"We can't command our love, but we can our actions." Arthur Conan Doyle

Once she had fled, Ashley let out a deep sigh of both relief and regret.

Running a hand through his soft golden hair, he closed his eyes for a moment and stood motionlessly in the middle of the small office, no sound in his ears but the steady beating of his own heart. The workers had called it a day, the saws were resting – an odd silence had fallen. Only the faint chirping of a lonely bird could be heard every now and then, but Ashley couldn't make up his mind which species it belonged to. He drank in the noiselessness around him, its tranquility soothing after the havoc Scarlett's words had wrought. He inhaled the air in the room, an aromatic wooden smell tinged with but a fleeting memory of her scent. He finally opened his eyes and looked out of the window to his left, but Scarlett was no longer to be seen.

He was alone.

Wearily, Ashley sat back down on the little stool and rested his hands on his knees. He stared at the dust on the windowsill and then back outside at the dark forest trees, and, eventually, he allowed himself to think about what had just transpired.

It was over. Scarlett, for whatever reason, had taken a stroll last night, seen him at Belle Watling's and finally realized what she had refused to see for the past decade. She knew now that he did not love her, had never really loved her and never would, and to Ashley's immense surprise nothing had ever brought him greater relief. He felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders after an age of suffering, as if he could finally breathe freely. Too long had he been shrinking from this long overdue encounter. Too long had he been hiding in the shadows, bound to nostalgia and precious memories of the one who had all the passion for life that he lacked. Now he realized that if only he had done this years ago, he could have spared himself and her a great deal of time and energy. But he had been too much of a fool to see beyond his own desire and too much of a coward to tell her the truth, knowing that the revelation would ultimately destroy their misguided romance and probably their friendship, too. And he had feared that outcome, for apart from his obvious lust for her body he truly did appreciate her lively ways, her spirit and that unbreakable strength of hers, which he had needed in order to survive. He had always leaned on her, clung to her like a parasite to a host. For what had he ever given her other than heartbreak, dashed hopes and finally this, this ultimate disappointment? She was better off without him.

No, there was no need to regret what had happened. It was done now, and it was for the best. Yet a part of him mourned the loss of her, knowing that if he knew her at all, she would quickly recover from the shock and the pain and realize that she did not need him. She would soon forget what had made her love him in the first place, and soon – oh, all too soon! - she would despise herself for having wasted so much time on a man like him, who could never make her happy. And then, perhaps, she would finally be able to find true happiness in life, whether with Butler or not was not for him to say. All Ashley knew was that he had always stood in her way when it came to other men, and he deeply regretted the part he'd played in preventing her from pursuing true love. Just as he regretted having failed at showing Melanie just how much he loved her. As much as he had stood in Scarlett's way she had somehow stood in his, because his longing for her body, her beauty, her passion for living and her unbridled strength had always overshadowed the genuine love he felt for his wife. He had neglected Melanie, even is she herself never knew it - too kindly did she look upon those she loved and too naïve was she too realize that although they were indeed meant for each other, although she was indeed his soul-mate, it was Scarlett whom he had desired on the quiet. She also did not know that until last night, he had been secretly consorting with whores. God bless her.

He was thankful for her ignorance, and if the Butlers kept their word, Melanie would never learn of his betrayal. He could not undo the past, but he vowed that he would make it up to his wife. He would go home to her, renounce his wicked ways and be true to her, and he would love her. Love her the way she deserved to be loved. A part of him would probably always desire Scarlett – he was but a man, after all, and she was temptation incarnate. But he would quench this thirst forever and avoid her as best he could, just as he would never enter a whorehouse again. It was the only way. In any case, Butler had told him he never wanted to see him at Belle Watling's again, and Ashley was almost glad. There were other bordellos, yes, but he was sure that Butler had connections. He would find out eventually and Ashley would never see the end of it. No, he would go back to his platonic marriage and he would bear this cross with dignity and pride because Melanie deserved his fidelity. She deserved that and so much more - she was a saint among mortal men. Even Butler had reminded him that he would keep Ashley's misdeeds a secret only for the sake of Mrs. Wilkes.

