Scarlett spent the entirety of that early evening pacing her room, alternately wringing her hands and biting her nails until she felt like the walls of her chamber were closing in about her, a hutch to trammel some wild thing in. Every now and then her eyes would dart to the door opening into the hall which she had deliberately left open, hoping against hope to hear the blessed sound of Rhett's key turning in the entrance door downstairs. But there was only silence; an irritating, prolonged hush that unnerved her to the point of agony. She was on her own; all the servants except Mammy had gone to a funeral, Bonnie had mercifully been put down for her nap, difficult though it had been to get her to sleep without her father present, and Wade and Ella were playing in Melanie's backyard.
Upon her departure from the lumberyard two hours ago, and during the ride home, Scarlett had felt supremely confident that once she faced Rhett, she would be able to convince him of the sincerity of her love. She had assured herself that if only she made a big enough effort, she could make him forgive her for her foolishness all these long years, make him forget Belle and cleave to her, Scarlett, alone. But now, as the clock kept ticking mercilessly on the mantle and Rhett still had not arrived, her confidence was slowly beginning to give way to doubt.
What if he refused to accept her apology? What if he didn't believe that she loved him? After all, it had taken her long enough to realize it, and he was not the kind of man to trust others easily, she presumed, especially not her, who had let him down for so long. And, finally, what if he did refuse to give up Belle? He had confessed his love for her, Scarlett, yes, but had run off to his mistress immediately afterwards. So what if – terrible thought – he did decide that he didn't want to give up his whore? Scarlett shuddered inwardly, for she knew, as sure as night must follow day, that she wouldn't be able to take it. She couldn't share Rhett, couldn't take second place, now that she knew her own heart. She wanted all of him, nothing less.
But he wasn't here; she couldn't speak to him, couldn't even attempt to convince him – as usual, he was out of reach. For, she could hardly go after him – as she would have done under any other circumstance – and march into Belle Watling's house of ill repute, demanding a confrontation. Oh, never that! She wouldn't give either of them the satisfaction of seeing her in a brothel. And so, she was doomed to wait here for him, paralyzed in the face of his absence, helpless like a beetle on its back.
Oh, Mother of God! She thought desperately as she glanced at the clock for the hundredth time. It's almost half past seven. I'll have to get changed soon. What if he doesn't get here in time?
Ashley's birthday party was scheduled to start at nine o'clock, and although Scarlett had little desire to attend in the first place, she wasn't going to disappoint Melanie. She was going to keep her promise. Indeed, she would bear it all – the mindless chatter, the sickeningly sweet punch Melly was going to serve, India's confusing stares and the ever hostile glances from the rest of the Old Guard. Why, she would even receive Ashley's lifeless kiss on her cheek placidly, would take in his cowardly expression without flinching – if only she could hold on to Rhett's strong arm in the process, lean on him as she had done, unthinkingly, so many times before.
She felt that if she could only speak to him before the party, everything would somehow fall into place, for better or for worse. Even if all went wrong, at least she would have an inkling as to where she stood with him. In any case, it would be better to speak with him, to see him now. If he did not show up until right before the party, though, she would have no chance whatsoever to talk to him in private until after their return home – if he chose to go home with her at all – which would mean hours of agitated waiting at the Wilkes's, watching his every move and pondering over every look in the vain hope of figuring out what he was thinking. But he was terribly difficult to read, and it would surely turn out to be a fruitless endeavor on her part.
She continued striding up and down the room for another half hour or so, impatience and anxiety nagging at her with cruel insistent hands. She heard the servants come back as the evening wore on, but still no sign of Rhett. She hated feeling so out of control, hated him for leaving her hanging like this just to prance about Belle Watling's house while she, his wife, was forced to wait for him like some hapless fool. And yet – this endless, enforced waiting only increased her longing for him, made her want him more. How she longed to see his now beloved face! How she craved to rest her weary head on his broad chest, feel his demanding, tender lips on hers and hear his jeering laugh! She would gladly humor him and pardon him all, if only he came home and believed her, if only he promised to be faithful to her in the future. It wasn't too much to ask, was it?
