Florida was lovely and now I am back, why does no one think this could end well. Lol I am not saying it will after all I think that after everything that happened it could be very bumpy to say the least. Well Happy Birthday SH I am glad you are all enjoying this.
Used some more of MM's ideas, but no dialoge so that should make the lawyers happy.
Scarlett's heart was in her throat as she hurried back to her rooms. She must have been mad for a brief moment. To tell Rhett they had a daughter, what had she been thinking? That was just it, she hadn't been thinking.
She would go to Bess and take her to the Prince's estate in Llyweenan in the South of Wales. There she could be with her daughter and wait out Rhett Butler. Eventually he'd accept that she was beyond his reach. Surely he'd move on to some other woman.
Another woman loving Rhett, having his child, when it could be her. She blinked back tears, god's nightgown when had she become such a weepy thing. Scarlett O'Hara, that's who she was. She was the daughter of Gerald; who had carved out a life in the Pines and scrub land of Georgia. She had survived great tragedies; pregnancies, war, starvation, and marriage. She could survive this. She would save herself and Bess from the insanity she'd thrown them into. A saying of Rhett's came to her "The lions are hungry." Well hungry they might be and if Scarlett had anything to they'd starve.
What if though, she thought; what if she went back and tried to explain. She shook her head as she mounted the stairs? But no she couldn't trust him, not after the cruel words they'd just flung at each other. She was still his wife though, a situation she'd have to seek to remedy. If she could release him perhaps he'd move forward. Without her. "Rhett," she whispered as she took the stairs two at a time fleeing to the sanctuary of her suite.
He still wanted her, god damn his treacherous heart. He burned for her, needed her in ways that he refused to admit. He had wanted her when he hadn't known they had a child. It wasn't their daughter that drove him to hire investigators to search for her once Anne's treachery had been reveled and he had come to his senses. He would have come straight to England to hunt for her had he know she had been there. Though he wanted to see his baby daughter badly, he knew that she was not the reason he wanted Scarlett so badly. He'd wanted her since she was a fresh belle of 16 at Twelve Oaks and he would continue to want her till the day he died.
Rhett stood; he would go to her and tell her that he could accept what she'd done. It was a terrible thing to do, but maybe if he took the initiative she would meet him half way. He had reached a point in his life where he wanted peace. He wanted his wife in his bed and his baby in her nursery. He could accept that Scarlett had been terrified and alone. He had told her that he wouldn't return to Charleston until she left. He had told her their marriage was over.
On the beach after the boat capsized he had taken her again and again because he thought he that he had lost her. He had told her that he loved her and that she was his life. After telling Scarlett these things he had turned from her and fled. No wonder she hated him enough to keep his child from him. No wonder she feared he would take that child
He would go to her and at least see where they stood.
The Prince of Wales was sweating and saddle sore as he made his way to the stairs leading to the royal wing. Damn Lord Robert, it had taken a great deal of persuasion to convince him to reveal the location of Scarlett's diary. Persuasion by way of two guards holding him up while a third pummeled him. Rhett Butler had Scarlett's diary. What exactly did that mean to them? The Prince wasn't completely sure just where Scarlett and Rhett currently were in their relationship. She loved him; of that fact the Prince was sure. Butler on the other had was a bit of an enigma. Bertie was absolutely sure that Butler wanted Scarlett, what he wanted her for was the mystery. If he read her diary Butler would know about Bess and that fact alone might enrage him to the point of complete fury. It would be best, he concluded, to simply see where fate brought them. At the very least the journal was still in the house and that was what was currently the main concern.
Rhett stepped in the Prince's way. It was immediately clear that Rhett was agitated and spoiling for a fight.
"Your highness, a moment of your time?"
Did he ask about the journal now, no best let him say what it was he felt he needed to say. "Mr. Butler? Neither you nor Scarlett joined us for the hunt. I wondered why you didn't make it."
Rhett smirked slightly, the prince looked as though he'd been riding after something a great deal more allusive than a fox. "How did it end?"
The Prince smiled widely displaying his fine white teeth. "The fox got away."
Two could play at this game. "You seem pleased?"
"It gave us a good run, and cunning won out of brute strength. A highly enjoyable if unexpected outcome."
"Where is my daughter?"
"And hence goes our pretense at pleasantries. I wasn't aware you had a daughter Mr. Butler."
"Where's Bess?"
"You mean Scarlett's daughter? Elizabeth Victoria Robiliard?"
"She gave her the middle name Victoria? That was our late daughter's middle name."
"It is my mother's name, she stood godmother to my illegitimate daughter by Scarlett."
His hands balled into fists, but striking the Prince of Wales on his own estate in front of guards and ushers would not do. "Scarlett claims she's my daughter."
