The hospital was grim with the stench of death and suffering; the shadows of each nameless soldier creeping along the walls and threatening to jump out at her. In a time long forgotten, her hands were creamy and soft as a lady's should be, but now it was rubbed raw and bright red from scrubbing the blood off bandages. This day, she recalled, was before Aunt Pitty refuged to Macon. The day where she decided that she had enough of bloodshed and dying men, all by the hand of a fleeting cause.
With one last hard look at the faces of the fallen, she felt bitter for a moment. She was not like Melly; there was no kindness within her to help these men out of her own volition. It all meant nothing to her, all was being lost for no good reason, and all she knew was that she wanted to get away. She had to get away.
Scarlett ran, ignoring Dr. Meade's shouts and the howls of pain from amputated soldiers. She could not handle it, unable to tolerate another blasted scream. The outside was barely better-the streets were in chaos with people running in all sorts of directions, with the dust and debris clouding their eyes. Still, they believed, and Scarlett had desperately hoped, that the Yankees would never be able to set foot in Atlanta. Scanning the road for any sign of normalcy, she spotted Rhett's carriage and her feet moved on their own before her heart or mind could respond.
"Rhett!" She called out, or tried to, for no sound spilled from her lips. Instead, the sound collected in her throat and she felt winded, choked by the inability of speech, and watched fearfully as smoke cloaked around her. "Rhett!" she tried once more, to no avail.
The sky had been clear and blue but as the clouds of smoke descended, it swiftly morphed into crimson. If hell were a color, it would be this one-the inferno had swallowed the daylight and submerged the city into some abyss of fire. Rhett's figure diminished to a harsh black silhouette and she walked and walked but he only seemed to be getting farther away. His body was bathed in the fiery light and he grew smaller as the smoke blurred her vision.
The pain she felt went beyond physical. She felt she had been slapped, but the aching in her chest left a cavity so hollow and empty that she was sure her heart had been ripped out. This day went far differently than this, but the strange vision was so familiar, yet so indistinguishable.
'He's leaving me, he's leaving me' streamed through her mind, and with glassy eyes, she reached out through the smoke. He was gone and she cried out, her skirt fluttering as she fell.
Scarlett awoke with a gasp and jerked up from the bed. Her bosom rose and fell as she regained her breath, and her frantic eyes searched the room. Charleston, she realized, not knowing if she should feel disappointed or relieved. The nameless emotions muddled together into frustration and she fell back into the pillows with a grunt. It was unseemly and quite inconceivable, but still, here she was, and she could not do anything to change that. Tears pricked at her eyes and she fiercely blinked them away, her fists tight around the linen sheets. Wallowing in her sorrows would do her no good and if she thought about it any longer, she would surely go mad. She would make it home soon, she reassured herself. Not Atlanta and god-forbid, not Charleston.
Just as she was about to happily accept this little detour, her face contorted at the sudden remembrance of the strange, ambiguous dream. What bothered her most was not the foreboding nor hellish nature of it all, but the fact that she had dreamt about it in the first place. Why, since when did Rhett Butler dare infiltrate her sleep? The anguish she had felt was alarming; it's as if she had cared for the blackguard and she reassured herself quickly—no she did not care!
Through the vanity mirror, she peered into the impassioned green eyes that stared back, challengingly. She had a barbeque to prepare for and a whole night of dancing to anticipate. Surely there was no room for him in her mind. Scarlett stubbornly pushed away such thoughts and sat up with pronounced spirit, her feet already tapping in rhythm with the music.
"Oh, but what do I wear?" she muttered and pried the sheets from her body, her eager legs rushing towards the closet and her open valise. The dresses that hung would all have been acceptable day dresses that would satisfy the hens of Charleston society, but Scarlett couldn't bear to look like a matron. They were all so plain and dull, without a semblance of embellishment or fashion woven into the dreadful fabric. Looking to her valise to salvage some hope, she smiled as she spotted an earthy, yet vibrant green dress that begun on the cusp of her collarbone and shoulder, with a bertha lace collar trimmed all around the neckline and decorated with a black silk bow. It had short sleeves that were gathered luxuriously into small, relaxed puffs and flared slightly at the edges; it would surely accentuate the slenderness of her arms and figure. The skirt was full, bouncing with a gaiety that amused Scarlett, and she knew this would be the best dress to wear.
