The stillness of the world frightened her. Scarlett had woken a few minutes ago but had yet to open her eyes, undeterred by the quiet lulls of nature. She first heard the wind rustle tenderly through the foliage, then the delicate chirping of birds as they fluttered in the air, and she pictured it in her head. Warm, amber light pervaded the darkness of her shuttered eyes and she let out an indulgent sigh, unaware that such pleasant things still existed. Peace. These sounds had sounded so unfamiliar despite having grown up with them, vanished, and stomped on, during the chaos of the war.
Tara, she thought. She must be dreaming of Tara. The cool air kissed her cheek and Scarlett shifted her face to the side in response but was met with the spiky tufts of grass that prodded at her skin.
"Oh!" she uttered. Her eyes were forced open now.
One could only imagine her shock as she awoke to the spacious yard of her Aunt Eulalie's pristine home, untouched by any indication of war. Sitting up stiffly under the languid shadow of a fruit tree, she reservedly admired the light spilling on the grasses and weeds, waiting for the distressing sounds of cannons and shelling to tear her away from her reverie. Her body sat like an empty vessel, counting silently up to ten, pushed on to thirty, and she stiffened. The sounds never came and the nostalgia she had reveled in was usurped by a wave of panic.
Her fingers dove to pinch at her cheeks, pulling more aggressively out of instinct, and let out a ragged breath at how awfully real it had felt. Yet, with the blood rushed to her cheeks, she still could not find any semblance of reality, causing her pretty face to sneer with indignation. It was simply unfathomable! Her, in Charleston? Why, she was just in Atlanta before sleep overtook her, with the Yankees right on the outskirts of the city!
It had merely been minutes when Melanie's muted groans and Wade's incessant cries bounced off the walls in that damp, deplorable room. That room, how it reeked of both life and death. Scarlett wanted to cry at times for she had no premonitions as to which would prevail. She had so desperately wanted to escape, to leave to her beloved Tara. But now that she was away from all the despair, she wasn't sure if relief was the term to attribute to her flurry of emotions at that moment.
How did she end up here? Why would she dream of Charleston out of all places? No matter how desperate and fed-up she was with things, Charleston would be the last thing she would dream of. She huffed. Her temper simmered at such outlandish thoughts, and her anger was only exacerbated by the abstractedness of her circumstance.
Before her mind could linger on the complicated, convoluted mess any longer, she heard a voice call out in the distance.
"Scarlett dear, where are you? We must be going soon!" it had said, and she faintly recognized it as belonging to her Aunt Pauline.
"Coming!" she called out naturally and stood from her place, a bit dazed, and her head thumped at the gnawing thoughts of Atlanta and the war. Scarlett tried to push them to the side and hurried over to the direction of the voice. She would think about it later.
Perhaps if she could find out why she was here first, she could just as easily get out. She bit her lip. She could also savor this newfound tranquility, and revel in its simplicity until she stumbled on a way back to Atlanta. The latter seemed much more appealing. After all, if it were all a dream (which she most certainly thought it was despite her jabs at Charleston) then she should allow herself the pleasure to sleep before she would be rudely awoken to cannons and warfare. She must have been disturbingly wretched to have sought this city as refuge.
Scarlett was met with her aunt's disapproving eyes as she turned a corner of the house, and they had looked displeasingly at her dirtied calico dress. In a second, they focused on her face, in the pretense of decorum. She felt self-conscious then and realized that this was the only dress she owned; the rest being lost to the oh-so-Glorious Cause.
"Oh," her aunt had said at first before trying her best attempt to conceal a frown. "Please change into another dress, dear. It wouldn't be appropriate to show up in such a state. And do hurry, it's nearing dinnertime."
She quelled her irritation at her aunt's poor veil of scrutiny and managed a smile.
"Yes, I'll be with you shortly."
Her feet carried her to the guest room, and with her mind plagued with much more distant thoughts, she couldn't admire the beautiful decorations that filled the home, such indulgences taken for granted in the dusk of war. Instead, she marched into the room, with a resoluteness that would have put Sherman to shame, and opened the closet, instantly delighted to see a fair share of dresses in which she could replace her old, battered calico. But she frowned as she browsed each potential outfit, all far from the realm of what she deemed fashionable. The colors were dull and murky, and patterns were most unlike her. Unfamiliar even.
