Disclaimer: 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.

A/N: Took me a while to get the wording right in this one—and I hope I did! Please review and let me know what you think!

Ella was particularly quiet on the drive home from the Fundraiser. In a few short, whispered sentences, she had told Marybeth what happened in the garden. And if Wade was surprised that she wasn't being driven home by either Frankie or Albert, he kept it to himself.

And so the three of them drove home silently, and Ella kept her hand in Marybeth's clasped tight for comfort.

Back at the mansion, Ella waved a desultory, silent goodnight to her brother and tiptoed in to Scarlett's room to kiss her and let her know she was home safely.

"Did you have a nice time at the party, dear?" Scarlett asked.

Ella shrugged, nodded. Scarlett wasn't convinced, but it was never her way to pry into the private feelings of her children.

Back in her own room, she allowed Prissy to help her with the long row of buttons on the back of her dress, then dismissed her--Ella could dress herself for bed and brush and braid her own hair. And she wanted to be alone.

Finally, she was in bed, the thin sheet drawn up to her waist. It was just too hot tonight for the blanket, and all her windows were left open to catch the summer night breezes. Some people might hold that night air was dangerous, but Scarlett didn't believe in such nonsense and she insisted on opening the windows whenever it was warm enough.

She folded her arms in front of her and stared at the moon, visible through one of the windows. What a day--what a night! So much to think about, she wasn't even sure where to start.

Ella was on par with the average girl of her age and social class in regards to knowledge about life. Mothers were fearful for their daughters' reputations and with good reason. A girl's whole future--both her social and economic standing--depended on her husband. And the better her reputation, the more marriageable she was. Therefore, it was in the girl's best interest to remain pure. In an attempt to keep their daughters innocent, mothers kept their girls largely ignorant about the intimate side of male/female relations. Of course, no system is perfect, and bits and pieces of information leaked through, anyway. Ella, through her own observation, and comparison with the observations of her girlfriends, had learned this thing and another that Scarlett had no idea she knew about. For instance, Ella figured out that babies didn't just grow spontaneously. She figured out that there was some type of touch that made them start--and that only married couples had permission to do. She had also figured out that, forbidden or no, some unmarried people engaged in this activity anyway. Then there were women like Belle Watling who kept a whole house of girls who did it in exchange for money. Of course, any girl who agreed to do those things risked having a baby and ruining her reputation. But before tonight, she had never thought about what it meant from a man's perspective.

Marybeth said the forbidden touch was mating. But Ella found that confusing, even though she believed her. She'd seen animals mating--it didn't look like much fun to her. What would a man have to say to convince a girl to agree to do that? The hope for a baby, perhaps? But a girl who didn't even have a husband wouldn't want to have a baby and be ruined.

Unless...maybe it wasn't quite the same for people as it was for animals. Maybe there was more to it and Marybeth just wasn't telling her. After all, she'd been very embarrassed to talk about it at all...That was a strong possibility.

But Frankie's accusation--was it true? Had Albert really kept a mistress? How did it come about? Had he needed to use much persuasion on her? Why wouldn't he marry her?

Ella was starting to realize just how ignorant she was of the hidden side of men's lives. Did they all keep mistresses? Visit Houses like Belle's? How about Beau, or Wade? Did they do things like that? Of course, if they did, they wouldn't be likely to tell her.

She wished there was somebody she could talk to about it. Asking Mother was out of the question--she would just want to know where Ella had heard such unsuitable conversation. If Uncle Rhett were home she would ask him--Uncle Rhett never got embarrassed about anything. She really missed Uncle Rhett...

Mind in a whirl, she dropped into a deep sleep.

oOoOoOo

The next morning, Wade sat in the parlor with a book open on his lap, but he wasn't reading. He was caught up daydreaming about Marybeth, remembering how soft her arms were, the sweet lilac scent she wore, how yielding, as always, when he kissed her. Before the year was out, he was going to propose--and he was confident she would say yes. But he wanted to get some of his personal business in order, first.

He cringed when he heard the parlor door open softly. Of course, he chided himself, if he wanted to be alone, he should have stayed in his room. Or taken Coal for a ride. But now he was cornered. Hopefully it was only Prissy. If he ignored her, she would ignore him.

But the softly tripping tread wasn't Prissy's slow meander--the intruder was Ella. Wade crouched down on the sofa, hoping she wouldn't notice him.

He got his wish--she didn't notice him. But she sat down heavily on one of the chairs, her back to him. He heard a sigh, then a stifled sob. He simply couldn't ignore that.

"Ella?" He called softly.

A little squeal of dismay, and Ella's head popped up over the top of the high backed armchair. "Wade, I didn't know you were here."

"Obviously. What's wrong?"

"Ohhh...I can't explain it to you. You would never understand."

Wade closed his book and sat up straighter. "What do you think I won't understand? That you had a fight with your beaux?"

Ella gasped. "You know! But how?"

