Author's Note: I am so, so grateful for the kind reviews!

They are so appreciated … I can't even tell you how much…

Gone With the Wind is the intellectual property of the great Margaret Mitchell and no infringement is intended.

3

Without taking a full account of the overcast sky, Cat Butler moved absently about her small garden, not having even a hat to shield her from any sudden spring rain shower. She had thought the day previous to gather a bouquet of red and pink roses for her Daddy, who was only just returned from a quick trip to the city - but she had not recalled that rosebushes had thorns, and so had spent the afternoon miserably sucking on her fingers, which were sticky with blood where she had grabbed hold of the spiny stems. Her Daddy had been furious - of course, not at Cat. His ire was directed at Mrs. Fletcher, her governess, for allowing harm to come to her, although Cat reassured him that it really wasn't so grave an injury.

But then the haughty Englishness of Mrs. Fletcher kicked in, and she promptly let Cat's father know that he had allowed Cat to wander about the property with little to no supervision for as long as she had been in his employee, and she was unaccustomed to being reprimanded for not minding every small step of her young charge. Besides, the lady had not-so-gently reminded him, Katherine is to be a young lady - and if getting a hand full of blisters was what was required to render her more apt to become such, it would be a welcome lesson.

But Cat possessed no such delusions of ever being received as a real lady by anyone of importance. She was far better suited for grander things, such as accompanying her Daddy on one of his many business ventures. At the age of ten, she had already been to thirteen countries - as far away as Russia! Although Mrs. Fletcher was fond of stating in the presence of Cat's father that such travel did not become a young lady, Cat would interject loudly her own sentiments, that she enjoyed their adventures thoroughly and she would be heartsick without them.

And her father wouldn't think to do it otherwise. He was ever so kind in that way. More so than any father had a right to be, Mrs. Fletcher said. So, when he would receive a wire from a business associate in Havana or Moscow or Buenos Aires, Mrs. Fletcher and several alternate ladies' maids were readied for their small mistress's pleasure as well, never mind that maids of satisfactory pedigree, character, and constitution were difficult to come by, even in as large a city as London.

"You're a wonder, my darling Cat," her Daddy was prone to say, and Cat would flash a grin up at him, accepting the compliment as her due.

It wasn't that Cat was desirous of the praise; for she knew how well loved she was by her father, but more than that, she felt that she was needed by him as well. Her Daddy was a very important man of business, and it was essential that he knew how much she treasured their time together, lest he'd stop taking her with him and she'd never see him at all. Then she'd be like her friends, the Princesses Maud and Alexandra, neither of whom were with their parents more than a handful of occasions per year.

For all the sharpness in Mrs. Fletcher's tongue, the old dear really did have Cat's father wrapped round her finger, and he really did defer to the lady in all things concerning the household. She kept the domestic troubles at bay and Cat as immaculately dressed and as well-spoken and charming as any of the children of the Peerage. With Mrs. Fletcher's guiding hand, Cat was enabled to attend the same parties as the Princesses and children of the Earls, Dukes, and important gentlemen in Her Majesty's Kingdom. It had only been last year that Mrs. Fletcher had prevailed upon her sister, the private secretary to Lady Somerset, to speak to her mistress about securing for Cat Butler a play date with Princess Alexandra, who was about Cat's own age. Lady Somerset had obliged, knowing of Cat's father's reputation as a powerful shipping magnate and war hero, who had near single-handedly provided England with American cotton during that country's Civil War.

So, Cat's father was summoned to court to greet Her Majesty, the Queen, and Cat too was presented. The Queen had complemented her extraordinary eyes, which were neither green nor blue in color, but a subtle blend of the two. In the right light, as must have been the case the day of her presentation, Cat's eyes were turquoise, but in the dark, they turned a darker bluish-green - not nearly so pleasing in Cat's opinion. Mrs. Fletcher was fond of declaring that Cat's constantly scrutinizing eyes put her in mind of a cat o'er a pot of cream, which was how she had gotten her nickname. Her Daddy had heard her say it once and adopted it as readily as if he'd been the one to think it up. From that day forward, Cat had been Cat, not Katherine, the name she had inherited from her deceased Mother.

"Good morning to you, Kitty Cat," Mrs. Fletcher had appeared from out of nowhere, her light blonde hair spilling out from under her neat cap and her black dress as perfectly pressed as ever, despite her clearly having ran the distance from the house to the garden. "Your Father requests breakfast with you. Come inside now, do."