She spotted a valise in the corner and her skirt swept the floor as she darted to open it. God's night-gown, she thought in shock. There it was! The green-speckled white dress and its frilly lace neckline, with accents of the dark green velvet, cinched at the waist. Blood rushed to her face, and she began to feel lightheaded. She remembered that impassioned confession of love in the Twelve Oaks library, just as if it were yesterday. At first, she smiled at the remembrance of her beloved but just as quickly she had lost it.
The war had started that day as well.
She stared at it longingly, knowing it wasn't an appropriate dress for tea, which was what Scarlett assumed she was being forced into. Though, the restrictions escaped her as she stared at the dimpled smile in her reflection in the mirror. Who cares for propriety in this dream Charleston of hers? An obedience to respectability readily escaped her as she donned on a petticoat and the dress, smiling at the glowing woman that stared back at her. Even after Wade, the dress still fit, and her vanity was coaxed by this wonderful fact. At that moment, it was as if the war never happened. She was a sixteen-year-old Southern belle who knew nothing of war and death and hardship. But she knew if she lingered on the sentimentality a bit too long, she would begin to gloom over the reality. So, she moved on with unparalleled brazenness. As bold as she was feeling, she had a bit of courtesy to her aunts and snatched a greyish-blue shawl from the dresser to drape over her squared shoulders. To have the dress on was thrilling enough for Scarlett.
"I hope I didn't take too long," she said, with feigned worry, as she bounced down the stone pathway and tied the green ribbon of her straw bonnet under her chin. Her body warmed at this familiar air of gentility, and she put on her charming simper as she stared back at the women in the carriage.
Her two aunts shook their heads, completely at odds with their frowns.
"No dear, it's perfectly fine," she forced out and her eyes urged Scarlett to get into the carriage.
She sat across from them and made sure to tightly clutch her shawl. If they had any suspicions about what she wore underneath, they didn't show it.
"Where are we going?" she inquired.
Aunt Eulalie gave her a faintly worried look. "You forgot? We are headed to our dear friend's home, Eleanor Butler. She invited us for tea."
Scarlett would have grimaced at the thought of a tea gathering if it weren't for the name of that varmint to unexpectedly slip into conversation, just like he had slithered in and out of her life the past few years. She quickly changed her shocked expression into one of indifference, with an ease that would have impressed the conceited cad himself.
Rhett's mother, she mused within her head. How pitiful, to have such a cad of a son. Though she would be lying if she said she wasn't a bit interested.
"She was so happy last week. I think her eldest arrived from West Point that day. I'm sure she called us to tea to fawn over him," Aunt Pauline paused as if to ponder her next comment. "But I must say there is something off about that man."
Scarlett's brows burrowed into a downwards slant. West Point? Hadn't he been expelled?
"What's off about him?" she asked curiously before her Aunt Eulalie could interject, with her own gossip no doubt.
Aunt Pauline hesitated before she cautiously responded, "he's a charmer, a bit like you, my dear, but there is something wild about him. I respect Eleanor too much to speculate any further, though."
There was a baser instinct within her that wished to laugh for she had already implied a multitude of things with 'wild'—quite salacious—and she had called Rhett much worse and cruder things in their time together. No doubt, this was him. Albeit this knowledge merely puzzled her further.
She feigned some ignorance and pondered, "he seems much too old to be attending West Point."
"Oh Scarlett, he's around your age," her Aunt Eulalie chided, though the admonishing was unable to penetrate through the surprise that bubbled to the surface.
"Is he now?" she wondered aloud, with her pitch rising, in disbelief.
Her aunts mistook her puzzlement for a display of the more romantic affair and their frowns deepened, though they said nothing. The frustration from earlier returned to wreak havoc in her mind and she pinched herself as painfully as she could, her discomfort hidden by her tightened jaw that clenched her gums between her teeth. A metallic taste briefly coated her tongue.
The horrifying possibility came to her mind, one she had been unconsciously denying for this entire charade.
This wasn't a dream.
But how did she wake up in Charleston overnight? How did the war disappear into thin air? And did Rhett stumble upon some fountain of youth?
