Notes :
The joggling board : read at the bottom of the chapter the " why "...
I've given myself a personal treat in this chapter. You'll probably find it incongruous, but when I let embarked Blanche on the boat with her twins at the beginning of the novel, I knew that, at some point, I would include this traditional song from Northern France, only understood by... a small part of the native inhabitants of that part of France. A "rehearsal" for the novel/biography about Blanche Bonsart, during the First World War in Lille, that I will write as soon as The Boutique Robillard closes its doors for good.
This chapter took a little longer to update. This is how this fanfiction must live. Driven by inspiration, outside of too much pressure of time -that would risk impoverishing it, – well, I actually love reading the thrilling pressure of my faithful readers ;-) - in order to chisel, (unfortunately only in its French version), each word, each turn of phrase, to make live Scarlett's soul, Rhett's - and also Duncan's!
Thank you for your kind support. Each time a new chapter is published, I look forward to your comments, like a child counting the number of presents she will have to open at Christmas!
oooOOOooo
Tuesday, June 22, 1876, Charleston, Headquarters of "La Mode Duncan"
The closer he got to his Fashion headquarters, the more he heard them. Cheerful sounds alternated with giggles, hurried steps, shouts of excitement, onomatopoeia of alarm, cascading laughter and applause.
The end of the day was radiant, the heat pleasant.
He pushed open the gate. The nucleus of revelry was stirring in front of him, at the back of the garden.
He admired the picture. A sketch of the joy of life!
The twins ran frantically in all directions, raising their arms in the air to show their excitement. They took turns hiding behind the groves, the stone fountain, the trunk of the magnolia trees, any object that might serve as a hiding place for six-year-old children.
Accentuating the slowness of his long strides, his friend John pretended to look for them. Forcing the gravity of his voice, he threatened, "The wolf will eat you!" The muffled laughter through the bower turned to panicked exclamations as the girls were flushed out, one by one, from their hiding places.
John proudly declared, "I won!"
Georgette grumbled, "That's not fair, Mister John! You didn't count to twenty before you looked for us!"
His friend, who had kept his adolescent bad faith, replied, "It was to check that you could already count to twenty!"
"What a cheat! You haven't changed a bit!" Duncan emphasized his remark with a mocking laugh.
At the appearance of the owner of the place, the actors of this playful interlude turned towards him.
Blanche rose from the bench where she had been watching the hide-and-seek game with amusement. The two little girls rushed towards him, arms outstretched, already ready to throw themselves against him. "Tonton Duncan, at last you're back!"
Delighted at such a tender welcome, he lifted the two children with both hands. They immediately clung to his neck.
Blanche scolded them, "Margot, Georgette, leave Uncle Duncan alone."
Then she greeted her employer with a smile, "Good afternoon, Duncan. You must be exhausted from such a long trip. First Atlanta, then New York... all in just eight days. Did you take the time to rest this afternoon?"
Duncan had put the little ones on the ground. They went on their merry way.
With a small wave of his hand, he reassured his Workshop Director: "I slept on the train, and I am fresh and ready to give you the new instructions concerning Mrs. Cornelius Vanderbilt. (*1). I have met with the six members of her family for whom a masked ball costume is to be designed. Two of them are slightly overweight. I'll have to adapt my design ideas to their body requirements. But we have time on our hands, and more importantly a very nice budget that will allow our seamstresses and suppliers to excel."
Blanche rejoiced: "That's excellent news. In your absence, everything went well. The "little hands" are making good progress, on schedule, to sew your last two creations. On the other hand, I had to negotiate with the feathers dealer. The batch of white ostrich feathers was of poor quality. Perhaps they had been improperly stored. In any case, I asked him to take them back, and to provide us with others as soon as possible. At last I had a visit from two ladies, well off judging by their outfits and their car. They were anxious to meet you, and were ready to bribe me, I fear, to introduce them to you. With great care, I made it clear to them that the Master only received by appointment, and that your schedule was overloaded. They almost begged me not to forget to put them on your waiting list for the making of two haute couture designs. It was fun."
Once more, he, who had insisted that his closest French employee in France should come to Charleston to assist him, was pleased that she had agreed. "Here is a perfect succinct summary of the business promptly conducted by you in my absence. Bravo, Blanche! You are a gem."
The hazel eyes of the young woman from Lille sparkled at this praise.
John spoke up: "I agree with you completely. Blanche is a remarkable person. And a wonderful hostess - very patient - as she agreed to keep me company, after she finished her work at the workshop. When I stopped by the Magnolias' Mansion this morning, Melina warned me that you would be back at your office by late afternoon. We missed you."
He added, in a more insidious tone, "Was your brief stay in Atlanta successful?"
"Very!" The laconic reply had been so spontaneous and enthusiastic that John gave him a quizzical grimace.
The phlegmatic Duncan blushed, for the simple adverb shamelessly summed up his excitement. How hard it was to hide the wild joy that had not left him since he'd said goodbye to Scarlett on the platform at the Atlanta station! He was aware of the gift she had given him: opening the doors to her beloved Tara and her past. Now it was time to accelerate their relationship. As soon as she agreed to come to Charleston... In the meantime, he played over and over again the images of the sensual scenes of the day - and evening - in Tara. It will be hard to keep my secret from the ruthless John Paxton. As for Rebecca...
