Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

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Marybeth's eyes flew open as she awoke with a start, heart pounding. She turned her head to look out the window and it was still dark, no sign of the dawn in evidence. She propped herself on one elbow as she listened for the sound of her children's breathing--Edward on his cot, Christina in her crib. Then she lay back and put her hands to her burning cheeks to cool them.

It had only been a dream--thank goodness for that! She felt herself flush again as she sighed and rolled over. Only a lifelike, vivid, and utterly unrespectable dream--that Wade Hampton Hamilton was in--and herself.

She buried her face in her pillow and rocked her head from side to side, trying to forget the dream, trying to banish the dream images from her mind. She was grateful nobody could see her now, or read her mind--as ashamed as she was for having such thoughts, albeit unbidden. For even if she wanted a beau--which she didn't--Wade wouldn't be her first choice. Oh, she liked him--he was polite and a gentleman and she had even been able to draw him out into conversation. But he was also head over heels in love with Elsie. And Marybeth had to concede that she would have a very hard time winning anybody away from her. Marybeth knew she herself was pretty, but she wasn't anywhere near Elsie, who was accounted as a great beauty.

And it didn't matter anyway. Marybeth was still in love with William--yes, she was--whom she hadn't seen in over a year--and would never see again--she pushed that last thought back.

Sleep was a long time coming. It was only a dream, only a dream, only a dream. But every time she started to drift off, the memory of it came drifting back to her. Wade was smart and could talk horses and was a nice looking boy, she'd think to herself, in that half-tamed state between sleep and wakefulness, then blushed hotter.

Better get rid of those thoughts.

After dozing off and on restlessly for the rest of the night, morning finally came and Marybeth was relieved. Now she could busy her mind and her hands with her chores. She got up to see that the weather had shifted overnight and the day dawned bright and sunny. The ground was damp, but there was no evidence of the previous day's storm, aside from fallen tree branches.

To her dismay, however, try as she might, the memory of the previous night's dream wouldn't leave her. Whatever task she turned her hand to, Wade's face rose up before her. This made her restless and jumpy, or else she fell into daydreams.

Mrs. Meade noticed her mood immediately when Marybeth brought her breakfast tray. The girl said and did all the correct things, but it was plain that her mind was wandering elsewhere. Although she was curious, after some internal debate, the older woman decided not to pry. After all, everybody was entitled to some privacy. She just had to trust that if it were anything serious, Marybeth would come to her.

However, Dr. Meade did comment. Marybeth was in his study finishing the last of the patients' records. He would be moving his practice into his new quarters soon and was anxious to have everything ready and shipshape.

"I thought the records would be finished by today," Dr. Meade chided her gently when he walked in on her to catch her staring into space, pen in hand.

"Oh I'm sorry," she said jumping. "I'll stay right here until they're done."

"Is anything wrong, Dandridge? You've been exceedingly distracted all day."

Marybeth shook her head. "I just--I don't know," she mumbled miserably.

He put his hand on her shoulder. "Why don't you take a break from this for a little while?"

"No--oh no. Give me another chance--I'll work faster," she begged, anxious to redeem herself.

"I'm not punishing you, girl. I just think you need to turn your attention to something else. Maybe it will clear your head. Why don't you see if Betsy needs anything in the kitchen?"

Marybeth pulled a wry face. "Betsy doesn't want me--I burned the oatmeal this morning."

"I wondered what that smell was. Well, never mind. Go take the children for a walk."

"But the records..."

"...Can wait another day. Now go."

So Marybeth did as she was told. But the fresh air and sunshine did nothing to dispel the fog in her brain or alleviate her restlessness. She listened with half an ear to her children's prattle and managed to answer them back, but she scarcely knew what she said. The same with the people she greeted as they walked--and if they thought Marybeth Dandridge was absentminded, well, so be it. There was nothing she could do about it.

oOoOoOo

That night Marybeth was in the main bedroom, engaged in a friendly quarrel with Mrs. Meade, who had been given something to relieve her cough and was now propped up and talking comfortably.

"You need me here, Mrs. Meade. I couldn't possibly go out."

"Haven't you been invited to Beau Wilkes' house tonight? It would be rude not to go."

"It's just an informal gathering of some of Beau's friends," replied Marybeth dismissively. "It's not a dinner party or anything where I would be missed. Therefore, I thought I'd stay home and take care of you."

"Betsy has me well in hand. Besides, you've been so jumpy today you make me nervous," she added reproachfully. Then, as Marybeth opened her mouth to protest: "Oh, don't argue with me. Just go. Go out and enjoy yourself."

