Note : Ella's birthday deserves a chapter by itself ! So here is the day before...

Thank you, all, for your guidance embedded inside your reviews. They are helpful ! I even follow one of them inside this chapter !


Friday, June 5, 1876, 3 a.m., Atlanta, National Hotel

Impossible to find sleep.

Annoyed at tossing and turning in bed again and again without finding a satisfactory position in which to relax, he had settled into the armchair, cigar and whiskey for company, trying in vain to fix his interest on the book he had chosen to accompany him on the train. The day's paper, with the rave article about his neighbor from the Battery and the highlighting of his "muse," had been read and reread. He decided to keep the page - certainly not in honor of the designer - but because it mentioned Scarlett and Ella. He cut out the illustration for "Thunder of Georgia" and folded it in his wallet.

He had hoped, when he went to bed, that the accumulated fatigue would make him sink quickly into nothingness. Instead, by the minute, his nervousness was increasing. What a shame to have displayed his physical failure in front of Scarlett, worthy of Aunt Pittypat's famous vapors! His wounded vanity of the male, accustomed to exhibit his power, revolted of this humiliation. Especially in front of his former wife who abhorred any weakness...

It was high time to get his act together! He decided to embark on a tormented introspection.

A struggle began. He was certain that whatever the outcome of his analysis, he would stick to it this time.

For the thousandth time since his divorce, he juggled with the old reproaches and the new facts that were to force him to definitively turn the page, and erase himself from Scarlett's life. They were numerous: his shame of having mistreated and cheated on her, the visible blossoming of his former wife, brought to light by a man that all the ladies found perfect, and above all, Scarlett's obvious disinterest in the private life of her former husband. He'd had blatant proof of this at the Vaytons' party. She had not even raised an eyebrow when he had tried to make her jealous with Roselyne or Rebecca.

What was the other possible outcome? Hold on. Because he still loved Scarlett, and his love would never fade. Because he wanted his family back, Ella and Wade.

At dawn, his decision was made. No more procrastination, indecision, hesitation! He was going to win back the former belle of Clayton County!

To achieve this, he was going to proceed in stages.

The most important thing was to apologize to Scarlett. He could only do that face to face with her. He would have to find the right moment.

The easiest action, to reverse the curse, was to stop the physical alteration he had carelessly allowed to take place. He got up to inspect his figure in front of the full-length mirror in his room. The image that he saw there displeased him strongly.

He needed to regain his appearance - and quickly - the one that had captured Scarlett O'Hara's attention at Twelve Oaks. As soon as he returned to Charleston, he would resume his weekly sailing trips at the helm of his boat, to regain muscle power and get rid of those love handles that were threatening to set in for good. Why not ask Pierre de Boulogne to accompany him? Their virile friendship would brighten his mood - provided their discussions were not too drunk, for Rhett was aware that his puffy face bore witness to his nightly drinking debauches.

Equally essential was the need to silence his recent unfortunate tendency to pour out his emotions publicly. He had to put an end to the overly visible jealousy or misty-eyed feelings at the slightest mention of the past. Of course, the gaping pain of losing Bonnie would never close, but that pain should now only flow in the privacy of his room.

As for stopping taking open umbrage at the suitors fluttering around Scarlett, or rather, pretending to be insensitive to them, this was the most difficult task. But it was fundamental to achieve his goals.

"For the road that will lead me to you is going to be arduous, Scarlett!" But it didn't matter how hard it was! He was Rhett Butler, damn it! "I've fought against all odds, I've built a fortune after being thrown out on the street, I've beaten my opponents with my bare hands, I've killed when necessary. Above all, my greatest victory was to succeed in marrying you, after seven years and two insignificant husbands. So, there is no way I won't be able to win you back."

"Of course, there's always Ashley, who's there on the lookout, your knight in shining armor completely tarnished and dented. And now there's the one who apparently holds all the cards, and has taken a big step forward to win your heart. He's richer than I am, respected by all while I'm still the black sheep to some, younger, and he doesn't have a history of deception behind him. What's more, he has made you acclaimed by his own people, and offers you a new respectability. Everything is going well for him. Above all, he has charmed you, I have unfortunately noticed. To declare my love for you now, with my liabilities, would be unbalanced for the moment, compared to what he offers you. So, I'll have to move forward "masked".

