. Hamilton. There, there."

"Don't talk to me like that," she muttered dejectedly.

"I'm sorry. I am. I've been too long away from respectable people, and I do forget that you're rather delicate. You're not going to miscarry, are you?"

"You're impossible!"

"Even so, I'd rather not have that on my conscience. My sister would never forgive me."

"Your sister doesn't even know me."

"She was familiar with you by my own description. When I returned from Jonesboro last month, I informed my sister that I had been acquainted with a young lady who was as unfitting of the term as she; a rare feat, Mrs. Hamilton. And then I heard that poor Mr. Hamilton was terribly ill and I had to hope that our paths might cross again. But I must say that I did not anticipate you sojourning all this way alone and in your condition."

Her aloofness was unswerving and her answer a recitation out of a handbook for young ladies. "My place is at my husband's side."

"Your husband of what, a whopping seven weeks?" Rhett stifled a chuckle as he observed a fresh wave of tears falling down her face.

"Well, cheer up; I have some good news for you, my dear. Your precious Ashley Wilkes is a member of Colonel Cobb's legion, and they are set to rendezvous right here in Columbia with Colonel Hampton's forces in order to back up General Lee in Virginia."

"Ashley will be coming here?" Scarlett stopped as she caught herself unguarded.

"Ah, I knew that would warrant a smile. If you're lucky, Mr. Hamilton will still be ill at that time and you can steal a private moment or two with Mr. Wilkes. My aunt and uncle have a lovely library that I'm sure they wouldn't mind sparing for an hour or two…"

Scarlett rose dramatically from the bed, her face aghast. "You promised that-"

"That I would say nothing to anyone," Rhett smirked, "and I haven't, Mrs. Hamilton. But I'll be damned if I let you live it down while your torch is still burning for your brother-in-law. Call me your conscience."

"You make me sick."

"I believe that your particular sickness is the fault of Mr. Hamilton."

"I hate you!"

"Really?" he smirked. "I hadn't noticed. So, if I may ask, what is your plan? After all, Mr. Hamilton will presumably recover and go off to Virginia with Ashley and the rest of the fools…You won't be able to hide it the entire summer."

"I'll think about that tomorrow."

"And the next day, and the next," he grinned as he swooped her up easily in his strong arms. "But sweet Mrs. Hamilton, you're going to have a child at the end of it all…I suppose you could simply follow the army around while you're biding your time."

Her eyes brightened momentarily. "Could I? Oh, you're teasing me. You're very cruel, Mr. Butler."

"You'll stop it nothing to follow Ashley, won't you? I daresay you'd enlist if you could; that way you could share a tent!"

Footsteps approaching the door brought both of their attentions to the figure at the threshold. Rosemary was standing there, her arms crossed. Though she looked past her brother, she worriedly set her gaze upon Scarlett, who was again in the precarious position of being cradled within his arms.

"I told you to leave her alone, you skunk."

"Your eyes are deceiving you, Sis. Mrs. Hamilton was distressed and wandered into my room instead of her own. I was just getting ready to return her to her own bed."

"Oh Rhett, must every word out of your mouth be an innuendo? Besides, Mr. Hamilton has regained consciousness. He's most anxious to see his wife, if she's able."

Scarlett fidgeted out of Rhett's arms, and flashed him a dirty look for placing her in such a compromising position.

"Thank you, Miss Butler. I'll see Charlie directly."

Rosemary nodded and started to turn away, but gave her brother one long, lingering stare. Rhett acknowledged her silent threat with a nod of his own head. His sister had a formed an unquestioning bond of loyalty to the other woman, and she was warning him to treat her better and with more care.

"Mrs. Hamilton?" he called as she turned to leave. "My best wishes to Captain Hamilton."

Scarlett nodded, musing about how easily they had conversed; he was vile, Rhett Butler, and yet, he was so infinitely charming. She winced at the thought, for it only confirmed what he had been saying the entire time she had known him, that she was not a lady at all. And yet, as she followed Rosemary down the hall to Charlie's room, she flashed one last lingering glance in the direction of Mr. Butler, all the while wondering if some peculiar affliction had stricken her and rendered her incapable of picturing Ashley's face at all within her mind…