So Marybeth turned to go to her room. Even though she had called an evening at Beau's house 'just an informal gathering', Mrs. Meade didn't want Marybeth to miss it. The Wilkes' were top drawer among the Old Guard families and it was an honor for her to be invited. Even if the silly girl didn't seem to realize it.

Actually, Marybeth realized more than Mrs. Meade gave her credit for. She knew Beau Wilkes was the most popular young man of his set. The girls all wanted to be courted by him and no man distained to call Beau his friend. Marybeth had been very flattered by the invitation, especially because it came from Beau himself and not just as a tagalong with Ella. She knew it meant she had won their acceptance. And although she never aspired to be part of their set, and she hadn't felt any lack of it in her life before, it's hard to resist the lure of being wanted and it warmed her heart to know they liked her. She was upstairs finishing dressing when she heard a knock downstairs. She reached the front door just as Betsy was opening it. It was Wade Hamilton. He nodded politely to Betsy, but his hat was off as soon as he saw Marybeth.

"Could Ella and I drive you to the Wilkes'?"

She blinked stupidly for a moment then mumbled, "Yes, thank you," before she turned away to avoid meeting his eyes.

"I'll tell Old Talbot not to fuss wi' dat carridge," said Betsy calmly as she headed back down the hall towards the kitchen.

Marybeth was thankful she had her hat to occupy herself with as she was left alone in the foyer with Wade. She kept her eyes on the mirror as she pinned it on and was devoutly thankful that he couldn't read minds. She would have died of shame if he had any idea of the treacherous turn her thoughts had taken--were taking--despite her best efforts. For the more she tried to suppress those unwelcome thoughts the more compelling they became.

"How are you this evening Mrs. Dandridge?"

Marybeth jumped but wouldn't look at him. "My name is Marybeth," she blurted, staring into the mirror. "Please call me that."

"Oh--uhm--all right..." and he fell silent.

She gave her hair a final pat into place and picked up her reticule. She was too embarrassed to look him in the face.

"I'm ready now."

He escorted her to the carriage block and handed her into the carriage next to his sister. In the dark he couldn't see her blush when his hand touched hers and because she was wearing gloves he couldn't know how sweaty her hands were, either. And in the next minute she scolded herself for her schoolgirl silliness. Did she really expect to go through life without ever being touched by a man? He was only helping her into a carriage, for crying out loud. It was nothing to swoon over. Yet no matter how much she tried to scold herself, she could still feel the pressure of his hand on hers all the way to the Wilkes'.

He swung her down from the carriage in front of the Wilkes residence, and she and Ella went on ahead so they could discard their wraps and hats and check their hair before joining the others.

"What has gotten into you, Marybeth?" asked Ella when they were alone.

"What are you talking about?"

"You've barely spoken a word since you climbed into the carriage. It's not like you to be so moony. Are you feeling alright?"

"Oh, Ella, how you do run on."

"Well, pull yourself together. We're here to have fun. Thank heaven Mother let me out of the house. It took a lot of convincing to make her believe that my cold was over and done with."

They were met at the door by India Wilkes, who Marybeth had met before. She was a gracious hostess, if not a warm one.

"You know where to put your wraps, Ella," she instructed the girls. Ella moved towards the guest room and Marybeth followed her.

Shortly afterwards they met Beau's father. Marybeth shook his hand briefly and had the impression that she was seeing what Beau would be like thirty years in the future--same build, same smile, same expression. Of course, Mr. Wilkes' hair was faded, and his face lined, but he was a handsome man for all that. But although Beau's courtly ways were reminiscent of his father's, Beau always seemed to be brimming with suppressed energy. Ashley Wilkes' bearing was quite still, like a clock that had run down and stopped. If he took an interest in anything in life, it didn't show on the outside. The only exception was where Beau was concerned. When Beau was anywhere in sight, he seemed to wake up and take an interest in his surroundings--at least as far as it touched his son.

Ashley took a vague interest in Marybeth. He'd heard about her from India and Beau and his impression was that she was a pretty little girl. Brown hair, brown eyes--his favorite combination ever since Melanie. She was even of diminutive stature. But that was where the resemblance ended and he dismissed her from his mind the moment she was out of his sight.

The girls joined their friends in the parlor, and Ella was right. Marybeth did have fun. It was very informal. The conversation was lively, touching on all different topics--books, music, politics, and not a little gossip. The only thing that marred her enjoyment was the presence of Elsie and the fact that Wade was once again dancing attendance on her. For the first time, Marybeth was aggravated by the attention Wade paid to Elsie. It did no good for Marybeth to remind herself that it was none of her business, that Wade had every right to talk to anybody he wanted. And she would have died before admitting she was jealous--so she persuaded herself that her annoyance was merely because she didn't think it was right the way Elsie was stringing him along.