Predictably, his childhood friend sniffed out a naughty undertone. "Really... How about we talk about this over a drink?"
Duncan was glad when the twins returned as a diversion.
"Cante-meu eune canson, M'man!" (Sing me a song, Maman!) Little Marguerite clutched at her mother's skirt to better capture her attention.
"Margot," she lectured, "we live in America now. So I want you to speak English, even when you speak to me, when we are in public."
"Blanche, don't be too hard on your girls. They have made great progress in learning our language. As have you, for that matter. I am glad I hired Gina. Their teacher is competent, judging by the result."
John interjected, "I couldn't agree with you more, my friend. I've been hearing them babbling in English for half an hour now, even among themselves."
Blanche was only half convinced. "I want my daughters to have every opportunity to have a good life in their new country. They are Americans now. As I hope Germain, my son, and my mother, will soon be. And that starts with mastering their adopted language.
John was amazed at the determination of this little woman. Clearly, the Workshop Director of "La Mode Duncan" was resourceful...
Duncan chided her gently, "Don't be afraid, Blanche. These little ones have their mother's vivacity. They'll grow up to be perfect Charlestonians, I've no doubt, and I'll see to it.
Marguerite emboldened : "Please, Maman, sing " Le p'tit Quinquin " (*2)
John was surprised: "The title doesn't sound French. Am I wrong?"
Blanche explained, "You are right, John. The author of this children's rhyme is from Lille, my city. It's about a textile worker, like me, who sings her baby to sleep when she is just crying. So, of course, from the moment they were born, my children were rocked with this tune. It's Picardy dialect, typical of the "Nord Pas-de-Calais" region. The roots are more like old French, as it was spoken centuries ago. The accent is really specific from my native place. But Duncan has managed to assimilate our gibberish." She chuckled quietly.
Margot took the opportunity to turn to her mother's employer: "Will you sing with us, Tonton Duncan? You know it so well.!"
Blanche's daughter knew from experience that her Uncle Duncan would not deny her anything. "As long as everyone sings. Let's go ! On the count of three! One, two, three."
John then witnessed a pretty sight. Of which he understood not a word. The meagre knowledge he had acquired in his French lessons at school was of no help to him, for every syllable was unknown to him.
Blanche started the tone. The two children followed cheerfully. Georgette had taken hold of a doll on the bench, and was mimicking the maternal act of rocking a baby. Marguerite followed Duncan's lips as he sang at the top of his voice. John was stunned to witness the transformation of this Charlestonian into a French provincial native.
« Dors, Min p'tit quinquin, Min p'tit pouchin, Min gros rojin. Te m'fras du chagrin, Si te n'dors point ch'qu'à d'main. »
(Sleep, my little baby, my little chick, my big grape. You'll give me grief, If you don't sleep till tomorrow.)
Then they sang, still in Picard dialect, the first verse.
"So the other day a poor lace-maker, While rocking her little boy, Who for three-quarters of an hour had done nothing but cry, Tried to put him to sleep with a song. She said to him: My Narcissus, Tomorrow, you will have gingerbread, Sugar galore, If you are wise and go to sleep!" (*1)
The four amateur singers sang the chorus, followed by another verse. This improvised concert ended with a lot of laughter and applause.
"My dear friend, be prepared to show off your exotic singing skills at Rebecca's next dinner party. I, for one, have news for you."
oooOOOooo
Friday, June 25, 1876, Charleston, Magnolias' Mansion
"Eleonor, my dearest, I am glad you were able to free yourself to have tea with me."
The two widows were comfortably seated in the upstairs parlor room, enjoying the little three-fruit mousse pastries that Netty, the cook, had baked for them that morning.
"Cathleen, you are a bright interlude in my very busy day. Rhett returned from Atlanta this morning, unannounced. I had to see that his room was prepared, and I've been working out, in a hurry, the menus that our employee will have to cook for the week, to conform to my son's gastronomic tastes."
Duncan's mother was pleased for her: "Captain Butler's presence certainly does not go unnoticed. Your son is so impressive! I hope his stay has been a good one. I must confess that I found him quite tired the last time we met."
A shadow seemed to disturb Mrs. Butler's affable features. "It's true. He seems to me to be in better shape. Surprisingly so. When he goes to Atlanta, it's hard to know what his mood will be when he returns..."
Eleonor's anxiety was palpable. Then she smiled again: "Rosemary is so happy about her brother's return that she has decided to have a little intimate party in his honour on Monday, at six o'clock. Oh, we will only be few. She has invited a couple of Rhett's friends and, of course, Roselyne, who will be thrilled to see my son again. Ah, if only... She's a young woman with so many qualities..." She did not linger on the subject, then resumed, "Of course, we shall be delighted if you, Melina and your son, will join us on this occasion."
Cathleen pursed her lower lip in nervousness. She was quite embarrassed by the invitation, and thought it best to clarify the situation. "I am touched that you want to include us in your group of close friends. Unfortunately, I regret to decline this friendly attention. On Monday evening, my son wished to host a reception. In honor of Scarlett O'Hara."
