A/N Thanks to everyone who's reviewed and everyone who's reading. Hope you enjoy.
She was alive and only a few miles from him. They both were. His heart swelled at the thought of seeing the woman he loved again after nearly a year apart. Scarlett, and their new baby. Please let her be there, he thought to himself as he rode through the misty Irish countryside. Let this agony finally be over. He reined in his horse to a more sensible pace. If he killed himself jumping a fence he would not be laughing at the irony.
What sort of reception he could expect from her on his arrival Rhett could only guess. He doubted she knew he had received her letter. Surely she wouldn't have sent it to him if she believed he was married to Anne, if she were convinced he thought her such a bad mother that he would come and take the child from her. He had accused her of being a bad parent on more than one occasion, told her a cat was a better mother than she. He winced at the thought. From the tone of her letter to him, he knew that things would be different this time around. She loved this baby and had wanted it, which was more than she could say for any of their other children, save perhaps the one she had miscarried on the stairs.
He slowed his horse to walking when he entered the town of Ballyhara. Lights burned in the windows of the newly white-washed homes and shops that lined the wide main street. Rhett quickly dismounted when he saw a woman exit one of the small stores, removed his hat and went over to ask the way to the Big House. Once pointed in the right direction, he quickly climbed back onto the large animal and headed off towards the place Scarlett called her home.
Now, after weeks of worrying and imagining the worst, she would soon be in front of him and he had no idea what he would say to her.
Hello darling, I've come to fetch you home? Somehow he doubted that would go down well.
Rhett wanted nothing more than to pull her into his embrace and kiss her and never let her go. But there was also that long-harboured fear that she would once more reject him that still niggled at the back of his mind. What if she had changed her mind in the past few weeks? What if the thoughts of a dying woman were not the same as those of that same woman no longer facing death? People confessed all manner of things on their deathbeds, and in his experience it was usually the truth. But that didn't mean you wouldn't retract it later if you found yourself recovered.
No, he reprimanded himself, that wasn't possible. He must stop these ridiculous thoughts from intruding on his mind. She loved him. He'd been certain of it in Charleston when he read her letter, and he was certain of it now. That depth of emotion didn't just go away overnight.
She loved him.
--
Rhett rounded a corner on the country lane and a large gray stone building came into view. This must be the Ballyhara Big House, the property she had purchased for herself with his ill-gotten gains. Her pay-off for leaving Charleston when the season was over and never interfering in his life again. At least she had put the money to good use, he mused. Her taste in architecture had certainly improved, although it wasn't as if she had actually built the place. Had she designed it herself, he was quite sure it wouldn't have been nearly as elegant a structure as it was.
His heart thumped loudly in his chest as he entered her land through large iron gates, and he knew it was not the result of the ride over. He cantered up the wide driveway to the front of the house and swinging his leg over, jumped down from his horse. He tossed the reins to a young man who had appeared from the side of the building.
"Is your mistress at home? I should very much like to see her." The lad pointed him towards the imposing front door, and led the horse away without word.
Rhett turned and, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, walked lightly up the wide front steps and took hold of the doorknocker. He tapped it three times and waited.
When he received no response he repeated the action. Perhaps nobody was at home after all. He turned and walked back down the steps, intending to try around the side of the house, when he heard the door open.
"Can I help you sir?" came a distinctly familiar southern voice from behind him. His heart somersaulted in his chest.
"I certainly hope you can," he replied and turning around he removed his hat with a smile. There she was, standing before him, alive and looking remarkably well despite the fact that she was dressed in black. Her cheeks were slighly flushed, her figure perhaps a little fuller than the last time he had seen her. She was beautiful.
"Oh dear God, Rhett!" Scarlett gasped, visibly paling as she realised who it was that stood in front of her. "You can't be here," she whispered, then promptly retreated back into the house, slamming the door in his face. He could hear the key turn in the lock.
How could he have expected anything else?
