Hello everyone and thank you for your support and patience!
I quite liked writing that chapter. It was part fun, torturing and, well, distracting. I hope you will like it as well!
There's a letter in part French, so for those who would have difficulties, I've translated in the end.
Good reading!

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It was certainly not an hour to call one you barely knew, but Edward did not have much choice in the matter, and he feared any resolution pushed back for later might prove him fickle and untrustworthy. And he did not want to be that man.

It had come to him as soon as he had looked into Melanie's eyes that night, so trustful, so loving, and as the idea took roots, it grew.

That was what he could do, what could be a compromise, taking into account his unwillingness to get into the fight himself and choose a side, which could only be disastrous when he was unconvinced by each one of them.

He did not want to fight. He would not let himself be dragged into such a thing.

But he could be needed in another way. He had a keen mind, and he could learn. He had an eye for details, and particularly anatomy, and he had taken time to study it with assiduity, hoping it would help him achieve that degree of reality he craved. His knowledge was perhaps scant, for the books he had managed to secure were few. But he would do his best.

He would work in the hospital and become a doctor. That was what he wanted to be, what he would be, and he would not hear any 'no' on that subject. He would be persuasive. He had to be.

A doctor was only on the side of his patients. Or at least, he would be that kind of doctor.

His drawings were to be only a pastime, it was high time he realized that. It was high time he began to believe in it, he told himself, his hand itching, clenching.

Had he been talented, he would have been noticed, no matter what his dear, sweet Melanie said, and war was certainly no moment for it. He had to be practical, for her sake, and that of their future family.

A family with her... Blast, what a dream! She was so sweet, so patient, and she dearly loved children. He had seen her with her friend's child, and the image stuck to his mind. She wanted them, it was clear to see. To what point, he did not quite know, but her tendency to forget herself, her own health and needs for others worried him. And she was so delicate !

He raised his head, looking at the sky for a moment. In the darkness, the stars were dim, but he could all call them by name. He wondered for a moment if he could be seen there, if someone could stare back at him, perhaps approve of him.

So many deaths. His own mother was there too, wasn't she? A distant figure, so graceful, with a sad smile. It had seemed so long ago the last time he had seen her, and he thanked his stars that at least he could have talked to her about Melanie. She had seemed pleased by that, as pleased as one so weak in health could be, and he was glad at least his love could have brought some pleasure to her.

Eugenio was dead too, and nothing could bring him back. Not even anger for those who had killed him, for they were most certainly dead as well. He found he could not hate on the men, seeing how their loved ones cried so much for them, just as those he knew certainly mourned their deads.

And yet, he knew there was something lacking. A will to make it right, but how could he? What would there be to make it right?

No, there was nothing he could do to honor his friend. This was a burden he had to bear, that of their last goodbye and his misery. Who was that girl that his friend had loved so? What had she become?

Perhaps he would never know.

He was choosing life. He was choosing Melanie.

He knocked, and waited for Dr Meade to answer, sure of his being at home and available, for the door to open. And when it did, he was ready. He bowed respectfully, two fingers on the tip of his hat.

"I won't take much of your time, sir, and I hope you shall forgive me for calling you so late. I know the moment is not right. But I want to help. I'm not a soldier, I can't fight. But I can help the livings better by learning to cure the strong ones. Let me be your help in the hospital."

Dr. Meade said nothing. Just stared at him darkly from his shadowed eyes.

Mrs. Meade stepped on, her hair tucked severely under her bonnet.

"What is it, dear? What is Melanie's betrothed doing on our doorstep?"

"Nothing at all, sweet-heart, go back to sleep," he said abruptly, before turning back to his intruder. "Mister, I demand you to take your leave. No Yankee, and friend of that speculator of Rhett Butler shall take a step in my home."

His spouse cocked her head, astonished.

"A Yankee? Oh dear, Melanie wouldn't accept a Yankee. That's preposterous."

This was his chance, Edward thought.

"I was raised with the Yankees, Mrs , but my father was a Cracker, and my mother a Southern lady. And soon, if God is good, I shall be the proud husband of the kindest Southern lady in the world. I can't talk for Rhett Butler, but I can talk for me. My blood is Southern, if not a proper gentle one. Please let me prove I am more than just a friend of Rhett Butler, or a Yankee for that matter. Let me give her a reason to be proud as well. She deserves that, and much more."

Mrs. Meade faltered. Her voice weakened.

"Well… I've heard you gave money to charities for the widows and orphans."

He nodded softly at her.

"To everyone that had lost a loved one in this cruel war, Ma'am. As I did."

She turned toward her husband, softened.

"Thomas… you need help… You always tell me so."

The doctor stared at her, before groaning in irritation. He looked back at him sharply. Something shifted in his gaze, speculated, before softening.

" Six o'clock," He said drily. "don't be late."

Edward nodded.

"I won't."

"If you don't do, you leave. The wounded have no need for clumsy boys."

.

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July 8th

Dawn danced flaringly on the rooftops, eating up the lingering darkness. It was a quiet flame growing and growing without anyone noticing. And when someone did, it seemed to freeze for a time, shy, before growing again, just a little inch more. And another.

A light tumble was happening in Miss Pittypat's home.

Randa had received a letter from home the day before. Hetty was back.

The auburn-haired girl said nothing when she read it. Not a word, not a sign. Just a slight redness on the cheek, and eyes with lids lift a touch wider.

Scarlett had expected an explosion. A burst of joy and worry.

Instead, there was this frightening calm.

Scarlett couldn't understand this calm. It was not in her nature to bear it, especially after having felt kinship to those who now displayed it.

Randa would be going for a short time, and yet, she thought she had to do something for her. It was what was expected of her.

She pondered it for the rest of the morning, as the trunks were gathered in the halls, and Melly and the other girls made their goodbyes.

It seemed so easy for them, to say the right words! All of them, they were able to provide a soothing gesture.

She had to out best them. After all, wasn't she Randa's best friend?

And what could be better than announcing she was going with her, as a mark of support?

Yet, she was unsettled when Randa demanded to see her alone.

This was certainly not what she expected.

But she decided to continue with her plan nonetheless as they settled for a time in a corner of the living room.

"I'll..."

Randa pinched her.

"You've about to be overbearing, I feel it," She said with a smile, raising her finger. "No, no, no, don't you dare deny it. I shall manage just fine. But I appreciate it." She squeezed her hands softly "I'm more concerned for you."

Scarlett dismissed it.

"Melly will be here and..."

"Melly is kind, but as much as you and I love her, and I'm sure you agree with what I say, she's such a romantic fool. These ones can be dangerous, especially when they mean good . And she has a soft spot for your Mr. Butler. Just be cautious."

This made her pause, as she rethought the situation.

"If Melly is against me for that matter and you're gone…"

Randa laughed.

"You shall manage just fine. Where's your usual fierceness? Think of this as a battlefield."

Hands squeezed in warning.

"And he has more weapons than I have. He's a man, and he knows all of me. It's because of him I am who I am."

"And because of us. Because of yourself. But you cannot always avoid him. You have to take a stand," The auburn-haired girl insisted. "Darling, you have to remember that you know him since you were a child. If he knows your weaknesses, you certainly know his. All cannot just be only one-sided in such a long relationship. If he seeks to destroy you, know that you have the weapons to destroy him as well. If he knew all of you, as you said, he would already have you by now. Just think on it. I hate to see you mourn for him. It doesn't look good on you. You're made to bleed him dry with dimples and smiles, until he's no danger to any good woman. So do so, darling."

Scarlett could not help but laugh.

"Randa, you're so crude!"

Her friend squeezed back her hands with hers, thumbs soft on the knuckles. The eyes were gentler.

"Whenever you feel weak, I want you to say : I am a strong woman. I am not alone in the world and unloved. I have the right of my anger. I have the right of my pride.' You know, Ma always says that a woman with no pride sells herself too quickly."

Scarlett smiled. "Your Ma is a dear woman. I shall remember it. Do take care as well. I don't want you coming back messy and irritated."

The pressure on her hand tightened.

"I'm serious. Don't forgive too easily. Don't let anyone treat you as if they know better than you what should be done about you. As if you couldn't understand, couldn't be talked to. Don't weary yourself trying to prove these people wrong."