Her attention was partially diverted away from Wade as she found herself talking to a dark, swarthy, rather hairy young man who spoke with a beguiling hint of French in his accent.

"I believe we've met before? But allow me to introduce myself. I am Raoul Picard."

"Marybeth Dandridge--but please just call me Marybeth." After she had allowed Wade to call her by first name, she decided she might as well let everybody else call her that, too. Otherwise, they might think she thought Wade was special.

"So, Miss Marybeth--you probably wouldn't know my family's humble little bakeries."

"Ah, but I do--everybody knows Merriwether Bakeries. Mrs. Meade won't go anywhere else."

"But what do you think, Miss Marybeth?"

"I think your bread is very nice."

He looked at her with exaggerated dismay.

"Nice? Just nice? The finest baked goods in all Atlanta and all you can say is they're nice?" He put his hand over his heart. "You wound me, Madame. Quel dommage as they say in France."

Marybeth grinned at his histrionics. "Go on--I'll wager you've never been to France in your whole life."

"Beautiful and saucy," he sighed with the same exaggeration as he'd shown before. Marybeth rolled her eyes now but couldn't hide her amusement. He obviously enjoyed beguiling young women.

But since he had her as an interested audience, he went on to explain how his father's people had owned vast tracts of land along the Mississippi before the War, but now that was gone. He didn't repine, he hastened to assure her. He just liked to tell the story of his family.

While they were talking, Beau brought out a guitar and started to play. Virgie Simmons started to sing:

...The roses all have left your cheek

I've watched them fade away and die

Your voice is sad when e'er you speak

And tears bedim your loving eyes...

Marybeth smiled as she listened to Virgie sing the sad song of Kathleen's yearning for her native Ireland. She had a lovely, affecting voice--the result of years of training. As she looked around the room, she saw that others were enjoying the performance, too.

Then somebody suggested going out back to dance--"After all, it's so warm this evening..." And people started drifting towards the back door.

Raoul turned to Marybeth," Would you care to dance?"

He looked happy when she agreed and he took her hand, leading her out into the yard. He was a good dancer, although a bit too forward for Marybeth's liking--she had to step back to keep a respectable distance between them, but she was pleased that he didn't try to pull her close again. He was a good dancer. She reflected that all the men around here were, not realizing that she herself was improving with practice. As he whirled her around she noticed Wade in the circle around Elsie, as usual, but decided to ignore them. It was definitely not her business, she decided.

But when the song was over and Raoul brought her a drink, Wade suddenly appeared and politely cut in.

"Miss Marybeth? Would you like to dance?" He asked her, feeling awkward about using her first name.

Marybeth could only nod dumbly and follow him on legs that trembled. She thrilled when his hand grasped hers and her heart gave a lurch when he wrapped his arm around her as the music started. She couldn't look him in the eye and so she kept her gaze demurely down as they danced. She couldn't think of anything to say, either, and they danced for a while without talking.

She'd been relatively free of her earlier disturbing feelings as she danced with Raoul, but there was no escaping them while she was being held closely by Wade. She was utterly aware of the way his shoulder felt under her hand and his hand on her back seemed to burn into her skin.

He tightened his arm around her for a quick turn and she came close enough to him to be aware of his scent--a bit of tobacco, a bit of horses, a bit of something else, cologne maybe, but it went straight to her head, making her more dizzy than before. She kept her eyes down as she tried to rein in the unruly thoughts and feelings that were starting to take possession of her--tried to force them into a more respectable vein. But when she felt his arm tighten again, she gave up all pretense of being demure. She closed her eyes and inhaled, savoring the tobacco-horses-cologne essence around him, giving over to the rushing intoxication of being held by him.

But to her immediate mortification, when she opened her eyes, he was looking straight down at her with a curious expression on his face. She lowered her eyes right away, saying nothing. After all, there was really nothing she could say...

Wade looked down at Marybeth as they danced. Her unfocused expression, the flush on her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes when she looked at him oh-so-briefly had intrigued him. And the shadowy darkness of the Wilkes' backyard made him bold. One time, and one time only, he brushed his cheek slowly against her hair, reveling in its softness.

To Marybeth's relief (or was it dismay?) the song was over quickly. And as soon as Wade released her and she was alone, Ella accosted her.

