'My God.'

'Look who is standing in the doorway!'

'It can't be.'

'It is. It's him.'

'What is he doing here?'

'I said we shouldn't have come! Didn't I tell you something like this was bound to happen? Didn't I say? The Butlers can cover themselves in all the fancy airs and graces they like, but they'll always be trash underneath. This proves it.'

At this last comment, Rhett raised his head from his drink and looked towards the ballroom door. He feared that some of Scarlett's more suspect friends may have decided to join the party. Bridget Flaherty, perhaps, or -God forbid- that insufferable harpy, Mamie Bart.

He could just imagine the sort of frightful ensembles they would have turned up in. It was no wonder the Old Guard's fragile sensibilities had been offended.

When he turned to stare though, he saw that it was so very much worse.

There, at the entrance to the ballroom, stood none other than Rufus Bullock. To add insult to injury, he was accompanied by his most simperingly odious of assistants, a Mr. Edward Taylor.

For a moment, Rhett did not believe what he was seeing. He could not fathom why the Governor would have chosen to attend their gathering. Not when Rhett had taken express measures to ensure he hadn't even received an invitation.

Confused, his eyes sought out Scarlett, and the whole picture took on a sudden, terrible clarity the moment he read her expression. His wife was smiling. More than that, she was preening. Her emerald eyes sparkled like a cat's. A cat which has unexpectedly captured a canary it had feared would escape it's clutches. She did not seem the least bit surprised to see Bullock, indeed, she seemed positively vindicated by his appearance.

The fool, Rhett cursed bitterly. Was she really so laughably ignorant that she did not realise this would be the ruin of her?

The residents of Atlanta may have been seduced by their rare show of frugality and pre-war entertainment, but that would all change the moment they sniffed out the staunch Republican in their midst.

Knowing he had to act fast if the evening was to be in any way salvaged, Rhett hurried over to Scarlett. Bullock's presence was already having an effect. Just moments ago, his wife had been firmly ensconced in a circle of fawning women. Now, she stood alone. Of her former admirers, some, like Mrs. Meade, had virtually crossed to the other side of the room to distance themselves from her, others, like the ever-loyal Mrs. Wilkes, stood hesitating, their faces a perfect mask of dawning horror as they took in the significance of the new arrival.

Rhett pushed past them easily, too set upon his task to pay mind to their shrill cries of protest. 'Did you do this?' he accused angrily once he reached her.

Scarlett frowned, barely looking at him in her haste to go and greet Bullock. 'Did I do what?'

'Invite the Govenor, of course.' Rhett said, clamping his hand down hard on her arm to stop her from escaping. 'Well? Did you?'

Scarlett looked up at him in confusion, clearly not understanding the cause of his urgency. 'As a matter of fact, I did.' She smiled up at him, almost appearing to gloat. 'Aren't you mightily impressed, Rhett? He didn't respond to our invitation, you see, so I thought he wasn't interested, but then I met his assistant -Mr. Thomas, I think- in town one day and he assured me that they'd never received our card. I asked him to pass on the message to his boss directly. And, look! He's here. Just what do you think of that? All those people who dared to look down on us will surely be eating their words now!'

There was so much wrong with that little speech that Rhett scarcely knew where to begin. As it was, there was simply no time to try and educate his wife on the basics of post-war politics. A plan swiftly forming, he settled for trying to save what little was left of her reputation.

'Shout at me.' he instructed.

'What?' Scarlett asked, looking up at him as if he had gone mad.

Perhaps he had. He certainly felt insane, urging Scarlett to create a small scandal in the hope of diffusing a far larger one. 'Act as though I invited him to the party without your knowledge. As if you are furious with me for bringing him here. Shout at me; scream, if you must, but, for God's sake, do it quickly.'

Scarlett stayed mute, staring up at him with hopelessly uncomprehending eyes. Frustrated, Rhett felt the fraying edges of his temper give way completely. Tightening his grip on her arm, he urged her more forcibly, 'Scarlett, listen to me. I need you to trust me. Repeat after me: how dare you bring that awful man into our home!'