"Are you done with the advices?" Scarlett pinched her nose, a fond smile on her lips. "I think it's my turn now. Don't be a brute."

Randa smiled back.

"If it's only that that..."

"And don't be a know-it-all as well. That's infuriating."

"I'll try to."

"And…"

The smile turned into laughter.

"Enough, enough ! I have to go, or else your bullying shall worsen! I'll come back for Melly's wedding."

Scarlett settled in with a quirk of the brow.

"You mean you intend to stay as long as it takes to avoid seeing her gushing over her wedding gown and groom."

"That too. You know me too well."

"Wand!" a little voice interrupted them.

Wade attempted to run to them, yet his little feet had no chance against the treachery of a folded corner of the carpet. He tripped.

"Oh, Wade!"

Randa chuckled, merciless, as his mother brought him back to his feet. She condescended to crouch however, though quite ungraciously.

"As for you, little devil, continue your mischiefs. I intend to watch your progress with interest. If blood is true, you shall be the biggest mischief maker ever."

His mother scoffed yet her hand was caressing on his hair, and her voice too fond to be completely reprobative.

"Oh, Randa, please! He certainly does not need any encouragement!"

Randa chuckled, before giving one last recommendation.

"Tell your sister not to make too many cakes."

Eyes rolled.

"Fi! I swear she wants to make all of us fat!"

"Most tragic that it should happen without I being able to take advantage of it," Randa nodded solemnly. "Though it is quite strange she hasn't run out of sugar yet."

There was some kind of unrest in Carreen. Not the kind that made the sweet girl irritable. Ever since she had talked to Scarlett, it was like she was trying to fill the void in her heart with everything sweet.

Well, better that than praying, Scarlett thought. These had ceased quite quickly as she was surrounded by the agitation in the house. It was a little folly, four women (and a half, Suellen being quite absent, surprisingly devout) trying to keep good cheers together, hoping not to succumb to the powerlessness of it all. The intolerable waiting of it all.

Though the amount of sugar was beginning to drop quite significantly, and Scarlett wasn't really sure if maintaining the stock of it was worth her own penny, when the price kept increasing. It had started quite innocently enough, with her not wanting to witness the fall of her sister, which seemed to have been improving since she began baking, and now she was beginning to think she had created a monster.

Because now it fell onto her hips.

"Yes, it's quite strange, indeed," Scarlett forced herself to say.

Randa grinned, and her raven-haired friend felt a pang of anticipated loneliness.

And now, they would be three.

"You'll be fine," Randa said again, kissing her cheek.

And thus she went, and Scarlett considered that discussion as she sat with Wade on her lap, taking advantage of his calmness to hold him close.

From the kitchen, a delicious scent came tickling her nose, and she rose, taking Wade's hand with hers to verify what she already knew.

She stared at Carreen, a small smile on her lips as she examined the result of her labors.

Yes, it was worth it.

Sighing, she finally let him go, dropping a kiss on his flushed cheek, and he let out a cry as if he was a prisoner finally finding freedom.

"Go see Aunt Carreen, sweetheart. I believe she made some apple tart."

That was motivation enough for the young boy.

"Rin!"

Carreen let out a wide smile as her nephew greeted her warmly, and swiftly, some of the baked delicacy was given to him.

Scarlett looked fondly as he gulped down his part, one bit of caramelized apple almost dropping down his chin, until he caught it greedily with his tongue and put it back.

Yet, the loneliness was still here. He could be happy without her. So many around him... It was foolish of her to wish he would prefer her among others. She was not a girl anymore, to think such a thing.

She decided to lie for a while in her chambers.

Yet, in the way, she met Suellen, reading by the window of the first floor. She stopped, hesitating, before sitting by her side.

Oh, it was easy to be nice to Carreen. Carreen was as sweet as honey, a dough so malleable no one could be ever be mean to her. But Suellen was more like a nettle. Very irritating, seemingly without any other purpose than to be so.

"I don't see you very often, Suellen," She began softly.

Quickly, Suellen closed her book and faced her, tense.

"I'm not doing anything wrong!"

Scarlett frowned. The lady doth protest much, she heard a familiar drawl creeping in her mind.

"Then, what is it you are doing?" She could not help but insist, before attempting a jest. "And don't say something like praying for our boys, I shall not believe you."

"Oh, because you are doing so much more?"

Oh, the little pest!

"I know Carreen is helping more with the bandages, and she's already nagging me to go to the hospital. I know I'm called oftener to help, with Melly. But I wonder what you're doing."

"You know I'm too delicate for such works! And I help knitting the bandages as well!"

"Shall we measure those you did since you came and compare with those of Carreen who just recently came here?"

"Oh, you're infuriating! And prying! Just like... Just like that Rhett Butler!" She cried, not having any other excuse to offer. "How well suited you both are! Monsters of mischief, children of ill tidings taking all the place from those who deserve it, and whose birth brings only unhappiness to a nice family! How dare you say such things to me?"

Scarlett cocked a brow, confused.

"Ill tidings?"

Yet, Suellen kept nodding.

"Oh, I know it for sure…"

"What do you know, Suellen? What could you possibly know, you foolish girl?"

Suellen became defensive, her chin falling abruptly to her collarbones.

"A gentleman told me! The most delicate, honorable, bravest gentleman there is!"

Scarlett looked at her sister, marveled at her flushed cheeks and feverish eyes.

"A gentleman that you love…" she said softly, untying the knot.

Suddenly all tension seemed to leave Suelĺen's body. Scarlett softened.

"Who is he? Oh, Suellen…"

"It's Ross…" she said quickly the name, a cry of the heart, and Scarlett knew it was the first time she had allowed herself to say his name aloud. "Ross Butler… A man that has the right to bear the name Butler, not like yours who threw it away! The most marvelous man there is…"

"A married man," Scarlett retorted dully.

"I know!" Suellen cried, shaking her head in torment. "But it is not like your lustful, sinful, scandalous affair with… with that man! Ours is a pure, honest bond, based on kindred of souls, of hearts!"

A pure platonic bond indeed, she could almost hear Rhett say silkily, his eyes glinting in amusement. How it would have delighted him, to see this! To tease and torture, until the other begged for mercy !

"You have right to judge me."

Scarlett shook her head.

"Oh, I wish I could, believe me…" She shook her head sadly. "What about Mr. Kennedy?"

Suellen broke in tears.

"Oh, Scarlett, I am so unhappy!" She threw her arms around Scarlett's waist like a lost child. "I know I should love him, I know I should for he will give me everything that I deserve, and yet… yet… Scarlett, he is so old! So old and dull and wearisome! He never takes time to listen at what I think, only talks to me as if I'm a poor wounded bird that he wants to keep in his cage!

"Ross listens to me. Really listens. He knows what it is, to be treated as the second best, to have that pressure of always having to behave as others expect. And yet, he is so much more !. He is the perfect gentleman, so dutiful, so kind ! He talks to me of the marvels of the world, and the happiness of home that becomes more important with the discovery of it… with him, I feel I've been missing a piece all my life, and then suddenly it all…"

"It all seems to fit. That suddenly, after dancing too much with ill-fitted shoes, you're allowed to ease your feet with a good pair of slippers, and be yourself, without a care in the world for he is the one that will accept you as you are, even the worst parts of you…"

Suellen blinked and looked at her sister, her breath cut as the words fell from the elder's lips. She was so pale, so distant, and then she understood.

"… you feel it too? No, it can't be… With… all this time and you… Oh, Scarlett, I'm so sorry! "

Abruptly, she tucked her head back to Scarlett's breast to cry some more.

"I feel like I've never understood you at all."

Well, if that was the time to be honest... Scarlett shrugged.

"I feel I've never cared to understand you at all."

"That too," Suellen giggled, before whimpering. "Oh, Scarlett, what are we going to do?"

Oh, no, she wasn't about to pity herself!

"I don't know," she said sharply. "But I know I won't pity myself, and you shouldn't as well."

Suellen's eyes widened as she took back her arms, her mouth agape as she considered her.

"You're so heartless! And here I thought… but you…"

"I'm done crying for myself. What about you? Aren't you sick of it ?"

Suellen stared.