--
"Scarlett?" She heard him call through the door.
No, no, no! Oh, God, she groaned, her back firmly pressed against the heavy oak as if she were trying to barricade it against his entry.
She felt sick, and her knees gave out as she slowly slid down the door until she found herself sitting on the ground. She had to remind herself to breathe, had to will her brain to work. How could he be here? How the devil could he have found her? She'd been so careful to cover her tracks, and yet there he was, standing large as life on her front porch.
He knows about the baby, he's come to take her from me. He found out somehow, Rhett Butler always knows everything, she thought in terror, before strengthening anger flowed through her. She wouldn't let him. She'd do whatever was necessary. He was a dangerous man to tangle with, but so was a mother protecting her child. Oh, I'll kill him before I let him take her from me!
Suddenly a horrifying thought occurred to her. Could he have read the letter? He must have. It hadn't crossed her mind since shortly after Cat was born. She had been so preoccupied with the baby, but she knew Mrs Fitzpatrick had put it away for her in the bureau. The same bureau she had sent all the other correspondence for safe-keeping that she had written during her month-long convalescence in bed. There had been a couple of vaguely written newsletters that told of nothing in particular due to her fear of discovery, as well as Christmas cards for her family and few remaining friends. Could Steven have inadvertantly taken the letter with him when he departed for America last month and sent it off once he'd arrived in Savannah? She had asked that her mail be posted there so that she would remain untraceable.
Scarlett scrambled up from the floor, her head swimming and her heart thundering loudly in her ears, and ran into the sitting room. She opened the desk and desperately rifled through the muddle of papers. Oh lord, please let it be here, she prayed, but she could not find what she sought. Why was everything in such a mess anyhow? Damn Mrs Fitz! How could a housekeeper be so disorderly? She looked back over her shoulder and let out a groan as again she heard his knock at the door.
Calm down and think rationally, she instructed herself as she leant heavily on the desk.
Maybe he didn't know. Maybe it was simply a coincidence. He was in Ireland on some sort of business and had heard she was living there. He had come by to say hello, perhaps offer an olive branch or just see how she was getting on.
But it was almost Christmas, a voice reminded her. Surely he wouldn't be doing business at this time of year. Unless he had his mousy little wife in tow. Anger surged through her at that thought. She took a calming breath, trying to stop her mind from racing. What in heaven's name was she going to do? She couldn't just lock him out and hope he'd eventually take the hint and leave. She would have to let him in. It would seem ridiculous of her if she didn't. Suspicious.
Or perhaps she could get away with just showing him the grounds. The stables maybe, those were certainly impressive. Besides there was virtually nothing worth seeing in the house as yet. Hardly any of it was decorated, let alone liveable. She could have Mrs Fitz stay with Cat, offer him a cup of tea and then send him on his way, none the wiser.
She snuck over to the window, pulled back the curtain slightly and peered out at him standing there. God, he was handsome. Why did he have to be so handsome? He turned his head towards where there had been movement inside the house and she jumped backwards hoping he hadn't seen her spying. Of course he couldn't really see in, but she didn't want him to know she had been watching him. How ridiculous to be caught peeping at your visitor from behind the drapes. Pull yourself together Scarlett, she commanded.
Oh how she wished so that she could tell him about the baby, he'd be as proud of his beautiful little girl as she was. But she couldn't, not yet. Not if he didn't know. When Cat was older, certainly, but not yet.
--
Scarlett's mind was still reeling, jumping from one impossibility to the next, when Mrs Fitzpatrick put her head around the corner, jolting her back to reality. "Did I hear someone at the door Mrs O?" she asked.
"Mrs Fitz," Scarlett whispered, motioning urgently for her to come closer even as she crossed the room towards the housekeeper. "Go upstairs and stay with Cat. Don't ask why, just do it, please. She's sleeping now, but try to keep her quiet if she wakes up. And don't come down for anything. I don't want to see your face again until I come up and find you, understand?"