She called in a servant whose dark face stared at the evening dress with disapproval and unlike Mammy who would have chided and scolded, the woman quietly laced her corset, helped her into the daring green fabric, and fixed up her hair before leaving, without even uttering a single word. Oh, she was sure to scandalize Charleston! She had already done so at Twelve Oaks and they were countryfolk, but she didn't find the idea at all distasteful. Why, she had been living through a war and could not wear such pretty dresses! No one could deny her this gleaming opportunity, and with enough charm, perhaps she could act demurely enough to deceive all those in attendance. She weaved a lace shawl between her elbows, slipped on her gloves, and grabbed her white lace parasol from the corner before heading downstairs with vivid nonchalance.
The horrified faces of her Aunt Eulalie and Pauline gave her an odd surge of satisfaction as she greeted them in the parlor. They were mid-conversation but as soon as she walked in, they stopped abruptly and looked at her as if she were dressed in her shimmy. It was such an absurdly benign thing to be worried about, she realized and had to stifle her laughter.
"What a wonderful day, shall we head off now to the barbeque?" she chirped, nearly theatrically.
Their frowns deepened as they further scrutinized her choice of outfit—the girl did not even have the decency to drape the shawl over her shoulders! It was a delicate faux pas, that had been recklessly and impulsively broken by a girl who looked so much like a lady. It was Scarlett in front of them, but they were disturbingly reminded of the young Ellen, whose vitality was pummeled years before. Shaken by the resemblance, they watched as her shameless emerald eyes looked towards them, ablaze with impetuosity.
"Scarlett, dear. Certainly, you have a nice-looking dress meant for the afternoon?" Eulalie said, with much displeasure. "You can wear that later, once the dancing begins."
She beamed with a veil of innocence. "Oh, but I do quite like this one. The other dresses were too plain for me. Now, let's go, I don't want to miss the barbeque."
It was clear to see that there was no changing the girl's mind, despite her act of lightheartedness. There was a passionate look to her, a burning fire in her brilliant eyes that dared them to challenge her position. Sighing, they did not take the challenge and started for the door.
"Do behave Scarlett."
Her eyebrow twitched in annoyance. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."
Pauline sighed as she got into the carriage. Scarlett followed, without being helped up, and heard the two women gasp in horror.
"Scarlett!"
"What?" she almost spat, her temper bubbling.
"Oh, what has gotten into you? Is it that Rhett Butler who has made you act this way?"
She gave them an incredulous look. "Rhett? What does he have to do with anything?"
"Did he say anything to you when you went on that walk, dear? That boy has no manners, I'll tell you! His poor mother and father can barely keep him under wraps, and it won't be long till he drags you into all his trouble."
Pauline nodded vigorously and added, "You should've seen him at the last social gathering, Scarlett. He was beyond aloof! He rarely obeys his father, and it seems as if he has no care for propriety!" She reached out and clasped her hands, and pleadingly asked, "please keep your distance, dear. He may be… charming, but he is not a true gentleman."
Scarlett huffed and turned her head. "I may talk to whomever I please! You are worried for nothing."
The two of them shook their heads in displeasure, like two wooden marionettes, in foolish synchronization. Too tired to deal with her obstinate nature, her aunts settled back into their seats and rode out the remainder of the carriage ride in silence, as if in anticipation for some mournful event. She simply could not understand what they were so worked up for! Never had she thought that the day would come where she would pity Rhett Butler, but here it was, and she could hardly feel ashamed. Now she understood why he had wanted to get away from it all-why he said it was possible to live without a reputation. All these rigid rules were ludicrous! Why shouldn't she be able to get into a carriage herself if she were perfectly capable? What does it matter if the dress she wears exposed a bit of her shoulder? Because that is expected of a lady, some inner voice admonished, and she took on a troubled look. What would her mother think of her, with such blasphemous thoughts in her head?
She did not have long to ponder the question as she perked up at the sight of the plantation, bustling with newfound activity that replaced the peacefulness of the day before. Her eyes began searching—for what, she did not know—in the crowd of women and men whose Charlestonian drawls slowly crept in her ears, with a familiarity that eased her. Already, she had turned many heads and Scarlett smiled demurely at every face she laid her eyes on, determined to outshine the best of Charleston's Southern belles. The challenge of dethroning some ninny gave her no greater pleasure and she smiled brightly as she allowed herself to be helped down the carriage.
As soon as her petite feet touched the ground, she abandoned her aunts without a thought. She reveled in the mixture of stares she got and whether they were scandalized or admiring, there was no doubt that they were all curious about the identity of this alluring visitor. Eleanor spotted her and smiled, shaking her hand enthusiastically; her eyes went to her dress and she rose a brow, though said nothing about it.
