Hello everyone and thank you for your patience!
There's a guest that asked me a question, and I'm sorry to have forgotten to answer about it. Thanks ScarlettGator, for yours actually reminded me!
In fact, they are all in cross-purposes. Rhett has many insecurities that I will explore in the next chapters, and which prevents him to truly see what is obvious. He's not exactly the same as in cannon anymore, for while his adventures and a solitary life (though he was a leader) hardened him, here, with his relationship to the O'Hara's family, he was kept on a hope, and if he had some adventures of his own, he still had somewhere to come back to. A bond he's afraid to break, though he would not admit it.
Scarlett... well, she is confused by his reactions and misinterprets them mostly. When she goes to Rhett's room, she still has her mother's words in mind, telling her to get what she wants, so that she would not have regrets. So if she was surprised at Belle's presence, she was too determined to back out now, when she was so close. In fact, seeing that woman infuriated her enough for her to follow through it, or else she may have backed out at the last minute.
I hope it clears some things out...
Good reading to you all!
.
"What are you afraid of?"
Her sweet breath teased his lips, warm and inviting, making the hair of his mustache twirl with anticipated pleasure. Rhett paused. Yes, what was he afraid of? She was here, all alone, shrouded by dusk's fading lights. She was here, waiting for him, for his kiss. Him, only him. The shape of her leaned toward him, for the taking, soft, tempting curves swaying in front of him, begging for him to touch and feel, and forget it all in a never-ending embrace. And that mouth, that mouth! It seemed to whisper to him all he wanted to hear, all he wanted to say.
I love you... I want you...
He almost snorted. Yes, he was a fool to deny it. It was all he wanted, and it was in his reach...
He leaned towards her, yet she shook her head, as if amused. On her lips came a lopsided jeering smile, a smile that wasn't hers, and it chilled him to the bones. She let out a sharp laugh and went away from him, like a dancer coming from one cavalier to another.
She giggled, the little devil, and he watched her, powerless, sway in front of him as she mocked him, the depth of her hilarity making her body shake and curl. Her little hand came to her mouth, her green eyes shining mischievously.
And then suddenly, she was caught in front of him, two hands coming to her slender waist, making her shriek with the delight of a small girl receiving a puppy. She laughed fondly, a lover's laugh, and Ashley Wilkes looked at her with dull grey eyes as she turned halfway toward him.
"Of him?" She purred, her eyes glinting in the dark maliciously, her fingers caressing and light on the younger man's clothes, from shoulders to chest, and he found himself aroused by that touch, as if it had been done on him. "You're right... A true gentleman... Well-mannered, accepted by all... Perfect..." His heart dropped while he could not help watching the tender way she smiled at that man. Oh, he wanted to wring her neck, then! But he was like Samson, and his strength had been taken from him. "He is the one I love, the one I want... It's him, it's always been him... And I..."
She tilted her head toward him, and he watched with anxiety the shadow of her lashes fluttering against her cheeks.
"I am the monster you made."
He gasped in horror as she looked at him with bright green eyes, supernatural and terrible as their light pierced him like thunder across the sky. They seemed to seethe and burn, and when Ashley Wilkes embraced her, the light suit darkened and seemed to swallow her like a black hole. She leaned back, allowing him her neck for him to kiss, for him to bite.
She smiled lazily and sighed, and he gasped, wanting to tell her to flee. All rage was gone, only despair, and a sense of doom. But her gaze was still on him, defiant, full of spite.
She shrank in the man's embrace, blood running down her creamy throat. Her body got smaller, her features a bit plumper, recovering the softness of childhood, losing the appeal of womanhood. Gone was the intoxicating flagrance of magnolia, replaced by the sachet of lavender that her own mother used to choose for her. The odor of innocence, gone, crushed in front of him...
No. No, no, no, no...
Rhett's fists clenched, their darkness pale with sorrow and wrath. He looked up to his enemy, blood running, and pulsing. Until he finally met dark eyes...
"Now, by God, who did you think I was?" The voice jeered, deep and familiar, yet so strange in that hapless Wilkes's mouth. "What do they call me again?"
No...
"Corruptor of innocence..." Came the accusing reply. A gentleman's drawl. "Everything you touch is corrupted. Every kindness, every love... spoiled and rotting at your feet... Monsters you've created, coming right back after you..."
A smirk to one's lips, with sharp, animal white teeth.
"That's right, my scoundrel..."
