Inspirations:

Once there was a darkness

A deep and endless night

You gave me everything you had

Oh you gave me life

I will remember you, Sarah McLachlan

I hear them whispering 'bout the places that you've been

And how you don't know how to keep your business clean

Unholy, Kim Petras and Sam Smith

What is a man? A miserable little pile of secrets.

- Dracula, Symphony of the Night

Disclaimer: I own nothing concerning GWTW.

A/N Thank you for all the reviews and comments. It was so gratifying when all the countries checked in the last chapter! Made me so absolutely ecstatic!

Huge thanks are due to SushiBear144 for getting this convoluted 7500-word disaster proofread and back to me in less than 24 hours!

If you found this update, it was probably by accident as email notifications are all jacked up for this site. See you at the end of the chappie for more info :)

Chapter 46

Saturday morning dawned, and Scarlett woke not long after the sun. Unusual for her, but this day would be a big, big day.

Knowing Rhett to be an early riser, she sent Pork over first thing to prepare his bath. Prissy helped her set her hair, and she donned a simple day dress before making her way to the guest house, a basket of fresh muslin wrappings in hand, thirty minutes later.

She walked down the pathway and waved to Pork and Dilcey as they left in the buggy.

Pork called out that he'd return after breakfast to pick her up.

Scarlett knocked on the door, and when there was no answer, used her key to enter. An empty foyer and parlor greeted her.

"Rhett?" she called as she wandered through the house, the smell of fresh coffee calling to her from the kitchen.

"Back here," he said.

Although the voice came from the direction of the bedroom, he wasn't in there. The door to the bathroom, however, stood wide open.

"Come on back, Scarlett," he called again. "I'm going to require your assistance."

She approached with trepidation, not knowing what she would find. Heady steam and the scent of bay rum soap permeated the air when she reached the door.

One more step and he came into view.

A lot of man. Not a lot of tub. At least, not in comparison.

"Why are you still—"

"Pork needed to leave, I wasn't quite finished soaking, and the water was so hot, I didn't want to waste it," he explained in butter-smooth tones.

"I got in by myself, but I'm unable to get out."

There was something close to a twinkle in his eye. He didn't look unable. He looked pretty fine: sitting in the bath, the heat making a sheen on his skin, his wet hair slicked back and powerful knees rising like cypress roots from the water.

Tanned skin rested against the white clawfoot tub, and that mat of wet, dark hair on his chest … coupled with that damn scruff on his chin. Even scruffier in the morning. She remembered this from before. She remembered ….

"I thought you might not mind." He peered at her from the side of his eyes. The man could be too charming when he wanted.

"Fine."

She set the basket down and picked up a towel.

"Not yet." He appeared to hesitate to speak again, unusual for him.

"Just tell me."

"I can't wash my hair and my back itches," he admitted. And then grinned. "I blame your snug wrappings for that."

"Fine," she said again, only a tad shorter this time. She wasn't going to let him devil her, although she wondered what exactly precipitated this mischievous mood.

"I washed men's hair all day long as a nurse. It was one of the better tasks as long as there were no lice."

She reached for the soap bar and the rinse pitcher.

"But there were always lice," she muttered.

She wet his hair again and soaped it, then had him lean back as she rinsed with the pitcher and repeated the process. She examined his head and lathered it again, his dark hair still so thick, no sign of thinning, and other than at his temples, only an occasional gray.

Rhett remained silent during her ministrations, although she could have sworn his eyes fluttered shut at one point when she was firmly massaging his scalp.

He leaned back for her to rinse it the second time, giving her a full view of that chest, firm belly, and lower section below the soapy water. She swallowed and reached for a towel.

Scarlett began to ponder as she dried his hair. She'd never done anything like this for Rhett. She'd tried putting out his paper and slippers once, as she had for Frank, but he'd laughed at her, telling her he did not need a hausfrau. He never told her what he did need, other than the obvious. That was the problem. Well… one of the problems.

For some reason, this morning, he was tolerating her touch. More than tolerating. He didn't seem adverse to it. At all.

She picked up a cloth and the soap again. "I'll wash your back and see if that helps."

He nodded and leaned forward. He didn't even offer a joke, to her surprise. She soaped his back well and scrubbed it with the cloth.

He made another sound, and she stopped; he didn't say anything, so she continued scrubbing, then proceeded to rinse.

"Does it still bother you?"

