Sir John placed his napkin back in his lap and picked up his fork before addressing Rhett. "So exactly how long were you and Madame Robiliard married?"

Rhett sipped his port thoughtfully "I can honestly say that I have never been married to a woman named Robiliard."

John nodded and swallowed the chicken he'd been chewing on during Rhett's statement. "Really, then what did Scarlett call herself when you were married?"

"Scarlett Butler, what else would she call herself?" asked Rhett while signaling the waiter for more port.

"I assume you two are...?"

"You can say the word John, divorced. We are, for almost 2 years now. It was what you would call mutual in the end."

"You've never remarried?"

"I almost did, but in the end we didn't suit."

Lettie sat down in the palm sitting room, a cool ivory room that the Prince used to showcase the Indian floras that his family had brought back from India over the past half century. There were large wicker armchairs and settees with down filled rust colored cushions. Lettie had picked an armchair that was partially concealed by ivory drapes trimmed with rust brown velvet fret work.

"Lettie?" called Scarlett softly.

Lettie stiffened at the sound of Scarlett's voice, terrified. She had made a spectacle of herself running out of dinner, now her hostess had come to seek her out probably to ask her to leave.

"Yes," replied Lettie.

Scarlett approached her. "What happened?"

"I'm terribly sorry if I made a scene," apologized Lettie.

"You British and your scenes, I'm worried about you. What happened, you left the dining room like a cat on fire?"

"My brother was angry with me. I was monopolizing the conversation. I was discussing things that were not appropriate for the dinner table. He told me to stop. I took exception and fled. I embarrassed myself."

"So you ran out of the room over that?"

"I know you mightn't understand that, I know my brother tries but he gets annoyed so quickly and I don't ever stop when I should."

"I know what it's like to need to run away but sooner or later you have to go back and face your fears," said Scarlett, offering Lettie her hand.
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Sir John tried not to show his surprise at Rhett's nonchalant revelations.

"How long were you and Scarlett married?"

"Almost six years. Then we were divorced. It was for the best."

"Rhett, I've know you nearly fifteen years and you never mentioned you were married."

Rhett laughed. "You met my daughter, didn't you assume I was married?"

"No because you suggested she didn't have a mother, I thought that perhaps she was the daughter of one of your mistresses."

Rhett laughed "Sorry to disappoint you John."

"Where you already divorced when you came over last time?"

Rhett lost his air of jesting. "No, When we lost Bonnie I had to step away from myself and truly look at my marriage. I realized that the woman I had wanted and the woman I had married simply weren't the same. Without our child there was nothing to tie us to one another."

"I'm sorry."

"So was I though I don't think Scarlett would believe me, she wanted me to try again and I simply wasn't willing to risk my heart again."

"Did you risk it the first time?"

Rhett's lips drew together into a thin line at the sound of her voice.

Sir John rose to his feet and took Lettie's hand.

"Lettie, I..."

"No John, it's my fault. I do appreciate everything you've done since father died. I don't mean to say half of what I say."

John turned to Scarlett and taking her hand he lifted it to his lips. "Your Servant Madame."

Scarlett dropped into a graceful curtsy "And I yours Sir John."

John nodded. "Please if you'll excuse us, I should like to go speak with my sister."

Lettie curtsied to Rhett and impishly leaned forward to kiss Scarlett's cheek. "Thank you."

Scarlett smiled "You're most certainly welcome."

She watched them walk arm and arm across the ballroom.

"If you'll excuse me Mr. Butler."

"Since when have you ever needed my permission for anything my pet."

"Please don't call me that, not here."

"Exactly how much of our conversation did you just overhear?"

"Why, not a thing."

"Then why comment on the conversation?"

"Why Mister Butler," simpered Scarlett in her best shocked southern belle tones, "Surely you weren't referring to little ole me when you spoke of risking your heart." She narrowed her eyes involuntarily "TO do that you'd have to have one."

She turned and without so much as a backward glance made her way back to her seat next to the Prince of England.