"Scarlett, I am so glad you could make it. Please, have a good time."
She smiled back genuinely and waved as Eleanor made her way to greet her aunts. However, her gentle presence was quickly replaced by something more forbidding, and she looked up in surprise to find an older replica of Rhett Butler staring back at her with a stern, unnerving look. His demeanor was just as imposing, though in a much more intimidating way, with his wrinkles indented into his tan skin to make clear his malicious indifference.
"I don't believe we've met?" he drawled, a refined gruff to each word.
Scarlett collected herself and smiled. "No, we haven't. I assume you're Mr. Butler? I'm visiting from Georgia, but my aunts are dear friends of your wife."
"So, I've heard, Miss O'Hara," he dully remarked. The cold civility unraveled the underlying impudence and she sharply inhaled. He had the gall to appraise her for some odd reason and when his gaze fell to her dress, she saw his whole countenance contort into something indistinguishable to her.
"Have a good afternoon," he said darkly and walked off, leaving her gaping her mouth in the most unladylike way.
What a strange man, Scarlett thought spitefully and ignored all the longing looks sent her way—too shaken up by the brief, uncomfortable conversation with Stephen Butler. She marched into the hall with her jutted chin out, and in the crowd, she spotted the man she had been unconsciously searching for. He was talking to a girl who bore a saccharine smile on her face while throwing herself at him like a stupid little fool. Oh, she was so plain, why on earth was Rhett speaking to her? As if he felt her lively presence lift the spirits of the room, Rhett turned around and caught her staring—her eyes ablaze with passion—and his lips curled into an amused smirk. She scoffed and threw her head back, turning around to follow her aunts whom she spotted across the hall.
Halfway there, she heard his roguish voice call out, "Why if it isn't Miss O'Hara!"
Scarlett glared. "What do you want?"
He leaned down and brushed a quick kiss on her hand, all while baring his white teeth. "Now Scarlett, smooth your feathers. Care to tell me what has gotten you so worked up on this fine afternoon?" he jested, raising a playful brow, and she couldn't help but let out a laugh.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" she simpered, watching as his eyes lazily swept over her figure. It was supposed to feel wrong, and she had the urge to reprimand his impertinence, but she felt no burden of her sin besides the warmth that flushed her cheeks.
"Yes, but more so on this little habit of yours," he remarked, gesturing to her dress. "I see it that it isn't just limited to Sunday afternoons."
"Oh, you're impossible!" she exclaimed. "If you saw the other dresses I had to wear, you would've understood if I came in my shimmy!"
The laughter shook his body and the two gained a couple of curious glances as Rhett continued to roar out his merriment. "Scarlett, never change," he managed to get out. She too joined his laughter—compelled by its unrestrained and genuine quality that almost didn't suit his character. Or the character she was acquainted with, she corrected herself, and she studied him more, intently searching to see if there was anything else that would be revealed to her, something that the Rhett of her time kept hidden. It would be wonderful to use something against him and deal the upper hand for once; he had made a fool of her too many times to count. But her mind could not conclude anything that wasn't laid out for her, so she shrugged off this curious feeling—missed his own observant look—and followed him as they walked out to the yard.
"I saved a seat just for you, Miss O'Hara," he whispered in her ear as if it were some scandalous piece of gossip. Rhett sat down on the bench and patted the space next to him.
"How presumptuous of you!" she flirted, taking the seat. "Shouldn't I be the one saving a seat for you? Back home, there would be barely any space for you here."
He rose a brow and chuckled lightly. "Did you already collect some Charleston beaux whom you promised to eat barbeque with? As charming as you are, I truly doubt it."
Her face perked up. "You think I'm charming?"
"If I didn't know any better, I would think you were fishing for compliments."
"Oh, how you do run on! As a matter of fact, I-" she began, though her voice trailed off as she took notice of all the attention they were gathering. There were a few indiscrete glances scattered around, but some old matrons were staring unabashedly—their beady little eyes focused on their more-than-subtle rendezvous.
"Why are they all looking at us like that?" she asked, though she could very well account for some reasons without his help.
"Let's just say my behavior as of late hasn't been up to standards," he murmured, with undisguised contempt.
"My aunt was going on about that on the way here." She felt him stiffen beside her and she looked to him curiously. "What did you do?"
"I had the gall to think for myself," he explained vaguely, though the enigmatic air dissipated as he grinned carelessly at her. "And what exactly did your aunts divulge of me?"