He shrugged. "Not as much. The wrappings just chafe and dry my skin out."

She assessed his back, reached her hand out, and paused. "Do you want me to scratch it for you?"

He hesitated a mere beat of a moment. "Perhaps. As long as you don't leave claw marks and draw blood." He grinned again. "As much as you'd like to at times, I suspect."

"I'm pretty good at it. I won't break the skin."

"How would you know?"

"I know how I'd like it," she said.

He seemed to ponder her suggestion. She fully expected him to refuse, when he made a slight incline of his head.

Scarlett pushed his back forward and dried it off with the towel.

"I'll be right back."

She walked to the diminutive kitchen and retrieved the jar of Florida water and liniment mix Dilcey always kept stocked there. Rhett was still bent over when she returned. She surveyed the large expanse of tanned skin and took a deep breath.

First, she spread a layer of the oil and citrus-scented water across his back and rubbed it in. Then she began.

Lightly she passed over his skin, barely touching at first, the way she had with Suellen when they were children during those nights that got too warm and nearly unbearably humid.

Using the ghost of touches mixed with more sensate ones, she ran her fingers up the back of his neck, tracing the fine hairs with her index finger and patting the skin with the pads of her fingers and tips of her nails, kitten-like.

She used an unpredictable combination of dancing grazes, intermingled with stronger strokes and scratches, designed to send shivers and innocent thrills, just as she remembered. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the process for a moment, running her nails up his sides where she knew he was a little ticklish, then down to where the water ended around his waist.

Emboldened by his near-reverent silence, she spoke.

"Tell me if you want me to bear down with my nails more," she said. His response, somewhere between a growl and a moan, made her belly clench. She applied pressure, and he groaned again.

"This is not the way most women scratch a man's back." His voice, muffled against the porcelain of the tub, still managed to ring out clearly.

She dropped her hands into the water. Of course, she'd done it the wrong way. God only knows how many highly experienced women had performed this task for him before.

"I didn't say I don't like it," he turned his head around to look at her the moment her hands left his body.

Was that disappointment in his eyes? Surely not.

"And I most certainly didn't say to stop."

"Don't you think you've had enough back-scratching for one morning?" She returned tartly as she circled to the front of the tub and leaned slightly against the dresser.

He laughed, and she saw something bobbing in the water. Something half-mast and ... rising.

Rhett smirked at her widened eyes. "Don't worry, Scarlett, it's an involuntary response, I can control it. I lived with you long enough."

Ah, but weren't you living with her, Rhett, when you were supposed to be living with me?

She opened her mouth to speak but he beat her to it.

"How did you learn to do that?"

"Suellen and I used to scratch each other's backs, when we were little and we couldn't sleep or were too hot. If you do it that way it makes you shiver and cools you off."

He smiled slightly so she went on.

"Sometimes I would scratch the soldiers' backs at the hospital if Mrs. Merriweather wasn't sniffing around."

"You scratched soldiers' backs?" The smile left his face, and a somewhat sour expression replaced it.

"Just the ones I knew, the ones that were my friends and beaux before the last of the Home Guard were called into battle." The ones I saw dead and dying a mere week or so later. The ones I flirted and danced with and loved, a little.

He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"Yes, well, we had no painkillers, and it seemed to take their minds off the war. They needed the distraction of it as much as anything. It wasn't exactly proper. I didn't do it that often. It was Melly's idea," she added quickly.

"We had no medicine—it seemed to help. We'd rub liniment into their hands if they had hands. They were dying—"

"I understand." His face set in deep lines for a moment before he lifted his eyes to hers again.

"What did you do last night after I left?"

"I went to bed. It was late."

"Did you go straight to sleep?"

She frowned and shook her head. What was he after? "Pretty much."

"Because I thought I heard something. I rested on the sleeping porch for a while, and I heard a noise, a human noise that sounded very familiar, one I had heard before, a few years ago. It was quite similar to a sound you once made."

Her brow crinkled. "What kind of sound? Whatever do you mean?"

"I think you know what I mean."

Scarlett blanched. The windows had been open, with the sleeping porch not so far below. Could he have heard me?

She saw the smirk in his eyes. Yes, hell, he heard. "I think you flatter yourself."

"I think you just told on yourself."

"I thought you forgot."

"I did. And then I remembered."

Sweat gathered at her hairline, coupled with the steam from the bath.