Cat shrugged and shuffled toward the lady, a handful of wild daisies in her hand.

"Not going to brave the rosebushes again today, are you?" Mrs. Fletcher clucked her tongue as she took the makeshift bouquet from Cat's hands and handed it to the first maid they encountered who wasn't already attending to a task.

"Put these in water for Miss Katherine," Mrs. Fletcher ordered, "And bring them up to the breakfasting room so that Mr. Butler can enjoy them as well."

The maid nodded in acquiescence and took the flowers without a word, and Cat looked up at Mrs. Fletcher for some sign of what might be to come. Her Daddy never summoned her for breakfast when she was already arisen and out of doors - not unless there was some truly important afoot. Perhaps another adventure?

In the time it took them to cross the back hall to the staircase, Mrs. Fletcher had servants running in all directions to do her bidding: breakfast trays were to be sent upstairs, mail to be delivered to Mr. Butler's office, reminders sent to the cooks that the Princesses Alexandra and Maud were due in an hour's time for a play date and two maids were then dispatched to Cat's playroom to make sure that it was in order to receive their royal guests (Cat thought that order was rather silly, since she was known for her neatness and the Princesses were certainly not), and finally, Mrs. Fletcher directed an order to Cat herself: "Mind yourself today, love. Your Father is hosting a visitor of great importance."

If it had been a normal day, Cat would have avoided an important visitor like the plague -but her curiosity had been piqued by Mrs. Fletcher's hushed tone. The woman was blue blooded, having many noble connections herself, so was rarely intimidated by rank. Cat had seen her governess act this way only once before, and that had heralded the visit of her Aunt Rosemary from America, which was trying on her nerves, as well as Cat's. Rosemary had been a dried up prune of a woman, richly dressed and filled with self importance. She had brought from America many of Cat's deceased grandmother's effects, which seemed to only upset Cat's father, and her sole words to Cat had been addressed him instead: "She looks a good deal like Scarlett, does she not?"

Scarlett. Her mother. Scarlett, whom Cat only knew from the tiny miniature in the locket she kept about her person at all times. Her sister Bonnie's picture was on the opposite side as her mother's. Although she had died years before Cat was born, her Daddy had told her that she would have loved her very much, as he did. Mrs. Fletcher said that Cat favored both her mother and sister, who had been only five when the portrait was taken. Cat, at nearly ten, had dismissed the notion. Bonnie, had she lived, would have inherited the classic beauty from their mother. The same features on Cat were much too severe, and she was much too tiny to possess her looks enough to attain a haughty effect. Bonnie and their mother were beauties. She was passing fair, to be generous. But what Cat lacked in conventional beauty, she made up for tenfold in her charm. She was warm, giving, dog-devoted to her Daddy and those about her inner circle, and so versatile and diplomatic that Mrs. Fletcher said that if she was not offered a position as lady-in-waiting to one of the Princesses when she was older, she would be most excellent on the stage.

"Who is the visitor, Mrs. Fletcher?" Cat asked.

"His Grace, the Earl of Fenton."

"Only an Earl? How boring."

"I suppose you think that an intimate of their Highnesses can thumb her pretty little nose at members of the Peerage?" Mrs. Fletcher scolded, although Cat could see that she was smiling underneath.

"Not so, Mrs. Fletcher. But I've never heard you talk about Earl Fenton. You know everyone in the entire court, it seems."

The older woman sighed. "Earl Fenton is the second son of the Viceroy of Ireland, my impertinent little Miss."

"Ah. So that's what all the fuss is about." Cat continued at her governess's heels as Mrs. Fletcher quickened her pace. "Has he arrived yet, Earl Fenton?"

Mrs. Fletcher nodded, then paused, glancing over her charge. "You look fine, Kitty Cat. Just make a small curtsy and allow your father to introduce you to His Grace. Eat small bites, just as at Court. If you are still in conference when the Princesses' carriage arrives, I shall summon you."

Cat bit her lower lip, a habit left over from her earliest childhood days. Her governess seemed more ill at ease than the day she had been presented to Queen Victoria. The office of Viceroy was an important one, she knew, but it was more like a deputy than an actual sovereign. And the Earl of Fenton wasn't even the Viceroy himself, merely his son. She certainly didn't see what all of the fuss was about. But it had always been a natural ability of Cat's to adapt herself to any situation, whether to take charge or merely coexist humbly - her father shared her talent, which quite possibly was a secret to his success.