Such questions swirled into a concoction in her head as the carriage brought her closer and closer to Rhett's childhood home, unable to say a word. As curious as she was to see a young copy of the ill-famed Captain Butler, she was unable to surmise some sort of possible explanation for her circumstance. But the nauseating ache associated with such thoughts did not suit the refreshing view of the glimmering riverbank, sending a comforting breeze her way. She looked on with heartening awe. Had Tara remained this breath-taking? If she were to go back, would it welcome her just as peacefully as these oaks that lined their dirt-path road?
Hope instilled her petite frame, and she watched the moving kaleidoscope of shadows, cast by the canopy of trees, as it waved at her in the sunlight. Thoughts of her purpose here alluded her for a moment, consumed by Tara and warmed by the sun, as warm as her mother's safe embrace. Less importantly, she thought of Rhett Butler too, wondering if her coquettishness would finally have some effect on the infuriating man. Unfortunately for her, she simply could not imagine it and pouted as she diverted her eyes to the Ashley River, dazed, for the rest of the journey there.
The plantation was encircled by the river and framed by a wood of oak trees, which dawned a green that matched the emerald of her eyes and speckled with yellow ochre as the leaves glistened in the sun. A road that led up to the home had been paved and diverged from the main dirt path with small brushes and shrubs lining its grassy peripheral. A simple pine fence enclosed the fine plantation, with the porch and terrace extending around the entire perimeter of the house. Grand white pillars were erected along the entirety of the two floors and left a space where the entrance stairs spilled out, as magnolia white as her skin. The whole affair was topped off with deep green roofing, a little bluish in tint, as well as a gable, protruding windows, and a central cupola, that only heightened the impressive airs.
It exuded all things charm and grace. But something was missing, something that explained her devoted affinity to her childhood home.
After being assisted out of the carriage, she continued to ogle the home as she approached, nearly forgetting about her two aunts who grumbled as they stepped onto the red earth. It was no Tara, but it was the closest thing to it in so long. She felt a genuine smile lift her cheeks and brushed her fingers over the vibrant rose bushes, the flowers almost as vivacious as she.
"It's a wonderful plantation, isn't it? As expected from the Butlers," Aunt Pauline commented, without a hint of envy.
"Yes," she said, surprising herself with how breathily she had responded.
For some reason, her breathing quickened as they ascended the white steps and onto the porch, though her face immediately soured as she considered Rhett as the cause of it. Why would she be nervous to see that varmint? He is probably as maddening as ever. Before she could insult him any further, her aunt Eulalie ushered her to stand to the side and knocked promptly on the door.
The woman who had opened it was perhaps as old as her mother- possessing the same elegance and maternal calmness- though there was something about her that was so distinctly Rhett that she was taken aback momentarily. It was the eyes, she deduced, which were just as black, but unlike the Rhett she knew, hers were far more transparent and carried a warm gaze she didn't think was possible.
She felt as if she'd been caught when the woman stared at her, which put an abrupt stop to her surreptitious thoughts, and she replaced her surprise with a dimpled smile.
"And who is this fine young lady?" the woman drawled, and once again Scarlett recognized the familiarity of it all. It disturbed her, how familiar she felt with it, and hid an inner scowl.
Her aunt Eulalie patted her back and pushed her up a bit before answering politely:
"This is my dear sister's daughter, Scarlett O'Hara. She is visiting from Georgia."
Scarlett flashed a pleasant smile and went along with the formalities. "It's very nice to meet you, Mrs. Butler."
"It's a pleasure to meet you too," she cooed and stepped aside to allow them to enter and follow into the parlor room. Shortly after they sat, tea was served and she sipped at the earl grey with an effortless façade of sheer innocence, but within her calculative mind, she appraised the conversation of the three ladies. Scarlett kept her ears open for any gossip, especially on that cad, but was disappointed when none came. Just updates on the mundane things of life—activities that eluded Scarlett's inviolable passion. She felt herself go red with impatience. It was baffling how little interesting things they spoke of, and quite irritable that none of it was information she was concerned to know. But she was a Southern belle, she reminded herself, perfectly demure and poised, so no one would know better of her clandestine intentions if she slyly asked:
"Are your children out, Mrs. Butler?"
Aunt Eulalie and Pauline, still hanging unto her mistaken interest from earlier, hid their disapproval from their faces, but Mrs. Butler, on the other hand, brightened up like a daisy.
"Oh yes, my eldest, Rhett, just came back from West Point last week. He went out earlier to catch up with some friends I believe," she rambled, her eyes sparkling with adoration. "And there's also Rosemary, she's just a baby, and Robert is right in the middle- he just arrived from school."