"I'm not a complete ignoramus," he said dryly. "And I can't think of anything else that would make you mope like that."

Ella gave a sniff. "It all went so wrong last night. Albert and Frankie both jilted me. Did you ever hear of a girl who got jilted twice in one night? Well, I did. And I just...I just..." she buried her face in her arms and started to cry.

This was a little more than Wade had bargained for. He didn't like to see his sister cry, and he wished he were anywhere but there. Where was Mother, for crying out loud? Ella should be confiding in her.

He stood up and went to Ella. He patted her awkwardly once, twice. "There, there," he said, coughing a little ahem. "Don't cry, Ella. Cheer up! There's plenty more fish in the sea, after all."

Ella's head reared back. "Fish! That's the best you can say?"

"Well, I..."

Ella tried to stay mad, but it was no use. Her face crumpled and in one very unladylike leap, she scrambled over the back of the sofa and threw her arms around her brother's neck, sobbing wildly.

There was no help for it, now. Wade had to comfort his sister, no matter how awkward it was. But he felt completely useless. Besides a few clumsy pats and even more clumsy words, there was nothing he could do to fix this, nothing he could do to make her sorrow go away. He felt a dull anger that Albert or Frankie would hurt poor Ella and make her cry.

He waited for her to finish and eventually the worst was over. When she settled down to a few random sniffs, he pulled back and fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief to give her. She eyed it dubiously.

"Oh, grow up, Ella. It's clean," he said rather gruffly. Her tears embarrassed him.

She wiped her eyes and gave him one last impulsive squeeze. "You can go back to reading your book. I feel strong enough to bear this, now," she said dramatically.

oOoOoOo

It was a subdued Albert Whiting who called on Ella that afternoon.

"I must apologize for last night--for leaving you like that--for everything."

They were walking in the back garden, carefully keeping their distance from each other. Ella had her hands clasped behind her back as they walked and she cast sidelong glances at him. She was consumed with curiosity about so many things, but felt stymied--she didn't know what to ask, or how...

"I feel like I've been doing nothing but apologizing to you since I came home from University..."

Ella smiled a wan, lopsided smile, but didn't answer.

"However, I'm afraid it's all true, what Frankie said. I did...have a liaison...with a young woman..."

Ella noticed he didn't use the word lady.

"She was older than me. Twenty, at least. She frequented our favorite gaming house. She wasn't a--she wasn't like--" he dropped his voice. "One of Belle's girls. She simply was there--as a customer. And it wasn't as if I were her first..." At this he reddened and looked away, conscious he'd said too much.

Ella could feel the blood flushing and fading in her face. She'd never been exposed to so frank a conversation before--how disapproving Mother would be if she knew!--and she felt a strange mixture of shock and curiosity, uneasiness and confusion. Her first? Her first what? Why was there nobody to explain things to her? But onward they walked, up and down the rows of Mother's azaleas.

"She said she had debts, bills she couldn't pay. I felt pity for her and I tried to give her money, but it never seemed to be enough. And then it was that one of my boon companions grew jealous over her. She was quite beautiful..."

Ella's gut clenched and a wave of heat ran through her. How could he praise another girl to her face? A vague sense of insecurity began creeping over her.

"What was her name?" Ella asked. Her voice was shaking.

"Camilla."

It figured she'd have a fancy name. Nothing plain and boring like Ella.

She tried to picture the unknown, but beautiful, Camilla, but quickly shrank from it. Was she a fair, icy blond? A sultry raven-hair? She stopped by the iron stag and looked away from Albert. She was under no illusions about herself. She was no beauty, never would be. The most people could say about her was that she was cute, and she knew it was more the force of her personality and her quick smile that made people say that rather than any physical gifts. Her stomach felt sour. For the first time in her life, Ella was jealous of another girl.

"Did you love her?"

A pause. "I thought I did."

The knife twisted. Ella's hands shook and she clasped them together to still their shaking.

"Ella, I would never have told a story like that to a girl like you. You're so good, so sweet, so sheltered from the world. That's why I ran last night. I was ashamed. I wish the whole episode with her had never happened. But when I had time to think it over, I decided to make a clean breast of it. I think you're the kind of girl who would understand and forgive."

But you didn't make a clean breast of it. Frankie did. Came the treacherous thought. Quickly she squashed it. He had just given her a complement, sort of. He called her understanding. Somehow, she didn't want to lose ground in his estimation.. Whatever else happened, she could not be less than the ghostly Camilla. She wouldn't be able to compete with her in outer beauty, but she could match her for inner beauty. Match her? No. Ella would surpass her.

"I've begged your indulgence so many times already this summer, Ella. I don't blame you if you show me to the door."

The image of the beautiful, sophisticated Camilla rose up before her. Ella had to be the better person. Had to! And besides, she still cared for Albert. She put her hand in his. "Don't leave. I still wish to see you."

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her vehemently.