Scarlett looked at him, and the burning life had gone while the laughter subsided. Instead, there was a cold hatred in her eyes, but that hatred was even better than what came next. For then it turned grey, the delightful soft skin, and blue the little mouth. The tip of her fingers blackened, the black hair thinned, brittle and dull. She faded away in front of him like a wax doll melting, and he could do nothing but see it.
Rhett fell on his knees and screamed.
His eyes opened in the darkness and his breathing came out grasping and difficult. Drops of cold sweat trickled down his back.
"Rhett?"
At his side, a silhouette raised, disheveled and groggy, with big locks of dyed-red hair tumbling down her round shoulders. He did not turn toward her, did not acknowledge her. For a moment, there was a deep moment of disgust of himself, a feeling of wrongness in his guts. But then he remembered, and his shoulders lost their tenseness.
Until then, only two felt right. But if the one was not obtainable, the other seemed a dream within a dream, for despite his inquiries, he never found out who she was, that girl who kissed him, and gave her the feeling she was by his side. She might as well have been a pixy, induced by the liquor he consumed. A result of absinth in his drink, perhaps. They did call it the green fairy after all. Yet, as he did not doubt Belle would have no scruple to use it on any man she wanted stone-cold, he doubted she would be bold enough to use it on him.
"It's nothing, Belle," He whispered, talking mostly to himself rather than to the naked woman that was looking at him with concerned blue eyes. "Just another one of these dreams."
His arms were shaking under the feeling of a tender, burning weight. On his tongue, there was the taste of blood, and the ache for more. He turned away, but the vision did not go away.
….
Clayton County, mid-October 1860
Scarlett was going, and that was a good thing.
She could not bear the dullness of the country. The country never had much charm anyway!
Suellen was crying, a fake little show of fraternal feelings, with little sobs and a flush on her cheeks, that was lost as soon as one noticed the joyful glint in her eyes. Bah, Scarlett did not care. After all, Suellen never interested her sufficiently to care, and had always watched her, eager for her failures, so that she could tell anyone of it. Her eyes always narrowed and glowed with envy each time her sister came back with new dresses and gifts, and suitors, and she seemed angry at her for not giving her the entire of it out of the love she did not seem to feel herself.
As for Mother... She was but a distant figure, and if her heart leaped at her, Scarlett slowly ignored it. No, she would never understand Mother, and if some parts of her still worshipped her, perhaps a bit begrudgingly, like one would worship the Virgin Mary, Scarlett was of a nature not to focus unnecessarily on what she could not get, and she was little by little renouncing to that deep envy of knowing everything about her. She loved her, but that love paled now for the sake of more concrete feelings, of the ones who looked after her without wanting to change her.
Mother patted softly her cheek, and made a little bow to Grand-Père, but did not look at him. Young Carreen at her side, barely twelve-year-old, and still shy from the soft calmness of childhood, made a little smile, but did not dare look up, so impressed she was by that stranger that was of her family, and uneasy by the unquietness she felt around her.
Mammy tried hard not to show it, but in her defiant warm brown eyes shined the tears that would not flow. Her big hands were gathered on her apron as she saluted her former master, but these hands almost did not let Scarlett go, until she kissed her plump cheeks and promised to come back as soon as possible.
Pork was looking, a bit isolated, but with a mixture of pride and quiet sadness that went to Scarlett's heart more deeply than any grand declaration.
And when Pa's turn to say his goodbyes came, as Grand-Père was discussing with the driver of the carriage, suddenly, it seemed like a farewell. He paused, unsure, before letting out a soft, wistful smile that broke her heart.
"Am I losing you, me Puss?" He looked at her with clear blue eyes that were uncharacteristically filled with a deep sadness that pulled at the strings of her heart. And when he cupped her cheek with his big warm hand, which was rough yet so tender, she let out an unwilling sob. It all suddenly seemed so dreary, so final, when she had been so happy to go! "I knew I would have to one day... Yet, so soon..."
"Oh, Pa! Never!" She cried, taking him into her arms and burying her nose on his shoulder, like a little girl. "I'm still your Katie Scarlett! Always."
He stiffened and patted her head awkwardly, in his joyfully belligerent and uneasy manner when he was moved yet upset at himself for showing it. Then, he let out a huff and his figure deflated as he met her eyes again.
"Are you? I been losing you even more each day, I fear... I suppose it's the right order of things, yet me poor heart was not ready."
"Don't say such silly things. I'll only leave for a few days..."
