Thanks as always for your wonderful reviews, insights, pm's, and thoughts.

This is for LMS, Amaranthe, WiwitDM, DianaMary, and anon, and the guests who've been waiting patiently for a Charles-Belle scene, as well as a flashback to Belle's youth, and more insights into Belle's feelings for both Rhett, and Charles.

For rhett-loves-scarlett – I hope this also answers your question regarding how many years Belle and Rhett were lovers in this story.

For Asline Nicole, Carol, and the guests who have wished for more R&S moments.

For darthripley, and another guest…more Charlotte!

"What a night!" Scarlett exclaimed, while settling herself into the comfortable double bed in their guest bedroom, arranging the burgundy pillows underneath her head. Her long hair cascaded becomingly over her nightgown, glistening like a dark waterfall down to the soft, white linen. "I mean, I'm thrilled Rose will marry the man she wants, but I still don't understand what could have gotten into Belle! Where else would he find a wife such as Rose?" She shook her head in bewilderment.

Her husband had slid in beside her, after lightening his customary cigar. He doused the light, sliding his free arm under his wife's neck, and settled her head on his shoulder. With some unwillingness, he cast his mind back to his most recent conversation with Belle. "I don't suppose she rightly knows herself."

"Did she say anything to you?" Scarlett asked curiously, while snuggling into the triangular space between his arm and his ribcage. His nightgown was only partially buttoned at the top, and she permitted an errant hand to run briefly over his matted chest.

He blew a ring of smoke into the semi-darkness. "She said she is afraid Rose will make her leave."

"The idea," Scarlett laughed, now interlacing her small, perfectly manicured fingers with his unoccupied hand. "Thad might make her leave, if she continues to be so rude to Rose! Did you see his face at supper, after Belle left? He looked like he was just about ready to commit murder!"

"I told her the same thing," Rhett agreed, somewhat absently. His mind was only partially contemplating Belle, and Rose. The other half was much more pleasantly occupied, inhaling the verbena scent wafting from Scarlett's hair, mixing with the aromatic cigar smoke. He had long ago decided it was a …quite intoxicating combination. From his semi-elevated position, he was also able to peek easily underneath the collar of her staid travelling nightgown, straight to the alluring rise of her breasts – one of the many reasons he preferred sitting as he did.

"Well," Scarlett added, "if she can't be made to listen to common sense, I shall have to resort to …other measures!"

"I'm almost afraid to ask," her husband laughed. His thumb was making lazy circles on her palm, all the while his gaze was soaking in the panorama. A more astute observer than his wife would have noticed he was already thoroughly distracted from the evening's family drama.

"Don't be," she assured him. "I still have ….a debt to call in."

He raised his eyebrows, but did not question her further. Perhaps he hoped that, without encouragement, she might stop talking on her own.

"Rose and Ella are packed, and ready," she continued, unfazed by his lack of response. "Thad means to leave for Houston early in the morning, so they'll arrive with plenty of time for them to get ready for the ball. I admit I still don't know if it's a good idea, to send them off alone, with only Ella as a chaperone! I mean, they are engaged now - Thad and Rose, I mean - but….." her voice trailed off. She feared her mother, Mammy... and, even worse, her formidable sister-in-law Rosemary, mother of Charlotte - would consider it to be highly irregular.

"I have no doubt Thad will take excellent care of the girls." Rhett put out his cigar in the ashtray on the side table, placed his hands around her waist, and pulled her up, towards him. After all - enough was enough.

"Oh, and we're invited to the baker's house for tea on Sunday," she tried to let him know, but as he had already claimed her lips, she wasn't sure he had heard her.

Then, she, too, forgot about Belle, Rose, Thad, and the baker, for the remainder of the night.

~~oo~~

A few corridors away, Charles Butler was sitting in the comfortable, oversized armchair across from Belle's bed.

"You shouldn'da come in," she told him, anxiously. "I told you yer niece saw me come out of yer room this mornin'." She was already in bed, propped against multiple pillows. She was clad in a majestic pink nightgown, covered with red roses. A white lace bonnet sat daintily on her red-and-white locks. On her lap, a white, oversized cat perched, which she was in the process of brushing. "Whatever will she think?" she added, mournfully.

"Charlotte? There's no telling," he laughed, not appearing at all disturbed, and not divulging that Charlotte had already mentioned the episode to him. "But no need to worry your head. She's a good girl, that one."