"Why? Whatever's the matter?"
"Please, just promise me you'll do it. There's someone here I don't want to know about Cat. I'll explain it to you later, just go," she begged, turning the older woman around and shoving her bodily towards the stairs. Yes, she'd explain it when Rhett was gone and she had thought up a convincing fiction. As much as she liked and trusted Rosaleen Fitzpatrick, Scarlett wasn't about to tell her her life story in all its colourful detail.
"All right," the housekeeper acquiesced and made her way up the broad staircase.
"Thank you," called Scarlett softly after her. At least there'd be someone to help her hide the body if she had to kill him.
When Mrs Fitz was out of sight, she turned towards the front door and tried to steel herself for what was to come. Tears were pricking the backs of her eyes, but she couldn't let herself fall apart now. Too much was at stake. She had to face him.
"Scarlett," Rhett called again from the other side of the door, and she knew she had to do something. She grabbed her wrap from the coat-rack by the door and flung it around her shoulders. She took another breath to steady her nerves, smoothed her hair, and plastered a smile on her face that she hoped looked more natural than it felt. She turned the key in the lock and slowly pulled back the heavy wood.
--
"Answering your own door, my dear? Didn't I give you enough money to afford servants?" he asked, leaning casually against the column by the front door, then silently cursed himself for his flippancy. Ten months apart and that was the first thing out of his mouth to her? Fool! Why did they always have to play games with one another? He just hoped he hadn't put her back up too much with his careless remark.
"Rhett, I-" she stammered, willing her brain to function. "Well I was just so astonished to see you here. You caught me by surprise is all. You're the last person I expected to find on my doorstep. What on earth are you doing in Ireland anyhow?" She smiled brightly at him, hoping he wouldn't see through her false bravado.
He had to fight the urge to pull her into his arms and never let go. She obviously had no idea he might appear in her town. She must not know he had read her letter. And if she hadn't send it to him, it must have been posted without her knowledge. Perhaps she had even forgotten that she had written it. Rhett would have to tell her he had read it. That he wasn't married. That he loved her.
"I, er-" Did he jump right in, blurt it out straight away or did he lead up to it? He thought it best to test the waters a little first. It was always advisable to adopt a cautious approach when dealing with Scarlett. She may have changed her mind after all, and once again he began to fear that her answers would not be the ones he wanted to hear. He had to know if she really did want him.
"I received a letter from an old friend informing me you were in the country," he told her evasively, "although it took me a while to locate exactly where."
An old friend, what old friend? Scarlett's mind worked furiously and drew a blank. She knew no-one here besides her relatives and the people in her town. Did this friend know about Cat, or that she had been pregnant? She hadn't exactly taken the trouble to hide that fact as she had done when she'd been expecting her other babies in America. Oh, how could she have been so careless, parading around with her belly out for all to see! But surely if Rhett knew he would say something. So far he had given her no indication that he did know. Maybe Cat was safe.
"Look, can we go inside and talk? I'll explain everything."
"No!" she said a little too vehemently, and stepping over the threshold, closed the door firmly behind her. "I mean, it's quiet pleasant out here in the fresh air, don't you think? Let's sit outside." She planted herself on the steps and looked up at him expectantly, hoping he would follow her lead.
"It raining." he pointed out.
"Oh fiddle-dee-dee, Rhett Butler. This isn't rain, not really. Besides," she countered, "you're already wet." She didn't want him to think she was being unreasonable, but she couldn't let him enter the house.
"So I am," he agreed, looking down at his jacket, damp with the early morning mist. He knew why she was resisting letting him in, so he didn't force the issue. He didn't want to scare her anymore than he suspected she already was. He took a seat beside her on the cold stone.
"How did you get here anyhow?" Scarlett asked, looking around for some means of transport. She needed to keep the conversation in neutral territory to remain in control of things. She could feel the heat radiating from his body as he sat next to her. It was distracting.