But he did not seem to listen. His gaze went up the hills filled that had been freshly plowed, lost in the red clay of Tara that gave him his strength.
" I knew it, ever since I saw you falling into that young buck's arms. Oh, tis not a reproach, me lass. Tis life that sends you away."
She looked at him that sweet debonair man with a giant shadow she loved so much.
"You say silly things," She said softly. "Come home, Pa. I'll come back. You know I always will."
His loving and indulgent gaze came back to her as he kissed her goodbye.
"For this time, maybe. But for the others?"
She could say nothing to that, and the question lingered long after she got into the carriage.
…
Atlanta, that same day
Melanie Hamilton stared, undecided. Her heart was fluttering nervously, and she felt faint. At her side, Mr. Goldin's book, and what it contained, seemed like his whole person really, looking at her with accusing eyes.
Oh, what could she possibly do?
Yet, it was something she had to do. It wouldn't be right to do otherwise.
It was all so innocent. Certainly, a word of it, and all would be over. It was all so very silly, in fact. She was sure Randa would laugh at her very fondly, and Scarlett would berate her for her foolishness.
She took her pen and wrote.
.
Dear Mr. Goldin,
I fear your generous gift has induced a breach in privacy that I'm sure you must be embarrassed of, and in order to relieve you of this, I send it back to you, hoping you will forget my having seen it. I'm sure you had forgotten that such drawing of yours had stayed in that book, and in giving that book to me, you felt the loss of it keenly, as I know artists tend to do so.
You have talent, Mr. Goldin. Oh, forgive my daring to say so! But it's something so obvious that I do believe it needs to be said, especially when I know we might never see each other again. It is a poor model that you took, and I'm sure I cannot truly see a likeness, for that picture is pretty and delicate, and I'm sure I do not fit that description. Yet, it is charitable of you to have taken an interest, even for a time, for such a person as me. Be assured I'm thankful for that generosity, and shall treasure the thought always.
All my best wishes,
M. Hamilton.
...
Savannah, November 1rst 1860
Ah, the joys of Savannah, with its nearness to the sea, and its arrivals of new beaus every day!
Of course, some of them were brought hurriedly by Rhett, Scarlett found out quickly, and that fact, when she figured it out through Grand-Père's teasing, infuriated her, for they were the signs he did not care about her, and wanted her to get married quickly. Ha! He would not be the master of her!
At least, not in that way.
But the others were genuinely attracted to her, and they had reasons to. After all, wasn't she one precious belle, gathering so many advantages in her petite person? Who wouldn't fall for her, if she cared enough to try and charm them?
Romain De Langeais was one of them, or so it seemed at first. A charming young man with dark looks, tall, well-educated... But a bit more than them, really. He had some mischief about him, a nonchalant and feline air that reminded her of Rhett, and Scarlett deeply liked it.
And Pierre Robillard certainly seemed to encourage him in his suit more than the others.
Why ever so, when he has been so dismissive before?
Settled on the ottoman, in the veranda of Grand-Père's illustrious home, Scarlett tried to decide begrudgingly if she cared enough to know about it, for fear it would spoil her entertainment. Yet, there was this voice in her head, Rhett's voice, and she couldn't entirely shake him out like an unwanted thought. He had become part of her, a guide that urged her to think when she wanted to enjoy carelessly.
Look, my darling, he would say. Look beyond. Seek what they don't want you to find.
Shut up, Rhett, she wanted to retort, and she felt her voice breaking inside, tiny pieces of glass gathering in her throat. Shut up.
Unaware of this torment, Romain looked at her, stared at her lips. She shivered in anticipation and waited. The sun was high in the sky as she waited, and it burned her as if she were doing the wrong thing.
And then he kissed her. He kissed her lips and she smiled pleasantly, a smile that dug a dimple in her cheek. Her gaze lowered, and she forced a blush on her cheeks. For a moment, it seemed the conquest was made.
But it stayed one-sided.
For he was not Rhett. He had not that feline grace, that dangerous air about him that made her shiver and sigh. He was not the companion of her mischiefs, the guide of her adventures, the guardian angel and the devil at the same time whispering in her ears. He did not raise her feelings, nor made her warm and tingling inside.
That young copy was a copy without substance, without depth. All pleasantness and lightness, yet none of the strength and tenderness she craved for.
She let him kiss her goodbye, to be sure, and turned away, weary of rediscovering something she already knew.