Belle sighed. "Easy for you ter laugh," she said, somewhat bitterly. "It ain't your reputation. It never was." She shot him a look that was almost accusatory. "I was mindin' my business. We was livin' a quiet life, Thad and me. An' then …..you came." It remained unclear whether she was referring to the Butler family in toto, or Charles in particular. The cat, feeling her tension, bristled, then arched its back, and jumped off the bed, disappearing into the sitting-room next door to sleep on the settee.

"Be better to lay off about the little one," her former lover – no, her recent lover! - counseled, just like his elder brother had. "The boy looked about as mad as a bull."

Belle sighed again. She couldn't have explained to herself how she had ended up in Charles' room last night. She had investigated a strange scream, that still made her suspicious, and Thad had thrown her out of his room, none-too-gently. Almost as roughly as he had threatened to throw her out of his life. And then ….she had walked to the drawing-room in her wrapper, to procure a glass of the Ouzo Rhett had sent them from Greece. And there Charles had been, apparently also unable to sleep.

And then it had been as if the last thirty-eight years had never happened.

Summer of 1856. The 50s had been the most profitable decade in all of history for Charleston Rice planters. Rice fields lined both flanks of the Ashley River, flooded annually by its rising tides. The Butler plantation, lost during the War, and later recovered by its scallywag son, had once been one of the largest rice producers in South Carolina. Its wealth, and its opulence, had been legendary. A stream of carriages would bring the overdressed members of the Ton to its lavish annual balls, its hunting-parties, its country picnics.

The people living there year-round - the men, their wives, and children, had had other, more immediate, concerns. Belle remembered that life - the rhythm of the planting and the harvest - as if it were something out of a half-forgotten dream. Starting in late February, laborers would spend weeks preparing the fields with an intricate pattern of dikes and drainage ditches, rice trunks, and gates. Then, slaves dragged shallow furrows into the soil, using specifically designed wooden rakes. At long last, the rice seed was dropped into the furrows, and covered with a thin layer of dirt.

The last step was traditionally performed by everyone working on the plantation – Master and Slave. White and black. Men and women. Grown-up, and child. All stripped off their socks and shoes, and with their bare feet, pushed and flattened the dirt over the seeds.

She'd been nineteen. Strawberry red hair, milky white skin, blue eyes. Shapely legs that peeked out under her skirts, when she stomped vigorously on the dry soil with the others.

She had noticed Charles Butler, of course, who had been given the responsibility of overseeing the planting that year. He had a reputation for being even-tempered, but somewhat unimaginative. Unlike his older brother, who had been cast out almost a decade ago, but whom many of them still remembered. Charles had been immaculately dressed despite the heat, in his beige riding habit, and black hunting boots. In the past, other Masters had taken part in the final step of the planting themselves, but not he. He merely stood, leaning on a curved cherry stick, and watched.

Mostly watched her, as she later found out.

The end of the Planting had fallen on Mid-Summer Day. A large bonfire had been erected, and there had been music, and dancing. And plenty of wine. The sparks had flown from the large fire, flaring like fireflies into the dark, warm June night, sometimes getting dangerously close to the dancers. She had reveled with the others, in a clinging white dress, that outlined every curve of her full body.

"Careful. You'll get burned," a voice behind her had said. She'd turned around - and there he was.

"I ain't afraid of fire," she'd replied coquettishly, never slow on her feet. He'd stepped between her and the fire, blocking out her view. When he pulled her to him, his lips had tasted of wine, and chocolate.

She had spent the summer pressed against his skin. Even now, she couldn't properly blame her young self for falling for him as hard as she had.

Now, almost forty years later, he was here once more, lounging in her chair, looking as if he had not a care in the world. He had seemed younger in appearance since his arrival at the Ranch, but he was no longer the dashing, twenty-six year old master of his father's plantation. His form and features were very similar to his older brother's, but he was heavier, and the planes of his face spoke of a staid existence, without much occasion for either mirth or frowns.

"The boy agreed to the adoption," Charles announced, suddenly.

Some almost withered part of her, that longed for acknowledgement, and respectability for her son – couldn't help but rejoice, for all that she deplored what she suspected must be Thad's main motivation. "Makes it easy for you", Belle replied, with some acidity. "Ready-made son, rich to boot – an' no trouble whatsoever to raise."

"Know I owe m'brother a great debt," Charles said, simply. "Would do it differently, if I could go back."

"Would you?" she asked, skeptically. It was disconcerting at times, how much he looked like Rhett. It could make one believe it had been him all along, with whom she'd had an on-again-off again affair for over fifteen years. That they had a much longer, more intimate history than they did in actuality. Not merely one languid, hot, sweltering summer that ended in disgrace.