But he did not come.
When the clock struck eight, Scarlett looked at it as one would at an arrow protruding from one's chest. Time was merciless, unforgiving, and there was nothing she could do about it. She could only reconcile herself to the fact that Rhett seemed to be adamant about punishing her, that he was letting her down. He had never let her down before, she realized in hindsight, except for that one time when he left her at Rough and Ready. But he had known then that she would be fine. Now, on the other hand – now, when she needed him the most, he was deserting her. Well, she thought bitterly, it was futile to cry about it. He wasn't going to show up – she would have to face the lions alone.
"Damn you," she said out loud, her green cat-like eyes mere slits as she thought of him, her nails digging into the flesh of her forearms.
She looked down at her reddened skin and her eyes fell on the bracelet she had been wearing all day, once a gift of Rhett's. Forcefully, she tugged at it until it came off, and with a vicious grin she hurled it onto the smooth surface of her vanity, where it came to rest in a miserable heap of crumpled silver.
Angry and confused, she nevertheless rang determinedly for Pansy. If she was going to Melly's alone, she would at least go in style.
By the time she was ready to set out, she had worked herself into such a welter of tenseness, hurt pride and simmering aggression that it seemed as if the servants could not wait to finally see the back of her. Pansy, having been sufficiently brought low by her mistress's sharp tongue during the past hour, ducked her head when Scarlett finally marched into the hall, silently pleading with the Lord to equip the white folks with the mercy and patience that came naturally to so few of them. Pork, who had taken it upon himself to inform Mrs. Butler on the landing that her carriage was waiting for her outside, cowered like a beaten dog under her gaze and quickly withdrew when she waved him off with an impatient gesture before making her way down the polished flight of stairs. Only Mammy showed some gumption, not saying very much at all when she handed her her gloves and shawl, instead merely throwing her lamb the odd pitying look, which almost served to infuriate Scarlett more than the cowardly submission of the other two.
"Do take care of Bonnie, Mammy," Scarlett commanded superfluously on her way to the front door, knowing the old servant was following her. "And don't wait up for me or – " She hesitated for an embarrassing moment before turning around to face Mammy, trying hard to compose her features. "That is, don't wait up for me and Captain Butler."
The black woman merely looked at her charge with the ancient wisdom of her persecuted race and patted her gently on the back. "Ah's gwine take good care o' Miss Bonnie, mah lamb. You go 'an have a good time at Miss Melly's party, Miss Scarlett."
When the door fell shut behind her and Scarlett began walking up the front path towards the coach, which she could spot on the far side of the high, carved iron fence, it was nine o'clock and night had already begun to fall. It had taken her longer than expected to get ready, and now she was running a little late. Hurriedly, Scarlett started putting on her gloves and looked down at the dress she had chosen to wear.
It was a beautifully tailored evening gown of dark green velvet, with a close-fitting waist, a slim, light-moving skirt and a little train. Its Bertha neckline exposed a good amount of the soft, luminous flesh of her shoulders and upper chest without making her look tacky. There was no elaborately decorated front, no lace or diamanté, just yards and yards of emerald cloth resembling a smooth forest stream flowing past willow trees at dusk. She had teamed the gown with a pair of emerald and diamond pendant earrings setting off her pale complexion and green eyes to perfection.
But a couple of days ago she would have chosen something very different to wear; had in fact planned on wearing the new burgundy silk taffeta as well as heavy garnet jewelry. Well, a couple of days ago she had been a fool,willing to make a spectacle of herself as long as she caught Ashley's eye. Not anymore, she thought grimly. Just the thought of wearing that gaudy red dress tonight made her sick. In fact, she did not want to catch anyone's eye, except –
Standing before her wardrobe earlier, she had told herself it was futile to hope for Rhett's late arrival at their house or at Ashley's party, for, cruel devil that he was, he had certainly decided not to attend at all. But, in spite of herself, she had dressed with his tastes in mind. Suddenly, wistfully, she had remembered that he loved green frocks on her, that he had often seen her wearing the color – green sprigged muslin at a county barbecue, heavy green velvet in an Atlanta jail. And indeed, the gown she was now wearing, which they had bought in New Orleans together, had quickly re-entered her memory, and she had searched for it with eager hands among the varicolored range, knowing immediately that Rhett would appreciate her choice. No tempting reds or ethereal whites for her tonight! No queenly blues or stately blacks! Green she would wear, fiercest and liveliest of all hues.