"They said you're an ill-mannered, troubled boy who isn't a true gentleman."
He chuckled, with traces of bitterness and—dare she presume—hurt. "I've never heard truer words spoken." His knuckles blanched to white as he clutched his hand into a fist. "It seems that I'm too headstrong to be a proper gentleman, but not boorish enough to warrant ostracization. Why don't they just cast me out already?" Rhett spat and signaled for some plates, sending disparaging glances towards their little, impromptu audience. Many heads looked away with embarrassment, bringing with them their honor.
"What did you tell them?" he asked, and Scarlett failed to notice the small expectant glint in his eyes.
"Well, I told them to mind their own business, of course!"
Whatever she had said had fulfilled his satisfaction as he let out a breathy laugh and shook his head in amusement. They began to eat and, instinctively, she did not bother to hide her healthy appetite in front of him, which only seem to please him further. Though, she was briefly distracted by some girl giving her a cross look from across the yard, clearly displeased by the fact that she was discarded, left no option but to sit with the flocks of patronizing matrons. Scarlett then realized that it was that plain-faced ninny from earlier—the one Rhett had willfully abandoned to speak with her instead. The wonderful feeling of power surged throughout her body and she stared right back at her, with vain delight.
"Oh Rhett, look!" she laughed. "Who is that girl?"
He followed her line of vision and could not mask his irritated scowl that she was sure was pasted on his face when she couldn't see it earlier, and she wondered if it came accompanied with every memory of that young woman.
"Don't pay her any mind. She's mistaken me as her beau and I'm afraid she's waiting quite endlessly for my chivalrous proposal of marriage," he replied, with glaring sardonicism.
"Marriage!" she exclaimed, feeling inexplicably angry. "But she's so plain! Is she that much in love with you?"
Rhett scoffed and gave her a queer look. "Love? That fool doesn't love me. She just wants to bear the name Butler and if she has to marry the reprobate, so be it."
Every word unfurled bitterly from his lips and Scarlett watched as his eyes were lit like burning coals, leering at the people who persisted to stare. The way he swung the water glass to his mouth was coarse and abrupt as if every part of his body were poisoned with this indignation. Slowly, she was beginning to grasp the situation—this gray area of his life that she had been thrust into. But, ultimately, she was confused, and as analytical savviness was discrepant with her practical self, she abandoned the thoughts and returned her attention to his brooding figure. He softened at her perplexed look, though the lingering irritation was too intense to dispel.
He straightened up and flashed a smile. "Let's not talk about such sordid things. Here—let's have a bit of fun."
"Fun?" she questioned suspiciously.
"Yes, fun," he laughed, while standing up, and offered his arm. Still doubtful, Scarlett cautiously placed her gloved hand in the crook of his elbow and Rhett led her to a pathway where some young couples were strolling about and chatting in hushed, delicate whispers. God's nightgown, Scarlett thought. We probably look like we're sweet on each other! As if he read her thoughts, Rhett laughed, and her face contorted with anger.
"Is this your idea of fun Rhett Butler? I think—"
He hushed her, "As much as I enjoy your temper, no." He nodded his head to the left and her eyes swept in that direction until she spotted that mousy fool who glowered at her with the most resentful look.
"Oh!" she murmured, with blatant irritation, and gazed up at his amused face. "What is she so mad for? It's not my fault she can't keep a beau!"
"I'm not her beau," he coolly corrected. "Nonetheless, perhaps now I can make it perfectly clear."
"Whatever do you mean?"
Rhett laughed and with that, he drew her closer until her side was pressed against his bicep and he whispered:
"I mean this."
She gasped, "don't hold me like that,"—though it left her lips quite mechanically—and with one look at Rhett's mischievous boyish eyes, to the reddened face of that now beau-less ninny, she laughed freely and wrapped both hands around his elbow.
"Oh, Rhett. You're so silly sometimes. Now go! We'll walk until she curses me straight to Halifax!"
His peals of laughter startled the other couples out of their own conversations, some of whom turned their attention to the giggling pair, who were unaware of the lovely picture they had made. Scarlett peeked back to savor the look on that girl's face, but she also caught the eye of one Stephen Butler who looked at them disgruntledly; it was a look that had momentarily smothered her good spirits. But she recalled Rhett's clear disdain for his father and merely dismissed it while continuing to tread thinly along the line of decorum—neatly on Rhett Butler's arm.