Supper was joyous with Grand-Père as he was in a grand mood that night, flattering and joking all along. Not only was the company good, but the food was exceptionally good, and she noticed all of her favorite dishes
"You seem to like that Romain," He finally said with a teasing smile.
She froze. The voice came back.
"He's... interesting."
His eyes were glinting; He was up to something. She just knew it.
"And he's leaving soon to France."
She let out a little smile. The knife cut through the beef as if it was butter, and she took her bite with affected delight.
"He told me, yes."
"That's funny, I intend to go there as well, for a time. Would you like to accompany me? There, you could finish your conquest."
She paused. Something was too good to be true.
"Tempting thought."
"I knew you'd like it."
Her brow arched slightly.
"Did you?" Said she, her voice quivering. "Am I so easy to read?"
She saw that tall man let out a delighted chuckle, coming deep from his throat, and it made her want to do so too. Yet, that nagging feeling was still there, and she refrained.
"My dear, you're like me. You like the possibility of a chase, and it's high time you go see... other horizons. The South is too small for you. For us, in fact."
"Then, it's a wonder you stayed so long," She quipped. "It must have been awful for you."
"Petite insolente!" Yet, he seemed still pleased. "Indeed, it was. But..."
Her gaze softened. She had seen the faraway gaze that came and went, these unfinished sentences that always went up to one person.
"You miss Grand-Mère a lot, don't you?"
"More than anything. You remind me of her somehow."
She bit her lip, moved by the admission of that strong, tough man that she could call Grand-Père. A man she could not call silly, for even in his amusements, he was dark and not to be trifled with.
"So what do you think?"
She blinked.
"About what?"
"About going."
Her lashes fluttered. She played a little with her fork on the plate, taking her time to gather some pieces of food, her eyes focused on it. A corner of her mouth went up as she reflected on what to say.
"I'm not sure..."
"Tu veux faire monter les enchères, n'est-ce pas, petite rusée?"
Her eyes went up to his quickly.
"Quelles enchères? Qu'y a-t-il à gagner?"
"La liberté, très chère. La liberté et beaucoup d'amusement."
She let out a sharp chortle. "You sound like Nero. Bread and circuses for all people! But what would I lose if I choose otherwise?"
His grin stretched on sharp teeth, but his eyes narrowed. He leaned closer, and a twinkle came in the dark.
"I care for you, child, and I'm going to be honest. Few can be so, you have to admit. You'd lose a lot, dear. But I'm sure you already know of it. You cannot be unaware of it, while being so close to that young buck of Rhett Butler," He took a sip of his drink, a thing she knew he tended to accentuate to bide his time while his opponent's anxiety raised. His voice came lightly. "Oh, yes, my dear, I would have been blind if I hadn't noticed that little infatuation you had. Yet, you're a reasonable child... Most of the time. But imagine... A world destroyed by fire and chaos, and you in the middle of it. You wouldn't want that, would you? You would not bear it, could you? So why choose the hardest way?"
They stared at one another, old against young, dark eyes against green ones. He patted her knees, a condescending smile coming to his lips.
Pierre Robillard certainly was not aware of the nature of that smile, or else he would have realized his mistake. But Scarlett felt it, and fury sprang like fireworks in her glare. He sighed.
"Take your time, child. I leave you until next April to make your decision, and you'll still get to go to the New Year's ball. I'll not force you, for I know you'll put it into your head you're a poor little girl under the power of an old tyrant. I'll not make that mistake again. This is for your sake, and you'll see it in time. You'll understand."
She faced him a moment, before he left the room, and understood, indeed.
He'll make her see. She could see those were only words, and beneath them, there was steel. It was formulated like a suggestion, yet it was an order.
How many were they, to try to control her life? To try to shape it as it pleased them?
Too many. Her vision blurred, her eyes narrowing.
She was visibly left with a choice. Either to stay and break, or to leave.
But was it a choice at all?
Leaving meant letting everything go.
Oh, how could she bear it?
The Old Continent was a grand idea, yet if there was a war how could she leave all that she loved behind? Because if she was offered a getaway, the others would not. And if she left, she was sure poor Melly would be urged into marriage to that hapless Ashley, and she wouldn't know how to use him. What a terrible waste it would be, of a good name and fortune!
And it would be leaving Rhett.
She could not have him, alright. But could she live knowing he was so far away from her?
Oh, she terribly wanted to put it all to his face, for all the experiences he had told her, preciously recollected from his travels abroad. She wanted to show him she could be so much more, and that everything he knew, she could know it as well, be his equal in so many ways.