Rhett bulged his chest. "I have assets in hand: I have loved you, I love you with a constancy and intensity that he can never match. More powerful than anything, we have formed a family, and had a little girl. Nothing and no one can dissolve that bond, and certainly not this damned divorce that I caused. I have been present for half of your life. I have accompanied the education of your children - except for the last three years. I considered them my own. At least, I tried. Even though Wade is hostile to me at the moment - and deservedly so, since I abandoned them - Ella, my sweet Ella, has become an unfailing supporter. And I have known you, Scarlett, for fifteen years, with your qualities, your history, your shortcomings. I have sympathized with your suffering. You have confided your secrets to me. I know what makes you laugh, I made you laugh. I will make you laugh again."

Rhett decided to lie down. He was sure that he would be able to get some sleep now. Everything was clear. His confidence was returning. Scarlett hated indecisive and weak men. He, on that morning of June 5, felt he could move mountains.

"I will have to hide my feelings again. That won't be difficult. I had become a master at it. You had accepted my friendship before offering me your hand. I will make sure that we renew our complicity of former days. This will be realized with a common project. And then, afterwards... I am patient. I have been waiting for you for so long..."

He closed his eyes. He needed to sleep to regain his strength, before resuming the fight. "Wilkes and Vayton, I'm back!"


Friday, June 5, 1876, 11 a.m., Atlanta

The morning's schedule was already full. The first visit was to the carpenter, a man he had dealt with when Scarlett had this monstrosity of a house built. With the charm of money, he convinced him to do a job that would keep him busy for three hours.

Satisfied with the generous offer of this rich customer, for an order which turned out to be rather simple to carry out, the craftsman guaranteed to him that work would be finished at midday. He sold him a small stage, made by him.

Rhett wasted no time. He headed to City Hall to make an appointment with the Mayor of Atlanta, whom he had known for years - and who was also his poker partner at Belle Watling's salon. The Mayor welcomed him with open arms. After listening carefully, he put him in touch with his deputy, who had recently moved to Atlanta. The two men agreed to meet in the early afternoon.

Then, with a determined step, he walked towards "The Boutique Robillard".


As soon as the store opened, Scarlett welcomed Aimé Tersène with satisfaction. "Artist and punctual, that's perfect!" the shopkeeper complimented him with a smile. The two agreed on the articles that the illustrator would draw. Then Scarlett left him to his pencils.

She gave instructions to her employees to rearrange some of the display windows, and then spent an hour working on her books, interrupted frequently by customers entering. She took the time to greet them before Emma Whising took over to attend to their wishes.

After taking stock of her first month of business, which she admitted was quite positive, Scarlett took a break and enjoyed a cup of coffee that the second saleswoman had just prepared. Then she would finish the final preparations for Ella's birthday, as she needed to up her orders for cakes, sweets and sweet drinks. "All the children of the good society of Atlanta are suddenly eager to attend Ella's birthday party." Scarlett, smiled, happy for her daughter.

It had been a week since the three of them had returned from Charleston. A short stay full of surprises, to be sure: rejoicing at seeing her daughter acclaimed, unexpectedly representing the "Thunder of Georgia," and understanding Duncan's fiery hints and covert gestures toward her. He seemed to have all the qualities in the world, but he lacked the talent Rhett excelled at to hide his feelings. She could read his emotion as if it were an open book.

More than the vanity of being courted by a man as coveted as the prince of fashion, Scarlett recognized that she was enjoying his company more and more. "Hmm... Maybe a little too much?" The dreamy air, the young woman thought of the last dance they had exchanged. It was so romantic! Starry night, languid music, and Duncan's expert hands around her; his warm voice whispering a string of compliments; his whiskers tickling her temple, his full lips daring-only once-to rest behind her ear, at the base of her neck.