And even if Rhett did not come and did not see her or her choice of gown, at least the Old Guard would get a glimpse of the old Scarlett as well as the new. For she felt that although an integral part of her was still the same – the strong, vivacious,defiant one that had already been there ten years ago at Twelve Oaks – she had changed a great deal over the past couple days, changed for the better.
She was Scarlett now, the Scarlett she should always have been: still strong and defiant but perhaps a little more thoughtful, a little more grown up, and a little less selfish. At least, that was how she felt after everything that had happened to her since her discovery of Ashley's abominable secret. She was glad she saw him that night! Gladder than she had ever been of anything in her life. For it had changed everything, and she was different now. She stood firm in her belief that she loved Melanie and would never betray her again. She felt reborn because she no longer wanted Ashley. Lastly, she drew strength from the fact that she loved Rhett, the outcast, the reprobate, even if he might never give her another chance. To lose him would break her heart, but never alter the way she felt, she realized in one of her rare moments of insight. She would always stay alive for him, in the hope of winning him back one day. She might lose him, but he would never truly leave her, not in her heart of hearts – he'd always give her strength, the strength to go on. One way or the other, I'll never let go of him, she thought stubbornly. I'll never let go.
Scarlett finished putting on her gloves and looked up, squaring her shoulders as she neared the iron gate standing open, the waiting carriage now very close. It was a large thing with a polished black surface, looking like a giant spider in the gathering dark. The curtains inside were drawn; she could see nothing through the windows.
Scarlett was shaken out of her reverie when the driver cleared his throat. He touched his hat to her.
"Good evening, Mrs. Butler."
"Good evening," she said in return.
She wondered why he wasn't getting down to assist her with the door, and opened her mouth to remind him of his duties, when suddenly she heard a noise from inside the carriage. She frowned, but before she could quite figure out what was happening, there was the sound of someone pressing down the door handle from inside, and suddenly the door flew open.
Scarlett jerked involuntarily and took a quick step backwards. Her eyes flew to the driver, but he said nothing, merely looking at her apologetically. Straining her eyes in the semi-darkness of the dimly lit street, she peered into the coach. At first she could see nothing but more darkness and the faint hue of the fine leather cushions. But then something, or rather someone, moved inside the carriage and she realized, even as her heart sped up, that Rhett was sitting there, leaning forward now with his long legs crossed and looking at her with dark eyes that seemed alert and probing, intensely focused. Scarlett's brows darted upwards, her mouth hanging slightly open as she looked at her husband as one might at a phantom.
"What the – " She began, but, remembering the driver, quickly checked herself.
Rhett chuckled as if reading her thoughts.
"Good evening, Mrs. Butler," he offered in mock imitation of the driver's earlier words, Scarlett realized with some chagrin.
But she bit down her anger, for there he was, right in front of her, he whom she had longed so much to see. He was giving her that look no other man had ever given her, even as he kept smiling, raking his eyes over her form, undressing her with his gaze. She shivered under that possessive appraisal, feeling naked and exposed. But it wasn't a bad feeling, not with him. Oh, never with him!
So, against all hope he was here, like an apparition. Overwhelmed by his powerful presence, she could not help feeling momentarily happy, the tension in her breast lessening and some of her anger fading away. He had come! For a moment she merely stared at his face, drinking in the chiseled features and swarthy skin, the full red lips, the mysterious pools that were his jet-black eyes. Why, he was handsome! This was the first time she was looking at him knowing that she loved him, and she gazed at him curiously, brazenly, like a child would at a gift.