"You remembered?" she all but croaked. "How?"

"Something jogged my memory in our conversation. You were highly, er, descriptive, after all. And then when I heard you cry out in that oh-so-distinctive tone–"

"How much?" she whispered, trying to keep the frantic note out of her voice, although she had no idea why she would panic. Didn't she want him to understand? "How much do you remember?"

"All the important parts, I assure you," he whispered back.

"Oh." She slumped. He would use this against her somehow, she just knew it. She experienced a brief moment of despair before practicality set in.

'Well, I always thought you remembered."

He raised an eyebrow again.

"I always thought you recalled more than you admitted. The day you came back, you know, and took Bonnie away," she gave him a swift glance, and was rewarded with a blank stare, "you said if I didn't get her packed in an hour what you had done to me that night would be mild in comparison to what you would do with a buggy whip.

"So I think you did recall, even then, or you wouldn't have been able to threaten me with worse." She tried to keep the emotion out of her voice, and with a little effort, she was able to.

He sighed. "Do you have to remember everything I have ever said?"

"I have my faults, but I can damn well hear, Rhett."

"You don't have to take every word I utter so literally."

"It was not a metaphor,'' she snorted. "Your meaning was very clear."

I forgave you immediately. Don't you understand? I tried to tell you last night. I forgave you the minute it happened.

"You were in my thrall that night." Darkness laced the statement. Darkness and something more that she dared not name. Something that put her heart on alarm.

"I was rough and may have hurt you, on purpose at first, but by your own admission, it gave you freedom from all that tripe they teach ladies."

"Yes there was that," she said slowly, then lifted her chin. "But also—"

"Also?"

"Also," she swallowed.

This conversation is not for the faint of heart.

"Also, I just liked it." She nearly bit the words out, but at least she said them. She met his gaze for a brief moment before jerking her eyes away.

A surge of water sounded as he grabbed the sides of the tub to rise—more quickly than he should have been able to—and stood up completely, dark Neptune from the sea. She startled and stepped back. It was a little much to take, all that flesh-driven displacement of water, especially after such a —drought.

"Scarlett."

"Scarlett, look at me."

Reluctantly, she raised her eyes.

"There is nothing wrong with finding that which gives you great pleasure, be it back scratching or—something else. It is remarkable, for a woman who was reared as you were, that you did."

The intensity of his gaze became a little hard to take, and she turned her head away.

"Scarlett," his voice deepened.

She looked into his eyes and saw a trace of remorse and more than a smidge of pure want.

"You learned valuable things from it, did you not?"

She sniffed. "You weren't trying to teach me anything but a lesson."

"There was more. Think, Scarlett, just last night what you said to me. There was more."

"I am well aware. I'm the one who breached the subject, wasn't I?"

He reached over and squeezed her hand for a moment before letting it go.

"Yes. and you should take pride in it, in all of it."

Had he ever squeezed her hand before? It shouldn't affect her as much as it did. But oh, how it did.

"I do not take pride," she rolled her eyes at him, but then sobered and fiddled with the cotton sash of her dress before meeting his gaze again.

"It is more than unseemly to discuss the matter." She smoothed the sash down and let her hand drop. "But I am weary of not understanding such subjects, and who could help me with this more than you?" She managed to keep her tone only slightly mocking. "And then you were there, I was there…" she drifted off.

"Progress." He gave her that new bug-look again.

She became decidedly more uncomfortable the longer he stood uncovered before her, but she wouldn't lose this moment. She couldn't. Not to cowardice.

Wordlessly she grabbed the linen towel.

The water droplets running down his skin had cooled somewhat, as well as the room. She leaned forward to let him brace himself on her as he stepped out of the tub. Keeping her eyes averted, she held the towel out, wondering if he wanted her to wrap him in it as Mammy had wrapped her as a child, when he chuckled as he took it from her.

She followed him into the bedroom, watching as he cinched the towel tightly around his waist. So very tightly.

"Pray have a seat." He indicated one of the two chairs by the fireplace, retrieved a folded newspaper from his valise, and seated himself across from her.

"Onto a more pressing topic."

He slid the Charleston paper, folded to her advertisement, across the small table between them. She recognized 'The Evie Bee Foundation' circled in black.

"Care to explain?"

"Would you mind putting on some manner of clothing?"

"Don't try to stall, Scarlett."

She'd known she would have to face this sometime so she lifted her chin. "I needed to do something."