When they returned to their table, Eleanor Butler apologized to Duncan for her son's early departure due to fatigue. This did not surprise Scarlett. She, too, felt suddenly exhausted. It was time for the party to end so that she and her children could go home to her aunts. Reluctantly, the young dressmaker insisted on accompanying them to the station the next morning. With what Scarlett found to be touching circumlocutions, he tried to make her understand that he was anxious to see her again, and that she should consider herself at home in Charleston. He mentioned that he would have to come to Georgia's capital soon, "to take care of Vayton & Son's estate," he had said. Scarlett concluded that it would not be long before he visited her at Peachtree Street...

Incidentally, this magical evening had put her in the presence of Rhett. Always equal to himself, the seducer twirling from woman to woman, from the young pretender, future new Mrs. Rhett Butler, to one of his mistresses, without any doubt experienced. With treacherous glee, she rejoiced: "He hasn't even married her yet that he's already openly cheating on her!"

Two ladies she had never seen in the store before walked in. When they noticed her sitting there drinking her coffee, they whispered among themselves. Scarlett stood up to welcome them, and left them in the care of Patricia, the second salesperson.

She allowed herself the luxury of diving back into her thoughts.

Why had he asked her to sing? And above all, why had she accepted? She was still puzzled by her own behavior. She should have sent him to hell at the first word exchanged! "And to think that I even went so far as to stupidly bandage his hand... And that I renewed my good Samaritan works yesterday. I should have waited until he was crawling and begging for forgiveness before I came to his rescue. When I think of his perversity in forcing me to accept the divorce..."

This quarrel, which she had managed to extract from her thoughts in order to undertake her long process of reconstruction during two years, came back to her face: his insensitivity towards Scarlett's feelings, his open contempt of all that she was, his mockery towards her physical degradation, the whole crowned by a cruelty of which she would never have believed him capable towards her, the blackmail to take away her children if she did not accept to divorce.

With retrospective fury, Scarlett felt herself ranting again against her former husband. Just then, the door bell signaled the entrance of a new client.

She hastily placed her cup on the saucer, almost spilling the coffee. Without a word, she stared at him, ready for battle.

Carelessly, he lifted his hat to greet her with a smirk. He had immediately noticed her belligerent mood, but he had no desire to be put off. In the blink of an eye, he noticed that the man from yesterday was still there, sitting and drawing. A saleswoman led a lady to a fitting room, carrying a lace dress in her arms.

Scarlett had stood up to reassert her confidence. "How does he manage, by entering a room, to take over the whole space?" She did not have time to find an explanation, because he approached her with a nonchalant step and seized her hand with authority.

His whiskers brushed against her knuckles. As naturally as possible, his lips flew over the gap between her middle and ring fingers.

A shock of shivers ran through her. Violently, Scarlett withdrew her hand.

Rhett's eyes sparkled, "Good morning, Scarlett. Or should I call you 'Thunder of Georgia'? I must say that title suits you very well. I see the weather is stormy this morning..."

Her emerald eyes flashed at him. "What are you doing here? I thought you were at death's door. It seems that my care has saved you once again. Don't make a habit of it, please. You'd better hire a personal nurse to tend to your old bones." she added with wicked pleasure.

Rhett decided not to be affected by her remark. Taking a few steps, he glanced around appreciatively, then said, "In all sincerity, I must congratulate you. Your new store is an example of elegance! The style, the furnishings, the colors, everything is perfect. Dare I say, without lightning striking, that your decorating skills have undeniably improved?" In keeping with his old habit, he titillated her, and waited for her to react.

Scarlett, hesitated between her latent resentment towards her former husband, and her vanity replete with Rhett's unusual compliment. Her pride in showing off her "new baby" to him won out.

"I don't care about your appreciation. My customers praise me for the originality of my store, indeed. Come and see how spacious the place is."

With her light step, she showed him the fitting rooms, the sewing room and the storage area.

Amazed, Rhett asked, "Your sales floor is impressive. How many employees do you have?"