The door was opened a second later, and Mrs. Fletcher stepped in first, announcing herself and bobbing her head in the direction of her employer, Cat's father, who was seated at the small breakfast table, and the man at his left. Earl Fenton.

"Miss Katherine, sir," Mrs. Fletcher said, then motioned for Cat to enter. Normally she would have thrown her arms around her Daddy's neck, but she had a care for protocol, and instead, curtseyed politely for the gentleman before taking her own seat.

The Earl stood up and pulled Cat's chair out for her, and she saw his face up close for the first time. The golden hair and piercing blue eyes reminded her of a painting she had seen once, and she saw the undeniable look of nobility on his brow. He was most assuredly a Coburg, as were most of the Royal Family, with the same authoritative air as the Prince of Wales, the father of her friend, Princess Maud.

Her Daddy was as dark as the Earl was fair, and his handsome features belied his fifty-nine years. He threw back his head and laughed his deep, rich laugh. Cat loved his voice, so unabashedly American, but uniquely drawled with the accent of the Southern states, to which she had never made a trip. It made all of her friends laugh to hear him speak.

"What's so funny?" she said softly, ever so deftly placing her napkin in her lap.

Her Daddy flashed an enormous grin. "I was just telling my friend the Earl here about the wild Indian I have for a daughter. A veritable imp that climbs trees and sailing masts and falls asleep atop the roof on warm summer nights …Could you tell me where she might have gone this morning?"

"Certainly not the young lady before me," the Earl smiled. Cat privately thought that his teeth were the whitest she had ever seen, almost too white to be natural. He then bowed, "I am Richard, Lord Fenton."

"Sir." Cat returned his smile. He must be a good friend of her father for him to tease her so in freely in front of him.

"I am surprised, Miss Butler, that a young lady of your years has traveled further than I. Your father has told me that you saw Moscow not last year?"

"Indeed, sir. It was very cold."

"I fear that I could not withstand a Russian winter. You and your father are two of a kind."

Cat smiled in earnest then. Two peas in a pod. That was what her Daddy always called them, and that was just fine with her. "It has been too long since we've had an adventure." Then she looked pointedly at her father, who winked.

"Well, Kitty Cat, that's exactly what I wanted to speak to you about. Lord Fenton has invited us to join him when he leaves the country next week. To stay with him a few weeks in Ireland."

"Ireland?" Cat's eyes widened. Her mother had been Irish, and her Daddy had never wanted to visit the country, presumably for that reason. Anything that reminded him of her mother caused him a good deal of pain, and well Cat knew it. "Do you mean it?"

"Your father is going to assist our infantry in putting down a series of small rebellions," the Earl continued. "My own father has been keeping the peace only by a thread, dear Katherine. The bloody Irish rebels continue to usurp our authority by smuggling weapons in and out of the country…Your father is going to orchestrate a …blockade, of sorts."

"Daddy! How exciting!" Cat exclaimed, which caused the Earl to chuckle.

"It is exciting, dear Katherine."

"We call her Cat, Fenton," Cat's Daddy corrected.

"I can see why, with all the climbing she does - of course, I've yet to witness it."

Cat hoped that she was sitting primly enough. Mrs. Fletcher would die if the Earl of Fenton witnessed her climbing in and out of her tree house. Maud and Alexandra would too, for that matter.

"A modest kitty, I see," the Earl smirked, and Cat thought that his tone was slightly condescending. There was something that she didn't like about the way he moved about the table, first behind her and then behind her father, who was reading over a piece of paper.

"This contract is …thorough …Fenton."

"You understand, of course, Rhett. The seriousness of the operation, I meant. The need for secrecy. You will be a covert agent on behalf of the Crown. It's a basic contract, really."

"And the part where I get shot for treason?"

Fenton's eyes rolled slightly. Cat felt a chill run down her spine.

"Rhett, as you yourself have stated, this is not your fight, my good man."

"Indeed," Cat's Daddy smiled again, then affixed his signature to the document and handed it up to the Earl.

"Very good, very good. You know, Cat…" Cat did not like how he said her name. Again, the condescending tone. "I am fortunate enough to be acquainted with a fine lady in my own County Meath, where you and your father will respite first, who has a daughter about your age. Of course, I am told that your playing companions are Their Royal Highnesses. I'm afraid that Grace will not be nearly so …delicate. Her name is deceiving. Indeed, I am quite certain that she is devil borne. Why, the day I left, I was in midst of bidding adieu to her mother only to have a bucket of water dumped over my head from the second story window. Soaked my best traveling cloak and gave my stallion a fierce chill."

