7

Grace chafed and swore, but forced herself to be polite to Mrs. Fletcher or whatever her name was, the English governess to that English girl staying in the house of the enemy. Forget that, she blasted internally, that girl is the enemy. She had risen at dawn in order to bathe and allow Mrs. Fitz to comb out her long hair and dress her in her "nice" dress. Paddy had greeted her a little after seven, and although she had seen Ella at the breakfast table, she knew full well that her sister had been seized by a sudden desire to "go look at the horses" around six.

She kept her eyes peeled as she was escorted into the parlor for anything that might be of use to Wade and the Sons, but detected nothing out of the ordinary. She paused at the portrait of Fenton himself in the foyer, mounted on a magnificent bay stallion, a muffler wrapped underneath his chin and his long cape billowing behind him.

"He thinks he is the king," she said aloud.

"I believe that he does," a second voice replied to her statement.

Grace jumped, having heard no door opening nor footsteps. She turned quickly, to find that girl standing at her back, calmly examining the same portrait she was. Lord and his angels, she was dressed to kill. Her freshly ironed pale pink dress was cinched at the waist with an abundant bow and her black hair fell down her back in glorious waves. But she's the enemy, Grace reminded herself, and I must find out why she's here, for Wade. But why in Heaven's name did she not carry a comb or fresh handkerchief like Ella? Why was she skin-and-bones while the other girl was slim and lovely? But surely she could look that nice if she wanted to, she just didn't care to. Who does she think she is, the Princess of Wales?

Filled with a rush of energy, she was at the other's side. "Thank you for inviting me." Her voice came out phony. A pale imitation of her mother's.

The other girl looked at her and smiled. "You're very welcome. I'm pleased that you could come on such short notice."

Above her bright eyes were dark crescent eyebrows, which struck Grace as familiar. She had something similar above her own eyes.

"Are you having a pleasant trip?" she sat down on Lord Fenton's settee and crossed her legs, then realized that ladies crossed their legs at the ankles and that the other girl would think her a heathen. Enemy or not, she didn't want her to think of The O'Hara's daughter as a heathen.

"To be quite honest, no," she said sadly. "I miss my Daddy very much, and I am quite alone here."

"I'm sorry," Grace said, not really feeling that sorry for the girl, but thinking of Wade and Cousin Colum and how much she missed them. "What does your Daddy do?" There, an important question, but one which could be interpreted as simple politeness; she wished that Wade could see her stealth.

"He is involved in all manner of business interests. Most of the time, he is contacted by various people who need this or that secured through borders or over the high seas. He's very clever at that sort of thing, you see." The girl was clearly devoted to her father, and quite willing to talk of his exploits…"But we're always gone somewhere. At least, normally I'm with him aboard one of his ships. As you can see, I'm here alone at the moment."

"So, that's why your skin is so dark!" God's nightgown, that was rude!

But the other girl seemed to think it hilarious. "Yes. Brown as a biscuit, Papa says. But he couldn't leave me behind while he's gone for weeks or months at a time. We went to Buenos Aires to fetch some diamonds for the Queen's Jubilee tiara. It was the most beautiful place I've ever been. Well, not so much as the Bahamas…the Bahamas are still my favorite set of islands…"

"The Bahamas?"

"Yes. We have a house in Nassau. Julian, he was my Daddy's ward, but now he isn't because, well, he's all grown up. Anyhow, Julian lives in Nassau and looks out for our interests there and in America. Although Daddy says he spends most of his time in the bad houses…" the English girl laughed loudly. "I'm horrible, truly…boring you with talk of complete strangers when I should have asked of your family. I hope you'll forgive me. I have no friends here and I would enjoy one very much if you're not too offended by my never ceasing mouth."

Grace grinned in spite of herself. "Mrs. Fitz says the same thing about me."

"Mrs. Fletcher decided it wasn't worth the effort to correct me any longer. She does so wish me to be a lady and I'm afraid I'm nothing but a disappointment."

She was nice, so nice in fact that Grace wondered how she could ever be the child of one of those brutal redcoats who made her people live in such fear.

"My mother would kill for me to turn out like you. What with your gowns and your-"

"Tan?" the girl grinned.

"Well, no, she wouldn't like that but…" Grace laughed and in that moment, knew that they were friends, despite everything.

"I'm Cat," Cat stuck out her hand and shook Grace's with firmness. "Cat Butler."

"Is Cat short for something?"

"Katherine. My mother's name. My mother was Irish, coincidentally. Well, not by birth…she was born in America. But my grandfather was an immigrant, Daddy said."

"So that's why you speak like an American!" Grace realized aloud. "Your mother is American too."

"Well, she was. She died when I was born, sadly. My sister too."

"That's sad. And you have no other family?"

She seemed relieved that Grace did not dwell on the subject of her dead mother overly long. "Not really. Julian is like family. My grandmother lived with us for a time, then had to return to Charleston but got sick on the voyage back and died shortly after. I have an aunt and uncle and some cousins there, in Charleston, but I've only met my Aunt Rosemary once."

"So you've never been back?"

"To America? No. I think that it would make Daddy sad to go back."

"Oh," Grace answered. "I've been twice. But I was littler then, and don't remember much."

"Where are your people from?"

"Georgia. And my Pa was from Charleston, too. Well, born there. I was born in Atlanta."

"Where is your father now?" Cat asked politely.

"I haven't a clue. Never met the man and I'm not sure I'd want to meet him, even if he were standing right next to me. He left us, after I was born."

"That's very sad indeed," Cat responded quietly.