"Not a publicity ploy? That would be low, even for you."

"No," she stated firmly but quietly. "No, I'd done it before I even knew of such things. Leif suggested we find a local charity to support, and I needed to get the word out that these funds were available.

"I would not use Bonnie or besmirch her memory. They are small loans and grants, Rhett."

His eyes were on her as intently as they had ever been. "Enterprising Women of Atlanta."

"Yes. for women going into business, who want to engage in industry. Women who are like I was, who are still struggling to survive, in many cases without husbands, or prospects. They need to go to work but have very few options."

"Not many people would go to the lengths you did to be successful, particularly not gently bred ones of the female persuasion. Yet, you always held those women who would in contempt." He inclined his head. "Elaborate as to your motives, if you will."

He didn't seem angry, for which she silently thanked God.

She stood up and walked to the window, gathering her thoughts, before turning around to face him.

"I've dealt with the loss of many people in my life. So many. But it was different with her, with my child. Everyone always said it was much harder when it was your own baby, and I learned quickly what they meant. She didn't get to live her life, and she was so full of life."

Scarlett walked back to the chair and sat on the edge of it.

"I was grieving for her, for Melly, and for you. I could do nothing about you and Melly. Besides, everyone had known and loved Melly, and she would always be remembered.

"Somehow, Melly's death was less tragic. She was an adult and understood the risks. But Bonnie—afterward, I felt like I was holding the edges of a deep wound together, putting pressure on it to staunch the flow of blood, but it wouldn't close over, not the least little bit without needle and thread. I needed to find the needle and thread," she slowed at the pain in his eyes.

"She is gone." Scarlett swallowed. "Never to be here in her physical form again, and nothing can be done about that. Some days it doesn't seem real. And other days …" she trailed off before speaking again.

"The distractions of everyday life, of going through the motions and focusing on survival, as I'd done before to get through hardship and tragedy, weren't enough.

"I'd never felt this way. I wanted to move on, I wanted to be a part of life, not watch it go by. But I didn't want to leave her behind. And I needed to do something beyond–beyond the pain, beyond my hurt. Do you understand?"

His face said that he did. Heartbreakingly.

Her mind went back to those dark days immediately following the tragedy. Back to those dark weeks, the bitter months, the hopeless days, when something felt so wrong with the world she only left her bed because she had to tote that weary load no one else could …

"I'd put back money for her after she was born, just like I had for Wade and Ella, and I didn't stop after she passed. When Leif suggested I sponsor a charity, well, it was as if I'd found a use for it.

"It felt like atonement and comforted me. To know I was doing something for my little girl, even though it was too late to do so many things I wanted to do for her."

He blinked.

"You put money back for my daughter? Why?"

"Because she was also my daughter. I carried her in my belly for nine months before you even became involved."

"Oh, I was involved."

"You are so predictable sometimes, Rhett," she huffed.

"She would have never needed your money."

"Perhaps not, but she would have had it. I sacrificed many things to make money. And I wanted her to know that she was one of the reasons I did. She'd always had your fortune, but what if you and she butted heads one day, and you refused to give her funds."

"It would have been for her own good if I refused."

Scarlett let that one pass, even though the acid words hovered on her lips.

"She would have been a strong woman. We both know that. It seemed more than appropriate for a foundation in her memory to help other strong women. And perhaps, help weaker women to become stronger.

"Bonnie had a generous heart, Rhett, and this way, her heart, and her spirit can go on. It's the only thing I can do for her now, and I intend to do it well. We need more women in commerce, and General Hampton fully supports the idea, which helps. It's time for this."

Rhett frowned. "Hampton again. You and I need to discuss exactly what you've uncovered for him so that I can determine the danger it presents."

Scarlett frowned right back. "I have been entrusted with confidential information."

"You asked me to join you yesterday," he pointed out.

Yesl, before the danger presented itself, she'd asked that. She'd imagined them collaborating deep into the night, his shirt sleeves rolled up, neckwear askew, having those old conversations, engaging in the particular brand of camaraderie she'd only known with him.

She had not imagined turning over classified documents and him just running off with the information on his own and using it at his will.

"I know," she replied. "I'll think about it."

He gave her a measuring glance, then appeared to change tactics.

"I'd like to see the foundation paperwork, as it is in my daughter's honor, if not her known name."