She didn't dare look at Eleonor's reaction, who, from what she'd perceived at the fashion show, might not be thrilled that her former daughter-in-law was in Charleston and dining twenty yards away from her former husband...
Rhett's mother felt the blood in her veins run cold. Danger was just around the corner, and would once again threaten her son.
Friday, June 25, 1876, Charleston, "The Gentlemen's Club Haven."
"My friend! What a pleasure to see you again in this place. I have missed you!"
The two men exchanged a firm handshake followed by a manly pat on the back.
Pierre de Boulogne could not hide his surprise at seeing that his friend was sober and sharp-eyed, two characteristics to which he had not been accustomed in recent years of barely concealed depression.
He offered him, as a sign of welcome, his best whisky and a cigar from his personal reserve.
"You look great! How long have you been back in our old city?"
"I arrived this morning from Atlanta. I have some important business to attend to with the Mayor. And, as you can see, my first recreation is for your Club!"
The cigar stuck in the corner of his lips, his eyes were laughing. How good it feels to be on good ground!
Favourable ground, yes, but he no longer belonged to Charleston. Of course, in Atlanta, he was on the lookout. Rhett Butler, the scandalous one, was still being spied on. Fortunately, he had made two new friends in Harry and Taisy Benett. But his every misstep would be highlighted by the so-called "Good Society of Atlanta".
Only... better than his hometown and the city of his teenage years, Atlanta had marked him with red iron. His heart had beaten for the first time in that Georgian city. It was there that his daughter would lay for eternity. It was the city Scarlett had chosen. Rhett had made up his mind: his home would forever be where Scarlett breathed. Scarlett is my home.
"We have been looking forward to your return, for a new member of the Club, an ace card player from what he tells me, is anxious to face you. He is here this evening, and I will introduce him to you."
Rhett drew on his cigar in contentment. "A merry evening ahead, then!"
Harry winked at him knowingly, "I guarantee you more...fun on the second floor. I've just recruited a pretty, alabaster-skinned brunette who should be to your taste!" Then he stood up to warn the players that they were about to face the poker king of Charleston.
Rhett savored the aged whiskey greedily. No, he had no intention of visiting the Haven, the Rome Room and Rosetta's hair fantasy, or any other new girl's bud with welcoming arms.
His lips treasured the taste of Scarlett's skin when he had kissed her on the swell of her cheek. On the pretext of a nonchalant hand kiss, his whiskers still revelled in having shivered at the contact of the tender membrane between her middle and little fingers, like the premise for a more intimate immersion. And when he had tightened against her to dance, the first time in well over three years, his olfactory memory preciously stored the aphrodisiac scents emanating from the heat of her body tightened to his. Memories to cherish for the periods of dearth to come.
Would she, who had rightly taken offense at his lustful nights with Belle and her young recruits, ever know how much better the mere mention of that stolen closeness with the former Mrs. Butler, during the past month, made him cum infinitely better than any expert hand of peripatetic women could ever do.
He contemplated the wisps of the cigar with a touch of annoyance. His dear sister would once more intrigue the pretty young Roselyne into his arms at his festive reception on next Monday. He would take great care to avoid anything that the gullible and enticing damsel might interpret as an invitation.
For he didn't care about all the women in the universe! Rhett was amused by this observation, so far from his reputation as a seducer.
Scarlett would be in Charleston at that time.
When she told him in the restaurant that she had a meeting in Charleston with a supplier and Duncan Vayton, he'd seized on the provocative spike. With the swiftness of a poker player ready to respond to the most unexpected moves, he'd told her they'd probably meet there, since he'd be arriving in his hometown two days before she did. He explained that he would have to see to it that the formalities for the transfer of the museum building would soon be finalized.
He had caught, in the expression of her face, an imperceptible annoyance. But he didn't care. No, my lovely Scarlett. I won't let the ambitious Vayton try to eat you alive without a reaction from me.
He would have the opportunity on Tuesday night. Wandering around town that afternoon to buy his mother's favorite boxed sweets, he had run into Rebecca Paxton. With the playful smile whose charms he had briefly tasted, she rejoiced in the happy chance that had brought them together.
"It looks like the whole of Atlanta is visiting Charleston this week. I'm having a little party on Tuesday night to celebrate my brother moving into my house. I have, of course, invited our friend Duncan. He informed me that he would be coming, along with Scarlett O'Hara. Your former wife, as I recall? Why don't you join us? You and I both love a good spicy chat. And this one certainly will be."
She left him, accentuating her knowing smile.
Yes, Dear Neighbor, I will not let you off the hook Tuesday night!
Monday, June 28, 1876, Charleston, Magnolias' Mansion
Her step was brisk. After the long buggy ride, it felt good to stretch her legs. Duncan had insisted on driving to her aunts' house to pick her up, but she'd refused. The fresh sea air invigorated her.
She needed it, because it had been a long day. She had arrived late the day before and had to satisfy Eulalie and Pauline's curiosity. During supper, they awkwardly tried to find out if the Honorable Duncan Vayton was going to accompany her to her supplier.
