Author's Note: Two chapters in one week - that is quite the accomplishment!

I've been missing Rhett and Scarlett, so we catch up with them in this chapter; the twins will be back in action in Chapter 7. ;) I hope you are liking the story! Let me know by clicking that little button that says "review" and commenting, if you are so inclined...

Joannaroo, your reviews were extremely helpful - I hope that I've answered some of your concerns in this chapter. Areadergirl, ElizabethAnneSoph, NiraJean, CCGWTW, and everybody else, you are so kind! Thank you, thank you for your comments!

6

The journey to Dublin had taken a day and a half with only one respite, and Scarlett felt exhausted and road weary as she stepped down from her carriage beside Richard, or as he was known to all but his most intimate friends, Lord Fenton. Her maid, Paula, followed them several lengths behind, and with her head down, as Fenton expected.

"The dregs are out today, my dear. Best stay close." Fenton offered her his arm.

"The dregs?" she inquired, confused.

"Those people, there, you see?"

Indeed, a line had formed at the main gate leading up to the Viceroy's grand residence…but she would hardly term any of the people as dregs. Hardly! Why, they look downright elegant here, compared to the folks up at Ballyhara!

Fenton was too busy scanning the line of carriages, which were passing through the gate while the uniformed guards held back those who did not possess an invitation. Attendance for this particular party, Fenton had said earlier, had already been capped. Tapping Scarlett's arm, he began walking up the expansive cobblestone avenue to the front of the line, where two of Queen Victoria's uniformed redcoats were guarding the door, looking ready to intervene if any unsavory character made it to the receiving line without an invitation. The Viceroy's civilian staff wore red too, although they blended well with their military counterparts.

Fenton leaned down and whispered in her ear, "There are a few that we are forced to acknowledge. Politics, you see, my dear."

Scarlett feigned polite interest, although in truth, she cared very little about meeting Fenton's friends. She was worried sick over Wade, even though he was surely safely back in England by now. And Ella of course, who was responsible generally, but quite without sense when it came to Paddy Moynihan, who to her surprise and chagrin, had not been included in their traveling party. When she had inquired to Fenton as to Paddy's whereabouts, he had merely shrugged and said, "The fewer Irish along, the better." Again, that chill had run down her spine. Perhaps he knew about Wade, about Colum…perhaps he even suspected her.

And then there was Grace, who she had left on the very worst of terms. Never in her life had Grace taken the notion of refusing to speak to her - her own mother! Scarlett had pleaded and threatened and groveled and even offered to cancel the trip. Finally though, as she had been preparing to leave, Grace had let slip an "I love you, Mother." But it was icy, at best. She couldn't very well break it off with Richard, though! Not now, not with so much afoot-

"Scarlett? You seem quite distracted, my dear."

She shook her head quickly. "I'm quite well…I was just admiring the…castle."

That amused him. "This is hardly a castle, my sweet. Fenton Hall, my ancestral home in Suffolk, puts this hovel to absolute shame. As are all things Irish, it is a mere imitation, dearest. Come, come. I must greet someone."

Again he scanned the receiving line from his perch atop the stairs, her at his side, and watched the guests like a hawk picking out its prey.

When a particular carriage halted, he said, "Aha." He seemed to force a smile then before he gave her arm a squeeze and led her toward the portly, kindly looking gentleman who descended from it.

The gentleman smiled and said: "My Lord. Good to see you. Madam, I don't believe that I've had the honor-"

"Sir John Morland, this is Mrs. O'Hara down from Ballyhara."

Morland's brow furrowed and Scarlett thought that he looked a bit discomfited. "I take it that you have property there, Fenton?"

Fenton smiled. "I oversee the district as a favor to Father. I let out property as necessary, but spend a far greater amount of time hunting down rebels. Sir John is a barrister in his spare time, Scarlett…the rest of the year he is buried in the countryside with his champion racers."

"Aye, I am that," Moreland smiled. "We hunt tomorrow, I understand?"

Fenton nodded. "We do. Father wishes to hunt the fox, although I'd have much preferred to bring in a boar."

"Dangerous sport, that," Moreland removed a handkerchief from his front pocket and wiped the perspiration off his gleaming forehead. "Mrs. O'Hara, will you ride tomorrow?"

Scarlett was uncertain how best to answer him. She had accompanied Fenton on two previous hunts, but at his instruction, she had mounted and then remained with many of the other ladies at the finish rather than risk her neck on the hilly Irish terrain.

"She will ride," Fenton answered for her. "If I leave her unattended, you see, Sir John, twill only invite attack."

Moreland laughed, although Scarlett didn't understand his meaning at first, finally realizing that Fenton was giving her a strange sort of complement…or a criticism.

"Are they all wanting to be seen today?" Fenton inquired flippantly, motioning towards the still growing throng.

"Ah, yes…they are hungry, you see. Even the more prosperous landowners are feeling the effects of your new embargo, My Lord. They cannot buy food when your men hold their ships at ports-"

"You forget, Sir John, that many of those detained ships have been found carrying contraband items. Guns, knives, the like. Poisons. All hidden up in Bibles."