"I am," Scarlett continued. "But if I'm heartless, at least I can do something, and nor just wait for something that will never come."

"It is cruel!"

"Life is cruel. We can't afford to be silly girls, dreaming silly things. We have to do something for ourselves. Either you do something, or you don't. But don't go whining in my ears when the thing you want don't just go easily and nicely into your open hands, without you having to do anything for it."

Scarlett hadn't had it easy, so why should Suellen ?

"But what if it is the wrong choice?" Suellen said with a little voice.

Her sister shrugged.

"I've made wrong choices. I'm still here, am I not ?"

The corner of Suellen's lips twitched, almost a smile.

"Still thriving like a bad weed."

"Say the one who's as pleasant as a nettle."

"And it is you, a true wolfsbane, that is calling me a nettle?"

She shrugged.

"Well… better a wolfsbane than a pansy, I suppose. At least, it's prettier."

Suellen giggled.

Scarlett rolled her eyes, feeling relieved.

"You'll be fine, Suellen. Fiddle-dee-dee, it's all about knowing how to say 'no'. Mother showed us how to do so quite properly. It's not an old ninny like Frank Kennedy that will break you. It's not as if you were going to become the mistress of a married man. My, that would be quite the thing!"

Suellen shook her head with a nervous frozen smile.

"No, it's not like that kind of dishonorable thing could happen to me ..."

Scarlett waved her hand. "Like I've said. It is all a storm in a teacup."

"Scarlett!"

Both women turned in synchrony to the sound of Miss Pittypat's cry, with the same alert move of the head which could leave no doubt to their being of the same family.

"Scarlett!" Pittypat was crying in outrage. "Dear God, look what your son did to my pretty wallpaper!"

There was something incredibly comic in the way the old lady was pointing at the ruined wall, splattered with bits of caramelized apples. The white roses were stained, no longer pure, and her son sat on his behind like a baby he certainly wasn't anymore, raised wide eyes at her, as if begging her to believe in his innocence.

Yet, Scarlett was not dupe. Her son was a trickster, and a good one at that.

But she was certainly not about to tell Aunt Pittypat of it. She put her hands in her hips.

"How could you be sure it was him?"

Disbelief marred the lady's features, and she hiccoughed, so unused to have to defend her point.

"Scarlett! He still has bits of apple in his mouth and his hands are sticky!"

"That doesn't make it the culprit. And who's to say it's bits of apple?"

"Such bad faith! I… "

"Miz, don't ye go in such fit!" Uncle Peter intervened. "'twould vanish in no time!"

"And it's not the first time! It's like he knows exactly what he's doing."

Scarlett tried to hide her smile, taking soft, coaxing tone to soothe the silly old lady.

"Darling auntie! Of course, he doesn't know! He's a baby."

As if to prove his mother right, Wade began to cry. However, his voice was a pitch too grave, and he seemed unwilling to open his mouth wider, which accentuated the weirdness of it. Scarlett almost snorted. Her eyes crinkled as she took him in his arms.

"Now, little monster, don't do too much." She whispered to him, kissing his tender cheek. Then to Aunt Pittypat. "See what you've done! Oh, my poor boy!"

"Poor boy? My poor wallpaper!" Pittypat cried back.

He clung, his body shaking with a sob. Or perhaps a chortle with a few big tears.

"Oh baby, baby!" She swayed him softly, petting him, her lips hurting as she refrained from joining him. The delicious scent of baked apple was still on him. "Auntie doesn't mean it."

Miss Pittypat's lip trembled, and her eyes seemed to reflect her struggle as she faced a conflict she had no means to resolve quietly. She was not used of it, having been gently bred, pampered and sheltered so she had never had to truly insist to get what she wanted. She hated conflicts, and that had been the reason why she could not bear to see her brother, even to demand her monthly allowance, necessary for her comfort. Until then, Scarlett had been a dear, even willing to lend money so she did not have to take that pain, but now…

Dear God, how could she bear it?

"Sorry, Scarlett, but you see...

"What is happening here?"

Melanie entered the room, and her eyes were quickly drawn to the child that was so adorably tucked in his mother's arms.

"Oh, look at that sweet-heart! May I hold him, Scarlett? May I?"

Perplexed, Scarlett gave him to her, and watched as Melanie began to coo at her boy, tickling his nose with hers.

" Baby Wade. You're so sweet I could eat you whole!"

He protested, yet by doing so, a small morsel of apple jumped from his mouth. Melly blinked , surprised, and Wade froze, dumbstruck that such indignity should happen to him.

Scarlett's body broke in a burst of laughter. It fell from her in colorful pieces of voices as she crouched, her hands on her aching stomach.

Melanie's eyes shone.

"Darling! It feels so good to hear you laugh again!"

Had it been that long ?

She stopped, baffled by the statement.

The day continued, the incident forgotten, its traces erased, to the dismay of the culprit.

But when came the night, so came back Scarlett's main subject of discontent.

Not about Suellen's infatuation, for it was sure to Scarlett that it would not come to anything, and she felt sure the gentleman was quite far away from her sister's clutches.

She was a little vexed that Suellen, of all people, should know something about Rhett that she, Scarlett, didn't.

After all, hadn't people say one needed to know their enemy? She justified her point. It was just a strategy. Nothing more.

So she did the only thing she could.

She put her question on her letter for Grand-Père.

.

.

.

On the morrow, as Melanie and Scarlett went their ways to the hospital for their assignment of the day, the former had the most pleasant surprise to see her betrothed helping to tend one soldier whose leg had had to be cut off, under the strict supervision of Dr. Meade.

"Oh, most marvelous of men! I dared not believe it!" She cried from the heart.

Dr. Meade's head snapped like that of a cat surprised by an unusual noise.

"Melanie Hamilton!" He called, shocked.

Melanie flustered, her head dropping. Her hand found Scarlett's, and tugged her toward the opposite side.

As for Edward Goldin, he sent her a wink and a warm smile. Yet a similar blush tainted his cheeks.

A blush! For a grown up man!

It was all so sickening for Scarlett, so sickeningly sweet.

How indecent, she thought meanly. There were wounded all around them, and they had to impose it to them! And to her as well!

She almost envied them. Envied how easy it was, how tender and warm.

Melly raised bright, laughing eyes to her.

"Isn't love wonderful, Scarlett?" She whispered excitedly.

Yes, wonderful. As wonderful as tending to a rotten limb, she decided.

Yet, her heart was heavy.

The look Melanie sent to her was this time tainted with just a little bit of pity, that Scarlett could not bear.

"Oh, Scarlett…" She pleaded. "If only…"

Scarlett felt dismayed.

"If only what? Name of God, Melly, what are you on about?"

"Don't call the name of God in vain, young girl!" Dr Meade taunted from his post, not even bothering to look at them.

Had that man such a special hearing? How infuriating!

"God's nightgown," She mumbled. "He's a killjoy, don't you think?"

"Scarlett!" Melly giggled.

"Go to the wounded, young girls, your hands are needed, not your gossiping tongues and wandering eyes!"

.

.

July 14th

Grand-Père replied swiftly, and his amusement was evident through each letter.

" Ma chère, laisse ton grand-père te raconter une histoire. Pas une histoire pour t'endormir, car elle est bien sinistre. Une histoire sombre, une histoire de famille, de coups du sort et de mort...

Quite a good, dramatic presentation, don't you think? I take it as your second wish (I'm sure you had forgotten about it, hadn't you?). And as it is an American story, let's keep it in its language, though you know, my dear, how too much of it tends to scratch my tongue in a very unpleasant way. Here it is:

Once, there was a corsair that had settled with a good lady and a good land, prosper and fertile. Well, and many mistresses too. He was a real, dear rascal, and his own story before that is quite interesting, but this is not your question. The pirate had sons from his lady, all industrious and ambitious. The first was his mother's boy, and quite wanting to prove he was the opposite of his father. He had chosen for himself a proper lady, discreet and with good breeding. A perfect lady, just as he expected her to be. But, you see, great men cast long shadows, and he felt his own would never grow as long as his father's was still looming over him. So, he gathered his other brothers and settled for his... let's say retirement. The man was proving quite too scandalous to be allowed to wander freely, you see. So, they schemed together, and when it was done, the imprisoned father confronted the son one last time.