Scarlett was pleased with their sweet little attentions to her. Ever since they had witnessed their niece's consecration as the muse of America's most famous fashion designer, knighted by the wealthiest family in South Carolina, their gall had been replaced by a pride that reflected on the Robillard family, with a hint of admiration for Ellen's daughter. They still couldn't get over their amazement, not being able to understand how a person with such a scandalous reputation had managed to be accepted by the highly respected and venerable Vaytons.
Scarlett was not fooled by this reversal of behaviour, and she was amused by it. It didn't matter, how filial they had turned. If her aunts didn't threaten her with a knife in the back, at the slightest misstep, she would live with it.
She was satisfied with her day. Thanks to Duncan's thoughtful company, she hadn't had to worry about transportation contingencies to cover the distance to her supplier's warehouses. The hour-long trip had gone by even faster than their previous trip last February.
No more shyly sharing a blanket to combat the winter chill, Scarlett laughed. Their degree of intimacy had evolved at a rapid pace since then.
He had behaved like a perfect gentleman, as usual, making sure she was seated as comfortably as possible, and showering her with small tokens of his affection.
She had insisted on a visit to the Vayton & Harvey Ltd. mill. Duncan's partner, Jerry Harvey, gave her a reception worthy of the biggest traders in America. She was definitely enjoying the world of textiles more and more.
"I have extolled to my customers the beauty of indigo blue and Charleston green of which you have become the most renowned specialists. I am going to buy you several lengths of taffeta. My seamstress will transform them into irresistible skirts or evening dresses. On the other hand, I am coming specifically for your indigo wool cloth. My best customer is keen to use it for a coat, and didn't want to wait for the next order."
Jerry Harvey saw how the young lady he had met in February, discovering the new world of women wear, had so quickly become familiar with the intricacies of every fabric. Incidentally, it did not escape him that his majority partner was gazing lovingly at her...
Three miles away, Mr. Johnston rolled out the red carpet in honor of the great couturier, as he had done the previous time. He did the same for his new client, as the success of her young boutique was proving remarkably rapid, and full of promise for future sales for Johnson Ready to Wear Ltd.
The biggest customers of the ready-to-wear clothing manufacturer were gathered for the official presentation of the new collection. Scarlett was introduced to her fellow business owners. Not competitors, as she quietly noticed, as the conversation progressed, that she seemed to be the only one who had negotiated exclusive sales of the Ready to Wear line for her entire state. Certainly, Duncan Vayton's name is an open door sesame for me! The experienced businesswoman was not fooled by the acceleration of her company's success, gained for sure from her association with the powerful Duncan.
Yes, the day was a great success. The dresses designs were a sharp enough contrast to the previous collection, to ensure the surprise of her regular customers, and reflected the same characteristics of elegance and quality that had attracted ladies from Atlanta and the surrounding area to the Robillard's Boutique.
On their return to Charleston, Scarlett had used the hour, between her invitation to dinner at the Vaytons', to freshen up and choose the gown she thought most appropriate for the occasion: not a revealing neckline that would shock the traditional Cathleen Vayton, but a top bust dress that was close enough to the body, so that the handsome Duncan's azure eyes would turn anthracite.
Her heartbeat grew surreptitiously stronger with each step that now brought her closer to the Vayton mansion. And the Butler house.
When he'd told her point-blank that he'd be in Charleston at the same time that her, she'd remembered what had happened between her and Duncan in Tara, and felt a strange sense of shame. Which she had immediately castigated herself for, why be embarrassed by that lascivious interlude? She wasn't married, and she wasn't Rhett Butler's wife anymore.
Nevertheless, the fact that they were both present in two neighboring houses, while she was being openly courted by another man, created an uneasiness, growing as she got closer to her destination.
She could have entered the house through the 'hospitality door" under the porch. Without being aware of it, she preferred the entrance by the courtyard.
oooOOOooo
The gate to the Magnolias' Mansion was wide open. She stepped into the alley and stopped short. Not paying attention to what reason commanded, she turned her head to the building next door.
The second floor was brightly lit. From the open French windows on the piazza, she heard a hum of happy conversation and laughter. A laugh deeper than the others. His laughter.
That pierced her like a detonation. Why did her body betray her, as it did every time she felt his proximity?
Unable to look away from that direction, she saw that a figure had stopped at the open window. A woman with blonde hair. Staring at her.
It was like a punch to the heart. Roselyne Tucker.
In the brightness of the dying day, at a distance, the two young women seemed to engage in a silent duel. Abbreviated by the girl upstairs who turned back to the interior of the room, and, ostensibly, minced in an exaggeratedly loud voice, a "Rhett! Will you please-" Then the sentence was swallowed by the door-window closing on the festive Butler gathering.
As if to better isolate her, Scarlett.
The door to the courtyard opened. Duncan rushed to meet her.
With raging determination, she passed a hand over her misty eyes. She now understood why Rhett had decided to offer to be her friend again. Simply because he no longer felt any love for her. While he knew she was in Charleston, he was openly flaunting himself with the one who aspired to be the new Mrs. Butler. The desire and future of the man who had pretended to love her madly in the past was polarizing-she had just had proof of it again-toward this horrid, young viper.
She squared her shoulders, and dug those dimples that made the handsome Duncan melt.
All right, fine. She was going to adapt to the new rules of the game.
oooOOOooo
"Ms. Vayton, it is a great honor for me to be among you."