Cat had to stifle her giggles. Served the scoundrel right. She wouldn't want him courting her mother. She glanced over at her Daddy, who looked amused as well.

Fortunately, Mrs. Fletcher knocked at the door and made her apologies for disturbing them. "Miss Katherine, the Princess Alexandra has arrived."

"Go on, sweetheart," Cat's father urged. "Say hello to little Alex for me."

Cat thought she noticed Fenton's eyebrow raise at her Daddy's address of a princess of the realm as 'Little Alex'.

"Your Grace." Cat curtseyed politely, then quit the room, following Mrs. Fletcher down the long corridor.

"What's really going on?" she asked her governess as soon as they were safely down the hallway. "Why didn't you tell me that we were going to Ireland?"

Mrs. Fletcher's mouth formed a thin line. "Because I had hoped that he would change his mind. The Irish are a cruel, bloodthirsty race, Kitty Cat. They are killing our men by the thousands with their rebellions and it is not a safe place for any person of quality. Particularly a child."

"But we're staying with Lord Fenton," Cat protested, "surely we'll be quite safe there."

"My own father died in Durhamston, my dear. In the most horrible manner imaginable. He was a chaplain, attempting to reason with those murdering savages …what they did to him, Cat…I dare not say it aloud."

Again the chill ran down Cat's spine, and she replayed her father's words in her mind: shot for treason…and somehow, seeing Alexandra seemed quite small and unimportant in comparison.

. . . .

"Mother! He's coming, he's coming!"

The ten year old girl flew into the room in a blur, nearly sending the end table next the door on it's end in her haste. She didn't even look at her mother, but ran straight across the room to the wind where she could view the rawboned bay stallion being taken to the stable. A small drop of blood appeared on her lower lip, where she had set her teeth tightly. Her eyes, some combination of green and blue, were widened with excitement.

"Wade's here, Mother! Here! Finally!"

"Do calm yourself, Grace," her mother said quietly, "I still haven't decided if you're going to come into town with us after what you did to Lord Fenton. He could have died from the chill."

"Lord Fenton," Grace muttered sarcastically under her breath, "Even if he did catch a chill, which I seriously doubt, it'd be no more than he deserved."

Scarlett O'Hara swung around and stood stiffly wringing her hands. "Melanie Grace!"

"Mother." Grace heaved a sigh.

"What am I going to do with you?"

"Wade doesn't like Lord Fenton either. He doesn't approve of him and he says that you're consorting with the enemy and that's the truth of it. He says that it's the same thing as if you were being courted by a Yankee during the height of the war. It's so if Wade says it, Mother."

Scarlett hesitated, not wanting to inadvertently spill the nature of Wade's business to her daughter, who, lovable and well-meaning that she was, could never be trusted with a secret and might inadvertently spill it to the wrong person - Lord Fenton in particular - though it would be in a fit of rage when she did it. Grace had inherited no small share of Gerald O'Hara's temper, and it was most often on display in the presence of Lord Fenton…

Scarlett looked up to see Grace leaning precariously out the bedroom window, which looked over the long drive.

"I've not been to town in ages," Grace entreated, "Please? I need to talk to Wade."

"He'll be here the better part of the week," Scarlett answered. "And I need to speak with him first without you. So you'll say your hellos when he comes in and then see if you have any luck rousing Ella from her slumber."

"Ach, Mother. She'll be abed until noon at least."

"Well then tell her that we'll be off without her."

"She's still sulking over Paddy Moynihan."

Scarlett rolled her eyes. Her older daughter had made a fool of herself at the County Fair, proclaiming herself in love with the dashing, devilishly handsome equestrian in Lord Fenton's employee. She felt partly responsible, because she had in fact encouraged the affection between the two young people, to a point. Ella was not a great beauty, but she had a large dowry and a good heart, and any of the nobles in Lord Fenton's circle had sons who would have been proud to make her an offer. Ella though, at twenty-one, was firmly on the shelf; that was, considered widely unavailable. Not that Ella wouldn't be a superb wife for someone. She just hadn't met that someone yet. And Paddy Moynihan certainly was not him. Grace's face gave Scarlett's thoughts pause. Such a woebegone expression!

"Alright, you may go. Now, do wake Ella up. I'll visit with Wade while you rouse her. Go on, love."

"Suppose Wade's changed in a year? Suppose he's not the same?"