When Scarlett slipped into the guestrooms for the trifling affair of afternoon naps, she felt as if every girl's eye were following her every move. The chatter in the room lulled considerably when she walked inside, and she could spot all the disdained, curious, and eager looks spread across the room like a wildfire. They are gawking like fools, Scarlett thought with ire. There was an empty bed in the corner of the room, and she walked towards it with her head held high and her shoulders squared as if preparing for belligerency. She closed her eyes and sat on the bed, letting out a frustrated sigh before she began to undress. The moment she sat down, it was as if the daunting tension in the room had snapped in half and collapsed like a pile of bricks. In an instant, the air buzzed with a thunderous storm of questions, all intended for her to answer, and she looked up in shock to see many of the girls crowded around her bed—all looking quite expectant.
"How did you manage it?" one had said.
Scarlett's brows knitted. "What are you going on about?"
Another girl nudged her way to the front and with wide eyes, she exclaimed, "Rhett Butler, of course!"
"What of him?"
"Is he courting you? Is he your beau now?"
Scarlett laughed hysterically at the idea. "No, he wouldn't dare. Why? Do you want to marry him?"
"No, we didn't think it possible—he hardly gives us the time of day! We were all so surprised that he was acting all sweet on you."
Her ego swelled up at that and she grinned, not bothering to hide her pridefulness. "Is that so?"
"Yes! His father had arranged him with Sarah Ellis a year ago, but he refused to talk to her! Then, Mrs. Butler spoke to him, supposedly, and then he started acting like a gentleman again—but he stopped just a few months later. Now he doesn't bother with proper conversation at all!"
Scarlett smirked knowingly. That sounded every bit like the varmint. It was the exact kind of charade he had pulled in the middle of the war; he acted the part of a courteous gentleman very well and all while amusing himself with his disguised barbs, dripping in mockery, to each and every caller of Atlanta's Old Guard. She did not understand why he had stopped (it would be easier for everyone, especially herself if he had not), so she simply assumed he had no more fun in his little game of pretense.
"He was a perfect gentleman. Perhaps he fixed his ways," she hastily dismissed as she spotted the ninny. "Never mind that. Tell me, who is that girl over there?"
"Oh, Myrtle Davidson? Why, she's one of Charleston's finest belles," the girl looked to her, her eager curiosity peeking through her attempts to stifle it. "You must know about her and Rhett Butler."
Unconsciously, she had straightened up. "What about?"
"Well, she practically never leaves his side at parties. Except for today." She peeked at her again. "She always speaks of how they are to marry someday. I thought he was her beau, and she insisted so ardently, but perhaps we were all mistaken."
"You were. He's not her beau and isn't mine either," she clipped, rather coldly, and unaware of it. She was bothered greatly by the doubtful looks sent her way, grazing away at her conviction, and she turned her back them to lay her head on the soft pillow. She huffed and clutched the sheets with a white-knuckled fist. That plain-faced girl, a Southern belle! She was absolutely baffled, and a bitter rage ensued inside of her, with a passion and intensity that she could not begin to explain. Perhaps Rhett was lying about her being an annoyance? How else could this Myrtle fool think of such impossible ideas? Quickly, she recalled the pure venom in his voice as he spoke of her and dismissed the idea. Plus, she admonished, she should not care so much about who Rhett chose to spend his time with. It did not concern her, and she did not care for him. Her hands clutched the sheets tighter. Earlier, she could have spoken it with so much more assurance and spitefulness, but now she was uncertain in her thoughts concerning the scoundrel.
A voice called out, urging the girls to nap. The calmness of slumber swept over the room, but Scarlett could not sleep—she never was able to—but this time there was an underlying reason and she dutifully ignored it. She would deal with him and his reprobate ways once she went downstairs.
The captivating music of the waltz had enchanted Scarlett as each note shook her body with astounding memorability. Her feet tapped rhythmically against the floor, hidden by her voluminous skirt, and she whirled herself into the ballroom in a dreamlike state. Awestruck, a man approached and introduced himself to her, but she gathered nothing from his greetings except for his request to dance. The word 'yes' escaped her lips right away and she was instantly granted that invigorating feeling with each twirl and spin, in the arms of any man, whose name nor face mattered. What mattered was that she was dancing once more and that she felt young again, readily forgiving the clumsy manner of her dance partners with a flirtatious smile and demure, charming remarks. With request after request, and yes after yes, Scarlett quickly became the center of attention—her radiant vivacity too brilliant to miss. She was so bright, so lively that one's gaze was drawn to her immediately, and once spotted, it took a laborious amount of effort to look away.