She smiled, with an air of amusement. Rhett certainly had a mother who loved him.
"They sound lovely, Mrs. Butler." It would be utmost truth if it weren't for that skunk.
So, he was not home, she thought passively and felt a tinge of disappointment. She had wanted to see him in the role of a well-bred Southern gentleman, with the manners that spoke of the upbringing he was raised from, rather than the varmint that he turned out to be.
The fact that she might not see him that day sank in slowly before she was plunged back into a whirlwind of disturbing thought. He was the only thing she knew during the war in this strange world, and now she would not even see him. With the three older ladies busying themselves with conversations over tea, Scarlett had ample time to reassess her circumstances and her unthinking response to it all. The pieces to this disturbing puzzle were scattered across her unbelieving mind and she had willed them to stay in place. She had willed them not move—in fear of facing something she could not understand. did not want to understand! The revelation gouged at her stubborn pride, and she felt like such a fool. Here she was, Scarlett O'Hara, fumbling about and stalling like a frivolous ninny while Atlanta was on the verge of being seized by the Yankees!
She took in a sharp breath and clutched the shawl to her body with an unconscious rush of vigor. She was in Charleston, she knew that much, but any semblance of war had evaporated, and Rhett was now a young, upstanding southern gentleman once again (assuming he ever was one, to begin with), but she was stuck in the past, in some demented and twisted dream, and no matter how hard she bit or pinched herself, she refused to wake up. The initial appeal to the whole careless endeavor had dwindled to a pulp and- disillusioned- she became alert, and now felt as if the walls were enclosing in on her to punish her for her selfishness. This dress, one that possessed both fond and terrible memories, had suddenly sickened her as she thought about the calico that she left on the guest room floor, forgotten yet alarming her of her responsibility.
Wade, Melanie, and Prissy could not survive without her and this burdening fact hit her like a powerful physical force.
She could ponder further on why she was here or how she got here, but those elusive details could wait till later. Only one thing was certain in Scarlett's young mind.
She had to get out of here.
"Mrs. Butler," she coughed, and the lady looked to her warmly.
"Yes, dear?"
Scarlett looked down. "I'm afraid I'm feeling slightly unwell from the carriage ride here. Would it be alright if I go outside for some fresh air?"
Eleanor smiled, "yes, of course. Do you want me to send a servant with you?"
"No, I'll only need a minute."
The second the affirmation was given to her, she tried awfully hard not to jerk out of her seat and bolt outside to find the nearest train to Atlanta. Her dainty feet rampaged down the stairs, not caring for how she shook the house and dashed along the stone pathway that paved along the building. In the yard, she spotted a lone oak, and it stood around the grasses and shrubs like a reproduced painting of her surroundings from earlier. Perhaps if she laid upon the earth and fluttered her eyes shut, God would grant her desire and whisk her back to Georgia.
Her heart was set on this naïve plan but just as she was bound to turn the corner, a loud gunshot tore through the silence and Scarlett let out a high-pitched shriek, "The Yankees!" The temper that previously clouded her mind had blocked out the rustling in the yard and it was all acute to her now as her body shook terribly at the sound of approaching footsteps. The powerful noise was familiar to her, but it had always been hazily distant. It grazed by Atlanta as an awful reminder of dies irae, the looming and dangerous reminder that the Yankees were nearing to pull the rugs from under their feet and the wool from over their eyes. Too frightened to even notice, the shawl that had once been so tight between her fingertips had slipped to the ground as she grasped onto a pillar to purge out the fear that had seized her being. Her eyes squeezed shut, in anticipation that Charleston would warp into Atlanta, and that the air would turn into that suffocating scent of sickness and death.
The words just spilled from her lips and, shamelessly, she began to pray.
Hail Mary, full of grace,
The lord is with thee-
"Uh, are you okay, miss?"
The voice was full of amusement and undiscernible traces of concern which broke Scarlett out of her short-lived delirium. Once she collected herself, she slowly turned her gaze to the man and inhaled sharply. There, in all his unmannerly glory, was Rhett Butler, who—much to Scarlett's dismay—might have been the finest, most handsome gentleman she had ever laid eyes upon.