Scarlett had expected that and nodded. "Of course."

"If it meets my approval, I would like to contribute."

She grimaced. "No."

She spoke hurriedly at the ire dawning on his face. "Well, not money. You can contribute your efforts if you would like. But I won't take your money. The money has to come from me, or other women in business. It is the basis of the organization, and I won't be swayed from it."

He gave her a scathing scowl. "You know better than most that money is money."

"Yes, and you've always lorded yours over everyone. Don't look at me like that. You know it's true. You haven't put in an honest day's labor in years other than 'checking on your investments,' whatever that means. As mean and smart and ruthless as you are, I can't imagine anyone stealing from you, absent a death wish."

"I'll not have my daughter's foundation go underfunded."'

"It will not be," Scarlett said. "It may take a little time, but I will make sure of it. It must be clear that the funds are from respectable sources."

"Do you think your money is unsullied?"

"It's less sullied than yours. I have been on the up and up in my business dealings for the last several years. And I have to draw the line somewhere."

He started to speak again but she stopped him.

"Rhett, it is important to me. Let me do it my way, just for a little while. It is helping me."

"What kind of work would you have me contribute?"

"You don't have to do anything. That's part of the reason why I named it the way I did, so you wouldn't have to feel like you were being left out."

"Or better yet, so you could keep me out."

"Did I not just tell you it would be fine with me if you volunteered?" She resisted the urge to slam her hands down on the table, instead taking a deep breath.

"You could help the women with planning their businesses in a consultant-type position. Mrs. Bonnell is our first applicant, and I have already approved the funds.

"She wants to open a haberdashery that caters to the merchant class as well as gentility. And she's good, Rhett. She makes the most imaginative waistcoats. Both Leif and Tate, as well as Ennis King, have purchased several pieces from her already.

"But she doesn't know a thing about how to price, or make a profit. You could help her with that."

"It would be much simpler for me to hire another consultant."

"Of course, it would, but then you wouldn't be taking an active role," she sighed.

"Is this a way to keep me here?"

"No, are you not listening? You don't have to do anything at all. But you could help. You are so skilled at knowing how to turn a profit, and you do know men's fashion," she gave him a searching look. "It would help you to staunch the blood flow, as well." This last part she imparted in a quiet tone. "It would be—" she searched for the word, "insincere to do anything less than be directly involved, in my opinion."

At his dubious expression, she rallied her spirit and lifted her chin. "I'm not going to let you merely toss a check at our daughter's foundation, and then resume your quest to rut yourself stupid around the world like a mangy old tomcat."

"Ah, so we get down to the meat of it." His lips twitched. "That's a surprisingly accurate summation, Scarlett, although I think you have missed a few of the finer points regarding my own skill and particular brand of rut —"

"Spare me." Her eyes could have cut glass.

He lifted a hand. "As it is, due to unforeseen events, regarding my current physical standing, the so-called rutting quest you refer to so delicately has been put on medical hiatus."

They regarded one another for a split second before she gave a dainty huff.

"Whatever will you do? You'll be like that old rooster we ate at Aunt Pitty's during the war. Pining for your harem, and Uncle Peter will have to wring your neck." A small, spiteful smile curved her lips as she imagined Uncle Peter doing just that.

He was watching her again. "I have been considering a more traditional arrangement."

Traditional? A mistress or a new wife. Panic crossed her face.

He seemed to become thoughtful for a moment, then rose and walked to his valise, dropping that cursed towel. She looked away. With difficulty. He pulled out his underdrawers and something else she couldn't make out.

He pulled on the drawers. And nothing else.

"I brought this to show you," he emphasized the words as he returned to his seat, his chest bare and calling to her. Dear God.

He placed a box on the table and removed a small candle, not much bigger than one used for a birthday cake.

"This is a prostitute's candle."

"Why in the world—"

"Humor me." He struck a match and lit it.

"When you pay them a visit, they light one as soon as you enter the bedroom. When it is out, your time is up."

Fascinated, in spite of herself. "How long does it burn?"

"Five to seven minutes. So the time has just started."

Silence ensued.

"A great deal can happen in that time," Scarlett observed.

"A great deal does."

"She lights it while you are still dressed?"

He nodded.

Comprehension dawned. "Is that why you're so fast and skilled with corset strings?"

"Yes." He smirked. "Well, the candle made me learn to work quickly, as well as the fact that, in other situations when I was much younger and couldn't pay, a husband might be sleeping down the hall."