Under her scrutiny he paled under his tan, and she heard him take in a sharp breath as he quickly searched her eyes. But he said nothing, returning her hungry gaze with a more serene one of his own. But there was something in his expression that belied his seeming calm, and she could spot a tiny flicker in the depths of his eyes. For once he was not hiding entirely between his usual mask of polite indifference, and she noticed, elatedly, that he did not seem unaffected. Surely all wasn't lost!
But what to do? What to say? She stood before him wordlessly, hands pressed into her skirts. Part of her wanted to throw herself into his arms immediately, confess her love and beg him for another chance. During the ride home and her enforced waiting at the house, she had concocted a string of pretty, passionate words she might use on him, but, now that she faced him, it wasn't that easy anymore to open her mouth and simply say what needed to be said.
And, even as she kept staring at him, weighing her options, the cool voice of reason held her back from immediately giving everything away. It was always better to first test the waters a bit when it came to Rhett. At the same time, resentment rose within her anew as she looked at him lounging there so carelessly, as if he had not kept her waiting for hours, as if he had not gone from her to Belle Watling, of all people! Oh, the nerve of him. If she wasn't a lady, what wouldn't she tell that varmint? Scarlett's dark brows flew together in a scowl, and she firmly set her jaw, like a panther ready for the pounce.
Rhett laughed knowingly once more. But it was a gentle sound, although Scarlett was too deep in thought to notice. He gestured somewhat impatiently for her to join him in the carriage.
"Well?" He quipped. "Aren't you going to get in?"
She threw him a look of indignation but accepted the hand he held out to help her in. After all, she was ready to go and she couldn't miss the party. They were already running late. She was not prepared, though, for the odd sensation tingling over her skin as their hands touched, a feeling that reminded her shamefully of their love-making the afternoon and evening before. With difficulty she suppressed a surprised intake of breath, but Rhett noticed, anyway, as he always did. He gave her a dark look that sent a shiver down her spine.
Gingerly, she took a seat opposite him on the upholstered dark leat again she went beet red at the memory.
His eyes gleamed sensuously as he perceived what she was thinking, her cushion and busied herself arranging her skirts about her feet, avoiding Rhett's eyes and trying to gather her jumbled thoughts. But she could hardly concentrate. He had a magnetic presence; already her fingers were twitching with the unspoken urge to reach out and touch him. And, even while she was not meeting his eyes, she could feel his dark orbs boring into her, could feel the heat of his body from several inches away.
Rhett knocked shortly but forcefully on the carriage's roof to alert the driver, and immediately they set off. Scarlett forced herself to be calm and looked up at her husband. She watched with some fascination as he first drew the curtain to his right, then leaned over to do the same with the other one and Peachtree Street came into view as Scarlett briefly gazed out of the window. Rhett's movements where lithe, powerful; where every other man would have looked like a fool drawing curtains in a carriage, he reminded her of an elegant panther. How could a woman not love such a man?
When he was done, Rhett let out a fake breath of elation before raising his dark brows at her in that trademark fashion of his. "After all," he said, "we wouldn't want Atlanta society to think something illicit was going on in here, would we, my dear?" He glanced at the curtains with a small, indecent grin before crossing his legs nonchalantly and peering at her face as if he hung on her next words.
God curse him, Scarlett seethed wordlessly, annoyed at the thrill his obscene reference triggered in her breast. Against her will she thought once more of his hands and mouth on her body the afternoon and evening before, and again she went beet red at the memory.
His eyes gleamed sensuously as he perceived what she was thinking, and for a moment they simply sat there in silence, desire floating in the air like some heavy, intoxicating fragrance.
"You look beautiful," he said after a minute or so had passed, and Scarlett's eyes darted quickly to his in order to see whether he was mocking her. But when she saw only candor in the dark orbs, she offered a small, reluctant smile. So he did like the gown – that was a start. It couldn't hurt to look good in his eyes.
"Thank you," she said simply. "You don't look half-bad yourself, Rhett," she attempted to compliment him in return.