Scarlett's heart was in her throat. She thought of Colum, with his hollowed out Bible and the revolver hidden inside. Surely Fenton didn't know about that.

"Nevertheless, My Lord, I do intend to speak to your Father about buying provisions for my tenants. Many of them are children, completely innocent of any wrongdoing and they are suffering, sir."

Fenton looked amused. "Living in London, Sir John, as you do for nine months out of the year, you're doubtless unaccustomed to their bellyaching. The charities in London, I hear, drain the gentry dry for the maintenance of the urban poor - not that -" he added hastily, "I would deny help to any honest Englishman. But do spare a thought for us who value our bucolic existence. Take Scarlett here, for instance. She came to Ireland from America for peace and tranquility. Rest. To her, this unpleasantness is an unwanted reminder of that which we both fervently wish to avoid."

"You mean, I presume, the American war, sir?" Moreland addressed Fenton, who looked at Scarlett as if he expected her to say something.

She was silent still, unwilling to say anything which might in any way incriminate Wade. She was confident of Fenton's feelings for her …but not so much that she would risk saying anything stupid.

"Among other things, isn't that right, darling?" Fenton squeezed Scarlett's shoulder and winked at her. Of course he meant Rhett. Naturally, she had told him of the husband that had abandoned her fairly early on in their association. He had taken the information remarkably well at the time, casually joking that under English law, a decade of abandonment was tantamount to an annulment - something which later, she found out was actually true, and so the harmless, amusing diversion had morphed into a new level of seriousness, something which Scarlett was not altogether comfortable with, but unsure of how to end. And he was so charming, so mysterious and powerful…and dangerous. She had not been so swayed by a man since…well Rhett, really. And Fenton was like Rhett…in more ways than one -

"At least with this Little Season here you have something to distract you. An excellent excuse to be doing other things, more diverting than hunting down rebels, eh Fenton?"

Glancing at Fenton and doing the best she could to live up to his expectations for her behavior, Scarlett inwardly grimaced. She could imagine the picture they made, her with her American voice and Irish features and no title to her name, with Richard, a golden-haired sun god who boasted dramatic good looks and more money and social status than anyone in Ireland. In the restricted society of Dublin, they would never have even been introduced. And still, Scarlett thought smugly in spite of herself, the ladies are lining up to accost him - but none of them outshine me, for all their money and their titles.

She then proceeded to unleash her charm on Sir John, the same charm that had solidified her as the belle of five counties, not to mention her position as Fenton's companion - and it was his companion she was known as, not his mistress - within the whirl of the ton of both London and Dublin. As she thought of it, she was just keeping in practice.

Finally, Fenton interrupted their rather pleasant conversation about the upcoming Irish Derby and said that he had better say hello to some of the other guests.

"It was a pleasure chatting, Fenton. As always." With a pointed look at Scarlett, Moreland bowed deeply, then took his leave, joining up with a stout matron who could only be his wife and entering through the great oaken door after Sir John had pulled an invitation from the inside of his jacket and presented it to the red-liveried servant.

"Who was he?" Scarlett asked as Fenton swore underneath his breath.

Fenton shrugged. "No one of much consequence. A local high stickler, nothing more." He then beckoned imperiously at Moreland's footman and instructing his coachman to draw his landau to the curb and then invite Sir John and Lady Elizabeth to sup privately with himself and with Mrs. O'Hara.

The footman nodded warily and promised to deliver the message. He strolled on to the next stationary carriage then, Scarlett still on his arm. He greeted the elderly woman who emerged with a kiss on the hand. "This is Lady Parnell, Scarlett. Madam, allow me to introduce Mrs. O'Hara of Ballyhara. Another American and certainly a kindred spirit."

When Scarlett looked her surprise, Lady Parnell airily waved.

"Tut, tut, Fenton. I've not been back in years. I'm English now, just as you. Although, have I ever told you that my father was one of President Washington's bodyguards, eh?"

Scarlett knew that Fenton was attempting to appear interested. "No, Madam. But did you hear me, Madam...? This is Mrs. O'Hara. She too, is American."

Scarlett smiled, "Yes, I'm from Georgia."

She looked disgusted. "Georgia. So you're one of those Confederates." She flicked her fingers in her left hand. "I suppose this is Ireland, after all. They'll let anyone in."

Scarlett made no reply, intentionally. She wasn't going to be provoked. Not here…no matter how grave an insult.

Lady Parnell wasn't done though. "My third son, Charlie. Horrid boy. He loves the Irish. Wants to allow them to rule themselves. I told him, look what happened back home, Charlie. Look at the South. Wanted to rule themselves and look where it got them. But I'm sure that Mrs. O'Hara knows all about that. She probably agrees with my son."

Scarlett was drinking in her every word, and that statement sounded suspiciously like an accusation. So this was Charles Parnell's mother. The MP Wade was going to meet…was this deliberate on Fenton's part? Hoping that she would slip up, perhaps, and admit that Wade and Parnell were acquaintances. My God, she thought, he knows!

But Fenton was smiling, a tad patronizingly.