His skin, while not as swarthy as what she was used to, still possessed a golden hue, and he was clean-shaven which Scarlett begrudgingly admitted was just as becoming to him. He still towered over her and dressed just as well, only his sleeves were pushed up to his elbows and was slightly wrinkled, and his hair was tousled in different directions. The muscles that came with his seafaring and laboring were absent, but he still possessed that tapered figure that exuded a dangerously alluring amount of masculinity. He was a man, through and through, even at such an age.
It was at this slightly unkempt appearance (along with her improper thoughts) that she began to blush.
"Yes, sir, I am fine. Thank you very much," She curtly responded and turned to leave.
Rhett laughed. "Aren't you forgetting something?"
She gave him a cold, questioning look, which only served to amuse him more, and he pointed at the shawl that was strewn upon the grass. He graciously bent over and retrieved it, extending his arm out in invitation. The way his eyes swept over her body with carefree indulgence did not escape her and she fumed, marching in his direction and forgetting all about her ladylike disposition.
"Do you enjoy scaring people out of their wits? Is this how you spend your Sunday afternoons?" she rebuked, reaching out to swipe the garment from his grasp only for him to snatch it away and raise it over her head. She suppressed a scream.
"No, I was simply hunting," he humored, his black eyes ablaze with mirth. "And you? Do you spend your Sunday afternoons running about in evening dresses for all of Charleston to see? Not that I mind, of course. And you don't seem to be from Charleston anyway, Miss…?"
Scarlett finally got a grasp of the fabric and tugged it from his grip.
"You are no gentleman!"
He rose a brow and quipped, "I'm no Yankee either." Heat flushed her cheeks at the jab, and he smiled even wider. "And who are you to deem the status of gentlemanhood? Certainly, miss, you are no lady."
She experienced a bitter wave of déjà vu and draped the shawl over her shoulders in a vicious fashion. All the eagerness to see him as a respectable Southern gentleman vanished with the wind and it seemed that he was still the same nasty cad. But, as Scarlett took the time to hide her observing, prying eyes with a glare, she noticed a significant change that would have shocked her more had her anger been less prominent.
There was an ease to his face that was nonexistent to his older counterpart, a transparency in expression that wasn't masked over with mockery or jest or indifference. She could tell exactly how he felt then, a power so unfamiliar and foreign. Never had she seen him with such an unadulterated look of merriment, which merely emphasized the times she had found herself in: before the duel, before the buggy ride, before his disownment.
It was this antebellum, pre-disaster youth that they now shared in this queer moment of time. Now, a faint look of wonder softened her once contemptuous face. He immediately took note of this subtle change in demeanor and gave a lopsided grin, flashing her his animal-white teeth.
"I knew my mother was having guests, but she made no mention of you," he shared. "It's a pleasant surprise from all the—"
"Ninnies and fools?" she interjected, and Rhett let out a hearty laugh.
"How frank of you, but I suppose that is the most appropriate way to put it. Pray tell me, where is it you come from that you don't end up a ninny nor a fool?"
Scarlett gave him a dimpled simper. "I'm staying with my aunts Eulalie and Pauline here in Charleston, but I'm from Clayton County, Georgia."
He seemed baffled for a moment before he roared, "A Robillard!" and nearly doubled down in laughter.
"You're an awful cad!" she snapped and stomped in the direction back to the entrance.
The sound of his light footsteps followed her, crunching through the dry grass. In her head, she could imagine the nasty smile on his face and whipped around angrily. Just as she had thought, the smirk was pasted there, as if it were a permanent fixture.
"Why are you following me?"
He chuckled and nodded his head towards the house. "I live here. I'm a Butler, you see."
She seethed. "I know very well who you are."
Before she could lash out at him, the front door clicked behind them. "Oh Rhett, is that your voice I hear?"
Scarlett froze before she turned away from the infuriating scoundrel and continued down the stone path, allowing for her temper to simmer down. Eleanor spotted her as she appeared from the shrubbery and descended gracefully down the stairs, her taffeta frock fluttering in the wind.
"Are you feeling better dear?" she asked politely, and Scarlett gave a tight-lipped smile.
"Yes, Mrs. Butler, I feel much better." Unconsciously, her eyes flitted to the side.
Eleanor followed her line of sight and smiled, in a knowing way, as if she knew something they did not.
"I see that you two have met."
"Yes," Scarlett grumbled and lifted her head up to face him.