Yet, it was no use. Her pride would be glad. Her love would not.
For Rhett would be attracted to the gains of the war, that, she had begun to be conscious of it. He would run from danger to danger, but his way would always go back to the South, just like hers would, she knew. France was Grand-Père's homeland. But it wasn't her own.
Her heart broke at the thought, yet she held on.
No, she would find a way. Grand-Père couldn't force her!
Her fists clenched, and teeth gritted.
No, she would not break. And they'd learn, soon. She would make her own life.
...
Atlanta, November 15th
.
Dear angel,
Such an extraordinary thing, to have in one's hands a piece coming from heaven. So amazing it is, that I scarce find the words to express my amazement. And so endearing words, with a compliment I would not have thought I get from you! How precious they are now to me, written words that I will be able to keep all my life, before I can even get to heaven to get it back to you.
Did you read it, angel? What did you think of it?
I imagine you, looking at that drawing, with a little blush on your cheeks. An endearing vision. You're wrong. I would never be able to draw a true likeness. For you are much more than that.
But maybe I am too bold? If so, please do forgive me for hurting your sensibility! It is said angels have the power to do so, and I want to believe it, though it is often said also they can be cruel...
Your servant,
E. Goldin
.
Colour raised to Melanie's brow, furious and filled with something she could not quite describe. It was foreign, and yet not that much so. It was hot yet soft, sharp like a needle. It tickled her skin from her cheek to her bosom, tiny ants crawling on her until she squirmed. Her heart skipped a beat, and she stood, breathless for a moment. She pursed her lips, for a moment indecisive. Yet, the nagging feeling grew and grew, until she could swear she would choke on it.
She took her pen and wrote back.
.
Mr. Goldin,
You talk well for one who can't find their words.
As for that compliment, it was sincere, and I'm upset that you might think I would not utter it. Do I seem to you so mean? You offended me, sir.
We shall never talk again. That was what I meant.
Cordially,
M. Hamilton
PS: Sorry for my rudeness! But it has to be so. You see it, most certainly?
.
Her pen faltered as it scratched the paper for these last words, her heart gripping with anxiety.
Had she been too harsh? She did not quite know, poor creature that she was, for she was used to kindness and generosity, though it sometimes was hidden by different manners. Yet, these words she used cut her in some way, and she wondered if they would cut him too.
"What is it that you're doing, Melly?" Came a shivering voice, kind and tender.
With a swift gesture, she hid the letter under another paper. On her cheeks grew the red, the hazy glow on her face that made her look almost feverish.
"Nothing, Aunt Pitty!" She said hurriedly. "It's nothing at all!"
The color heightened, and she lowered her gaze.
Oh, when had she become such a monster, to lie so to the most innocent of ladies?
All would be alright when she would see Scarlett and Randa at the ball. All would be forgotten as if it was nothing at all.
And then, Charles would be there for Christmas!
Her sweet nature dismissed the upsetting thoughts, to focus on the happy ones.
...
Charleston, November 22nd
Thanksgiving was generally a happy day for families. If a happy day could easily be found in the Butler household. Rosemary lingered a little after Mother pretended to have a headache, still saddened, after so many years, by the absence of her eldest son which shadowed them all like a ghost.
Ross and his wife did not stay long either, maybe urged not to suffer the shallow pleasantries of the feast, a show they were forced to live already every day, as if everything were fine and alright.
She sighed. So much for a happy family dinner. She raised lightly, cursing inwardly to herself for being so tall and gauche, and so hard to please, and so deeply distracted from everything that had been gathered to amuse her.
She counted the plates, counted the candles on the table, almost going asleep by the dullness of it all. The tick-tack on the clock, the elegantly furnished room where no sign of life seemed to linger long enough to leave a mark, the genteel silence...
And then came a knock on the door.
She stayed silent, waiting for someone to answer it. Her heart thudded.
One knock. Two. Three. No one to answer.
Filled with a foreboding, she went quickly to the door, ignoring the protests of the family slaves, who advised her not to go. Her hand went on the knob, and she turned, and turned, and then...
It was him. It was Rhett!
Her heart skipped a beat.
Her brother. Her tall, grand brother, magnificent in the moonlight, imposing and strong and so, so...
So unexpected.
He looked at her, searching for something, and when she realized he did not find it, her heart went down.
"Rosemary..." He began, as if a bit disconcerted. "You've grown..."