'Why should I?' Scarlett hissed, angry now. 'Why are you doing this, Rhett? You're ruining everything!'

'Look around you,' he urged, gesturing quickly to the horrified faces of their guests. 'They all despise Bullock, and they'll despise you even worse if they think you brought him here.'

'But-' Scarlett started to protest.

'No. For once in your life open your Goddam eyes and see what's really there. Look. Look at them!'

Something like comprehension began to dawn slowly in Scarlett's eyes, and Rhett wasted no time in seizing on it. 'Now, repeat after me: how dare you bring that awful man into our home!'

Scarlett, finally catching onto the seriousness of the situation, echoed him faintly.

'Louder,' he hissed. 'Push me away from you.'

'How dare you, Rhett?' she cried, her hands bunching into fists which she buried against his chest, forcing him backwards. 'How dare you bring that horrible man into our home?'

His wife was a truly deplorable actress, but something like real distress entered into her voice and helped to make her performance at least passably convincing.

'I did not ask him here tonight, I swear to you.' Rhett pleaded, his voice low enough to sound natural, but sufficiently loud so that those who were standing closest to them would be able to hear every word. As much as he had loathed the city's grapevine of gossip in the past, now he had no other choice but to depend upon it. 'I know how you despise the Govenor and the whole Republican cause, Scarlett. So do I. But sometimes, in business, we are required to lay down with our enemies as well as our friends. I asked him to visit me tomorrow night. I hoped to use my influence, scant though it is, to try and persuade him to rethink some of his harsher policies. He must have gotten the dates confused. I shall ask him to leave immediately.'

With that, Rhett spun around on his heel, striding across the marble floor to reach Bullock. He stepped out into the corridor and made sure to pull the ballroom doors closed behind him before speaking. 'Rufus, my old friend!' he greeted him warmly, reaching out a hand to clap the man on the back. 'Fancy a drink in my study? I have a bottle of premium scotch that I've been holding off on opening. What do you say we crack it open together?'

'Don't mind if I do, Butler.' he said, slightly warily, as he followed Rhett down the stairs. Mr. Taylor, ever the obedient lapdog, trailed along behind.

'So, to what do we owe this unexpected surprise?' Rhett asked once they were safely holed away in the study, drinking his best scotch. He'd considered the situation from a variety of angles on the short journey from the ballroom, and had decided that a well-worn combination of ignorance and flattery was his best option if he was to deal with both men as swiftly as possible.

Though he could not be seen to push them out of his home, Rhett had no wish to linger here long. He was anxious to return upstairs and smooth the ruffled feathers of the sanctimonious Guinea-hens before they could all turn tail and fly the coop. He did not want to imagine how badly it would hurt Scarlett if they did.

Bullock frowned. 'Unexpected?'

'Not that I ever mind seeing you, my friend, but my wife and I are holding a party for the most staunch of the Old Guard tonight, and I fear your presence may not go down too well. You know how this particular breed of Southerners are; they'd let go of life itself easier than they would a grudge.'

'I'm afraid we seem to be at cross purposes, Butler. Edward informed me that we had been invited here tonight as guests. Why, if I'm not mistaken, your charming wife issued the invitation herself, did she not, Taylor?'

Edward Taylor, puffing his chest out at the mere mention of his name, nodded. 'She most certainly did, Mr. Bullock. Very insistent she was about the matter, too.'

Rhett took a slow sip of scotch and let his forehead crease up in the universal gesture of consternation. 'I think you must have misunderstood. Scarlett was no doubt boasting about the ball to you,' he allowed himself a small chuckle, meeting Bullock's eye in the fond, indulgent way of one put-upon spouse to another. 'She's spoken of little else for the last two months. You know how women can be about such things. I doubt very much that she meant to invite you or your employer along, however. We are having another gathering next week for our friends who hold, how shall we say, more progressive political views. You must have gotten the two events confused.'

Across the desk, Taylor looked pained. His thin face puckering up tightly as if he'd been caught out sucking a lemon. Whether it was the idea of being contradicted, or the pointed reminder that he was a mere employee of Bullock's, that hurt him most, Rhett could not say.