As she was dancing her heart out in some unknown man's arms, she spotted Rhett enter the ballroom with an effortless, yet powerful gait. For a second, she understood polite society, as he exuded masculinity unfit for gentility in a manner so casual yet so plainly deliberate. Once he caught her eye, Scarlett had the irrepressible urge to quicken each step, as if that would compel the music to finish for her sudden dose of impatience. It had lasted longer than she would have liked but once free, she immediately marched to Rhett Butler, who was half-invested in a conversation with Eleanor, and his eyes lit up with mirth at her zealousness, an expression that had not escaped the mother's watchful eye.
"I assume you're here to fill up your dance card?" he jested, and they bid his mother goodbye as they walked away, bringing their ill-mannered discussion with them.
"You have such a nasty way of putting things," she chided. "Can't you just ask me to dance like a normal person?"
"Scarlett, where's the fun in that? I thought we established that I'm no gentleman."
She ignored him and looked achingly to the dance floor. "You and your fun. Are we going to dance or not?"
"Yes, but I'll have you know that I plan on fully monopolizing your time. You won't be leaving my arms for a while."
"Rhett!" she reproached, though she was secretly thrilled by the prospect. Before any other feigned offense could escape her lips, he swept her away to the dance floor as the waltz began to play and his arm went around her tightly, pulling her close to what was barely considered appropriate. She felt a rush of déjà vu fill her body and looked up at him pointedly.
"Hold me any closer and I'll get mad at you."
"Will you really? I warn you, you're tempting my curiosities," he teased and gave into his temptations. She felt so delighted in his arms, taken once more by his wonderful waltzing skills, that she didn't bother to berate him. In fact, his proximity merely excited her further, in a way that no lady should be excited by. He smiled rather fondly at her lighthearted giggles and she dwelled on it for a moment, but she was quickly propelled back into the dizzying rhythm of the music.
Scarlett quickly realized that evening that Rhett had not bluffed, though she had always known that he was being serious. He took the next dance, and the one after that, and all the others that followed, with a fervor that had blurred all the intermissions together until she was sure that she had never left his arms in the first place. All the peahens and matrons of Charleston, priggish and pretentious, had looked on haughtily at their unfitting display of familiarity and incongruous passion.
She smiled brightly at him. "You may waltz divinely Rhett, but another dance and we'll make ourselves conspicuous!"
"We've already made ourselves conspicuous!" He laughed, attracting more glances, and held her tighter if it were even possible. "And don't you act so humble, Scarlett. We're the best-looking pair in this ballroom and you know it." She smiled coyly. He was right. No one was half as pretty as she and Rhett was the most handsome man in the room! It would be sinful if they hadn't been staring!
Scarlett looked around and quickly glanced past her aunts' faces—not needing to look very long to recognize their disapproval. "You're laughing now, but I don't think the rest of Charleston is very amused."
"If I recall correctly, you were laughing along with me."
"You know, you aren't supposed to remind a lady of her indiscre— now, don't you dare say it, Rhett Butler."
He chuckled. "I won't." His eyes scanned the crowd then and she caught the exact moment when his face darkened, the smile fading from his lips. "Let's rest for a while."
All the warmth and amusement evaporated between them as he stepped away and she trailed dazedly behind him, puzzled, but as soon as she saw his father and mother striding towards them, she sobered up. Quickening her pace, she managed to catch a glimpse of Rhett's profile, now masked with indifference, yet his black eyes were filled with such burning hatred. Glancing between father and son, she could not help but wonder what had caused such a chasm in their relationship. Whatever the cause was, she had quickly forgotten, for Scarlett tried her hardest to repress a scowl at the, once again, calculative gaze of Mr. Butler, sizing her up with passionless eyes.
"Father," he stated, the word rolling from his tongue like a nuisance.
Eleanor parted her lips to speak but looked down as her husband interjected.
"Quite the scene you made."
Rhett's jaw tightened. His chin jutted out. She could see the veins protrude from his skin, assuming all power to appear unaffected.
"Care to elaborate father? I'm afraid I don't understand," he jeered, and suddenly, that mocking, ruthless blockade runner was back, his vengeful presence lingering in the youthful face and stature—enriched and strengthened by anger.
The older man answered brusquely, "will I have to speak to you in unrefined terms, again? I suppose it is the only language you understand."
"Speak whatever language you want. You seem quite well-versed in both ways. It's quite unbecoming of the self-proclaimed gentleman."