They were quiet, both lost in imaginings until the candle blew out. "And now it is over."

"What if the man hasn't," her face reddened as she lost her nerve.

"That's the point. He's aware of the candle, and so he paces himself accordingly, as does his partner. And how can I put it delicately—a whore's bedroom is not a place a man wants to linger."

"You've lingered plenty, and you could always buy more candles." She failed to hide the accusatory tone.

He shrugged.

"Sometimes. Or so it would seem. Some places cater to longer assignations, yet most of the time, the purpose has been served with the candle. These institutions provide a service, a relief of pressures, so the man does not feel unfulfilled. They don't care to waste time."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"It is against my better judgment to proceed, but my better judgment hasn't served us that well in the past, has it? If you use it against me there will be repercussions, and I'm only going to say all this once." The grim warning in his tone did not go unheeded.

"When I left two years ago I didn't explain these matters fully, but I think now I should. Because clearly, despite your attempt at expressing nonchalance and ladylike aversion, you want to know."

Once again, there was no sense in hiding what he'd already figured out. She nodded for him to continue.

"There is a possibility I made a bigger matter of my peccadillos than they actually were. To even the score by making you think there was more to it.

"I am not saying I didn't indulge; I did, and I did plenty. It was a lunge for escape, procrastination in its lowest form. A man whose beautiful bride does not want his touch, a beautiful bride he loved and pursued for years, might feel the need to reassure himself. And others.

"When I left I told you I wanted to find peace and charm. But it eluded me. Eluded with a vengeance, one might say. As if I didn't deserve those things. Perhaps I didn't, after all I had done."

He took a sip of the now-cold coffee and scowled. "A wound will find its salve. And so I turned back to that which almost killed me before. In short, drinking. And then I added whoring, to make it interesting."

Scarlett winced before she managed to don her pancake face. She could tell by his expression, he wasn't fooled.

"You spoke of distractions before. I want you to understand that's all they were."

"Pardon?"

"The travel became that way, the gambling also. Not enjoyable as they had once been, but more just a way to fill the days. But mostly, the brothels provided the diversion I sought the most. The lurid, never-ending party and pursuit of pleasure started to feel like sitting in a well-worn old chair. But with a hint of adventure. What would I win that night, in this foreign town, and what would I buy myself at the end? A new body, if not a new experience.

"A tiny game of chance, but with my physical self, if you will. Intoxicating, especially if one is already intoxicated. "

Scarlett crossed her arms over her chest. "I think I've heard enough."

"Not yet. As a plantation owner, you are aware of the law of diminishing returns?" She nodded in response.

"It turns out my accident—and subsequent abstinence—from alcohol and other, er, activities has been quite fortuitous. I find myself forced to face a truth that's been coming for some time.

"The fact is that the risks are no longer worth the meager rewards." His mind went back to that Caribbean trip, and a painful and rather humiliating afternoon spent naked from the waist down with an old friend, a knife, and creepy crawly insects taking up residence in his bleeding, itching loins.

Not to mention Dr. Hawthorne's words against worst-case scenarios. "To put it bluntly, bought women have lost their appeal as of late. I have pushed my luck as far as I can push it.

"A gambler knows when to walk away, and it's not nearly as fun as it once was. I've been lucky so far, but have no desire to join the No-Nose Club."

Her brows drew together. "The what?"

He waved a hand in her direction. "It's an old club in London where people who had lost their noses used to meet."

"Why did they lose their noses?"

"It's immaterial. To vice. Much as the founder of the club expressed, I have no wish to sacrifice myself to the god Priapus."

Once again he waved a hand at her confused expression. "Never mind that. As I said, perhaps this break was needed to reflect. Which is why I mentioned the more traditional arrangement."

And there it is. He's telling me he's going to get a divorce and marry again, or more likely take a proper mistress, perhaps a young, beautiful woman who dresses and acts like a lady. Scarlett felt her throat constrict and her heartbeat quicken.

"Where would you pursue such a thing?"

"Here."

"Here? In Atlanta?" He wouldn't. "With her?"

"Not her. That is done."

She felt a small sensation of relief before the panic returned.

"You're going to establish another mistress in Atlanta? Why?" It made no sense to her. He didn't even live here anymore.

"Good god, woman," he muttered. "If you ever learned to take a hint, I might just stroke out."