'With all due respect,' he began, 'I really don't think-'

'Nonsense,' Bullock cut across him, slapping his hands down loudly on his knees before draining his glass and heaving himself to his feet. 'There's clearly been an innocent misunderstanding. No harm done. Apologies for interrupting your evening, Butler. I hope we didn't cause too much of a scene. I shall see you next week. Probably safer to send the invitation directly to me, this time. Prevent any further confusion from occurring, eh?'

Rhett laughed. 'I will do. Come, let me show you out.'

The hallway was deserted as they made their way to the front door, Rhett cast a furtive glance over his shoulder towards the upper floors, but saw no one. He hoped that meant everyone was still happily ensconced in the ballroom, Bullock forgotten, but his more cynical side wasn't as easily convinced.

He knew how deeply the residents of Atlanta resented their new governor, how they thought of him as a betrayal of their dearest-held customs and ways of life. He was a usurper, a Scallywag, a profiteer if the grossest order, and much more besides. Despite Rhett's earlier theatrics, there were many among them who would think they had been deliberately tricked into coming tonight. Who would be mortified at the thought of standing under the same roof as him, of even breathing the same air. There were those who would not forgive the Butlers easily for this, if at all.

Sure enough, when Rhett opened the door to see Bullock and Taylor out, he noticed that nearly all of the carriages that had lined the street had now disappeared. Of the few that remained, all were occupied. Peering down the street, he felt his heart sink as he recognised the slim figures of the Wilkes, walking back home. Melanie seemed to be clinging onto her husband's arm tightly, her steps faltering. He suspected that if she was not already in tears, she soon would be.

After saying his goodbyes, Rhett stepped back inside and lent heavily against the closed door. If Melanie had felt duty bound to run away, then it was a sure bet that everyone else had, too. She was Scarlett's truest, if most under-appreciated, of friends. She would not have left her side if there had been any other alternative.

Slowly, he made his way back upstairs. On the second floor he met with the looming figure of Mammy, her aging face a perfect mask of sorrow.

'Dey is gone, Mist' Rhett.'

'I know, Mammy.' he replied, patting her on the shoulder. 'Have you been up to see her?'

Mammy shook her head. He did not blame her. She knew the extent of Scarlett's temper tantrums every bit as well as he himself did. Perhaps better.

For a moment he considered whether it would be preferable to simply turn around and go out for the rest of the night, to let Scarlett's anger and hurt burn itself out through the early hours before returning in the morning when the dust would have had a chance to settle.

His jaw twitched at the thought of going to Belle's. After hours of making nice to his dull, sanctimonious neighbours, he was itching for a drink. God knows he deserved one. It had been over a week since he'd last set foot in that particular establishment, and he could count the number of times he's visited this month on only one hand. Rhett rubbed his chin ruefully, he couldn't scarcely remember a time when he'd seen so little of the place.

He wasn't the only one to have noticed, either. Belle had made a few well-chosen comments on the issue the last time he'd seen her. 'Marriage getting to you, is it, darlin'?' she'd asked, her painted lips pushed together in a mask of friendly concern. 'That wife of yours tightening the noose?'

Rhett hadn't been fooled. He'd spotted the telling hitch in her voice, the slightly nervous edge to her bawdy laugh. She was jealous of Scarlett, she always had been, but there was something else there now too. Something deeper. A dawning fear that she was beginning to lose him.

He'd known what she had been fishing for, of course. She'd been hoping he'd reply with a jeer, that he'd make some throwaway remark about Scarlett -the crueller, the better- before taking Belle upstairs to demonstrate to her and anyone else watching just how loosely the ties of matrimony bound him.

He hadn't, naturally. Not only was he not willing to betray Scarlett physically, he found that he did not want to be seen speaking ill of her either. Even if she would never hear of it. Even if it would put Belle's mind at ease.

She had been a good friend to him over the years, had Belle, and he cared about her deeply, in a way that he had cared for very few people in his life, but he would never love her, not like he loved Scarlett. Perhaps it was time she understood that.