It was odd, she thought. She had deeply, and hopelessly, loved Rhett - for his kindness to Thad, for the gentility he tried to hide under sarcasm and jests, and for his willingness to help her with her business. Rhett, as painful as it had been at times to see him so infatuated with another woman, had never deceived her, or broken promises. She had loved Rhett for his merits, and Charles Butler despite his faults.

"Owe you a debt, too," he added, looking at her soulfully.

She thought she recognized it for what it was – blatant manipulation to get back into her good graces, and perhaps her bed – but she couldn't prevent her eyes from welling up again. "Thad hates me," she whispered.

Charles, by no means as slow-witted as he could at times appear, immediately took the opportunity to slide off the chair, and into the bed beside her. Ostensibly to place a comforting arm around her shoulder.

"It'll be alright," he said, soothingly. "What did he say?"

She sobbed out the entire scene – to no one could she have admitted it, but him. Perhaps because he was Thad's father. Perhaps, because he had been the last person to know her as a respectable - albeit poor - young girl. Even Rhett had only known her intimately when she had already been a Working Woman, and looked down on her for it. No matter how much he'd tried to hide it.

She sighed at her misplaced nostalgia. After all, it had been Charles himself who had been the cause of her downfall. And Thad, by his very existence. It would have been easy to get rid of Thad, had she wanted to. Or to abandon him after birth. She had not moved in such illustrious circles, that she hadn't known her options. But she had kept him, decided to raise him – and this was her reward.

"I wanted better things for him than ter grow up in a brothel," she sniffed. "At first ….when I didn't have ma own establishment, it wouldna been possible ter keep 'im with me. And then…" she sighed. "I wanted 'im ter be in school. Learn somthin'. Make somethin' of 'is life."

"And it seems like he has," Charles agreed.

"Ain't thankin' me fer it, is he."

"What he said was certainly very unkind," Charles agreed.

She looked up at him, gratefully. She didn't even mind that his hands had long ceased to be comforting. Nor stayed confined to her shoulders.

Charles was not a bad lover, albeit sadly out of practice. Not unlike herself.

~~oo~~

The door to Charlotte's bedroom opened softly. "May I come in?"

"Of course," Charlotte murmured, sleepily. She had had an interesting dream, which she now couldn't remember. Why, she asked herself, is it never as difficult to remember nightmares?

Her cousin slid into bed beside her, her black curls spilling over the pillows.

"I used to do this with Ella," Rose confessed. "On nights I was especially angry with Daddy, I'd climb into bed with her, and moan about the unfairness of it all."

Charlotte tried to shake the cobwebs from her brain. "Sorry," she offered, with genuine sympathy. "Thad's mother is behaving very oddly!"

"She never did like me much." Rose sighed, drawing the coverlet up to her chin. "When we'd go over to the Ranch when we were children, she'd want to play with the boys, but try to avoid me." It had been strangely painful to be thus singled out, especially as it had seemed to echo Rhett's rejection. Rose's dark brows came together over the bridge of her nose. "To tell you the truth, I don't like her much, either." It felt good to be vindictive, and juvenile.

"I don't expect you could," Charlotte agreed.

Rose turned around to face her. "It will be difficult to live under the same roof together, if…." Her thoughts drifted off, as she tried to envision herself permanently installed at the Ranch. As Thad's wife. A beatific smile formed, and she chided herself a besotted schoolgirl.

"Oh, I have no doubt Thad'll back you up against her," Charlotte said, turning as well. "One look at his face at supper told everything! But …..well…..think of Uncle Charles, and Uncle Rhett! They fairly outdo each other trying to make Grandmother comfortable, even though she hasn't been in her right mind for years. Men can be ….odd about their mothers. It may …..eat at him, if he does have to throw her out. Even if they're not close. And anything that eats at him, must eat at you, don't you think?"

"Charlotte," Rose gasped. "What a speech!"

They couldn't help giggling, more to try to lighten the mood, than from real mirth. It was hard to forget that they had been débutantes together. And they were young, and still awkward with their own wisdom, and the heavy things in life.

"I can't wait for the ball," Charlotte announced, dreamily, quite ready to change the subject. "Uncle Rhett giving us those scrumptious gowns – and you even got a blue one! It will be so much fun!"

Rose put her head back on the pillow. "We'll see," she said, softly, to herself.