He had this charming smile on his face, his admiration juxtaposing his large figure as he looked at his mother. It was an unheard-of expression on his normally indifferent face, and it was quite becoming to him, seeming more pleasant than before. It was a similar look he gave Melly, she noticed and huffed bitterly at the realization. He must have reserved such a look for 'great' ladies. The fact that he had never looked at her with such reverence was enough to make her blood boil.
Eleanor's cheery voice pulled her away from her tempestuous thoughts.
"Well, this is my son, Rhett Butler. Rhett, this is my friend's niece, Scarlett O'Hara, she is visiting from Georgia."
Rhett grinned widely and grabbed her gloved hand to give it a soft, fleeting kiss. Even through the fabric, she felt the warmth and shuddered at the smoldering eyes of coal that met hers, gauging for her reaction.
"Nice to meet you, Miss O'Hara."
She merely glared, and unknown to her, her emerald eyes burst alive with her so-called 'passion for living' and her supple cheeks were dusted with a light rosiness from his kiss, which, in conjunction, caused the young Rhett to pause unceremoniously, before coughing and standing up again.
"You as well," she clipped shortly and faced Eleanor's awed face. The young mother shifted her gaze between the two youths and quickly replaced her expression of wonder with a look of graceful anticipation.
"You must have been startled to find my son out here, fooling about. Why, he didn't even inform his poor mother of his arrival!"
Scarlett smiled demurely, hoping to wipe the smirk off the cad's face.
She brandished all of her teachings in her repertoire and helplessly whimpered, "Oh, Mrs. Butler, I was so frightened. I heard a gunshot and, I felt so faint! I started praying to God!"
"How awful," Eleanor said with a displeased frown and turned to project her scolding to her son.
Rhett chuckled. "Don't worry mother. She recovered fairly quickly." She scowled as he gave her an ill-mannered wink. He, too, decided to accompany her act, and in the caricature of the perfect Southern gentleman, he mustered:
"Nevertheless, I must make it up to you for my wretched behavior! Say, look at what great weather we're having. Perfect for a walk!" he flashed her a mischievous smile. "What do you say, Miss O'Hara?"
The bubbling amusement at his playfulness, along with the unrelenting brilliance of Eleanor's maternal gaze, toned down her anger and she suppressed a growing smile. Admittedly, she had missed her talks with Rhett and was curious to see this unknown side of him. There was no puzzle to be solved and she could read him just as easily as he could read her. There was an even playing field to their emotions now, as she peered into his entertained gaze.
She allowed herself to smile, with genuine pleasure.
"I suppose it would be alright."
Rhett took her down the road to view the nearby plantations and chose to walk right by the bank of the Ashley River, the water flowing serenely near her dainty feet. They both were consumed by a silent appreciation for the nature that surrounded them at first, but soon the novelty began to wear thin on Scarlett and she looked to her companion with anticipating eyes. If she wanted to be a great lady (a notion that only spurred her tenaciousness) then she must wait for him to initiate conversation.
He noticed her expectant gaze and chuckled quietly.
"It's apparent you wish to speak, Miss O'Hara," he pointed out and after her silent reluctance, he leaned in and humorously whispered, "I won't tell of your ill-manners to those aunts of yours, I promise."
She giggled and batted her eyelashes coyly. "If you insist, Mr. Butler."
The soured face at the name was not lost on her, but she had no time to process it, as his eyes immediately bore an amused glint at the little country coquette beside him.
"Is this how you charm all the county beaux back in Georgia?"
She reddened at his directness but lifted her chin high and huffed, "Yes and I'll have you know that it works very well." The sight of his gleaming white teeth only served to irritate her and she sharply added, "But, as I've said before, you aren't a gentleman, so it seems such things are wasted on you, Rhett."
There was a brief silence as both realized what had been said and the man gave her a mere eyebrow raise. The corner of his full lips twitched up slightly as if to hold back a laugh.
"Dropping the formalities already, are we Miss O'Hara?" he teased.
"Oh, hush up!" she hissed. "It's not like you care about these frivolous things!"
His hand went to his heart in mock pain. "How you wound me with your assumptions," he admonished, but his eyes were boyish and lighthearted. "But you are right, Scarlett. Such things seem futile to me, though that should hardly surprise you."