Every word exchanged was meant to jab and scathe, leave damage and hurt, but neither man was undeterred—every remark merely sharpened their rancor. Soon, words failed to even capture the familial hostilities and silence fell among the illustrious father and his errant, insubordinate son. Scarlett felt she had intruded into something awfully intimate, though her curiosities kept her anchored in place, exchanging an uncomfortable smile with Mrs. Butler. She thought Mr. Butler was quite hateful.
"I see you still have no sense of deference in you. It's a shame, I thought progress was being made." He glanced at her. "Now, what I came here to say. A Miss Myrtle Davidson has been looking for you. I'll happily forget your conduct as of tonight if you see to what she wants."
Rhett scowled, just as he did earlier at the mention of her, then looked at Scarlett. One glance at her seemed to have revitalized him and scoffing, he bowed in the most mockingly gallant way before heading off to endure more temper-inducing conversation.
"And you, Miss O'Hara. As a Robillard, I half-expected that you would've kindly discouraged my son's uncouth behavior. As it is though, it must be the Irish side of you that has you behaving as such."
It was not difficult to loathe the man before, but now, Scarlett could feel every fiber of her being ooze with pure, unadulterated hatred. Who was he to criticize her being in such a repugnantly graceful way? He strung his insults into civil rebukes that angered her and, never able to control her facial expression, she could not hide the tempestuous glare that bore into his unfeeling face.
"I'd thank you to not speak about my family in that way," she spouted, with unconcealed vexation. "Why, my Irish peasant father is more of a gentleman than you'll ever be!"
Before she stormed off, she heard Eleanor's gasp and became sickened by the small, wicked smirk that crossed that hateful man's face. She'll never understand the Butlers, she hastily concluded and walked out of the ballroom, and into the grand foyer. Where she was headed, she did not know, but she wanted to be as far away from those judgmental, propriety-crazed people.
"Take me home already!" she mumbled, feeling terribly aggrieved. As she was about to pass the opened doors of the library, a familiar drawl paralyzed her feet to the floor and extinguished the fury that had once poisoned every inch of her body. Then, she heard the voice of a girl, and the rage washed over her, the emotions shifting with a swiftness that was both irrational and inexplicable. Peeking from the threshold, Scarlett saw Rhett positioned by the window, with that Myrtle girl clasping her hands together behind him, like a little mousy ninny.
"You're still going on about that buggy ride?" he questioned, clearly irritated, and Scarlett swallowed back a gasp.
"Yes, it'll be quick. No one will even notice we're gone."
He looked back at her, his eyes alight with suspicion. "Without a chaperone?"
"We shouldn't disturb anybody's fun. It's just that, well, your father said you cared something for me… and I…"
Rhett bitterly laughed. "Did he put you up to this? After all that talk on refinement… Damn him."
"Oh!" she exclaimed, scandalized. "You mustn't say such things about your father! He is so kind—"
"Please don't go on with this. Do you want a buggy ride this badly? Fine. You deserve some compensation for all the senseless lies my father has been feeding you. Even more so now—now that I pity you for thinking that he's a thoughtful gentleman. Maybe this way, you'll realize the sort of rascal I am. But, after this, don't expect anything else from me. I'm not your beau and I never wanted to marry you."
With such frank words, Scarlett was shocked that the girl still wanted to go for a buggy ride. She probably thinks she can make him care, or that secretly he holds a secret, passionate flame for her. How foolish, she thought. Rhett had made it so clear he did not love her, yet she still clings on! (Of course, Scarlett did not recognize the stark parallels with a certain gentleman in her life and continued with her inner lambasting.) Amidst her eavesdropping, she also realized the implications of this very infamous encounter. If she let them go, Rhett would be disowned and the girl, ruined. Her body ached to move and stop the whole affair from taking place, though she was reluctant to change something so deeply rooted into the reputation of the mercenary Rhett she knew—the unreceived and devilish reprobate.
After a brief silence, Myrtle strained a whisper. "Is it because of that O'Hara girl?"
The hair on the nape of Scarlett's neck bristled.
"What about her?"
"She's caught you too, hasn't she? After that horrid display in the ballroom, how she threw herself at you, like a—like a—"
In an instant, all the doubts concerning intervention were gone—replaced by an all-consuming animosity—and Scarlett angrily marched into the room, catching the foolish ninny by surprise. Once there, by fault of her impetuosity, she didn't know what to say and merely glared at the younger girl, who was devoid of all color. Rhett seemed surprised too, though his cross features slowly softened into relief.
"Scarlett," he began. "Is there something wrong?"