The Prince laughed, as one confidant to another. "Scarlett can hardly be trusted to tell the truth. Mr. Butler, the truth is one of those things Scarlett uses to her advantage. Surely you remember that about her. You have no daughter. I'm sorry if that disappoints you."
"You're lying."
"Mr. Butler, you seem the very soul of manners yet you'd accuse your host of lying to your face within his own house. Ah, you Americans and your sense of candor, completely refreshing. You'll excuse me." The Prince bowed and proceeded up the stairs. Rhett attempted to follow him, but two gentleman ushers one on either side of the stairs stepped forward to bar his way.
"This staircase is for the royal families private quarters. I'm afraid no one is permitted further without the explicit consent of the royal family."
Rhett nodded, his urban exterior hiding his fuming interior. She was right. Her prince's connections would protect her so long as they were in England.
He bowed to the ushers and turned on heel to return to his room. Scarlett's room was next to the Prince's so it would be extremely difficult to get to her, especially now that he was sure the guard and ushers would be under strict instruction not to let him pass. He had been able to reach her last night but now that would be impossible. He could try and force her to leave with him. He was an extremely powerful man, though his rather extensive connections would mean very little here in Victoria's England.
Certainly enough people believed that Scarlett's child was the daughter of their crown Prince. It made sense to them that their Prince preferred a dashing beautiful young Irish American Widow to a Norwegian with a pinched face and cold correct manners.
He retreated to his room to further plot a strategy. He would no doubt see Scarlett later and then he would take her aside and they would have much to discuss. Elizabeth Victoria Robiliard. Good God she had not only not given his child his name, but she hadn't even used her own name. It would be impossible for him to prove that the child was legally his issue. For once Scarlett held their fates completely in her hands and he chafed at the restrictedness of the situation. He could not take the baby from her, he thought crossing to the window. It might kill her; he could not tell himself that Scarlett didn't love her child. It was clear that she worshipped the child.
Besides he had cost her two children, three if he stopped to consider that she had only fled to France out of a fear that he would take her child. Bonnie who he had encouraged to be fearless and slightly wild, the baby she had miscarried, and poor Ella who would have been fine if he had not abandoned Scarlett. Scarlett had been through the torments of the damned; he wouldn't heap more on her.
He loved her. He would not hurt her again, not for anything in the world. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small ambrotype under an oval of glass. Scarlett must have been just 16 when it was taken. Her eyes were slightly downcast as though she wished to portray a visage of modesty that she was completely sure she did not own. He had since had it colored with chalks before having it resealed under it's protective oval of glass.
The image had traveled the world with him. He had never shown it to her, knowing that more than likely her shrewd mind would surmise where he had acquired it. The night he had played cards with Scarlett's father during the war Gerald had shown it to him, telling him of how he had had the portrait taken the year after Scarlett graduated the Fayetteville Ladies Academy.
He boasted that Ellen had wanted a portrait painted, but he had held out for a photograph. He demanded of Rhett "Sure, and do you think some Frenchmen with a box o' colors could've painted me Puss as she really looks? No, I'll tell you tis the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen saving the first time I saw Mrs. O'Hara." He'd asked to see it and Gerald had smiled with real pleasure as he drew out his watch chain with it's seals and fobs. There one two links so it wouldn't be lost was the ambrotype of Scarlett. It was so like her that Rhett looked at it jealously. He merely nodded and commented "A good likeness."
"Aye, so it is," replied Gerald carefully replacing it in his pocket. Later that night when Rhett brought Gerald to Pitty's roaring drunk and singing 'Lament for Robert Emment' Rhett picked his pocket. It was a rather embarrassing situation to be in, picking the pocket of a man not for his wallet, but for a portrait of his daughter. But that hadn't stopped him and when he looked at it, there was no regret for the act that had brought it into his possession.
He sat on the settee, as he did he noticed the journal. Why not read more of it, what was stopping him? If he could steal from a man's pocket then what was the harm in reading the rest of Scarlett's journal. He settled in and started to read.
The Prince of Wales laid the telegram down on his desk. The desk had belonged to Robert Dudley, a courtier to Elizabeth the I, which charmed him greatly. He looked forward to the day he'd be King. He admired his mother, but he loved England. It's rolling hills, it's cliffs, it's proud history. Bertie often despaired that he was not a Plantagent or a Tudor or a Grey or indeed any of the families that had shaped England's vivid past.
He knew his duty, inside his true self. Produce an heir, an heir who was most importantly a legitimate heir, and one who would carry on after he was gone. Why did it have to be with Alexandra?
And now he had to go to Scarlett and tell her that Alexandra had sent him a most alarming telegram.