'Curse thee, my son,' he said. 'Curse thee and thy all lot! May your own first son, your hope, be crushed in his bud, and may you live always with my shadow haunting you. May you be set back by your own boy just as much as you did me. You shall never live in peace. Your legacy will be vain, for thee are a traitor to thy blood. I wash me hands of thy all.'

Days after, two boys were born from the son's lady. Only one survived. And the grandfather lived a few years after that, mostly in the miser of an asylum, yet with the triumph of a martyr. His curse had been heard and would continue haunting the livings. No peace should ever be obtained.

Now, I see you, wondering "why is my silly grandfather telling me such a thing when I asked him a direct question?" tu es trop impatiente, ma chérie. La seule chose que tu as a te demander est… qu'en est-il du garçon?

Seule une femme amoureuse veut voir le secret du gamin derriere l'homme qui a son coeur. Il est vrai que tu es tombée au beau milieu d'une sacrée histoire, et que tu es terriblement ennuyée de tout ceci, tel que tu as pu me le dire avec tant d'insistence. Mais quelque chose me chiffonne... Il me semble me souvenir, ma chère petite, que tu viens de me dire que c'etait le cadet de tes soucis, ou du moins une petite curiosité que tu avais, sans grand intérêt… n'est-ce pas?

Allez j'arrete de te taquiner.

Je te laisse y réfléchir, mon petit chat. Tu y trouveras des réponses si tu te donnes la peine de chercher. C'est a toi de choisir ton chemin, de dire oui a tout ce que ton petit coeur desire, et non a ce que tu ne saurais supporter. De choisir d'apprendre ou d'ignorer. L'ignorance peut être heureuse et le savoir desastreux. Le contraire est vrai aussi. Vis, ma petite. Laisse-toi porter. Vois ce que le vent ramene, pour toi, pour Wade...

Sache que dans tous les cas, les liens du sang sont forts, et toujours tu seras aidee du souhait de:

Ton grand-père adoré, révéré, etc, etc.

PS: Dis bonjour de ma part à ton petit changelin. Il a bien grandi , à ce que je vois. Je suis ravi de savoir qu'il developpe un sens critique concernant la decoration. Le gout est de famille, et doit être cultivé.' *

.

"Grand-père says hi." She muttered, trying to make sense of it.

There was also something in the tone of the letter that seemed wrong, though she could not pinpoint the exact thing of it. Something almost definitive, frightening.

She shook her head. Now, that was ludicrous! The only thing wrong was his lack of proper answer!

Vexing, vexing old man. Leaving her with a scandalous story and teasing, and not the direct information she needed!

"Hi!" Wade repeated eagerly. "Ganper, ganper! Hi! Hi! Hi!"

Disbelieving glances were sent the boy's way.

Vexing Wade. He had not even said one 'mama' to her, and he would say "grand-père"?

She turned to him for a moment and pointed her finger at him.

"Mama."

He tilted his head, curious.

"Mew?"

She snorted. He would do a fine cat, indeed!

She pursed her lips.

"Ma-ma."

"Moi?"

"Oh, you're infuriating!"

"Fourrrriating!" He cried with a cheeky smile.

She sighed, defeated. "Of course, you would learn that."

She continued her reading.

I care naught about a silly story with curses and quarrels between father and sons, she thought. What about Rhett?

For a moment, the idea came to her that it was about Rhett's father and his own father. Hadn't Rhett once talked about his pirate of a grandfather, and with pride too?

But certainly no sane person could believe in such things as what had been said, and she was certainly no child to have faith in silly tales.

It had to be something more. Something she was not grasping yet, one of these riddles her grandfather loved so much.

"Mama?"

Her heart stopped. She stared at her son, bewildered, while his little hand patted her knee with an insistent gaze. She huffed.

"You, mister, you want something of me."

He gripped her skirt.

"Cookie."

"Wade..." She said in warning. "You've already had one."

The little boy seemed to disagree.

"Mama. Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma"

She scoffed and took one from the jar at her side.

"Great balls of fire, alright, you can have it."

Wade giggled. "Funny mama."

She rolled her eyes. Of course, she was funny in his eyes. He devoured it with great gusto, his eyes closing in bliss as he mumbled with a full mouth.

"Lurve you Mama. "

She froze, then melted without a care.

"O Wade! I love you too!" She brought him to her arms so quickly he let out a loud groan. Quickly, the jar was pushed toward him while she eagerly opened it for him, her heart beating soundly in her chest, so strong she could feel the tears in her eyes. It was a great surge of love, one she had to succumb to. "There, you can have it all, all the cookies you want ! Oh, my darling !"

She would have given him everything, if only he would say it again, and look at her with such need.

"Sweet-heart, Carreen made meringues, do you..." Melanie froze on the threshold, baffled by the sight in front of her, of her beloved Scarlett crouched on the carpet with bloodshot eyes, her son finishing her bite on her lap, bit of molten chocolate around his little pulpous mouth. "Scarlett, are you crying?

Crying? She chocked with love.

"Oh, Melly, Melly, he said…"

Wade raised, alert, and stared at the plate of meringues in Melanie's hands. His plump little arms raised to reach her, fingers stretching in the void.

"Melny, lurve you." He said softly, pleadingly.

"Wade!" cried Scarlett, so scandalized she let him escape her grasp.

Melanie laughed.

"As charming as his..." She commented gleefully, before faltering, not daring to finish her sentence as her friend's eyes raised to hers. "I mean..."

Scarlett's heart lurched. Her head fell for a moment, and she cursed herself for her weakness. She preened.

"Of course, he is charming, the little devil! He's all mine!"

After his feast, he fell asleep in Scarlett's possessive arms, a little smile of satisfaction on his cherubic face. She watched him jealously, still dismayed that he would use such a trick.

Couldn't he make some difference between his own mother and the other women?

He let out a little yawn, and she softened.

He was too preciously charming and clever for his own good!

She sighed, defeated by the fondness that grew within.

"Lurve you... mama."

Her eyes widened ever so slightly. She cracked a smile, kissing his brow.

"You're a right little scoundrel, aren't you?" She cooed softly. "But you're mine and I love you. With all my heart."

.

.

.

Atlanta, July 19th

"Oh no, Melanie, please! You'll be married only once. So choose well."

Scarlett scowled as she looked at the plain white dress Melanie had put on.

It had already been difficult to persuade Melanie to go to a shop and not mend one of her dresses, persuading her it would be good to at least take inspiration from others, but if that was what that girl wanted to choose, she swore she would die of shame!

Melanie raised bewildered eyes at her.

"But it is good, isn't it?"

"Fiddle-dee-dee! That's a wedding, not a Sunday mass."

"But the other dresses are so expensive and…"

"Don't worry about it."

"But, Scarlett…" Melanie pouted. "You already do so much!"

"Fiddle-dee-dee!" Scarlett turned her head in offense at her actions being so pointed on (Fiddle-dee-dee, as if that was something that had to be pointed on, among all the things she wanted to be remarked for!). "That's cruel of you, you know! And here, I was so happy to help you find a dress, and you would rob me of my pleasure!"

She took a honeyed smile and patted the smaller woman on the back of her hand, her eyes pleading.

"Please, Melly. It's already dreary out there. Don't spoil this for me, for us."

A hint of distress marred the other girl's features.

"Have I been that selfish? Forgive me, I should have thought about this. You are right, a wedding is a time for happiness and enjoyment, and to hurry it without preparation would be quite a disappointment for our friends. But…"

"But?"

"They are all beautiful. But I'm not."

"Nonsense, Melly, now is not the time to be so ridicule."

"Ridicule? Yes, I am. Scarlett, you know better than me. Choose for me, sweetheart."

"That, I shall not! You will try many of these dresses if it takes us the whole day, but know that if it does, I shall scream."

A sigh escaped the future bride's lips, as Scarlett tucked back a pleat that did not fall right enough.

"Do you think I'll be a good wife to Edward?"

"What a ridiculous notion! When I'm still pondering if he deserves you!" She jested.

Melanie sighed with a dreamy smile.