Butler. Ashley couldn't keep his thoughts from straying to the man. Strictly speaking, Ashley had failed to make good on his promise to that reprobate that he would tell Scarlett of his nightly exploits at Belle's. He knew that Butler had blackmailed him into it with the intention of making Scarlett realize that her golden hero was not that much of a gentleman after all. But, oddly enough, it seemed as if she had figured it out for herself before Ashley could even seek her out to inform her of his misdeeds and the fact that he did not love her. He had no idea how she had come to be outside Belle's last night, and he was indeed embarrassed and ashamed that she had witnessed his transgression. But it had happened that way and he was secretly glad that she had seen him on her nightly walk. Her coming here today and confronting him had spared him the humiliation of approaching her of his own accord and confessing it all. He didn't know if he would have been able to do it, although eventually he would have had to. Otherwise, Butler would have found some way or other to blacken his name and tarnish his reputation, although Ashley was sure that the man would never have approached Melanie directly. He respected her too much for that.

But what was Rhett going to do, now that Scarlett understood that he, Ashley, did not love her? Would he make one last effort to win his wife's heart after years of trying in vain to make her love him? Ashley was not a man whose rage was easily stirred, nor one who had the energy to hate others with a passion, as Scarlett did. But Butler was one of the few people whom he truly despised. He could not stand the man's snobbish arrogance, his dismissal of all things long-established, his vanity and presumptuous pride. True, he had saved Ashley's life – another attempt to prove to Scarlett that he was worthy of her? - but he would always be a bastard, a traitor and an outsider. In addition, Ashley had always thought that the famed blockade runner was somehow beneath Scarlett. He was coarse and obscene, often rude and even ungentlemanly in his bearing towards everyone except Melanie and small children, whom he seemed to like, doubtlessly for some mysterious reason of his own. Ashley had always resented the idea of such a vulgar man touching a woman like Scarlett while he himself could not. Naturally, it had pleased him to learn that the couple had begun to sleep in separate bedrooms, an incident that undoubtedly had something to do with his own words to Scarlett. He regretted that, too. Not for Butler's sake, but he had – again – used Scarlett back then. He had wanted her to remain unspoiled, safe from Butler's clutches, and so he had made her turn her own husband away by subtly insinuating how beautiful it would be to be physically faithful to each other. With the small but significant drawback that he had not stuck to that innocent promise and gone to Belle Watling's whorehouse instead.

He shook his head. Perhaps he really was no better than Butler. But at least he was not vulgar or arrogant, constantly belittling everyone and everything. He could not deny that he was probably no gentleman any more – his hideous actions, his betrayal of Melanie, and his ill treatment of Scarlett only proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt. He was not the man he used to be, full of decorum and

honor, the essential virtues of a man of good breeding. But he was yet a man who was willing to make up for his mistakes, and he did not know if Butler was equally willing to relent and give up some of his pride and resentment. For Ashley could sense that Butler, not matter how abominable he was, truly loved Scarlett with a passion and was desperate to make her love him, had been desperate for years for her to return his hidden feelings. What the man did not seem to grasp, though, for all his sharp intelligence, was that Scarlett would never understand how much he loved her if he did not show her. She had no knowledge of human nature and did not understand people's hearts, not even her own, which her foolhardy pursuit of him, Ashley, undeniably proved. Secondly, in spite of the callousness and sharpness she was capable of – character traits Ashley did sense in her but would always be reluctant to accept – she was still a woman of romantic whims and fiery vows, a woman to whom the passionless was the impossible, raised by a sentimental Irishman who had cherished the great, the essential things in life - land, love, loyalty. No matter how beautiful and smart Scarlett was, there would always be something charmingly rustic and simple about her and her perception of romance. All or nothing. Her heart was stirred by the notion of all-consuming love as easily as Tara's cotton fields were shaken by the rough winds of the Georgian fall.