"Well, if you ever expressed yourself clearly to me," she shot back, irritated beyond measure, "I might just join you."

Rhett paused a moment before continuing in an even tone.

"I have spoken of other women—Belle in particular—to keep you from seeing how I really felt, and to hurt you. I have even spoken admiringly of her because I knew it hurt you. We spoke of taking pleasure in pain before. Ironically, we do so again.

"In German, they call it schadenfreude, to take joy in damage done to another. Not my finest moment. I am sure you've felt it before."

Begrudgingly, she lifted a shoulder. He knew her too well.

"Like the armchair I previously mentioned, my arrangement with her was agreeable, and congenial. Comfortable. We had known each other for years, and she'd helped me through the times years ago when I lived in—what did you call it? Oh yes. Squalor." He gave a dry chuckle.

"And then later," he met her eyes, "later, I helped her. It's what friends do."

We used to be friends, Rhett. I just never saw how I could help you back. You never seemed to need a thing from me—save one.

He sighed, watching her. Then rose again and crossed the room, the underdrawers hiding nothing much more than the towel.

He returned from his valise and held out his hand to display a large, perfectly rounded aqua-colored stone.

"It's beautiful," she said, reaching out to touch it lightly. "Is it some type of jewel?"

"You asked me to tell you what I was like as a boy," he said. "I used to hunt for treasure on Sullivan's Island with my grandfather. I'd find gold coins and silver pieces, but by far my favorite was sea glass. This was the most perfect piece, my prize."

She nodded, her eyes on his face. "I've heard of such before."

"I kept them all in a wooden box. On my last trip to Charleston, my mother returned it to me. My father had kept it, unbeknownst to her. He died with it under his bed."

She nodded again, her eyes wide. "So he did care—"

"A little, apparently. There at the end. Not enough." He placed the glass in her hand. "Roll it around a bit." She complied.

"The most remarkable facet of sea glass is its edges. It starts out broken, and sharp, and can slice you as deeply as only glass can. But time softens it, rounds it, and you don't think about how it was once so dangerous and cut so harshly. Only its soft edges and the clarity of its beauty remains."

Rhett took the glass from her and put it back in his valise. "I'm dry enough to wrap now." He approached the bed and seated himself on the edge.

Lost in reverence, Scarlett stood rooted to the spot for a moment before she retrieved the muslin strips and started wrapping in silence.

He raised his arms to give her access and she glanced at the dark hair revealed. As a bride she used to place her head on his chest and would sometimes roll toward his underarms, burying her nose in his musk.

Once more, she tilted her head and surreptitiously breathed in his scent; under the soap, from deep within. It came, sharp and primal, brazen, making her eyelids droop and somewhere south of her belly clench this time.

Scarlett glanced up and met his amused gaze. He'd caught her. For some reason, she didn't care. She waited for the inevitable cutting or derisive comment.

"So the back scratching was Miss Melly's idea, eh?" he said instead.

She snorted. "Yes. You know Melly, she could bend the rules and get away with it like no one else, even though I was much better at the task." She gave him a sly glance and then frowned. "I suppose you think it's all right because she did it, don't you?"

He ignored her, still watching. She worked as quickly as possible. Couldn't let the day get away from her, as much as she might want to linger on the task.

"Speaking of which, I'm going to run some errands this morning and ask about Archie around town," he said after a beat.

Her fingers faltered for a moment at the mention of that name.

"Well, when you ask around, be sure to inquire after the girl who looked and dressed like me," she remarked matter-of-factly, and she could have sworn his stomach trembled at her words. Or perhaps, her touch …

She had to concentrate on keeping her own hands steady, just as before, but she managed it.

Finished, she straightened her back and resisted the urge to stretch and crack it. Time to get on with her morning. The others would already be at the hotel, preparing for the egg roll.

"Do you need help shaving?"

"I think I can take care of it today. Tomorrow I may be too tired." He grinned, of course.

She walked to the door. "See you in a few minutes." She hesitated. "Thank you for showing me the sea glass." Before he could respond she moved quickly up the path.

Her children were already dressed and seated when she arrived at breakfast, Wade, full of his plans with Liam and Ella nearly vibrating with anticipation at the festivities ahead.

They chatted for a few minutes before Rhett joined them, shaved, coiffed, and dressed, remarkably quickly for a man so infirm he couldn't get himself out of a tub. Scarlett narrowed her eyes at him briefly before the breakfast talk resumed.