"Five! Two saleswomen, a sewist, an seamstress and a delivery-handler."

Rhett's surprised expression prompted her to show him in detail what "The Boutique Robillard" was selling.

"All the items in the vitrines were imported directly from France, from my suppliers in Paris," she said proudly.

Rhett raised an eyebrow, "Your Parisian suppliers?"

"Duncan recommended them to me. His Haute Couture workshop imports fashion accessories made by this company two or three times a year. He offered to include my purchases in his shipping crates."

Rhett pretended that Vayton's maneuver to link his former wife's business with "La Mode Duncan" didn't affect him. "Good strategy, Scarlett. That way, your shipping costs will be reduced. What about your customs duties? I know from experience that they are prohibitive."

Scarlett grimaced: "That's the problem. It's because of those damned Yankees who continue their protectionist policy - the one the Confederate States rightly revolted against! Good grief! Didn't they understand that the war was over and that nothing is better for our economy than free trade?"

Realizing Rhett's bemused expression at Scarlett's sudden passion for American foreign policy, the businesswoman stopped her flow of words for a moment to breathe. It had been a long time since Scarlett had been able to speak so freely about her real-life business concerns. Since... well, since Rhett... "Ashley explained to me why these usurious rates persisted" - She looked at him, smirking, knowing she was surprising him by using such technical vocabulary - "But I think it's so unfair, Rhett!" She lowered her voice a little more. "What do I care about economic patriotism and protecting local producers, if it interferes with my bottom line."

Rhett burst out laughing. A joyful laugh, that only Scarlett was able to trigger in him. "My little selfish girl, you first, and the World later!" He gratified her with a wink. "We are so much alike in the business world!" Moving a little closer to her, he whispered in her ear, "Above all, do not repeat it, or your newfound respectability will be affected."

Scarlett shrugged her shoulders, feigning contempt for her interlocutor's comments. She concluded by confirming that, of course, she passed on these taxes in the final sales price. Her customers were ready to pay a higher amount, since they were guaranteed the quality of the finish of these "Parisian frivolities" surrounded by a perfume of exoticism.

She continued to be his guide on the store tour : "This is the clothing line I market, "Johnson Ready To Wear". The company is located near Charleston." Straightening her chin proudly, she announced: "I have negotiated with this wholesale manufacturer to have exclusive rights to their product line for the entire state of Georgia."

Rhett looked at her, "I am truly in awe, Scarlett. You've managed to make a very profitable deal when you weren't even set up in this line of work. Are your profit margins attractive, too?"

"Yes, more than enough to triple the purchase price, so as to be able to deduct personnel costs, the cost of the premises, and other expenses, the taxes, while making a decent profit. But..." She paused, not knowing if she should be totally honest with Rhett, or if she preferred that he stick to her negotiating skills. "But I have to say, I don't think Mr. Johnson would have done me any favors like this if Duncan didn't have such a high profile in the garment world. He's the one who introduced me to the tailor."

Rhett was beginning to think that his neighbor from the Battery was a little too involved in the logistics of the young woman's new business. He simply replied, "Oh, that was nice of him. The fact remains that if that Johnson hadn't sensed in you the brilliant businesswoman that you are, he wouldn't have committed to such sales terms."

With an expert hand, he brushed a few dresses, stopping on a petticoat particularly decorated with lace. The great connoisseur of feminine undergarments took a thoughtful look while detailing the suggestive transparency of the fabric: "Hum... I may be tempted one day to buy one of these cotillions." He took on a mysterious air, while continuing to appreciate its texture.

Scarlett almost snatched it out of his hands. A young figure with blond hair had just crossed her mind.

She diverted his attention by pointing to the four dresses parading on the wooden mannequins: "These dresses are beautiful, don't you think? Ladies come from the surrounding Countys just to admire the true works of the great designer Duncan Vayton. These are unique designs as he made this line of ready-to-wear clothing as an experiment upon his return to America. Some of the pieces are in his Savannah store, but Duncan told me he had no interest in keeping that shop. All other remaining creations of this line are-he assured me-only available to me on consignment." She gave him a defiant look.