She expected his gaze to do another appreciative sweep of her body, but it lingered on her face in an almost thoughtful way as the sunlight made her green eyes strikingly tender. His suave drawl seemed to caress her name, making it sound so pleasant, and had sent shivers down her body, despite the warmth of the summer afternoon. What exactly this meant, she did not know. The shawl threatened to tear at the seams as she grasped it with two shaky hands and wrapped it tighter around her shoulders.
When she peeked back at him, Rhett bore a queer reminiscent look on his face. "You know, you speak to me as if you've met me before. But I am certain we have not because you are not in the least bit forgettable."
Feeling as if she'd been caught in the act, and never well-versed in subtleties, Scarlett had not caugh the compliment.
Nervously, she said, "You flatter me so."
He laughed, absent of mockery or jest. The look he gave her was indecipherable to her, but it was so warm and kind that she nearly forgot herself. Why couldn't her Rhett be so nice like this all the time? Why does he always have to be so cruel and nasty?
She mentally recoiled once she caught herself. Her Rhett? What a bizarre thought, she scolded, feeling a tinge of guilt for betraying her precious Ashley like this. Oh, dear Ashley! Why hadn't she sought him as comfort amidst all this chaos? Her countenance brightened at the thought of the little gentleman and she could not hear Rhett's sharp intake of breath, unable to see her own dreamy brilliance, which was inadvertently bewitching.
"No. I haven't met anyone like you at all…" He muttered guardedly and said nothing more, his broad, masculine figure leading the way back to his family's plantation.
When they arrived past the fence, the three small figures of the ladies sat on the porch, talking amongst themselves before they spotted the two, the sight of them drawing a mixed reaction. While Eleanor had beamed affectionately, her aunts were looking quite bothered and gave Rhett suspicious, though brief, glances. Rhett hadn't done anything to upset high society yet and they already despise him!
"I hope you had a nice walk," Eleanor remarked before her eyes lit up. "You know, I just happened to be speaking of the barbeque party we are holding for Rhett right before he leaves again."
Rhett eyed his mother warily. "Mother—"
"You are so welcome to attend, dear. It would be a pleasure."
At the sound of dancing, new life was breathed into her body and she gave an excited, pleading look to her reluctant chaperones. Her face was so childlike and innocent that it garnered a few quiet chuckles from the Butlers, charmed by her bright eyes.
"Oh!" she marveled. "It sounds lovely, Aunt 'Lalie! We have to go!"
Unable to refuse in front of Eleanor, the two looked at each other before acquiescing.
"I suppose we can go."
Delighted, Scarlett clasped her hands together and sighed. "I haven't danced in so long, I'm afraid I've forgotten how!"
"If such is the case Miss O' Hara, fear not, I won't be fussy if you step on my feet," Rhett teased and leaned his back on the white pillar behind him.
She raised a brow. "Is that your way of saying you wish to dance with me?"
"Perhaps," he replied vaguely. "If a spot on your dance card is open, of course. I fear my chances."
A giggle escaped her mouth before she could stop it; her vanity coaxed.
"I can't make any promises, Mr. Butler."
She saw that darkened look overwhelm his face, though, in a second, he seemed jovial again.
"Of course," he said simply and looked away.
His words were the only concrete things she had remembered before being whisked away by her two displeased aunts after a quick farewell, clearly finding the subtle flirting precarious and distasteful. Weren't they young at one point too? Such uptightness must have pervaded from childhood, which made Scarlett shudder at the thought of being so snobbish.
As she sat in the carriage, she took one last glance to the Butler plantation and saw Rhett staring at her, still standing in the same place as he had when she left. His gaze instilled a deeper feeling in her which she could not pinpoint to a particular emotion, so she merely smiled coquettishly and watched him shake his head in amusement.
She was swallowed by whatever this world had offered, swept up in all the romanticism of the antebellum allure, and forgot for a moment that there was a war or Sherman or Melly or Wade. It would catch up to her later, she had no doubts about it, but for now, she would allow herself this luxury of selfishness. Sparing one last glance to the porch, she was too far away to see his obvious wistfulness and turned to face the river, breathing in the woodsy scent, and closed her eyes.
For a moment, she pretended she was in Tara.
Author's Note: I started this originally on AO3 and simply transferred it over to here. Also, I realized that when I uploaded the documents here it did not save my time breaks, so I have added them in post.