"I rode over from a neighbouring estate. I am staying with an acquaintance." What did 'neighbouring' mean, she wondered. Would they know about her baby? She couldn't very well just ask.
"Where's your horse?"
"I gave it to the stable boy."
Scarlett frowned. "I don't have a stable boy, or any servants really."
"Perhaps I didn't give you enough money after all," he teased, then again cursed his stupid comment.
"Seriously Rhett, it's only me and my housekeeper here. I have a cook also but she has the week off to spend Christmas with her family. This place is barely fit for living in."
He studied her wary face for a moment, as if deciding whether she were joking, then shrugged and laughed. "Then I fear I may owe someone a great deal of money." He would worry about the horse later.
Scarlett managed a smile as well. A year ago she would have felt a rush of indignation that this man could have such a cavalier attitude about money, but then her feelings on the subject had changed recently as well. Her life now had a more important goal.
"Well shouldn't you go and look for it?" she prodded. Anything to get him off her front porch. "We could take a walk around the property. I'll show you the stables if you like. They are gothic revival at it's finest. Or so I've been told."
She stood up, dusted the back of her skirt off, then grabbed onto his shoulder for support, black spots dancing in front of her eyes.
"Scarlett?" He put his hands on her waist to steady her, then rose to his feet.
"I'm fine."
"No you are not." The concern was clear in his eyes as he looked down into her pale face.
"I'm just a little dizzy is all. I stood up too quickly, it'll pass. I just need to put my head down for a few seconds."
"You never got dizzy before, other than when you were expecting."
"You think I'm…" she asked incredulously and laughed. If he only knew, she thought. "Oh, Rhett leave it alone, I'm fine." She wobbled again and without warning he swung her off her feet and into his arms.
"Put me down!" she cried indignantly, trying to push away from him.
"No."
"Rhett Butler, put me down this instant, I am perfectly capable of walking." She couldn't let him take her into the house. What if the baby started crying? She'd have to tell him it was the housekeeper's, or rather her grandchild. Mrs Fitz was too old to be having babies.
"No." He repeated as he bent slightly to reach and turn the front door knob, then pushed it open with his foot. "Where do I go?"
"Right back out of my house! I never said you could come inside." She struggled in his arms.
"Scarlett." From his tone and the strength of his hold on her she knew there was no point in arguing.
"That way." She pointed towards the small sitting room off the kitchen, as far away from Cat as she could direct him. He laid her down on the small sofa, and crouched down beside her looking at her with concern. She glowered back at him.
"Tell me the truth, are you quite well?"
"Like I told you already, Rhett, I'm perfectly fine. Stop fussing so." When she struggled to sit up and he put his large hands on her shoulders and pushed her back down again. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him through narrowed eyes. "And why the sudden interest in my welfare anyhow? Would it have killed you to have shown a little concern for me ten months ago?" She regretted that taunt the moment it left her lips. They were in dangerous waters now.
"I'm just a little anaemic is all," she continued before he could answer her. "The doctor says I need to eat more liver." She made a face and shrugged. "I told him I'd rather see stars for the rest of my life."
"Your health is important." He looked down into her face with a concern she found touching and a slight blush crept into her cheeks.
"I know you had a baby Scarlett," he said quietly. "I came to Ireland because I read your letter."
Her eyes flew to his face, wide with horror at his statement. If she hadn't been about to faint before, she surely would now.
He knew.
Cat was as good as gone.
--
Thanks for reading. J.
Note: French physician Gabriel Andral is credited with introducing the term anemia around 1829. The first thoroughly studied form was pernicious anemia. English physician Thomas Addison gave the first complete description of the disease in 1849. Scarlett's just suffering the kind that results from severe bloodloss, which is easily treatable with an iron-rich diet, or nowadays, supplements, although as far back as the 1600's iron salts were used as treatment. She is not dying or anything! Apparently liver as a dietary treatment was not widely used until the 1920's though, so I may have taken a little liberty with that.