She wanted the kind of love a man like himself could never give her but one like Butler certainly could, if he only tried. But the man would never win Scarlett's affections if he did not treat her with tenderness and showed her some of the love he seemed to be harboring in that black heart of his. And although Ashley hated him and probably always would, he could not deny that some part of him felt pity and understanding towards Butler. He did not know what it was like to desire the love of another person so much, but he did know what it felt like to walk through life with a feeling of incompleteness overshadowing your every action. And so, as he said there on his little stool in the quiet little office, Ashley could not help wishing that Butler would find a way to be kind to Scarlett, for she deserved kindness. He prayed inwardly that Butler would be there for her and give her the candid kind of love she wanted, something both of them had failed to do – Ashley because he'd never felt it in the first place, Butler because he was a coward and perhaps also because he'd had no choice – Ashley had stood in his way, too.

Ashley sighed again and got up from the stool, carelessly pushing it back with his leather boot. He gazed out the window at the darkening sky and wondered how he could ever make up for the past, for the sins he had committed so carelessly in the past months and years. How could he take back the pain he'd inflicted upon others without thinking twice? For a man who had always prided himself on his intellect and principles, he had acted like a brainless and heartless fool.

The lonely bird chirped once more. Suddenly, as if urged by that indistinct but pretty sound, Ashley felt like he needed to go home immediately and carry out his plans: Be a loving husband. Spend more time with your wife and son. Forget about Scarlett and never offend with your body against Melanie again. As God is your witness. Yes, why not start now? It was as good a time as any and he needed to start somewhere. Scarlett's heated accusations had opened his eyes, and for once in his life since the end of the war he felt not the need to look back and wallow in self-pity but to actually do something, to take matters into his own hands. He had not the power to change the world. He had not the power to change the South. His old life was gone and he would never cease to mourn its loss. But he still had the power to make small changes that would be to everyone's benefit. He still had the power to be selfless for once and make good on his promise to give Melanie what she deserved.

He who lacked the passion for living that drove others to excel, he who had squandered time and forfeited too many chances, he who had lost his honor in the process – he was willing to repent, to reconsider, to redeem himself.

Ashley Wilkes quickly grabbed his coat, gloves and hat and left the office, ready to call it a day and go home to his wife. He had never been more eager to return to the little house on Ivy Street.

When she came home, Rhett Butler held his breath. He knew it was her - he could sense her presence, knew her light step by heart.

He was in the dining room, having sat down to dinner with the children only minutes ago. He was just trying to make Bonnie, who was sitting in his lap, stop pushing his food off of his plate, when he heard someone open and close the front door. Then there were Mammy's heavy footsteps as she rushed towards her lamb and her deep voice as she scolded her for something unintelligible. Scarlett's voice was faint and small whereas her daughter was not exactly quiet as she bounced up and down on her father's knee, and so Rhett could not hear much of what his wife was saying. However, when Bonnie mercifully shut up for a moment he did catch Scarlett's reply to Mammy's request that her lamb join the family for dinner.

"Oh, no, Mammy, not – not now," she replied rather shakily. "I'm not hungry."

Rhett could see Mammy's frown before his mind's eye. "Ma Lamb's gonna eat, 'specially after you's been buggy-ridin' all afternoon. If you don't, Ah's gonna -"

"Alright," Scarlett quickly relented, no doubt trying to cut short the conversation and make her escape. "Will you please bring something up to my room, then? Or let Pansy do it, Mammy. Your back - "

Clever Scarlett, trying to make Mammy order Pansy to do it in order to avoid the old servant and her knowing eyes for the remainder of the evening. But Mammy was not that easily put off.

"Ah's gonna bring it to you, Miz Scarlett. Don't you worry 'bout my back."

There was a short pause in which they probably glared at each other, as they always did when arguing about something until one of them would finally give in. This time, it seemed to be Scarlett. He heard the shuffling of her feet and her heavy dress as she started walking past Mammy.

Unsure what to do, Rhett grabbed the edge of the dining table and waited, hoping in spite of himself that she would turn left and step into the dining room in order to greet them. He was dying to know what was written on that face of hers. He needed to know what she'd been up to all day. But somehow he couldn't bring himself to humiliate himself before her and beg her to dine with them if she so obviously desired to be alone – as usual.