She straightened her back and nodded, still seething with rage. "Yes. Your… mother was looking for you."
"My mother?"
"Yes," she affirmed, through clenched teeth, for he smiled at her smugly, and walked lazily to her side, in a pace so casual it undermined the whole encounter she had just unfortunately witnessed. He turned his head with no effort, in a manner that was barely considered a turn at all, and addressed the pallor face of Miss Davidson, who was ashamed beyond her wits.
"I'm afraid that buggy ride is going to have to wait. I must go see what ails my precious mother."
The two walked out and Scarlett blazed ahead, her temper bubbling further at his amused chuckles.
"How dare she talk about me in that way! I threw myself at you? Why, you're the one who was being indecent and kept pulling me closer! What a stupid little fool!"
"Indeed, she is, Scarlett. But do tell me what you were doing eavesdropping on us? Were you unable to last another second without my presence?" His eyes were mirthful, yet they demanded something greater of her, a thing she could not discern and searched with profound expectation.
"Whatever gave you that conceited idea?" she huffed. "I was simply looking for a way out. I couldn't bear to stand in the same space as that—that man!"
"Ah, the reputable Mr. Butler. Only a gentleman when he finds it convenient. What did he do? Pick apart your ancestry?"
Scarlett did not wish to satisfy his arrogant self by telling him 'yes', though the gleaming eyes of amusement told her that she didn't need to say a word. If she didn't tell him, he was sure not to know; it was a childish mindset—embedded into this child who refused to concede such a trivial victory. She grumbled and adamantly refused.
"No! He said nothing of the kind! What I want to know is why you ever agreed to that silly girl's request!"
"If you were any good at eavesdropping, you would know why."
"Rhett!" she exasperated. The infuriating man merely shrugged, as if lifelong disownment and getting one's name stricken from the family bible was anything to shrug about.
"Now, Scarlett, what's so wrong about an innocent little buggy ride?"
"Fiddle-dee-dee. Do you mean to say going out with no chaperone is innocent? Just imagine the scandal you could've given those peahens!"
He feigned a gasp that would have coaxed a giggle out of her if she hadn't been so irritated at his nonchalance. "What are you implying, Miss O'Hara? Certainly, you don't think me to be that uncouth. It would have been a harmless affair."
"Oh, do whatever you want! But if something happens, don't go complaining to me."
"I'm not going back," he chuckled. "Why would I when you gave me a perfectly noble excuse to escape with? Here—watch—let's put those worries of yours to rest."
Rhett, with the utmost mischievous look, walked up to a lean, blonde-haired man, with eyes as innocent and cow-like as Melanie and Charles Hamilton. Alone, he would have appeared to be of normal size for his age, but next to Rhett, he seemed to be lacking something beyond him—something larger than life. It was truly roguish of him, she thought and watched as the boy's face blanched as they approached.
"Good day, sir. May I ask a small favor from you?" Rhett said, with every word coated in a mockery that was unrecognizable by those who did not share his rebellious spirit. Normally, she would have found such subtle ridicule to be aggravating, but it was quite amusing when she wasn't on the receiving end of his jokes. The younger man looked around, as if being caught with them were a punishable offense, and meekly replied:
"What is it, sir?"
"A Miss Myrtle Davidson is in the library due to a sudden spell of restlessness. Would you kindly be a gentleman and go grab her a nice glass of water?" he performed, with persuasive charm, that was wildly unnecessary, for the sound of the belle's name was enough to cast a dreamy-eyed look on his face. Scarlett looked away, disgusted. It was that face she saw when Charles asked to marry her.
"Of course! I'll see to Miss Davidson's needs right away!" he grinned foolishly, like a lovesick puppy, and ran off to fetch a glass. She opened her mouth to say something, yet nothing came out, and she looked at Rhett who seemed mighty proud of his selfless act of matchmaking.
"How kind of you to pass on your burdens."
He roared with laughter and she would have joined him had she not been thinking—thinking way too much than what she was accustomed to. She seemed to be doing an ungodly amount of it in Charleston. What if she asks that boy for the buggy ride instead? Would the buggy incident still happen then? All the what-ifs and likelihoods became all muddled in her brain, clashing and sparing until they were all intertwined into one indistinguishable mess. She pushed away all the impending thoughts and ending up laughing with him, focusing on the shallow comedy that lay in their very temporary situation. At least Rhett isn't in trouble, she thought. But, whatever happens, unlike Rhett, that boy was a gentleman.
He would not abandon deference. He would keep his ill-defined honor.