Cathleen hugged her affectionately. "Dear Scarlett, you're radiating with joie de vivre. A month ago, you dazzled all Charlestonians with your presence. Tonight, my children and I have the exclusive privilege of your presence. Melina has been looking forward to seeing you again. "
The latter embraced the young Georgian effusively. Then they walked away, chatting volubly.
Cathleen approached her son who was watching the two young women. She tenderly stroked his cheek, "Are you happy?"
Duncan took her hand and kissed her palm. "And I hope to become more and more so, Mother. I'm very hopeful, even if..."
She took him back, "Even if?"
His smile faded, "Even if a shadow can disrupt a promising future."
He did not say more.
The Vaytons' dining room was true to the style of the reception room and drawing room: the strict forms of the Empire style, the shimmering mahogany of the huge table and straight-backed but comfortable seats, the black marble Federal fireplace, all lit by a huge chandelier and wall sconces judiciously placed to ignite the exotic wood.
Scarlett was drawn like a magnet to a painting more than six feet wide. Duncan approached her.
"Beautiful, isn't it? Meet Soft South."
Scarlett nodded, and regretted that there was no representation of Tara in its heyday.
"I am sure the talented painter, Aimé Tersène, will be happy to take it on."
The young woman pouted doubtfully, "If he came to the plantation, he would have only poor remnants to draw on."
"With the power of your memories and the passion that binds you to your land, as I have seen it, your lively description will bring back the charm of your Tara on the canvas."
Then he added, "I was moved by discovering your roots and the red soil of Clayton County that you hold so dear. I, in turn, would like you to see our family plantation. May I show you around it tomorrow?"
That's a wonderful idea,"Cathleen said. I'm not surprised Duncan would want to introduce you to Soft South. He's always had a special connection with this house."
Duncan looked at Scarlett with a knowing smile, "As you can see, this is another passion we share. I know you'll fall in love with our old colonial home. And, when we return tomorrow night, I'll confiscate your evening. We are invited."
Scarlett laughed. Taking Mrs. Vayton as her witness, she smiled, "I see that your son has decided to steal me away from my aunts."
Melina laughed heartily. "I'm afraid so. Perhaps he won't let you go again? I'd be wary, if I were you..."
Patting the young woman's hand in a friendly manner, Scarlett replied, " Feedle-dee-dee! Whoever wants to chain me up better watch out!" And she looked defiantly at the dressmaker.
As she had expected, he blushed.
The dinner was jovial. The happy faces of the guests were enhanced by the quivering glow of the pair of bronze candelabras adorning the impressive embroidered tablecloth. Perhaps a production of the French spinning mill of Vayton & Dax, Scarlett deduced.
Butler Barnabee ceremoniously served the fine food concocted by Netty, the same woman who had regaled the many guests at the fashion show.
"When are you leaving, Scarlett?"
Three pairs of eyes stared at her: "Wednesday morning. Work awaits me. My shop and my customers will absorb me as soon as I return. And of course, my children. But, I have to admit - with surprise - that I'm enjoying coming to Charleston, and it's because of you. My life is in Atlanta, and I can't be lulled into idleness." She laughed at this unlikely possibility, so far removed from her dynamic, hard-working nature.
Cathleen couldn't help but ask her one of the questions that had been burning in her mind, "It's very generous of you to give us credit for teaching you to love Charleston. But you are used to coming to our old city. There are your aunts, and your-the Butler family."
Duncan tensed. Scarlett shook off the argument with her graceful hand, "When my aunts need me, they don't hesitate to reach out to me. Have no doubt. As for my former husband's family..." - Instinctively, her gaze wandered in the direction of the building next to the Magnolias' Mansion. - "... I must be frank with you, for you show me great kindness. I was never invited to enter Eleonor Butler's house. I have only met her twice, when my dear Bonnie died in Atlanta, and a month ago at your party."
Melina could not hide her amazement. Who was this Butler woman who had dared to reject her daughter-in-law so vulgarly? And Rosemary? Was she so dry-hearted as not to have wanted to know her brother's wife?
As for Captain Butler... Melina deduced that the flamboyant blockade breaker, by having cut off his wife from his own family, did not deserve to have been Scarlett O'Hara's husband after all.
In order to clear the confusion that had settled in the room, Scarlett placed her hand on the hostess's, "Now you understand why I can tell you that it is because of you that I love Charleston more and more."
On the other side of the table, she felt the azure eyes enveloping her insistently.
oooOOOooo
They were even hotter now that they were both in Duncan's library.
Cathleen and Melina had quietly slipped away after dessert.
Barnabee brought a tray and placed it on the black marble of the Empire pedestal table. In the center was a silver champagne bucket filled with ice cubes. Scarlett tried to guess what was in the small embossed cardboard box with the silk ribbon.
"Would you like me to open the bottle, sir?"
Seeing his employer's sign of denial, he left them and closed the door behind him.
"Some Dom Perignon. You enjoyed it at our reception."
As he spoke to her, he uncorked the bottle masterfully, taking care that none of the precious bubbles were poured out of the blue cut crystal glasses. Then he handed her one cup and took the other.
"To you, brilliant Scarlett, who by your petulance, intelligence and beauty, have brightened my days since our first meeting."