Something shot through Grace like a wave of electricity. No, no…it was impossible. But she had to check.

"What is your real name?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well, are you Cat or Katherine or what?"

Cat laughed. "My real name, as you say, is Katie Scarlett Butler. But as I told you, barring Mrs. Fletcher and my friends at court, everyone calls me Cat. So I hope you will too, Grace."

"Butler, you said?"

"Yes," Cat looked confused. "Of the Charleston Butlers, as I said."

"And what's your Daddy's name?" Grace asked, wanting to know everything there was to know about the other girl before she said anything stupid.

"Rhett Butler." Cat was moving her head from side to side. "Are you quite alright, Grace? You've gone rather pale."

"Do you know your mother's name?" Grace heard the sound of shakiness in her voice. "Did your Daddy tell you?"

"Of course he did; it's not as though it's a grand secret. My mother's name was Scarlett. Scarlett O'Hara, was her maiden name. And my sister who died was named Bonnie. Well, Eugenia Victoria, but they called her Bonnie for the Bonnie Blue flag."

Grace knew that her mouth was hanging open. She tried to conjure up a grin to banish the heaviness, but none would come. She managed to stammer, "And you said that your mother was dead?"

"Yes," Cat looked bewildered. "She died when I was born…"

She searched her face for fraud. Surely she was lying. Surely this was just one of Fenton's tricks - perhaps the redcoats would appear at the top of the stairs, guns blazing and get her - but there was no lie in Cat's eyes, merely confusion.

"It's a coincidence then," Grace said carefully. "My mother's name is O'Hara. Well, there are lots of O'Hara's here. But they call my mother The O'Hara."

"Oh?"

"It's a sort of respectful term for head of the family. It's just a bit unusual that it's been given to a woman."

"I wonder if your O'Hara's are my O'Hara's as well?" Cat inquired, "Perhaps we're cousins or something."

"I don't know." Grace said thoughtfully. "I'll have to think about that." But surely not…surely?

"I hope we are, Grace. You'll have to tell me about your family now. You don't know your father, you said, so…you and your mother live alone?"

Something in her tone had changed. She was thinking the same thing then! And Grace hadn't even said her mother's first name yet. Cat's eyes were almost narrowing with suspicion though, so Grace decided to respond truthfully.

"I have a brother, Wade Hampton. He's twenty-six and a lawyer." There, not too much detail, but not too evasive. "And a sister, Ella. She's twenty-one and not married."

"But interested in the stableman?"

"Yes. Paddy. You remembered."

"I did. Keep in mind the relative smallness of this, what do you call it, County?" At Grace's affirmative nod, Cat continued, "I've not met very many people, so those I have met have stuck in my mind…all the little details." Again, she paused. There was a heavy silence between them. "My birthday was yesterday. Would you like a piece of cake?"

Grace could feel her mouth opening again. "Your birthday?"

"Yes. Would you like some cake?" It was not a trick question.

"My birthday was yesterday." Grace blurted out. "And my mother's name is Scarlett. Katie Scarlett O'Hara. She was born in Clayton County, Georgia and was married to my Pa, Rhett Butler, who abandoned us when I was born. My name is Melanie Grace Butler, but I go by O'Hara. I was one of a set of twins. Mother said that my sister died when we were born."

Oh dear God, what had she done?

Cat was visibly trembling. "That's not possible."

Grace could feel her gaze focus on her face, just as her own eyes were drinking in the reflection opposite her. The forehead, which suggested something noble. Long polished hair of deepest ebony. Large blue-green eyes that seemed to come from the sockets of some jungle cat. Cat. Cat. Cat was her sister, her twin.

And Cat, standing opposite her, was realizing the same thing.

. . . .

Rhett didn't take any chances. The next morning, he spoke to his adjutants and Lord Fenton's man, Herbert, making it plain that their continued success rested upon them resisting the temptation to divulge details of his insights of the last week. He had tracked down Ballyhara by way of a map of Adamstown he had been studying before they had set sail from England, and had been amused to find that it was an expansive manor house and property adjacent to Fenton's, of all people. The smug bastard would be livid to know that gunrunning was occurring right under his nose.

Later, he met with the three lieutenants set to oversee the blockade operations while he returned to Adamstown to investigate the Ballyhara lead.

Although he had modified the manner of his warning, one of the lieutenants muttered, "It's Wade Hamilton behind it, you mark me."

"Wade Hamilton?"

"Aye sir. Was in my regiment for two years. American by birth, and quite a queer bird. Lord Fenton's protégée for a time, sir."

"I take it he was discharged then, from the army?"

"Bloody well disappeared after his two years. And would have been a Captain with his connections. Strange indeed, sir. But we've heard all kinds of rumors that he's been in and out of London, talking to all the wrong people. Of course sir, they could be just rumors."

"Irish Home Rule. Thinking that they're the bloody Yanks! Or what was it, Mr. Butler, that the rebels called themselves?"

"Confederates," the other reminded his companion. "You were never one, were you Mr. Butler?"

Rhett muttered. "Blockader. For profit only."

It was strange, and damned coincidental. So Wade had been in London recently, eh? He didn't mention his connection to Wade Hamilton to them.

If Wade was involved - and he didn't know that he was - he didn't yet know how. He caught himself wondering what seeing his stepson again would feel like…and introducing him to Cat…and how he might react, crossing his path again.

Then again, he remembered himself…if Wade was involved, perhaps it would be for the better if they did not cross paths. For how could he send Scarlett's son to the gallows…or not…and risk his own neck.