~~oo~~

Early morning sunlight flooded the Ranch. White-and-brown cattle grazed on the horizon, their occasional sounds carrying in a low rumble far over the plain. The blue-jays, the lark sparrows and the warblers twittered excitedly in the apple orchard, mingling with the distinct wrrooo wrrooo wrrooo of a white-winged dove. A large, well-sprung carriage, drawn by matching bays, was parked in the driveway in front of the main building.

"Mornin'," Charles called, cheerfully. He was dressed in suitable morning attire, his hair already properly slicked back. He looked fairly alert for a man of his age, who had not, after all, spent much of the previous night sleeping. The three girls had not come out yet, but Thad was there, engaged in lifting several large suitcases onto the top of the carriage. "Might want to let your men do that," his father observed, somewhat taken aback. In Charleston, it would have been unthinkable for the Master of the House to do servants' work. He himself had certainly never lifted anything heavier than a full glass of whiskey.

"Why? Last I checked, my arms were not broken."

Charles laughed, apparently unoffended. He had noted it before, in Charleston - his son's somewhat deplorable tendencies to fraternize with the staff. Another consequence, no doubt, of his humble upbringing. He shrugged off the thought. After all, Thad's idiosyncrasies did not appear to affect the discipline of his men, or that of his house-staff. "Point well taken. Let me lend you a hand." Charles attempted to move one of the suitcases himself, and, panting slightly, lifted it up on the roof. "Them girls must be carrying half their wardrobe."

Thad grinned. "They always do."

His father looked around at the coach-boy, who was tending to the harnessing of the bays, well out of earshot. In the bushes nearby, there was the occasional sweet trilling of a winter wren. He decided to forge ahead. "Belle's very upset. 'bout what you told her, yesterday."

Thad's features hardened again. "If I were low-minded, I would start to wonder just when she told you this - given that she hadn't been up yet, a mere five minutes ago. And if this is meant to be your version of time-honered "don't speak like this to your mother, son" speech - you're roughly thirty years too late. For a lot of things. Father."

Charles nodded, ignoring the first part of the volley. "Don't think I don't know that. It's not for me, that I'm telling you this. It's for her."

He saw the mulish expression cross his son's face, and almost smiled. "Look more like m'brother than me, you do. Specially when you pull that face." He held up his hand. "Yes, yes - you think she's done you wrong, by having you out of wedlock, and then by not keeping you with her. But she was no more'n a young girl, Belle was. Only nineteen." He shook his head with contrition. "It was wrong of us to take up with one another. Wrong not to be more careful. But she might have decided….not have you at all. Did the best she could, considering I …..left her with few options. Come to think of it, was right clever of her to have you raised in New Orleans, under m'brother's care. Certainly did better by you, than raising you in Atlanta, amongst…."

"If you're telling me it's you I should be despising, have no fear. I do." Thad threw another suitcase on the roof of the carriage, not looking at him. After pushing it into place, he jumped up on the driver's seat, to fasten the ropes securely around the luggage. It was not until he had jumped back down to the ground that he spoke again. "You would not be here, were it not for the fact that your presence matters to people I care about. And the only reason I agreed to the adoption is for Rose. She doesn't deserve the added stigma of marrying an illegitimate man, along with all the other gossip we will be generating."

"I know that," Charles said, betraying almost no melancholy. "Will do what I can to make amends. But listen to me, m'boy. You are what you are, in part because of Belle. Like it or not."

Thad's features did not twitch. Perhaps I 'am' too late, Charles thought. Aloud, he levied his final shot. "And don't make the same mistake I made. All my life, I looked down on the weakness of others – mainly 'cause I couldn't forgive myself for my own."

He nodded again, but did not stay to wait for an answer. Thad stared after him, until the laughter of the three girls announced their arrival from the house.

Edit to add: I tweaked the paragraph about Belle's love for Rhett and Charles, because I realized it didn't quite convey what I wanted. I didn't mean to imply that Belle had loved Rhett less ... because I actually don't think that. I wanted to convey that her love for Rhett was based on Rhett's merits (his kindness to her boy, his honesty, his support for her business). Charles, she had loved despite his flaws...and despite the fact that he had been the very opposite of kind to her. She loved him like Rhett loved Scarlett, in the beginning - *warts and all*, perhaps because of the warts. And just like for Rhett, initially, that didn't turn out too well for her.

I'm actually not sure if a love that grows over time, due to kindness, is more or less weighty, or real, than the kind that strikes us like a lighting bolt out of the blue, sometimes for a person very wrong for us in other ways.

As for now...I guess we'll see. She doesn't love Rhett anymore, that much is clear. As for Charles ...if it he is sincere ...maybe?