Before he could decide, he heard Mammy's voice again. There was a wary, almost disappointed undertone to it as she inquired calmly, "Aren't you gonna say hello to Captn' Butler and the chillun, Miz Scarlett?"

Another pause. Scarlett's voice was a mere whisper, it was a miracle that he could make out the words. "Mammy, I can't. Not now. I need – I need to go upstairs. Bring up the food if you insist, but take your time."

That did it. There was a note of sadness in her voice that disturbed him and stirred something inside him. The old, familiar urge to know what she felt, what she needed. She sounded hollow and weary, almost bewildered. He was reminded of their encounter in the morning, when he'd mocked her and her wooden-headed gentleman, and she'd blurted out so adamantly, "How dare you bring him up, now that – now when I've -", and then only a minute later when he'd asked her how she was feeling, and her smooth reply that so blatantly had been a lie, "I'm fine. Perfectly fine."

He got up from his chair and handed Bonnie over to Wade. "Watch your sister for a moment, Wade, will you?" he muttered absentmindedly, already half out the door, knowing he could trust his step-son with his little girl. For once, he ignored Bonnie's insistent protests at being parted from her daddy so abruptly.

He excited the room and stepped into the hall, quickly taking in the scene before him. Thankfully, Mammy had given in and left, probably for the kitchen. Scarlett had only ascended about a quarter of the staircase until now, her step wary and tired. He watched her slouched shoulders and did not know whether he wanted to shake them until she revealed all her secrets or sweep her up into his arms, carry her to safety and never let her go. It was always like this with Scarlett.

He opened his mouth to hurl an ironic "Good evening, Mrs. Butler. I see you're unwilling to grace your loving family with your presence tonight?" at her, but reconsidered quickly. He was always doing this. Taunting and teasing her with cruel jests and less than friendly barbs even in situations like this when he realized that she was unwell. What was wrong with him? Had he not promised himself to be kind to her? He had no idea whether Ashley had already told her his dirty secret or not, but in any case, his mockery would avail to nothing right now. Kindness, he repeated to himself, kindness.

And so, he said simply, "Hello, Scarlett."

She stopped dead in her tracks, her body tensing up the moment she heard his voice. He could see her hand on the banister quivering as she tried to calm herself. What was going on with her? She turned her face a little, its contours remaining hidden in the shadows. "Good evening, Rhett," she replied evenly enough, but he knew her voice inside out. All the little nuances, all the undertones; he could sense she was shaking inside and his curiosity was increasing with every passing second. What was troubling her?

She still had not turned around and so he took a few steps forward until he reached the staircase. He rested one hand on the banister, involuntarily mimicking her stance, and looked up at her.

"I take it you're not going to sit down with us?" His eyes were boring into her back, urging her to face him, but she didn't.

She shook her head. "It's – it's been a long day, Rhett, I'm sorry. I'd rather have dinner in my room. Make my apologies to the children, will you?"

He waited for a long moment, hoping she would say more. But she didn't. Discouraged, pained by her rejection and the fact that she would not even look at him, he let out a sigh. "As you wish," he consented. "Good night, Scarlett. I'll see you in the morning."

He was about to turn around when she beat him to it, why he did not know. It was only for a fleeting moment, as if she couldn't resist looking at him once before she went upstairs to her room, and she turned back around quickly when she realized he was still gazing at her. But it was enough.

He scanned her face within seconds and saw the pain and confusion in its lines. He saw her red-rimmed eyes, sore from crying, her slightly trembling lips. Without thinking, he swiftly made his way up to her and gently grabbed her shoulder, turning her around to face him. She twisted a little but did not protest, meeting his eyes with a forlorn look in hers.

"Scarlett," he breathed, trying desperately not to reveal too much of his feelings. Kindness was one thing, but he was not ready yet to let her know just how much her distress affected him. How much every little thing she did, said or felt affected him. But still he wanted to show her he could be the gentle, caring husband he'd always been too much of a coward to be. "Scarlett, what is it? Are you alright?"