Scarlett sighed. If only Grace knew how right she was. Still, she reassured her daughter, "Wade will never change. He's the same fine man he always has been-"

"But why has he been traveling so much? He's a lawyer, isn't he? Not an explorer, nor an adventurer. Not even a missionary like Cousin Colum."

Lord, that girl was perceptive! Although Colum's travels were hardly church related …and more akin to Wade's than even Scarlett wished to admit.

"He was raised in America, but his family is here," Grace persisted.

"He enjoys traveling. And it's only since he left the army."

"And got in that fight with that bloody Fenton!"

"Melanie Grace! Do you want to go or not? Now, I do not want to hear you complain about my friends any more, do you understand?"

"It's not your friends, Mother. Just Fenton."

"I suggest you remove yourself from this room before Wade walks in. I'm quite sure that he will not appreciate your attitude any more than I do." Scarlett stared down at the exquisite little face looking back at her, filled with such defiance. Wade was handsome and Ella was lovely, but Grace was going to be a beauty. Everyone in the County had said it. Of course, she had known that Grace would be beautiful the moment she held her in her arms. If only Rhett could see…

No sooner had Grace exited, when Mrs. Fitzpatrick, the housekeeper, stuck her head in the doorway. "Mister Hamilton, Ma'am." At least, Mrs. Fitz attempted to announce him. Her son filled the room with his presence the very moment he entered it. Great balls of fire, Scarlett thought, was it possible that he was even more handsome than the last time she saw him? Yes, he was indeed. Although his looks were largely unchanged, at twenty-six, nothing of the boy he had been remained in him. No, he was very much a man. A man involved in something far more dangerous than he knew…

"Mother. I'm very happy to find you without your ardent admirer in tow."

She was flustered. She had not expected him to address the subject of Fenton outright.

"Don't think for a moment that you can come in here and criticize me. You do have manners, I believe, and I'll thank you to use them while you're in my house," she snapped.

"I would apologize, Mother, but you'd not allow it," Wade smiled wryly. "But I do wish that you would be more careful …I heard that he was here the night the shipment arrived-"

"I don't want to hear it." Scarlett cut him off, "I don't open your parcels and I don't wish to know what's in them. I've told Colum the same, and he respects my wishes."

"Says the woman who spat in the face of the Yankee soldier as she demanded her little son's sword?"

"I don't recall spitting."

"You did in my memory."

"Hmm."

"So, when is Fenton set to return?"

"Next Friday."

"Good. I'll be long gone."

"To?"

"I thought you didn't want to know?"

If she had hoped to dissuade him by feigning disinterest, she had failed dismally. He offered no excuse, no denial, just the proud rebellious smile that Charles Hamilton had worn when he had gone off to fight the Yankees. It would be hypocritical of her to upbraid him for patriotism and loyalty to his adopted homeland, particularly when she felt largely the same way, her association with the English Viceroy's son aside.

Wade continued to chuckle. "Don't worry, Mother. I shan't darken your ears with tell of my misdeeds. As long as you know that I think of you at every turn…"

"Well, perhaps you'll change your mind when I tell you what has happened in your absence," Scarlett smirked.

Wade raised his dark eyebrow. "What, you haven't married him, have you?"

Lord, but they were all perceptive!

"It was …mentioned."

"Are you serious, Mother?" Wade asked with genuine shock. "He proposed, knowing that you are still technically married?"

"A decade constitutes abandonment under English law, apparently. Besides, I'm O'Hara here, not Butler. He mentioned a title."

"Lovely."

"Baroness Navan."

"Your Highness," Wade pretended to bow.

"Don't be cruel, Wade. He's a fine man. Now you see, his wooing was interrupted by this business trip. And I'm terrified that he's going to discover you-"

Wade shook his head. "There's no chance in that. And even less of him marrying you, if I've anything to say about it…"

"Fiddle-dee-dee. I don't wish to discuss it anymore, Wade Hampton. You go upstairs and ask Mrs. Fitz to have someone draw you a bath. I promised your sisters we'd go into town today and you need to look like a lawyer, not an itinerate traveler."

Wade laughed a little. "Your service." He paused at the door. "We don't have to discuss this further, Mother. But I only want what is best for you, but you can't see it right now."

Scarlett wrung her hands for a few minutes as he left the room before she jumped up and nearly went after him. She had forgotten to hug him when he had entered. At the moment, Richard, Lord Fenton was forgotten, and she thought only of her three children …and how precious each embrace was …