"Did you have a nightmare last night, Mother?" Wade inquired, guileless concern evident in his voice. "I'd cracked my window open, and I thought I heard someone call out not long after you retired. It sounded like it might have been a hurt pet, though."

He wrinkled his brow. "Or a wild animal. It reminded me of that milk-sick calf's bellow, the one that kept on and on about it at Tara last time we went."

Scarlett choked and spit out her coffee, just a little. Rhett had just taken a bite of muffin and struggled for a mere moment with it, his eyes positively aglee the entire time.

Wade continued, oblivious. "I started to go outside, but since Uncle Rhett was there on the porch, I decided he could deal with it."

Rhett full-on coughed then, laughing openly, gripping his ribs as he did so. Scarlett glared at him and he settled down. Minutely.

"Good call, Wade," he said, patting the boy on the back.

"Mother doesn't have nightmares anymore, Wade, haven't you noticed?" Ella chimed in, kicking her feet against her chair as she spoke.

"Not since we met Mr. Leif and Mr. Tate and Babette, and now she has friends, and all the changes," her voice trailed off as Rhett's exultant demeanor visibly diminished.

"I have to get going," Scarlett pushed back from the table. "Wade, you and Ella come along."

Rhett leaned over and patted Ella's hair into place, though it didn't need it. Prissy had done an exceptional job with the braids and curls, and Scarlett hoped it would last the day.

He winked at the little girl, who smiled back. "Let the children finish their breakfast and catch up with me, I'll drop them off on my way out. Also, I need to help Wade straighten out that cravat."

Wade of the Crooked Cravat blushed and nodded.

Scarlett agreed. As she stood to leave the room, Rhett pushed back his chair.

"Allow me to walk you to the carriage," he said.

As soon as they were outside alone, he stopped her. "Names," he said under his breath.

His tone had an urgency she couldn't ignore.

"Give me the names of the men you've caught in shenanigans, the ones who Hampton might have contacted already," he pressed.

He seemed oddly earnest.

Scarlett was torn. She looked back to the big house, thinking of the little ones inside. Her eyes then traveled to the guest house, and she reflected on their morning conversation. Something about the honesty and candidness, or maybe it was the lack of animosity, reminded her once again of the times that felt so long past, those precious, precious times when he had shared her burdens.

She lowered her voice and revealed all that she felt she could.

OOOOooooOOOOoooo

IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT: Fanfiction dot net has turned off everyone's email notifications. You have to go into your account and opt back in. And you'll have to do this every 90 days. This means NO story updates, new story notifications from writers you follow, reviews, or PMs. You will get notice of nothing unless you update your account. It's been this way for several weeks. You may have missed updates already so check your account.

I am trying to get the word out because this could be disastrous for this fandom. Many people don't check into the site. Stories could die on the vine with no readership. Pass this info on if you can, please. People have suggested I move to AO3, and I may eventually.

Fun facts:

Prostitute candles were a thing. That's all I have to say about that. Ha.

The No-Nose Club may have been a hoax, but it was definitely a published hoax. So many people had syphilis it was unreal. Feel free to google it.

Birthday candles—Our current tradition of celebrating our birthday with a round cake full of candles came from the 18th-century German tradition called Kinderfeste. Each candle represented each year of a person's life — plus one additional candle in the center to represent the hope of another year. - The Columbia Tribune

From what I've read the custom became popular in America around 1873, just in time for this story.

Please don't google the Greek god Priapus at work. Or around children. You don't want the images. He was the protector of vegetation, and fertility, and most importantly in this chapter, (and for the images), male private parts. Said parts are often depicted as—what word shall I use here—turgid will do. Also, out of proportion. Way out. Ahem. Probably need to change the rating on this story to T at least. I'll get on that.

A/N - thank you, my lovely readers, for your infinite patience. Another chapter, perhaps two if I split it, is in the works for later this week. A reward for your kindness and support of this little tale:)

Never fear, Leif is on his way, as is Solange. And Scarlett, once she mulls over her conversation with Rhett, might just have reason to get a little, er, miffed, let us say.

Please check my notes at the top of Chapter 1 for more important information. I will move it here eventually, but right now I am tired and must rest!

As always, I would love to hear from you. Especially since I am now quite worried about notifications. Take care of yourselves! Peace, misscyn