"I'm – fine," she stammered after a while, avoiding his eyes.

"Are you sure?" He replied smoothly, his eyes boring into her, daring her to look up at him. What was she playing at? She was not fine and they both knew it. He would get this out of her eventually, this way or the other. So why prolong the inevitable?

A silence fell. When she still would not meet his eyes, he gently but firmly put a hand under her chin and made her look at him. "Don't lie to me, Scarlett," he replied, something dark and dangerous swinging in his velvety smooth voice all of a sudden. "I've told you before that I can take anything from you but a lie. You're not fine."

She gazed at him now, her eyes watery but defiant. He should have known she wasn't going to make this easy for him.

"I don't see how it's any of your business," she remarked, pushing his hand away, but it didn't quite sound as cutting as usual. There was something in her green orbs that told him she wanted to talk about her distress, and he was beginning to sense what might have caused it... After all, who else but that wooden headed wimp of hers could have caused her such misery? But he didn't want to get his hopes up.

"I make it my business," he replied simply, neither mockery nor venom in his voice. She seemed to sense this, for her face softened a little and some of the tension seemed to be fading from her body. But still she wouldn't speak.

And so Rhett did something he would never have done at this point in their sham of a marriage, had it not been for his encounter with Wilkes last night and his conversation with Scarlett this morning. He raised his hand and put it back where it had been, right under her chin. Gently, hesitantly, he began to caress it, relishing the feel of her soft skin. When she did not push him away, he moved his hand up to her cheek and cupped it. Looking intently at her, he tried to convey with his eyes what he could not yet say with words: that she could trust him, always.

"What is it, honey? Can you not tell me?"

He saw her eyes widen at his use of the old endearment which had not crossed his lips for two years. God, but it felt good to call her that, to express a tiny bit of his love verbally and show affection with his words.

"I can't," Scarlett breathed eventually, her lips trembling. "You – you'd only laugh at me."

"Your ability to think the worst of me never ceases to amaze me, Scarlett," he quipped, but it was kindly meant. He moved his hand from her cheek to her shoulder and squeezed it gently. "I promise I won't laugh at you. Remember - " He hesitated, unsure if this was wise. But he couldn't resist. "Remember the times when you'd tell me anything, without thinking twice?"

She nodded, the warmth of his words and the soothing caress of his black eyes slowly melting away her distrust.

Realizing that she was about to confess, he let go of her face and took a small step away from her to give her some space. "Tell me, Scarlett," he urged gently once more. "I want to help you."

She gave an almost self-deprecating little snort, surprising Rhett, and turned her face away as if unable to look him in the eye. "You've tried helping me before and I wouldn't listen. Even when you told me he'd never – that he doesn't understand me -" She cast tormented, watery eyes up at him.

"Oh Rhett," she breathed brokenly, lowering her head again in defeat, "you were right. Ashley, he – he doesn't love me."

He stared at her, his eyes boring into her alabaster skin. A cold shiver of anticipation ran down his spine. Could it really be? Had she really just said that? He kept looking at her, and when she finally turned her eyes up to him, he saw the truth in them.

My God.

To be continued...

Dear readers, first of all let me thank you all for your support and encouragement! It means a lot. I apologize for the long intervals between updates, but I haven't had much time to write lately. Unfortunately (or fortunately? ha ha), ever so often real life takes precedence over writing fanfiction. However, if all goes well, the next chapter will be up soon.

Another thing - judging from some of your previous comments, I can't help feeling that most of you are staunch Ashley-haters! ;-) I'm sorry to disappoint you, but, personally, I am NOT. I don't hate Ashley. On the contrary, I find his character rather interesting, and writing from his perspective comes naturally to me. I don't know why that is. I do despise him for being such a coward and for leading Scarlett on, but on the other hand I can relate to his dreamy ways, his propensity for nostalgia. He's a very, very intriguing character that allows for a lot of interpretation, which is great for any writer.

Anyway, feel free to review and let me know what you think of Ashley, this chapter or my writing in general. I'm very open to constructive criticism. Thanks again and take care!