What to say to this garland of praise? Scarlett preferred to reward her host by fluttering her eyelashes and digging her dimples.
How nice it was to feel wanted!
She was about to raise the champagne to her lips when she heard music emanating from the open balcony doors.
"Duncan, listen! "Jeanie With the Light Brown Hair" (*3) One of my favorite ballads when I lived in Tara!
Without waiting, she rushed to the porch to detect the source of the melodious song.
Duncan followed her with a smile, holding the garnished tray in his hands and placing it on a low rattan table.
The young woman walked along the jalousie screens, painted Charleston green, partially altering the view to the outside to ensure the privacy of the occupants of the terrace.
In the garden, at the foot of the magnolias, a violinist accompanied a singer, elegantly dressed in grey. The tone of his voice was velvety, sweet enough to charm any damsel in a romantic mood.
Duncan stood beside her, sipping Dom Perignon.
"You are mad to surprise me like this!" Then she added, "But I like your madness."
Disregarding good manners, she rested her elbows on the handrail of the banister, listening to those words of love rise in the air. Her feet trembled to the rhythm of the chords.
"Would you care to indulge me in this dance, Thunder of Georgia?" he asked her with a knowing look.
They laughed heartily as they realized that the narrow depth of the piazza did not allow them to perform the academic figures of a true ballroom dance.
Despite Scarlett's gracefulness and Duncan's proven dancing skills, their momentum was held back by a wall, a railing or a chair. This did not deter them from persisting in moving to the music created over twenty years ago by Stephen Foster.
When the musicians began a more rhythmic repertoire, the two dancers tried to keep up with the boisterous tune, cheerfully laughing at their poor stage performance.
"Duncan, you're a child! And, worse than that, you are leading me astray so that I behave like a teen. It's a good thing Mammy isn't here, where I'd have to suffer her wrath for my bad behavior."
He had abandoned his partner for a moment, the time to refill her glass. As he handed it to her, he plunged his eyes into hers. A blue so intense that I'm almost dazzled," Scarlett shivered.
"My ambition is to give you back the carefree spirit you enjoyed before the war. I conclude that I have succeeded in my task, at least for tonight."
Scarlett looked around for the best seat in which to enjoy the mildness of the summer evening. The jalousies and the piazza had fully accomplished their task as a catalyst for the ocean spray.
Instead of offering her a seat on one of the two small upholstered chairs, Duncan took her hand and pointed to the long bench nearly sixteen feet long that took up a good portion of the balcony. It was a long, narrow timber of fir, standing together only by the two supports at each end.
Duncan invited her to sit on one side of the bench while he sat five meters away.
Scarlett commented, "And of course, painted with Charleston green. A real Charleston joggling board." (*4)
"Yes. It was ours at Soft South. When we were babies, my nanny, dear old Ophelia, used to rock us on the flexible timber, to put Melina and me to sleep. My sister insisted that it be moved to one of the piazzas, the first day she visited the Magnolias' Mansion. I don't regret it, since I now have the pleasure of admiring you on it."
In a more muffled voice, he asked her, "I think you know its most popular use, don't you?"
Scarlett instantly reverted to her old Clayton County Belle reflexes to whisper, naughtily, under the seal of secrecy, "My friends and I had heard about Charleston bouncing boards. We all dreamed that our parents would put one on the porch. Can you believe it? That magic bench would have allowed us to have privacy with our beau without the intrusive control of our nannies."
She burst out laughing. "What hypocrisy. Or maybe the parents are just gullible. But it is not without reason that we know the second name of these very particular seats, the courting bench. It is true that the lovers are separated by five meters. But..."
Duncan slowly began to move on the board. Scarlett, her eyes laughing, did the same. The long, narrow seat began to bend under the synchronized movements.
"But..." - Duncan finished the explanation begun by his playing partner. "But when you're having fun bouncing around a bit, each on his own, there comes a point where the two lovers get closer to the center of the board. And then..."
The young woman giggled as she remembered the confidences exchanged in low voices with her friends, when they dreamed, barely out of childhood, of this scandalous approach with a young suitor.
From the garden came the first notes of a melody. She recognized it immediately. "Eileen Alannah". (*5)
Staring at a fixed point in front of her, sipping the bubbly wine, she told him in a dull tone, "Do you know this song was first performed in 1873? The first time I heard it was in the covered music square in Atlanta. It was November 16. I remember it like it was yesterday. Around me, couples of lovers were listening to the song, some holding hands, others shyer, content with a languid glance. I had judged them, at the time, to be ridiculous. To marvel at the story of these two fiancés, separated by the ocean, one in America, the other in Ireland, with the certainty that the end would be happy and that they would meet again. Find each other..." Scarlett's voice broke.
Duncan listened apprehensively for the slightest inflection of mood. He had a hunch that his neighbor was involved in the melancholy memory.
She sighed deeply. "To find each other! No, for me, that would never happen again. The day before, Rhett had come to Atlanta to extort my consent to the divorce. He left, minutes later, with the document in hand, signed."
Duncan stood up and presented her with the box of chocolate candy.
He sat down next to her. They were now positioned in the middle of the bench. Their knees were touching.
"I picked them out for you. Please take a bite."