"Never, Lady Parnell. Why, I intend to make Mrs. O'Hara my bride before year's end. And naturally, what is mine is mine."

The old lady's own smirk became more intent. "What's that, English?"

His voice, sultry and deeply stirring, mesmerizing in its effect, replied, "If it pleases me, it will be as I say."

God help not only Wade…but me as well.

. . . .

Roses are red, violets are blue, read the card on a glass of flowers the maid, Kitty, had left on the breakfast table of Rhett's hotel room for his return. I wish you were here and Mrs. Fletcher does too. Love, the pea missing from the pod, Cat.

He inwardly grimaced. His princess was going to spend the first birthday of her young life unhappy, and it was all his fault. Damn Fenton for getting him into this operation in the first place! He had agreed to it in the beginning for the adventure, the chance to feel young again, but he had made it very clear to his new business partner that Cat's welfare and wellbeing were his first priority. And missing her tenth birthday was hardly a good start.

That and, the work he was doing was unfulfilling at best, downright disturbing at worst. There were hungry people waiting for supplies, foodstuffs and medicine, and being turned away at port. He had arrested two stowaways, both underage and in all likelihood, not underground agents of terror. But still, he was obliged to hold the ships, their crews and cargo and subject them to search. He had found a total of ten unregistered weapons, three Sons of Erin propaganda pamphlets, and one suspicious looking list of addresses and names, folded carefully into a Bible.

Even still, he did not perceive a threat of the magnitude Fenton had described, and frankly, he wondered if there was even a rebellion underfoot at all - if there was, he had to give the Irish credit for their secrecy. The Charlestonians would have surely shot someone by now.

He put down the card from Cat and felt his eyes well up with emotion. Ten joyous years with Cat had meant ten heartbreaking years without Scarlett. He had spent the past decade putting his life to rights, fulfilling his moral and social obligations, re-establishing a place for himself as he established a place for his precious Cat in the eyes of those who mattered in London. And Fenton, like or loathe the man, mattered in London…and when he had come to Rhett for help, he had been only too glad to do so; after all, he was a former blockade runner and lifelong adventurer and seeker of thrill.

And he had grown slightly bored with his solitary existence in his new role as honorable gentleman. Although, the solitary part he had no desire to change - he lived his life for Cat and Cat alone. Not one pretty face in London's ton stirred even the remotest interest in him. Not even the basest curiosity…Unfortunately for Rhett, however, becoming known as the grieving widower with a hardened heart toward the fairer sex had only increased the aspirations of many of the ladies. It had been Fenton who, in the middle of a ballroom, had pulled him aside and whispered that Rhett had been deemed positively Byronic in his looks and temperament, something which had amused him greatly at the time, although he could see a shred of truth in the description. But still, he was increasingly self-aware now that many young ladies viewed him as a challenge, and he took a great care to keep himself free of social snares that could either entrap him or reflect poorly upon Cat.

Even those select and highly paid ladies with whom he occasionally enjoyed a discreet dalliance with weren't above hatching schemes…nor tipping off the newspapers- London's Society pages, he had realized fairly quickly upon his arrival in the city - were absolutely brutal when it came to airing out dirty laundry of the elite. A stark contrast to Charleston, he had observed, where secrets were guarded to the death and where indiscretions lead to being blotted out of the family Bible…

Reduced to the redundant, Rhett's mind returned to the matter he had returned to the hotel room to mull over a glass of brandy. He glanced over at the intercepted list. How ironic that his father should cross his mind, that and the scandal which had gotten him disinherited and blackguarded forever in the minds of Charleston's society. And how appropriate that he wasn't engaged on the wrong side this time; no, he had been recruited by Queen Victoria's nephew - or was it cousin? He could never recall the relation - to wit the Irish rebel group, the Sons of Erin. The request was a deliberate and meaningful vote of confidence, and a declaration that he had reached the very pinnacle of popularity at Court. He'd recruited the Honorable Sir John Moreland, an Anglo-Irish landowner and barrister, to help. Rhett knew Moreland well, had for years, through their connection to Sally Brewton, his childhood friend from Charleston; Sally, Rhett, and Moreland all shared a mutual interest in champion horseracing, and he had hoped to have his at least his preliminary investigation finished for Lord Fenton before the Irish Derby, in a month's time. Moreland was already there, as it was…under the guise of "investigating" one of their so-called leads; although, Rhett knew that his old friend was enjoying fox hunting season rather than pursuing any leads on the case. But the Little Season, as they called it, would only last the month; when it was finished he would take Cat up to Dublin and around the country for some restful travel…perhaps they would even attempt to locate some of the O'Hara relatives…

Suddenly, Rhett's eyes lit as he glanced down at the list. The entries were nonsensical, but perhaps there was more than what he had first thought.

ARAHYLLAB OT SNUG

What he had originally written off as Gaelic was something else entirely. It was a trick straight from the Confederate Army, and not a very smart one, particularly not when he rewrote the message, backwards: GUNS TO BALLYHARA

Ballyhara.

Where was Ballyhara?

He certainly had a feeling that if he found Ballyhara, he would find his nest of rebels. And then, with any luck, his work would be finished.