Rhett's fist closed discreetly in his pants pocket. Inwardly, he railed against that deceitful Vayton who had managed to seal Scarlett's sources of supply, and thus the success of her business, to himself. Their businesses seemed to be intertwined in such a way that she could not detach herself from him.

In a friendly tone, he congratulated her: "Very judicious of you to expose them in your store. I hope it gave you a reasonable purchase price."

Happy, once again, to extol the virtues of her neighbor from the Battery, she assured him, "His reserve price barely covers the cost of raw materials and the labor of his seamstresses!" With eyes sparkling with greed, she added, "I want to keep these jewelries as long as possible, because who else in the United States has so many of the Haute Couture designer's one-of-a-kind creations besides Duncan? That's why I posted an outrageously high sale price. Well, I just sold one to a new customer who was almost drooling with joy!" Her joyful laughter cascaded out, all happy to tell Rhett about her good deal.

With an emphatic gesture, he bowed to her: "Congratulations, Scarlett! Your business virtuosity is as sharp as ever!" Changing pole of interest, his eyes detailed the young woman's outfit, from top to bottom, so much so that Scarlett passed mechanically her two hands on her skirt to smooth out imaginary wrinkles.

"Is that a dress from this collection you wore yesterday?" His softened voice had become enveloping.

Scarlett felt an inexplicable flush appear at the top of her throat. She cursed herself inwardly, and mockingly replied, "I thought you were too indisposed yesterday to notice anything. You were so devastated, that I could have walked around in a little chemise in front of you without you noticing..."

Immediately, she had to face the black look of her former husband, eaten by his pupils, the eyelids slightly lowered. "If that had been the case, you would have been able to bring me back from the dead..."

Scarlett made an effort to calm her suddenly rapid breathing. In a dry voice, a little more unsteady than she would have liked, she asked, "You still haven't told me why you're here at the store, though I assume your schedule is full. Since you've been away in Atlanta for so long, surely you have some visits of the utmost importance to make, day and night!"

Rhett pretended not to have heard the thinly veiled reference to Belle Watling's salon. "Actually, I have a small order to place. It's not much. I would have liked to speak with one of your saleswomen. Is that possible?"

Dismayed, without answering him, she beckoned her employee to come closer: "Emma, could you take note of Mr. Butler's order? Thank you." And she left them both.

Mrs. Whising admired, with discretion, this elegant man with whom her employer had been intimately conversing for more than half an hour.

Rhett's instructions were concise: "I need a piece of velvet fabric. Do you have any in stock?"

Emma was happy to show him the choice of the store.

Immediately, Rhett chose the color purple. "Mrs. O'Hara spoke of two seamstresses. I would like one of them to make two curtains, 40 inches long, and a width, for each curtain, also 40". The top hem would have to have wooden rings large enough to slide over a large wooden rod."

Emma wrote down his instructions in her notebook.

"Ah please consider including two tassel clutches - only if you have them in stock, otherwise I can do without them."

Emma confirmed to the picky customer that "The Boutique Robillard" had a wide selection of trimmings, and that it would be easy to comply with his instructions. She told him the price, including the labor involved.

When Rhett told her that his order would have to be ready by Saturday afternoon, Emma looked confused: "Unfortunately, both of our employees are already overbooked. Would it be possible for you to wait until Tuesday?"

Rhett then turned back to Scarlett, who seemed engrossed in moving from place to place from the hangers to move them a few inches. "Mrs. O'Hara, I need these curtains finished tomorrow evening. It is for Ella!" he added.

Scarlett couldn't suppress a dimple that formed at the corner of her mouth. "A surprise! That's why he was being so secretive. He wanted to give her daughter a birthday surprise."

"Emma, you will ask the seamstress to put the work she is doing on hold, and process Mr. Butler's order first."

Emma nodded, just wondering why a small purchase became more important than completing a five-piece trousseau.