As greedy as ever, Scarlett obliged. Under her tongue, she tasted the chocolate shell, with a full-bodied taste and a hint of bitterness. Then her teeth crunched a firm, sweet and aromatic flesh. Hm... What a powerful white alcohol, Scarlett appreciated as a connoisseur.
She recognized the smell of candied cherries.
"Would you mind sharing the other piece with me?"
This request is not as innocent as it seems. Scarlett found it hard to hide her ironic reaction.
She was holding the second chunk of the red fruit with the cocoa bean between her thumb and forefinger.
Duncan looked down and took her hand. As if hypnotized, he watched the crimson color of the fruit. Holding her two fingers, he brought them to his mouth.
She saw him swallow with difficulty. Scarlett was astonished at the darkness of his eyes, eaten by the pupil. The Charlestonian's blond mustache quivered.
Her silk skirt was thin enough to perceive the tremors that agitated the man's long thighs.
He whispered, inches from Scarlett's mouth, "Blood red, luscious, juicy, intoxicating... Aphrodisiac."
She nearly shrieked with excitement when she felt Duncan's tongue slide slowly between her two fingers, licking them as it went, then lapping up the half cherry and gobbling it down gluttonously.
It was deliciously erotic. Scarlett's heartbeat had sped up. Without being able to control herself, she rubbed her thighs together. She felt like she was as red as a cherry.
The singer finished "Eileen Alannah".
Not taking his eyes off the lips of his Thunder of Georgia, he repeated a snippet of the refrain: "Light of my soul and its Queen evermore". Scarlett, light of my soul. My queen. I dream of a day..." He stopped. His mouth was dry, and he had to clear his throat to continue speaking. "One day, perhaps, if you would accept..." He stammered.
She could feel his warm breath on her cheeks. His sophisticated perfume, which she had learned to recognize among all, penetrated her nostrils.
She bit the corner of her lower lip.
He passed his middle finger on this lip that she had just abused, insisting patiently until the pulp of his finger was caught in a vice-like grip between the lips of Scarlett.
She became disoriented. Too much champagne for me to see clearly," she said to herself.
Then she was caught in a whirlwind. Both of Duncan's hands were gripping her face. His blond curls blocked her vision.
His whiskers tickled the soft spot between her cheek and the side of her mouth.
Soft whiskers on her skin. Softer. Less full. Less aggressive.
He let out a primal moan. The gentleman's gentleness turned to savagery as his lips crashed against hers.
Scarlett didn't know if she was still breathing, so much was he absorbing her breath. His tongue forced its way in.
In a flash of insight, she felt that only one man had shown such experience in a kiss. The same voracity. The same dexterity in entwining their tongues in a wild waltz. The same curiosity to discover every inch of her palate, licking every tooth to find its contours.
No! Not the same kiss!
A little voice inside her, which she tried to silence, reminded her that Rhett's kisses were making her capsize at the risk of fainting.
Woke up every pore of her skin, ruffled every hair on her forearms. Invaded her lower abdomen with a thousand tingles.
Made her heart beat magically between her thighs, faster than a metronome, to the point of making the little down lips turn into the frantic beating of a butterfly's wings, just asking to be freed to fly away, higher, for reaching the highest peak of ecstasy.
Eventually dragged her into an abyss where everything was dark, mysterious, dangerous, definitive.
Rhett... No, she had to stop. Right now, he was twenty yards away from her. He was having fun with someone else. Maybe they had both started making plans, setting a date? That explained why this girl had stared at her with such confidence. She knew that Scarlett was just a harmless memory to him now. Maybe he was kissing her at this minute?
A pain, like a dagger, made her want to scream. How could she bear that he would never again kiss her with such urgency as if their lives depended on it?
She vaguely heard the singer start "Lorena". (*6). The song Duncan had dedicated to her at the fashion show. "Lorena," which had sealed their first dance. The night he'd turned her into the Queen of Charleston. Duncan, so in love, so crazy, who was moaning against her between two whispered words of love.
Symbolically, she closed her eyes on what had been the two of them, Rhett and her, on their last night when, finally, her body had been unleashed to reveal itself to their mutual carnal passion.
She cupped her hands around the back of Duncan's neck, urgently trying to recapture the animality of an embrace she was missing. He grunted in satisfaction. He was her possible future now. She'd have to convince herself of that.
oooOOOooo
Monday, June 28, 1876, Charleston, along the Battery
He was happy about getting some fresh air to walk to the Gentlemen's Club Haven. The famous so-called "ace" of poker was waiting for him to take his revenge for the beating Rhett had given him last Friday.
In a predator mood, he grinned sarcastically at the prospect of playing with this newcomer, like a cat pawing at a mouse, before finishing off his toy when he no longer amused him.
The reception had been pleasant. His sister had arranged the little party so that the buffet and the quality of the alcohols were to his liking. She had surprised him by inviting the only childhood friends he had kept in touch with in Charleston. Faithful in their friendship to him, and in love since the little girl, whom he had amused as a boy to annoy with his friend, had finally married her prince charming.
It had been a long time since he had laughed so heartily in Charleston.