"I remember that day in New Orleans," Rhett went on, uncharacteristically, paying no heed to her last comment. He wore a wistful, gentle expression as he raked his eyes over her gown before meeting her eyes. He looked at her and she looked back, and it felt as if for once they were on the same page, both sitting in a carriage and remembering those glorious, carefree days in New Orleans when they had been happy together.
"I remember it, too," Scarlett breathed, cursing herself for the hundredth time for the mess she had made of their marriage after their return from the honeymoon. Oh, what had she been thinking? How could she have been such a fool?
Pained by her past stupidity, she regarded him with real regret in her eyes. What had she done to him? How in God's name had he borne this constant rejection on her part? She opened her mouth to speak, to confess, to beg for his forgiveness, but somehow no words came forth. – She had wanted to speak to him so badly, had almost driven herself to distraction pacing her room for hours like some caged animal. So why was this turning out to be so damned difficult? But somehow it wasn't the right moment. It was only a ten minute ride to the Wilkes's house, of which three or four had already passed; there wasn't much time to make the confession of a lifetime, to convey the deepest desires of her heart.
"I'm sorry I'm late, Scarlett," Rhett spoke up instead. "I'm sorry I kept you waiting all day. It wasn't my intention – or, come to think of it, perhaps it was. We're all fools in love, aren't we? But I'm here now."
She felt as if there was some deeper, hidden meaning to his words, but she could not quite put her finger on what it was exactly. Her heart sped up wildly at his mentioning of the word love, and she quickly searched his face. Yes, surely, he loved her still... a feeling like that did not just vanish over the course of a couple of hours spent apart. But was he willing to forgive and forget? Was she willing to forgive and forget that he had run from her to Belle's? Belle's...
"Where – where have you been?" She asked timidly, although she already knew the answer.
He shrugged lazily. "You know where. But, Scarlett," he implored, leaning forward in his seat and lightly touching her hand, "please, don't hate me for it. It wasn't the best choice, I'll admit that, not after – well," he trailed off. "But there weren't so many options to choose from. And I needed to clear my head. Oddly enough, though, my sojourn there turned out to be rather eye-opening, believe it or not," he added, laughing lightly. "You see, Belle and I –"
Scarlett jerked her hand away. "Don't you dare tell me what happened there," she hissed, glaring at him with her anger restored. "I won't listen to you bragging about your nasty business with that wench. Do you know what I've been doing all evening?" She added in a voice sounding high-pitched even to her own ears. "I waited for you for hours after I came back from the mills, Rhett, hours! So desperate was I to talk to you! And you have nothing better to do than –"
"The mills?" He interrupted her, grabbing her hand again, his eyes burning.
"Yes, yes," she retorted impatiently, but she was too selfish to pull her hand away. It felt too good to have him hold it like that. "Melly asked me to go and – and hold Ashley there till five o'clock. I did, and we talked, and then – then I –"
Oh God, she loved him, loved him so much, why couldn't she just say it? But it was as if someone had poured tar into her mouth. And still the fury festered, the wild, unbridled jealously that pierced her like an arrow whenever she thought of Rhett visiting Belle Watling's brothel, probably telling the wench everything about her, Scarlett, and what a bad excuse for a wife she was. Oh, the humiliation! How could Rhett love her and still do this to her? Moreover, why on earth did she love him although he was doing things like that to her? But she did, she did... she loved him so much it was frightening. It frightened her to see to what extent his actions affected her.
"What?" Rhett prodded, tightening his grip on her soft hand. "What happened then, Scarlett?"
"Don't try to change the subject!" She shrieked, ripping her hand out of his again. She may love him, but she wouldn't be fooled by his games. "Do you honestly believe I'll stand idly by as you desert and humiliate me, you cad? Do you really think I'll simply accept what you're saying and let it be? Or perhaps you thought I'd applaud you for running off to that – that woman," her voice shook, "after … after …"
At the thought of the tenderness and intimacy they had shared in his room prior to his desertion, she suddenly felt like crying. But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction, nor would she let the Old Guard see her with tears in her eyes. She would go in there like a queen, one way or the other.
Rhett replied. "Scarlett, darling, it wasn't like that. You're getting it all wrong."