Rhett asked to pay the bill right away, which Emma quickly figured out. When he paid, he added three hundred dollars - for disrupting the work of "The Boutique Robillard," he said - and gave the saleswoman a generous tip.

Satisfied, he was about to resume his conversation with Scarlett, when she was accaparated by two people who had just pushed the door, including Mrs. Meade. He noted that the young tradeswoman greeted the Doctor's wife as if they were the best friends in the world, whereas the old woman had contributed, with the other gossips of Atlanta, to rot her existence.

He took the opportunity to move closer to the man who had not stopped drawing, manipulating various articles to copy them. He introduced himself: "Rhett Butler, the husb..." he paused, and continued: "a friend of Scarlett's.

The other man stood up: "Aimé Tersène, painter. Pleased to meet you." The thick french accent, and the title he called himself, caught Rhett's attention. He looked at the boards the man had just drawn.

"You have talent! No mannerism in the line, a depth of field, a play of shadows and light... You intrigue me."

Aimé became animated. He had before him, without a doubt, a knowledgeable art lover. "You must be an artist yourself to so rightly analyze the characteristics of my style!"

Rhett smiles, "No, but I am an art collector, and I have connections with many artists. To the ear, your accent is obviously french. Perhaps you know some of my friends, like Claude Monet? One of his paintings hangs in my room. I am in contact with Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Edgar Degas, well, many of those whom art critics have decried as "Impressionists".

Aimé looked at him, bewildered. "Never would I have dreamed of meeting in this city of Georgia an American with so many connections to this new revolutionary pictorial movement! I am in awe! Unfortunately, I am only a modest painter, originally from Lille, a city in the North of France. My technique is far from approaching their dexterity. As for expressing through a painting a palette so rich in feelings as these masters so talented, I would dream of it!"

Rhett looked around for Scarlett. She had directed Mrs. Meade and her young companion to the fabric rolls. He once again admired her nimble fingers handling the yards of fabric, her comely air as a shopkeeper when she wanted to charm her customers into placing an order, and her ability to take it in stride rather than give in to a mood swing. "I'm sure she's dying to stick her tongue out at that old magpie Mrs. Meade who had treated her so badly!". How proud he was of her!

Turning his attention back to the Frenchman, he questioned him, "Are you employed by Mrs. O'Hara?"

The young man nodded negatively, "No. I simply agreed to help her illustrate a catalog project."

Rhett lifted his eyelids in surprise, but he didn't want to question him further. "I have a proposition for you. Would you be willing to work for me on an emergency basis for two days, or even two and a half days? Your services would be very well paid."

Aimé replied, puzzled, "I'm not scheduled to come here this afternoon and tomorrow, because, according to Mrs. O'Hara, there are too many clients this weekend for me to concentrate on my drawings. What does this assignment involve?"

Rhett breathed a sigh of relief, "Can I take you to lunch to give you more details? This is to illustrate a three-panel structure, which I have commissioned to be ready by noon. I was going to use a painter this afternoon who would have simply covered the wood with colors. But our meeting was certainly predestined. Your talent will allow a little girl to own her first piece of art!" Rhett finished his sentence with a laugh.

It was at this point that Scarlett chose to return to them. "Rhett, it seems I don't need to introduce you to Mr. Aimé Tersène. You two seem to be getting along well already!"

Rhett took on an enigmatic air to answer her, "Yes, by the way, I'm going to hire him for two days. Is that alright with you?"

As he felt she was ready to take offense that he was already daring to "steal" the young artist from her, he decided to end the secret: "It's for Ella's surprise. The curtains that I am having made by your seamstress will dress the wooden structure that Mr. Tersène will illustrate. With his obvious talent, it will be easy for him, between now and Sunday, to let his imagination run wild so that my stepdaughter will receive an unforgettable gift."

Scarlett said nothing more. Deep down, she was touched that Rhett would go out of his way to please the one he still considered, in his words, his stepdaughter.

This birthday party looked promising.


Disclaimers : I do not own the story and the characters of Gone with the Wind which belong to Margaret Mitchell. I created the "world" of Duncan Vayton and Blanche Bonsart.