"He's wonderful. Yet... I know he tries to keep good cheers, but he is troubled. I feel it. He has even stopped drawing! He said he doesn't have time, and it's alright, but how can I believe it? He's still mourning for his friend, but I don't know what more I can do to ease his pain. And I'd do anything for that."

"You're worrying for nothing. He loves you and is marrying you, isn't he? And knowing you, you've been all tenderness and love to him. I should think that's comfort enough. No, I think it's you worrying that bothers him," Scarlett continued. "He loves you, doesn't he? He must want you happy."

Melanie smiled slightly. She shook her head at the dress she had tried on. This dress was not the one. Her fingers fidgeted on a ribbon of creamy silk. She tucked it, and stared a moment, before suddenly pointing to the dress it was attached to.

"Oh, Scarlett, that one is beautiful!" She cried. "You should try it, I know it would suit you well!"

Scarlett cocked one of her elegantly clipped brows.

"You're the one marrying, not me!"

A blush stained the brown-haired woman's cheeks.

"Oh, you know, it's silly… I've always dreamed of a double wedding, with you marrying your groom next to me."

"God, Melly! Indeed, that's too silly to be borne! Why, with all the respect I have for your brother, do you truly think I intend to marry again ?"

"Forgive me, Scarlett!" Cried Melly. "I understand your sensibility, and I'm sorry if I hurt you. It is to your credit that you feel so, and it makes me love you more that you do. However, if it's that, I have to tell you Charles would never have wanted you to be unhappy and alone because of him. 'She deserves happiness,' he told me so before leaving."

Scarlett felt touched. Her voice softened, but she stayed firm.

"It's your day, Melanie. You should be happy that other girls have to leave you the place. You'll be the queen of the day!"

"I don't want to be the queen of the day. I want to share my happiness with all those that I love."

"I am happy for you. But Melly, don't try to marry me with anyone. I swear, I wouldn't be able to bear it!"

Melanie considered her for a moment, before asking with a shy voice.

"Would you try it however, if not for you, then for me?"

Scarlett pouted, before giving in.

"… Fine. But only because you asked!"

After all, what was a dress in front of her decision?

That was her error.

The shimmering creamy silk fell charmingly on her frame like a second skin from her uncovered shoulders. Rows of pearls hanged from one to the other, falling on a delicate veil bordered with lace that covered almost half of her soft bodice. A luxury of silk she was tempted to lose herself in, rub it against her lips and cheeks. From her waist fell, as if by accident, lovely flowers of fabric on the ornated petticoat, revealed by a simpler skirt, though still rich and remarkable by itself.

With it, her eyes seemed darker, her hair opaquer, and lips redder, highlighting her skin as if it was marble.

This was a dress fit for a queen, and Scarlett felt certainly like it. Her shoulders squared, chin up. She turned lightly on each side, admiring the reflects of light as she moved.

Melanie clapped, a big smile on her face.

"Oh, Scarlett! You're so beautiful!"

Well, I am," She said simply, stopping her examination, before scowling as she turned to face Melly. "But do change ! I'll dig my grave before I let you wear that thing!"

That dress she had put on in her friend's absence was indeed a terrible sight for her eyes, with a ridiculous number of laces and what seemed to be crepes of mourning tainted in white falling ungraciously to the girl's feet. Melanie looked like she had been eaten by the monster of lace in that dress, Scarlett thought.

Melanie laughed. "Alright, sweetheart! But do let me admire you a little bit more! Don't change until I've decided!"

Scarlett put her hands on her hips as she turned back to the mirror. She did not want to put it off just yet. It gave her a good feeling she wanted to keep as long as possible. She was not ready to let go of that beautiful, regal woman that stared back at her with pride yet.

So she allowed herself to pose for Melanie, twirling, attempting a few dance moves, and a curtsey. Melanie laughed, clapping back again, curtseying in answer, the laces swelling around her like a balloon, and embraced her. Then, the beautiful, regal woman dropped her façade and laughed, and she felt no loss.

It was quite a soft folly, to let herself be a girl again, laughing with another girl! Scarlett grinned back, until her head was dizzy.

Yet, the fun went down as a frown suddenly fell on Melly's features, her hands dropping at the forearms. Her eyes did not meet hers.

"Scarlett…"

"What is it, Melly?"

"I fear… Oh, I know I should have been stronger…"

"What are you on about?"

"But, you know, Captain Butler was so charming and he said he wanted to talk to me because of a surprise he wanted to do for Edward and… well…"

"Melanie…"

"I've invited him to tea this afternoon!" She shut her eyes swiftly, like a child not wanting to see their parents' reaction after admitting to their mischief.

"What?"

"You're not angry, are you? I swear, I tried to, but he was so persuasive…"

Scarlett attempted to shrug it off, yet her mind was already buzzing.

"Well… we shall try to make do with him, I suppose…."

"Oh, Scarlett, you're the greatest !"

Melanie kissed her cheeks, and went to change, leaving Scarlett to her reflection. A strange light surprised her in her eyes, a faltering she could not allow herself to think. Her fists clenched.

The actual bride came back swiftly with an ivory figured silk gown that, if it could not give her a perfectly hour-glass figure, had something majestic and elegant in its simplicity, and accentuated light curves Scarlett never would have imagined her friend possessed. The birth of her shoulders was modestly uncovered, arms tenderly enveloped by long pleated sleeves.

"This is the one," Melanie said with quiet confidence as she looked at herself in the mirror.

Standing with that dress, Melanie looked serene. The light reflected in her eyes.

She was beautiful.

With a shy smile, she turned to Scarlett, and put her arms around her waist, her chin resting on her friend's shoulder.

"Is it right? What do you think?"

She stared back.

"Well, I suppose this one will do," Scarlett said begrudgingly.

.

.

.

The contrast between the old-fashioned wallpaper, ornated with enormous white roses whose bloom obviously faded with time, their stems barely noticeable, their presences only hinted by glimpses, their thorns hidden, and her was a striking thing, Rhett thought. If she had dropped the veil for the occasion, for it was so very unpractical when one tried to drink tea (and he thanked God for her practicality winning over her ridiculous sense of propriety), the black taffeta still glared bright at him, so high, too high on her collarbones, and only held together by these infuriating buttons.

Now, this was insulting. He had known her wearing much sophisticated mourning gowns.

He would drape her in shining colors if she let him. Shining, vibrant like her. As it was, he would make her his doll, with all the things he wanted to do for her, he thought wryly. And only soft fabric for her soft skin, no edge, no thorns. She had already claws that were sharp enough.

But firstly, in white. Or cream. He did not quite know the procedure that applied to her as it was her second wedding, but anything could be better than that , to be sure. A dress with light frills that would go halfway to her bodice, with her shoulders exquisitely exposed so that he could lay a kiss on them if he wished. And flounces on the skirt that would highlight every one of her move (If he could not have her with something much closer to the skin!). A dress that would remind the playful girl with an open heart to the woman who held hers back.

Around the throat, he would put a necklace with three rows of mother-of-pearls, maintained together by a golden flower with the heart of an emerald. He had already bought it during one of his travels, thinking of her.

A hint of fine fingers worked quietly with a thread and needle, up and down, up and down, until finally the heavy sleeve let his eyes feast on more flesh. The plump little part between thumb and wrist, so kissable, bitable even.

He raised his head, but did not meet her eye. Her head was dropped slightly in focus of her task. Her lashes were fluttering slightly, the only sign she was aware of his stare. Her little mouth was pursed, almost pouting. So, so stubborn. Did she think she could fool him?

The brilliant straight black hair was gathered in a thin, so thin net, easily torn to free the luxury of these luscious threads of silk, make them tumble on those delectable shoulders of hers. Already, some strands were attempting their escape.

Rhett stared at her through half closed lids. She was an oddity in that spinster's house. She was still, and yet, it felt as if he could see the bursting energy surround her, boiling under that tight lid she hid herself under. Her lashes were fluttering, green eyes as vivacious as that of a mouse fearing to be caught.

Yes, little mouse, he thought. I will catch you. I'll have you playing under my paws soon enough.

She raised her cat-like eyes, green, bright and dangerous.

He felt the familiar burn in his loins almost too painful to bear. His body straightened and he kept looking, alert to every little move of her.

He had to have her. She was his, and this play had lasted long enough. She needed to see this. She needed to accept this. In fact, there was no other way.

