Scarlett descended the main staircase on Bertie's arm. Halverston House was their favorite out of all the Prince's residences. Their suites were located on the third floor in what was known as the old wing. Scarlett's bedroom had a dressing room that she'd converted into a nursery and a large sitting room as well as a tiled bathing chamber. Her rooms connected to Bertie's through a spacious study they shared using it instead as a morning room.
The Ton swept them courtly bows and deep curtseys. Every one of them could see how pleased Bertie was with Scarlett's company. Together they made their way to the door of the dinning room where they would greet the guests together as they made their way to supper.
Rhett held back at the top of the stairs so he could observe Scarlett undetected. Good God she was beautiful. Especially with the black dress she was wearing emphasizing her flawless rose hinted complexion. The white-fringed silk sash draped artfully around her waist only further emphasized just how tiny it still was. He couldn't believe that a year and a half passed by.
Did she still love him as she claimed to when they were in Charleston? The prince inclined his golden head downward to whisper something in her ear. He watched as she laughed and said something in reply. The prince extended one hand, which she smartly rapped with her fan. Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton Kennedy Butler, once a the belle of Clayton County was now the confidant and bosom companion to the future King of Britain, in such a secure position she could without a regard for the rules of propriety rap the knuckles of royalty.
Maybe it wasn't to late for them after all. After the Barbeque at Twelve Oaks he'd though about courting her. There'd even been a minute or two, while riding back to Frank Kennedy's plantation, in which he considered returning to Charleston to crawl on his belly to his father to beg forgiveness so he could once again be received by the Old Guard of the South. He'd wanted her that badly. Then Frank that old maid in trousers turned to him eager to gossip about the unexpected engagement of his future sister-in-law to the brother of the future wife of their son's host. Rhett lips curved seductively as he smirked. He could even now remember how Frank's whiskers quivering with outraged modesty at the thought of two people becoming engaged only to marry a week later.
During the war on the many nights he sailed contraband back from Nassau, the Bahamas, and sometimes Europe he recalled the way her eyes burned when she was angry. The way her dimples came out when she smiled. The way she smelled of lavender and rosewater. How she felt in his arms when they'd dance. He worried about her. The occasions he visited bordellos were both embarrassing and enlightening. The only woman he would even look at had to be pale skinned, black haired, green-eyed beauties. He wanted stand-ins for the woman he truly lusted after. The embarrassing part came when one night while being satisfied by a whore named Bridget he cried out Scarlett's name. The whore smiled at him knowingly. Everyone at L'Ange Tombé knew about the American gentleman who'd only take the Irish girls upstairs. After that slip he decided to take his pleasure in gambling and drinking instead.
After the War when she came to see him in jail he let himself believe for a second that she cared from him despite her over the top story of Tara's prosperity. But it had been a ruse to get her pretty paws on his bank account. It didn't particularly matter that he couldn't write her that bank draft. Even if he'd been able to he wouldn't have. It would have tempted him to trade money for her body, willing and warm beneath his. But she wouldn't have been willing, not really. He could not use her love for Tara and her feelings of responsibility towards its inhabitants to degrade her sexually.
Once freed from the Yankee jail, after some subtle reminders to people who'd been very willing to sell to the South while publicly supporting the Union. He hurried to PittyPat's only to find she was lost to him once again..
She'd married Frank Kennedy and he tried to give her up, tried to rend her from his heart, but he couldn't. Instead he'd returned to Atlanta over and over. He'd driven her to the mill when she was pregnant with Ella because the thought of anyone harming her when he wasn't there to protect her drove him to tossing and turning in the large empty beds he'd occupied more often than not alone. The first time he'd held Ella on the front steps of Pitty's house he'd teased Scarlett about how much the baby resembled Frank but he never told her how the baby had her same lips and nose. Later as Ella had grown bigger she'd had more in common with her mother than he'd ever pointed out to Scarlett. He'd loved having a family, having a home even if it was a monument to poor taste. He loved Scarlett. He knew finally after years of denial that he'd love her till the day he died. Fate in the form of Sir John Morland had brought him to her after months of frantic searching and if Scarlett would meet him even halfway they might just have a chance together.
Rhett had been lost in reflection longer than he thought. The receiving line was coming to an end. He hurried down the Grande staircase to the doors leading into the dining room.
"Scarlett."
Scarlett offered her finely boned hand. "Rhett, allow me to present you to the founder of the feast, Prince Albert; future king of Britain."
Rhett bowed. "An honor your grace."
Bertie smiled. "You and Scarlett are previously aquatinted? You seem very...familiar."
Scarlett laughed. "Darling we're Americans, when one finds another such as one's self an immediate bond of kinship is formed."
Bertie laughed boisterously "To you all Southerners are kin and kindred sprits. I shall never understand Americans, especially those hailing from the American South." He smiled down at Scarlett. "Although a lack of understand does not prevent me from finding certain Southerners very charming indeed."
Rhett bowed again and entered the dinning room vowing to corner her later for details on just what exactly was the relationship between herself and the Prince.
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The stood together at the doors to the dining room waiting for everyone to become settled in their seats only to have to rise again when the Prince's fanfare played. Currently they were engaged in heated conversation.
"I don't care, wife or not; Scarlett he loves you. Surely you must see that."
"Not now Bertie, for the sake of Christ the savior not now." Scarlett's voice broke slightly.
"You're going to cry?" he asked.
"How much longer do you think I can stand and pretend he and I are strangers? I've never loved anyone but Rhett and when he leaves this party he'll be leaving my life to return to the bed of a girl, a child who couldn't love him if she had her whole lifetime plus ten others to learn."
"Ah Scarlett, prenez à coeur mon amour, si n'importe qui trumiph que ce sera vous."
Scarlett mouthed his words silently to herself. "Take heart my love, if anyone shall triumph it will be you?"
"Very good my love, King François of France once sent a ring engraved with that sentiment to Anne Boleyn when Henry the 8th was attempting to divorce his Spanish wife."
"Anne was the mother of Elizabeth?"
"We'll make a scholar of you yet. Anne brought down the church, the rules that governed this country as well as the rules of marriage. Henry committed many acts in the name of their love."
"I'm not sure I follow?"
The Prince laughed as the trumpets began the fanfare that would signal one and all to be upstanding for their future king. "Love is the lever which can be used to move the entire world."
Scarlett shrugged displaying her irritation with his riddles.
"Make him jealous darling without him seeing that's what you're doing." With that the Prince took her arm to escort them to the head of the table where she would sit at his right. While Bertie loved Scarlett he wasn't above using her to send a clear message that being, of course I love woman just not my wife.