She pulled her aside and whispered, "I know why you're so moony tonight. It's my brother you want!"

"Frankie Bonnell looks lonely. You better go talk to him."

Ella grinned. "I'm right, aren't I? Marybeth, do you like Wade?"

"Of course I like him. He's a nice person," she replied primly.

"Oh, please, Marybeth, I want a straight answer."

"And I won't give you one. In case you haven't noticed, Wade has been with Elsie all night."

"That?" She gestured impatiently. "That's just a habit. Besides, he may be with Elsie, but he's been looking at you. Very clever of you, flirting with Raoul--that got Wade's attention."

Marybeth turned to hide a smile, but not fast enough to escape Ella's notice. She promptly pressed her point.

"And furthermore, he mentioned your name over supper last night."

Marybeth turned back to her quickly. "Really? What did he say?"

"Aha! That got a response, didn't it?"

"Don't tease me, Ella," Marybeth begged, grabbing her arm.

Ella softened. "He really didn't say that much. Just that he helped you sign up to take books out of the library." She slipped an arm around Marybeth's waist. "I'd be very happy to see Wade court you."

"But that's up to him, isn't it?" Marybeth asked quietly.

"Partly, yes. But I'd be willing to wager that if you tried just a little..." Ella shrugged and winked.

When the carriage arrived at the Meades' later that night, Ella gave Marybeth's hand a quick squeeze, then she busied herself by fussing with her gloves to try to give her brother and her friend some little privacy as he helped Marybeth out of the carriage and walked her to the door. Their parting at the front door was seemly and decorous--no words were exchanged other than the most conventional and banal. But their eyes met once and Marybeth was finally certain of what she (and Ella) had only guessed at before--she had caught his eye. Of course, she doubted he felt for her the way he felt for Elsie, who he had known and loved for many years, but Marybeth was not a stranger to the look of longing in a man's eyes. She'd been all too aware of when he pulled her a little closer and nuzzled her hair as they danced and just as aware of when he stopped. She'd felt herself drawn to him then and she felt drawn to him now. And with that feeling came a chilly trickle of fear.

That night, lying in bed, she tried to sort it all out.

She had striven, over the last year, to change her life. She never wanted to go back to the lawlessness of her drifting days, to the fighting and stealing and clawing after the necessities of life, and she wanted to be secure enough that never again could a man impose his will on her. She was trying to make her life into something fine and good, something to be proud of, yet sometimes she wondered--those years had left their mark on her, she was sure.

She felt it inside herself--deep down inside her was something very hard and unyielding--and it was all because of those last few years. Because of Miklos she had been driven to fend for herself and she learned to be ruthless. Because of Alex she had learned to hate.

Her children--she would walk through fire for them--she would do whatever it took to protect them. But there was more--she wanted them to be proud of her--not to grow up to be ashamed of her. She didn't want them to suffer any stigma because of the foolish things she had done when she was younger.

As much as she wanted to be a good person--and she really did want it, she was heartily ashamed of some of the things she had done--she wasn't entirely confident in herself--if there were a threat to her or to hers, she wasn't too sure that she wouldn't revert back to the way she was in those lawless days.

So the question remained; was it right to pull somebody else in to the chaos that was at the core of her life? She knew it now--she wanted Wade. When he held her close, it had evoked a response in her--something that belonged to him alone. She'd had fun, in an impersonal sort of way, when Raoul tried to beguile her, and she felt flattered by his attention. And she would have been equally flattered if it had been Joe Whiting or Beau Wilkes. But what she felt in Wade's arms was different, personal. She wanted Wade for himself. And he wanted her. She was sure of it.

Marybeth knew deep down that Ella was right. If she tried hard enough, she could surely make Wade forget about Elsie. But was it right to do that to somebody like Wade Hampton Hamilton? He would probably be better served with some sweet, prissy girl of delicate sensibilities, one he could spoil and pet and protect. He deserved to know who Marybeth really was before she allowed him to fall for her. She knew it, but she cringed from the idea of telling him about what was dark and unworthy in her life.

Hurriedly she tried to reassure herself. Surely, there was no need to confess to him everything she ever did. She barely knew him--only met him a few months ago--it went against reason to tell her darkest secrets to somebody she was only beginning to know--besides, there was every possibility that once they got to know each other better that they would find they didn't agree so well together--if she told him everything now and he went on to jilt her, he would always have this knowledge of her to hold over her head. Not that he seemed to be the type of man who would blackmail a lady, but why take a chance?

And furthermore, she could always tell him--the whole truth--sometime in the future. There was plenty of time, in the future...