She dropped her eyes in a demure way, but he could see the trouble in her cheeks, in her eyes, pushing against her chest.

His pretty little queen of deceit.

He was not to let her go so easily.

Tension knifed between then, thick with unspoken words and raw desires. He felt it thick and heavy, like the vapor of a hammam, pressing, caressing on his skin with its burning touch.

She never had been in such a place, he thought. It wasn't proper. Yet he could imagine himself laying her flushed and sweaty body on a bench trembling beneath him. He could see the green darkening, almost black with want as she struggled to catch her breath…

"Captain Butler ?"

He blinked. Then sighed heavily.

"I fear, indeed, it is only the beginning. More will come. More cities besieged. Plantations burning to the ground, set as an example. Farms destroyed. Slaves fleeing..."

"Oh, our people wouldn't do such a thing!"

"Do you think so?" He said idly. "And you, Mrs. Hamilton, what do you think of such tedious subject?"

She knew he was only trying to lure her in. Her eyes narrowed in slits.

"La! I should think everyone has their opinions about it, and mine doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things."

Avoiding, was she? He cracked a smile.

"It matters to me," He said softly.

She seemed to falter, a question gleaming in the pond. A bit of worry perhaps, and a childish faith that gripped his heart. Fleeting, fleeting light, that she crushed swiftly when he was about to warm himself to it.

"Fiddle-dee-dee!"

"Scarlett is too modest, Captain Butler," Melanie intervened. "I fear you are worrying her needlessly, for she is very anxious about Tara."

"Ah?"

"Everything is fine in Tara!" Scarlett cut curtly.

"Of course, dear!" Melanie replied. "no one should think such a thing should happen to Tara!"

Scarlett was all fire and claws, a lioness defending her den. So fierce, yet afraid. His words had rung in her, he could see it. Already, she was considering it, trying to ignore it, but her better sense was stronger.

Rhett said nothing, but he stared at her thoughtfully. His fingers flexed, arms powerless as he refrained from taking her into his arms.

She would add nothing else to the discussion after that.

Miss Melly was called upstairs, and she stayed, head down on her sewing. Lovely and lonely. But not alone.

.

.

She pricked her finger with the needle twice, and it drew blood on the tip. She put it in her mouth, lids falling as she tried to ignore his searing gaze. It was salty, and her cheeks heated up with anxiety. There were like little ants crawling on her chest, and they bit coldly on her flesh each time she tried to affect calmness.

I am strong, I am not alone…

Well, she was very much alone now with him!

She could feel her hair raise just by that presence of his, and that gaze, so dark, opaque, and yet filled with something that thrilled her without he even trying. He was still, a beast pretending to be tamed, and yet waiting to pounce on her.

Or waiting for her to pounce on him? She flustered for a moment, dropping her gaze while memories came out of the clouds of her mind.

God, she had really thrown herself at him two times already! Surely, he couldn't expect her to do so for the third time?

'Twas too much for her dignity!

She tapped her foot on the carpet rhythmically.

What was taking Melly so long?

Had she betrayed her, as Randa predicted? As she already had once?

In fact, now that she thought of it, it did look like a trap, from the anxious confession of the invitation to her quiet withdrawal of the room.

But no, she dismissed it. It had to be a coincidence. Melanie was unable of such a scheme. It had to be something else.

Someone up there certainly loved to torture her.

She raised her eyes, they met his.

God, she couldn't stay here !

She put her hand back on her lap and rose.

"I think I will be going to bed," She said, her voice weak and faraway to her ears. "I feel faint."

She turned to walk away, and suddenly arms wrapped around her, strong and warm. The heady scent of cigars and well-oiled leather caressed her nose as she felt the fall of her hairnet, softly being tucked away. The thick mass fell down her shoulders. Her vision blurred.

She felt his heavy breath on her hair, his whole face drawn into the deep, dark cloud. He hummed, a soft, yet deep sound, like the purr of a contented cat, which made the loose strands of hair tremble against her nape. Her body arched despite her will, aching to be closer, to feel more. She was left powerless, witness to the inevitable flight of any rational thought.

Love me, he had said, that night. Love me, just like she had asked him during another. And love…

No. She was a strong woman, she was... She was...

She dared not move. Behind her came a sound like a deep moan, primal and possessive. She bit her lip, feeling the goosebumps tickling her from her neck to the small of her back. The teeth slowly released the tender flesh, allowing a breath to be taken through parted lips. Her lids were heavy, lashes fluttering as she struggled. Oh, he was so close! Too close! She was feeling the warmth of his hands through the fabric of her bodice. He was holding her tight, yet gently, as if she was a creation of heated glaze he intended to shape to his will.

Oh, these hands! How they had wandered! Hands like lips, feeling all of her, every inch revered, tasted, claimed…

She shuddered. Her head tilted slightly to the right, and his nose slid softly to the tip of her ear, blowing heat on the thin skin below.

"Stop. Stop, please."

"I thought magnolias had no thorns…" he muttered. "But you're no fragile flower. You're a woman, of flesh and blood. And what a flesh... You would do the prude now? After coming in and out of my bed?"

This made her come back to reality. She escaped his embrace, and as she turned to face him, heavy was her wrath as she saw him looming over her, so calm, so nonchalant, with that devilish grin on his face. His eyes were dancing.

He was playing with her!

"I think we're done."

He chuckled darkly.

"Oh, we're far from done. You do realize that by bearing my child, you became mine, don't you? Don't think I don't intend to do anything about that."

This was said lightly, as if in a jest.

I was yours far sooner than that, she thought. I was yours from the moment I jumped into your arms as a child. Always, you've been here, and I wanted to follow you. But you would not let me. You've always run.

I was yours, but you never were mine, was her conclusion.

She breathed out and whirled away.

"You are vulgar. I shall not hear it."

He laughed sharply. His hands caught her by the wrist and whirled her back. Her breasts were pressed against his hard chest, and she was for a moment breathless. His arms snaked back around her tiny waist to keep her still. She refrained from trembling from the intense hear of his hands, whose imprint burned through the clothes, making her squirm in agony.

"But I shall keep talking. The world is dead and wants you dead, Scarlett. Life is vulgar, and vulgarity is so much fun if you're brave enough to try it. Come on, darling, I know you better than that. You want to live, don't you? Why not be a little vulgar then? You'll be happier."

Vis… that was Grand-Pere's word. Her heart skipped a beat.

She took a step back, yet he stood still. She tried to push him, her right hand on his chest.

"We're done here, Captain Butler."

"Don't "Captain Butler" me. This is highly inappropriate to name me so."

She cursed.

"Great balls of fire, indeed, I've heard you had no right to give any name at all. Not to mention to bear."

He let her go.

A short silence fell thick between them. Yet, his composure seemed to suffer no trouble from her remark. "Whoever told you such thing?"

"It doesn't matter. I don't care at all, she said swiftly.

He shrugged.

"It doesn't matter indeed. You have to understand one thing, little girl, it's that nothing and nobody can take me something from me I intend on keeping and that I think suits me well. And when it's the case, I don't play by the rules. Why respect rules that are against your very interests?"

"Oh, you….! You do not respect women. That , I understood it all too well when I became one."

He let out a sharp laugh.

"I respect them enough, and until now, no woman ever complained," He retorted. She swelled in rightful anger, -oh, no woman ever complained, uh? How many? How many?- and he seemed to catch on that, for his tone was gentler, calmer... Despite the irritating twinkle of amusement. "Now, darling, be serious. These are not your words. Let's not waste our time with them."

She stomped, outraged by his calling her out.

"I made them mine, and I believe in them now. You're not to decide what is mine or not, I get to decide. That's the most important thing. Is it wrong of me to listen to my friends? That my behavior should change so that I could be a better person with their advice ?

"I choose to do so. They do not force me. I'm not a dumb sheep blindly accepting to be guided. You just like to use it because you would like me to be dumb, and blind."

"Of course I don't."

She cocked a brow.

"No, obviously. You would want me dumb and blind, but then it would bore you to the core, and you would resent me for it. It'll be hell if I am, hell if I'm not!"

"These are not your words," He repeated stubbornly. "We have had this conversation once, if I remember right, and I don't care for repetitions."

