The moonlight streamed through the chinks in the lace curtains as they fluttered in the cool breeze from the open windows. The room was dark and the big bed upon which she lay was bathed in the diffuse glow from the small shaded lamp that stood atop a vanity in the far corner.
Her fingers sought and lifted the plush coverlet in which she lay wrapped. With a soft sigh, she brought it up around her head and buried herself in it contentedly. A glowing warmth stole across her languid form and her breathing relaxed once more into the gentle rhythm of deep sleep.
The room was tastefully decorated in delicate shades of pastels and the richly elegant furniture bespoke of the carefully cultivated taste of the owners who had put much thought in the intricacies of blending culture with practicality.
There had been plenty of visitors to this room before and many had expressed an even deeper appreciation of the charming allure that the house in general tended to evoke in them than the lone sleeping figure.
However, very few ever came close to having the favor returned. For there were none that could match the excellence and grandeur that the master of the house possessed when it came to upper-crust affluence and savoir faire.
It was a powerful name that was etched in the engraved crest that adorned the massive wooden doors which faced the sprawling thousand plus acres of lush grounds surrounding the grand mansion. One that carried with it the force of rank and nobility whose distinction and eminence could be traced back to hierarchical tiers of established aristocracy.
It was also this name that was much feared and respected among the echelons of the old gentry and wealthy planters of the South and that which invoked more than its share of admiration and envy alike, in the hearts of the rich and the noble.
So, it came as nothing short of a disquieting and unpleasant shock to the decorous and stately Charleston society when they learned of the scandalous news.
Of late, it had become common knowledge that the name had begun to crop up more and more frequently amongst the cut-throat dredges of aspiring and rough-shod fortune hunters who swarmed Southwards in droves.
These were a breed of angry young men. Bold, ruthless and uncaring for the law of the land, they forced their way into a society of genteel people that knew neither guile nor treachery.
The welcoming geniality that was a trademark of the south made them easy prey to the deceit and duplicity of these desperate men. And the slow contagion of toxic perfidy and deception seeped like a poison among the simple folk, defiling and vitiating the beliefs and standards of southern hospitality, until with sufficient time and enough abuse, it would eventually, change the way the South would look at the rest of the world.
What struck the banded gentry mute with disbelief and left the tongues of their decorous ladies wagging, was that it was not the famed archetype of the name but that of its egregious successor that made its scandalous rounds among these dangerous and lawless men….leaving a burgeoning trail of suppressed fear and alarm in its wake.
For the rightful legatee of the name was Rufus Kenneth Butler.
But to his bitter regret, it was shared in equal measure by the oldest of his progeny. It was the darkening shadow of this scion of the Butler family that kept Rufus awake at nights as he brooded on measures sufficiently harsh to chastise and humiliate. After all, he needed to set an example for the other two siblings who also carried his name.
The daughter was exactly what Rufus had hoped for. A sweet charming child who had inherited her mother's placid calmness and quiet nature even if she lacked her refined beauty and cultivated charm. He knew with a conviction borne out of deep instinct that the pride and dignity of the Butler name would be an inheritance that Rosemary would never cease to discredit. Even at the cost of her own happiness if it ever came to be. His daughter was the mold that was cast to be a role model for Southern propriety and etiquette and of her, he had no complaints.
But his sons. They were a different matter entirely.
The oldest of his offspring was his cross to bear.
Far surpassing the children his age, the boy had been quick to advance in his studies and demonstrated an aptitude to master the much-coveted southern skills of riding, hunting and shooting with a sharpness that propelled him to into the advanced ranks of West Point. And at a pace that had alarmed even the best sharp shooters in the country, let alone the South!
But with the flair and savvy that came naturally to him, was the added willfulness and rebellion that spelt trouble even as early as the tender age of four.
Always the first to challenge convention and to break with tradition and decorum, Young Rhett had a streak of insurgence in him that threatened the rigid principles and fundamentalism and that his father strove to sanction and enforce on the Butler household. Not one to conform easily to the deep-rooted tenets and decrees borne from an aristocracy entrenched in convention, he had grown up spending much of his childhood and now his youth under the heavy paternal shadow of deep disapproval and near-constant disgrace.
As to the other, Rufus felt a twinge of sadness, even pity. Raydon Butler was his favorite. The future looked promising with Raydon. Both brothers had inherited Rufus's tall stature and dark good looks but there the resemblance ceased for Raydon loved to please. And Raydon loved to please his father most of all.