It was true that his sister's obsession with systematically inviting her "friend" Roselyne Tucker was beginning to tire him. He was no longer young enough to play these games of seduction that led nowhere, while she ate him up with her eyes, simpering. How could he be interested in this girl for a second, pretty blonde that she was, when Scarlett was back in his surroundings? One minute in the presence of his former wife was worth all the enamored eyes of the Roselynes of the world.
He shook off the annoyance that had crept into his brain since Scarlett had told him she was going to meet Duncan Vayton in Charleston. No, as long as Scarlett wasn't remarried, she wouldn't accept an affair with another man, no matter how fashionable he was.
He tried to calm his jealousy at the thought that she might be spending the day with him tomorrow. Today, there had probably been no danger since she had gone to see her supplier. And tomorrow night... Tomorrow night, he would be with them, making sure his neighbor didn't advance his pawns to win 'his' wife.
Even though he had offered Scarlett his friendship, he hoped that the closeness they would regain through the museum would bring them closer together than before. And then, with patience, he could finally ask her to become back Mrs. Butler.
He passed through the gate of his house, and walked quietly along the Magnolias' Mansion.
A violin. A singer. At the foot of the Vayton piazza.
He stood still. The blood began to beat frantically under his temples.
"Lorena." The ballad that Vayton had enjoyed playing in Scarlett's honor. Their first dance.
His heart forbade him to look above the musicians. His reason warned him that he had to go his own way.
The nails of his right hand dug into his left wrist with violence.
If he hurt himself, to the point of bleeding, perhaps that would annihilate any chimerical danger?
He closed his eyes. Opened them again. Glanced briefly at the second-floor piazza, which appeared to be lit. Turned his head away.
The singer continued his serenade: "A hundred months have passed, Lorena, Since last I held that hand in mine, And felt the pulse beat fast, Lorena, Though mine beat faster far than thine."
Lacing his wrist with the hard horn of his fingernails, he took one last look at the piazza.
One more, and I'm gone. Then I'll laugh at my apprehension.
Through the blinds, which, lit from within, no longer concealed much, he saw two shadows. A female figure dressed in green. A couple embracing. A couple kissing.
A kiss that never ended.
For a brief moment, he was tempted to force his way into this house and onto this terrace. And to separate them.
It was futile, because the bastard would take the opportunity to parade his former wife in front of him. And Scarlett wouldn't accept the scandal and would reject him permanently.
He wondered if his legs would carry him back to his house.
Mentally, he counted the bottles of whiskey that were still full in the liquor cabinet.
Tomorrow night... But how could he bear to see them together tomorrow?
oooOOOooo
Notes on Chapter 36:
(*1) Mrs. Cornelius Vanderbilt. It was for this famous billionaire and William Vanderbilt's costume ball on March 26, 1883, that Charles Worth designed the famous dress, called "Electric Light", in honor of Thomas Edison's invention. It was this dress that Duncan created for Scarlett under the name "Thunder of Georgia".
(*2) Le P'tit Quinquin ("Little Child"), whose original title is "L'canchon Dormoire", is a song by the poet Alexandre Desrousseaux (1820-1892), written in 1853 in Picard, a french regional language of the Nord Pas-de-Calais province. This lullaby tells the story of the intimate life of working women in the North in the 19th ecentury.
Le p'tit Quinquin : first paragraph sung by Blanche, Duncan and the twins - just for the fun… my fun ;-) : "Ainsi, l'aut' jour eun' pauv' dintellière, In amiclotant sin p'tit garchon, Qui, d'puis tros quarts d'heure, n'faijot qu'braire, Tâchot d'lindormir par eun' canchon. She said: "Min Narcisse, D'main, t'aras du pain n'épice, Du chuc à gogo, Si t'es sache et qu'te fais dodo!
Youtube, Lina Margy - The Little Quinquin - watch?v=QkSMn0FywcQ&list=PL173AAB90FBD590A9&index=18
(*3) Jeanie With the Light Brown Hair, words and music by Stephen Foster, 1854 -
youtube, Tom Roush, watch?v=SWEWGc2b5Vw&list=LL&index=21
(*4) The Joggling Board in Charleston: when I studied the architecture of Charleston's antebellum houses in detail at the beginning of this novel, I discovered the existence of this bench. I kept the information carefully, because I "saw" Scarlett and Duncan's first kiss in the very first lines. It couldn't have happened anywhere else, in my opinion, not even in Tara. I was "fixated" on that bench. Here you go... It was finally used
(source: SC Homes, Disher, Hamrick & Myers) - /joggling-board/
(*5) Eileen Alannah, 1873 - music by John Rogers Thomas, lyrics by E. S. Marble
Youtube, John O'Neill with The Gordon Franks Singers, watch?v=_CbAHzlVaRE&list=LL&index=19
or - Youtube, John McCormack, 1912 - watch?v=RL5RRFtKQZM&list=LL&index=20
(*6) Lorena, 1857 : words by Reverend Henry Delafayette Webster, music by Joseph Philbrick Webster.
Youtube, Lorena 1857 - Tom Roush -
watch?v=7U4yAXM53mI&list=LL&index=53
Disclaimers : I do not own the story and the characters of Gone with the Wind, which belong to Margaret Mitchell. I created the "world" of Duncan Vayton and of Blanche Bonsart.