She paused, a sense of bitterness falling lightly on her chest.

"No, indeed. These sound more like yours. But not at your profit, I fear, and that's why you don't like them and want them over with. You have nothing to offer that I want."

"And what if I asked you to marry me?"

It went straight to the heart. She hiccoughed.

There were two parts in herself as she stared, dumb, at him. A part that roared in triumph and claimed him as hers, wanting to throw herself at him, like a child would at a gift.

The other part could not believe he would ask her, especially when she had determined she would not be his. Could not believe the nerve of him, asking her so nonchalantly as if nothing had happened.

Both sides fought, and thus the hiccough deepened, drawing a tear.

He took a step forward, arms reaching out as if in concern, before his head tilted and he went still and he seemed to give up, hands finding their ways into his pockets. A hint of amusement glinted in his dark eyes.

"Are you having a fit, dear? I dare say, I'm surprised myself. And for what? The third time, the fourth time? Hell has no limit on my patience, has it?"

He had that crooked, jeering smile, so nonchalant it seems nothing could shake him. It sent her heart ablaze, and her eyes blind at the sides. Her temples throbbed, and she was tempted to cry in his powerful arms, to tuck these rough hands out of his pockets, on her cheeks to calm her trembling.

Yet he was no refuge to her.

Wasn't he? Her treacherous memory was showing her tender moments and understandings, and for a moment, she was tempted to believe it.

He took a step forward, his head tilted and triumphant, and she thought again.

A woman with no pride sold herself too quickly, Randa had said. If she faltered now, would he ever be able to respect her? Would she respect herself?

Could she risk it ?

"What? No!" She gasped, attempting to regain her breath. Her mind buzzed with so many thoughts, memories and deep yearning she felt herself quivering. The monster growled as reason weakened. "I... What about that creature you keep, that Watling?

He looked at her with a blank stare.

"What about her?"

She struggled, agitated. What about her? What about her ?

He dared ask her?

She tried to regain her breath, tried to remind the words. What had Randa said?

She was... She was...

He kept smiling again.

Dread lurched coldly to her stomach and she cursed herself for being so stupid.

"°I mean... Oh, you're not serious!' She cried as she looked at that smile. "Of course, you're not! You're laughing at me! You're despicable. How could I ever want to marry you?'

He let out a short laugh that chilled her to the bones.

"How could you, indeed ?"

She stared, astonished by the hint of bitterness that seemed to ring in his tone, like a bad note on a piano piece. Already, he was turning away, but his words still rang in her ears.

She hated herself for the leap of her heart. She hated herself for the question it added. The question she could not help but add.

"Why should I marry you, Rhett?" She asked quietly.

"Isn't what I've said enough to consider? And you once said you had loved me…"

"That's not a reason I'll consider!" She cut swiftly, her heart pounding.

He paused. His elbow rested on the sideboard, his big body leaning, yet still towering over her. A light twinkled dangerously in his dark orbs when he quietly uttered the words. As if he was just talking about the weather.

"What about the fact that Wade is my son," he said quietly, his eyes intense on her. "and I fully intend to be his father, whether you say yes or no? So it is either with you, or at your expanse."

"Is that a threat?" She hissed, taking a step forward, unwilling to display the sudden dread that was twisting cold in her belly. "You would look like a fool, claiming a child which had already been claimed."

"Perhaps. But how many would think I'm a fool, compared to those who would believe me ? Do you want to bet on it, my dear?"

He was towering her, so tall, so strong, and when he raised his hand, it grazed ever so slowly the fabric of her bodice, from down to up until his index found its way to her cheekbone. She prevented herself from leaning on this rough, yet so warm hand, her heart doing a somersault in her chest.

"A woman's reputation is as fragile as a butterfly's wing. One touch and it fades to dust. A young woman with… such charms as yours is even more fragile, you know…"

That was true, and she knew this. Even when she had tried her best, she had felt their gazes on her, waiting for any missteps. She turned her head, tormented, and crossed her arms, a poor attempt to gather herself. Her cheek turned cold with an unpleasant tingle where his hand had been. And yet, if she married him, wouldn't she confirm it to the world ? What then? Would she be pointed the fingers by others, and him as well? Was it a way to revenge himself?

"You're despicable."

"Quite. But I'm not hiding. See, I've decided I want you as my wife, which is supposedly the gentlemanly thing to do, and I'm ready to do anything for it. I suppose you can call it devotion, which, with my wish to tie the knot around my throat, I think is a pretty good start for a marriage, don't you think?"

Her heart jumped, then fell in despair.

It is all the same dance, you and I, she realized. The same steps. Me with you. Me against you. You against me. Never you with me. The pain, the sadness… the short-lived bliss, the comfort of your arms and your shoulders…

He would dangle her dearest dream in front of her and make her pay a heavy price for it only to turn it into ashes before her eyes. And now that she thought it, other revelations came, in such an astounding hurry that she could barely keep up. And yet, she felt something simmering, something hot, yet somehow relieving. A source of strength.

He had not been a reliable refuge. It had seemed a long time since she could safely call him as such. Perhaps when she was a child, and she did not know how he could be so dangerous.

No, she corrected immediately. She had always known. In an instant of self-reflection which was most of all an attempt to distract herself from the actual danger so he could not feel her wavering, she thought she had liked him for it, for it meant to her he was strong and could protect her. In her innocence, she had not thought that danger could turn on herself. She had not thought that by her love, he could make an enemy of herself.

Now that she was a woman, she knew better. She could barely trust herself with him, just as much as she couldn't trust him to be a gentleman.

I cannot do this again, she shook her head. I am right, my decision is done.

Yes, she had the right of her anger. And he kept fuelling it.

"I let you choose, darling. "

She scoffed.

"Between submission and social ruin? What a choice !"

"At least, the choice to settle on a date," He quipped, his arms crossed as he considered her. His eyes narrowed. "What other choices would you have? What other men would you have?"

Her chin lift up in defiance.

"I could have any man I want !"

"Any man? Oh, the most miserable ones perhaps. Those you would bend to your will. Yet, what are they to do with a woman like you?"

Arms uncrowded, he was upon her, so close and yet not enough

"They are all foolish and servile," he drawled. "Little dogs crying for their master. They would take you to bed for their short affair, then look at you with unease and guilty pleasure. They'll ignore your cunnings and be aghast by your carelessness. All they see is a body, Scarlett."

It hit.

"What picture of me you draw… Am I so unworthy of love that I can't be anything else?" She whispered.

He paused, baffled. "Scarlett…"

"But I am worthy! I'll show you I am!" She cried, before putting her hands to her mouth in shock. His eyes gleamed, shoulders relaxed.

He clapped his hands.

"That's the spirit I love! Now to these…"He made a dismissive gesture." …unfortunate fellows, let's not waste our time with them. They would cower under your furies and dismiss your cunnings. No, my sweet. You do not want these boys."

She cocked a brow. Did he truly think she was a fool?

"And I should take you?"

He clapped for good measure, a gleam in his eyes inviting her to share the mirth with him .

"Truth comes out of the mouth of children, or so they say. And such a pretty mouth."

But not at her expense.

"You're no better than any of these men, she retorted. I'm a child or a woman when it suits you, am I not? That or a pet."

"You do seem in needs of caresses," he purred, so close, so hot. "Don't we suit each other, after all?"

She shimmered. Lids trembled softly as she tried to regain her breath. He blew hot and cold on her, and she was dizzy. She would ask him for respect and love, and he would seem to consider it, only for him to send them back robbed of their meanings to her face. He would blow hot, only to turn cold to her. And she would be hot with desire, anger, before his coldness killed her.

The same dance, the same steps…

"It never ends," She could not help muttering.

"What?" He tilted his head, curious.

She took a step back.

No!

"I'm in need of nothing."

"Oh darling, you are. Do not think I relish in using veiled threats against you. I believe it unworthy of you and I. My dear, you make it hard to have a reasonable conversation. It could be so easy, you and I. Haven't you accepted some of my little gifts? You could let me… you know, spoil you rotten."

No!

She shook her head, trembling, her lids fluttering as she prevented herself to lean towards him.

"I don't want to be rotten, thank you."

His eyes gleamed.