Oddly enough, though, he was looking at her as if he were excited by her outburst, and it maddened her, for she didn't understand his reaction. What was so exciting about her anger? Wasn't it natural for her to be angry and hurt? He deserved it... But there was, also, a faint gleam of compassion in his eyes, and when he reached out she could sense that he was sorry, sorry for hurting her.
"Honey," he began – only he could make that stupid endearment sound so good. "Look at me, Scarlett!" He persisted, leaning forward. "I'm sorry for leaving you like that. It was foolish of me, I realize that now. Hell, I realized it the minute I did it. But I saw no other option. I had to get away."
"But why?" Scarlett pouted a little vainly. "You said that you – that you loved me," she added, throwing all caution to the wind. "You said you loved me and then you just left. You just left me there like a fool."
Running a hand through his hair, Rhett sighed.
"Indeed. It must seem that way to you. And I'm sorry. But I couldn't stay there with you knowing that you didn't feel as I did. Or that's how I supposed it to be." He added, throwing her a searching look. "You see, I didn't mean to hurt you … I didn't even mean to say the things I said. But I was crazy with jealousy, furious that you didn't care when I had thought – when I had hoped –" He paused. "If you had given me some sign, I think I may have kissed your feet. But you didn't. And so I convinced myself that you still only saw him, even after everything that had happened between us."
Him? Him? Scarlett thought quickly. She searched Rhett's eyes again and for once she saw it clearly, the jealousy he usually hid so carefully behind an expression of cool disinterest. Ashley! He was talking about Ashley. Oh, cursed be the day when Ashley had come up the path to Tara on that horse of his, his hair shining like a helmet in the sun! Would he stand forever between her and Rhett?
So Rhett had thought, upon his departure this morning, that she still hadn't gotten Ashley out of her mind, even after their lovemaking. He had thought she didn't care. Before this realization even her desire to talk about Rhett's doings with Belle, to call him out on his betrayal, receded to the back of her mind. She needed to put an end to this. She could not stand the suspense any longer; she had to tell him what she felt. Not care! She had never cared so much about anything or anyone in her life.
Suddenly she found the courage to speak. She leaned forward, and, putting a small gloved hand on his arm, looked up at him with emerald eyes full of passionate anguish. He drew in a sharp breath.
"Oh Rhett, I –"
Violently, the carriage jutted to a halt.
Scarlett started, tearing her eyes away from Rhett against her will and looking outside the window at the Wilkes's pitiful abode. Tonight, though, it didn't look quite so pitiful, she noticed with some surprise. Melanie's house blazed lights from every room. The pleasant exciting sounds of many people enjoying themselves floated out. The house was packed with guests; they overflowed on verandas and many were sitting on benches in the dim lantern-hung yard.
Too late! Scarlett thought, stricken with regret when she remembered that now they would have to go into the house and stay there for at least three or four hours, unable to talk in private, just as she had feared. She felt like her heart was going to burst, like she couldn't hold herself back another minute, yet she could hardly confess her love on the threshold to Melanie's house among the assembled guests, or even on the sidewalk with the driver looking on. No, she would have to keep silent for a little longer. Just a little longer...
She swallowed, trying not to look too affected. It wouldn't do to keep talking now – the moment had passed. She had squandered her chance.
Rhett said nothing, but Scarlett noticed that he seemed tense, disappointed... as if he'd been close to something only to have it snatched away from him at the last moment. But he, too, had wiped some of the emotion off his face. He merely shrugged, offering a wry smile as if to say, Too late now, my dear. The lions are waiting.
Dazed, she watched as he opened the door and smoothly got out of the carriage. She allowed him to help her out, his touch making her shiver, and wondered how on earth she was supposed to live through this damned party. She did not know how she was going to manage sitting there beside him and watching him for hours, without flinging herself into his arms and shouting at the top of her lungs, I love you, I love you, I love you...
TBC. I haven't posted anything in a while, so I thought I'd give you this. There will be one more chapter and then an epilogue after that. Reviews and opinions, as always, are appreciated. Best, EV.