Deciding it would be kinder to her if he stayed away, Rhett dismissed the idea of going out for a drink. Instead, taking his leave of Mammy, he squared his shoulders and headed upstairs to the ballroom.

Even though he had seen the guests leaving with his own eyes, a part of him still hoped he had been mistaken. He wanted nothing more than to open the doors to find everyone just as he had left them, milling around happily, their cheeks still flushed from a heady combination of drinking and dancing.

It was not to be.

The ballroom which had so recently rebounded with laughter and noise was entirely silent. The cavernous room seemed to mock him with its very emptiness, the debris of the ill-fated crush littering the tables and floor like the aftermath of an earthquake.

Rhett scanned the space quickly, frowning when he realised Scarlett was nowhere to be found. In the tumult of all the guests leaving, Mamy must have missed Scarlett's escape. Turning on his heel, he left to go and find her.

He tried their bedroom first, but found it empty. He checked the dining room next, knowing that she often liked to retreat there to partake in a glass of brandy. When that, too, proved unsuccessful, Rhett went searching for her in the sitting room, the kitchen, his study, and the upstairs rooms. As a last ditch attempt to find her, he even tried the nursery. Unsurprisingly, she wasn't there.

He was, however, pleased to see that Wade was sleeping peacefully after the earlier debacle with his dog.

Speaking of Charlie, the mutt raised his massive head to watch Rhett with eager, curious eyes as he looked around the room. 'Lie down!' Rhett whispered sternly when he started to heave himself up onto his paws. 'Charlie, lie down!'

Never one to take instruction, Charlie stretched and ambled over to the doorway, his tail wagging happily as he stared up at Rhett in a blatant demand to be petted.

'Uncle Rhett?' Ella yawned, rubbing at her eyes as she turned over in her cot to face him.

Perfect, Rhett sighed, patting Charlie's head before pushing him aside. 'Go back to sleep, love.' he crooned, crouching down beside Ella's pillow. 'It's late.'

'Mother?' Ella asked, craning her neck to peer around him as if expecting to see Scarlett emerge from out of the darkness. Rhett found himself wishing that she would.

'She's sleeping soundly.' he said. 'And she'd want you to be doing the same.'

Ella nodded, accepting this with the guileless trust only the young, and Melanie Wilkes, seemed capable of. Snuggling down again beneath the covers, she shut her eyes. Rhett sat watching her for a time, the thought of Melanie planting a horrible suspicion deep within his mind.

Could Scarlett have left the house? It seemed unlikely, and yet he knew only too well that one should never underestimate her. Especially not where a certain gentleman was concerned. That she would seek comfort with that man, above and before himself, struck Rhett like a hard blow to the chest, winding him.

His treacherous mind chose this moment to assault him with images from earlier on in the night, replaying the moment when Scarlett had begun to track Ashley's movements across the dance floor, determined to partner him. He'd foiled her plans easily enough, but the underlying attraction, her eternal, bullheaded desire to be close to him, that he had been unable to quash. He did not want to admit that perhaps he never would.

Stroking a hand gently across Ella's brow, he left her to her slumber. He'd search the house once more before conceding defeat. If he did not find her, he would have no choice but to try the Wilkes'. Although, if he did find her there, he was almost afraid of what he might do to both her and her precious beloved.

After scouring the downstairs rooms, he made his way back to their bedroom, hoping he would find her laying safely upon the bed. His heart sank when he saw it was empty. Turning around, he made to leave the room when a loud, crashing sound cut through the still night air.

Rushing across the room to the wardrobe, Rhett threw open the door to find Scarlett stood in front of the full-length mirror. It was shattered. Her hand, clenched into a shaking, straining fist, was bleeding lightly, the knuckles red and already swelling.

Her black hair was streaming down the length of her back. Her dress was a rumpled heap at her feet, the laces of her corset in disarray, as if she had been tugging at them fiercely, desperate to be free.

Wanting to help her, he stepped forward. The movement made her head rise up with a startled jerk. Rhett looked at Scarlett through the mirror, but he barely recognised her. The cracked fragments reflected her face back towards him a dozen times over. All of them beautiful. All of them broken.