"You already are, and I repeat it to you, to the core. Not that it's a bad thing… why not embrace it? Imagine it.. my money between your teeny weeny claws…"

Her fists clenched. She could rather imagine clawing him. Blood rushed to her cheeks.

Money... Oh, she had money! She certainly did not need him for that!

Did he think her a whore he could buy?

She regained her footing and stomped her foot.

"There it is! You infuriate me ! Indeed, You would infuriate me until I'm burning with rage, then leave me in the cold laughing! Now, isn't a great thing?! An easy thing?!"

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you, dear, though that bit of passion is promising. I would make you laugh. I would make you dance."

You would, she thought. But he would also make her cry, and she was done crying.

I am strong, I have the right of my anger. I am not alone, not unloved.

I have Wade, Mother, Pa, Carreen and Suellen. Grand Pere.

Oh, Grand-père, who had given her her independence! How she appreciated now at its value!

And she had her friends. Randa, Melly.

As she listed the names, it seemed even more obvious than the simple repetition of words. She could touch it, summon the memory of all those that mattered to her.

She was not alone. She was loved.

She raised her head. She saw it clear then.

"The time for fun is gone," she said firmly. "And you should be gone as well."

He stared at her curiously, before seeming to dismiss it.

"Perhaps for now. But it'll come again. Once the tension in these sharp brows will ease, and these lips shall smile, truly smile, to me again, and show me pretty ranks of pearl white teeth. "

She shook her head.

"Perhaps, but not to you. That I'm sure of," She snarled. "You never listen to women, do you, Rhett? You think "I want it, I'll have it", and to hell with consequences. You think it can continue just as if nothing ever happened. Well, I said no to you once, for you. Because I was afraid you would come to despise me. This time, it is for me. You're a bully, and I don't need anyone to bully me. I won't change my mind. Not this time. And you are certainly the last man in the world it'd be good for me to marry!"

"Now, that's a challenge."

She pursed her trembling lips and glared, but it was the hurt that was stronger than all. It made her eyes misty and stingy from refrained tears, and her cheeks red with shame.

Yet, she had nothing to be ashamed of.

Last time, she had declared war, only to be tricked by his white flag. If lobe was indeed a battlefield, she always lost because she was the first to drop her armor. But she should have known better. The flag of peace was as white and treacherous as that handkerchief his whore flaunted like a trophy. Rhett never surrendered. He never stopped fighting.

She would not fight. She knew by experience he was more skilled than her in it, his aims sharper, much more precise. He would relish in it, and she would wear herself out, thinking of him, hoping for him. That had been her mistake the last time. Hoping .

She had wanted to be his obsession. How well that had worked, indeed!

She was giving up all hope of him, come what may. If she couldn't cut out her feelings out of her body, she could at least cut out all hope, make it disappear before it even took roots. Thus, she would not mourn, despair about what could be. She would not allow herself to live with such a ghost. She could not. She had to be whole for her family, for her friends.

Whatever game he wanted to lure her in, she would not play. He could bluff all he wanted; she would not believe it. And how could she? If he thought that much about Wade's welfare, he would know destroying her reputation would be destroying his future. He could not be that ruthless!

She would turn away and think of herself. And one day, one blissful day, she would not care a whit!

After all, hadn't she the right to love herself ?

She whirled away swiftly, her feet heavy on the parquet, and did not look back.

.

.

He stared grimly at her turning away, her feet seeming so light as she escaped him, and cursed himself.

He had shown his cards too quickly. She had not replied as he had thought he would, and it had disorganized all his waylaid plans and strategies to convince her. Waylaid plans, indeed!

I know everything about you. Yet, how could I miss that shot in such a way?

He had seen the recall of their previous joining in her eyes, felt the shudder of desire along her spine. Anger, he had anticipated, though he believed his right to it was by far the strongest. Attempts to infuriate him, oh, yes, he had expected it.

Yet, he had not expected it to work so blatantly. As for her distractibility to catch him unaware as well. And when she had whirled, with that withering aloofness!

He had always loved her bits of defiance, of sudden bravery. It was such a strange thing that against him, he was tempted to kiss her as much as he wanted to berate her like a child.

He did not like that last look of hers. It smelled too much of pity and resignation, and he couldn't bear it on her.

You are certainly the last man in the world it'd be good for me to marry!

It had taken all of him not to catch her by the wrist and hold her close, so close to him while his lips searched hers. To have her pressed against him, her breasts crushed on his chest, heart beating so very quickly, pumping, jumping to his, knocking to his ribcage where he would welcome it with bliss! Come, little heart, he would whisper to her. Come and take a piece of mine, and I'll take one of yours. Bond by heart, by body, there she would not dare turn away from him.

A beautiful fantasy. A nauseating fancy. He was no bloody poet, though he could take pleasure in the reading of meaningful verses. These thoughts unworthy of him. He was no man of romance. He was a joker, uncatchable, playing by his own rules.

Yet, she was breaking these rules.

Oh, she could be so infuriating! So stubborn, so proud, so cold,, so… desirable.

His shoulders fell, and he allowed himself a moment of vulnerability, as he gathered his things and turned to leave. This had not gone as he wanted, and for a moment he wondered if it would have been better had he talked about Tara. Yet he did not want her to go to him for that, out of duty and gratitude. These concepts were too uncertain with her, and most of all, they were an insult to his passion for her. He wanted to lure her in, not to feed any feeling of self-sacrifice. He wanted their family, bound to him, at his side, as it should be.

Instead, it had been twisted by a foolish jealousy that still surprised him, and threats that were unworthy of him, and defying his purpose.

And yet, wasn't that jealousy based on truth? She did marry that boy Charles Hamilton, didn't she ? Contrarious as she was, he could see she would certainly attempt the same with another gentleman, even when everything pointed to them being made for each other, cut from the same cloth.

No woman in the world had ever turned his head upside down as she had, and especially after having her. Generally, the slight dizziness from infatuation barely resisted consumption, he had learned, and even then, he had never lost any composure.

But with her… God, how could he want more what he already had more than once? The allure should have toned down quickly, any lingering folly cleared to let some commonsense shine through.

But it hadn't. It had taken roots deeply in him when he was no gardener to feed it. He knew he should cut it for his sanity, like he already had with other roots, but he couldn't.

She put him at wit's end, and he had but little time to waste.

The war would soon be coming home. It wasn't just a matter of having her. It was a matter of protecting their family, no matter the cost.

...

...

Translation for the letter:

My dear, let your grandfather tell you a story. Not a story to bring you to sleep, for she is quite sinister. A somber story, the story of a family, of misfortunes and death...

(…) You are too impatient, my darling. The only thing you need to ask yourself is... What about the boy?

Only a woman in love wants to see the boy behind the man who holds her heart. It is true you came in the middle of an incredible story, and you're so terribly bored of all of this, as you told me so many times. But something is not quite right to me... I seem to remember, my dear girl, that you just told me you did not give a damn, or maybe it was just a little curiosity you had, without any specific interest... Didn't you?

Alright, I stop the teasing.

I let you think about it, my little cat. You will find answers if you look for them. It is up to you to choose your way, to say yes to everything your little heart desires, and no to what it doesn't. To choose to learn or to ignore. Ignorance can prove to be bliss, and knowledge disaster. The contrary is also true. Live, my girl. Let yourself go. See what the wind brings, for you, for Wade...

Know that, for each case, we are bound by blood, and always you'll find succour in the wish of:

Your adored, revered, etc. Grandfather

PS: say hello for me to your little changeling. He seems to have grown up, as I see. I am glad to know he developed a critical thinking concerning decoration. Taste is a matter of family, and must be cultivated.

...
If you're interested, here are my inspirations for the dresses:
Scarlett's fitting: /2019/03/08/the-changing-evolving-fashions-of-late-1860s-victorian-dresses-poison-or-protect-special-extras/ (it says 'evening dress', but I thought it would suit the purpose)
Melanie's "monster dress", that Scarlett certainly did not approve of: pin/535224736976881881/
Melanie's final dress: pin/592997475949178121/
The dress Rhett took offense on: art/collection/search/173904
The dress he imagined: . /-FVu6pyxfN8s/We1ZeXzlibI/AAAAAAAANeQ/_