"Of course I've grown!" She could not help but answer quickly, before blushing. "An acute observation," She completed sourly, trying to compose herself. "You're here to see Father, aren't you? For that bet of yours?"
She almost felt satisfaction as she saw the surprise in her eyes, the shock that revealed to her he had not expected it to figure it out.
"You know?"
"Of course, I know."
She let him enter and watch him quietly, yet her mind a fuzzy.
Father was too honest a man not to try to tell the truth of his brother's feelings when she protested at his still caring, and she not stupid enough not to recognize it, when the truth was told to her.
Yet, she could not love him more for it, for it hurt her like a knife through her heart.
Rhett let out a sigh, almost of relief. It seemed as if he was putting down a burden from his shoulders and expected her to be happy about it. On his face came a lazy, charming smile, one that did not beg for forgiveness at his negligence, and actually assumed her to be thankful for it.
"It was for your sake..."
"For my sake?" Rosemary retorted and went pale, shaking, visibly unused to and surprised at her boldness. "Or yours? I was but a baby when you went away, and the only thing that linked me to you, except blood, was all the tales, and the wistful gaze of Mother. I was told by her you cared for me, and I believed in it. But when did you try to see me? To reach for me?"
She stopped, an image burning in her memory, bitter and dark. She tried to dismiss it. Yet, she was too far gone already. It seemed she had gathered every cause of grievances, and now it all went back to this, to this moment with that infamous brother that had been as much of a hope as a stain in her path.
"And then, one day, I saw you, with another little girl. I was supposed to see you, Mother had said, yet... I was so nervous that I went sick, and then, I was brought so late! I ran, I ran to you, brother, but then, when I finally saw you... You had that smile on your face... You had replaced me!"
His eyes widened in shock and he paled, but she took no notice of it. He shook his head, bothered and burdened.
"No..."
Yet she was not listening.
"I saw you again, and still, you would not see me."
"You don't understand..."
"I understand enough!"
"Rosemary, I care for you."
She shook her head, backed out at his attempt at reaching out.
"Don't!" She cried. "If you cared that much about what I was becoming, you would have come to see me. Instead, you chose to play on another little girl's future, pretending it was for my sake. I am gauche, but not dumb enough not to realize your care is easily diverted when something more exciting seems to come in the way."
She paced and paced, and at each pacing, he felt ill-at-ease in front of that girl he did not know, and opposed him nervously with words that cut deeply, even deeper indeed that he never would have thought to experience such a thing. In his mind, there was still the image of an idealized little girl, a girl that was a prize, in fact.
In this, he was disillusioned, she realized. It made her angrier.
"You could have had it. I could have cherished you as tenderly as a sister can cherish her brother. But you never chose me," She almost choked in her own saliva, though her eyes stayed dry. "Does anyone in this family have to be a pawn in the war you have with Father?"
She was panting during her diatribe, and suddenly, she seemed to him like a bull that was about to charge on him.
"So you know what? I don't care! I don't care at all!"
Then, as she looked back at him, everything stopped. She looked, yet couldn't see. Her heart went still, and for a minute, she thought she was becoming a statue, cold and powerless.
"No. You're right." He bowed to her, and suddenly his features smoothened, and in her came the realization, stronger than blood, that she had severed the last bond that tied them. "And I thank you for your clarification, Miss Butler. I'll not bother you anymore."
He went around her, and she continued looking, without knowing why she did so.
Well, she didn't care, no, she didn't! She had suffered enough with his shadow on their lives, the monster and the savior in her girlish dreams.
But now, she was no girl anymore. She couldn't, with these two men in her life.
And yet... And yet...!
She bit her lip as she watched him leave towards Father's study. Come back! She wanted to scream. I lied, I care...
But she had been scrambled enough. To that stranger that could have meant everything, she would not bow. He had to be the one to remedy the situation, and apologize. And so far, he hadn't.
After all, he owed her.
However, as he entered the study, she found herself stick her ear to the lock, her heart thundering, the pulse preventing her to think clearly. From here came an indignant protest, his father, and his words, as final as a death warrant, and she choked on it.
"Well, sir, what a loving welcoming I have. I'm here to give you my thanks today, for you gave me a lesson I will never forget. Playing with a gentleman is useless and terribly annoying, for you have nothing to give me. You never had. And just as surely as you crossed my name on the family bible, by God, I cross yours on mine. I give up and wash my hand of all of you."
At first, she stood straight, numb. Then, it came to her, and she ran back to her chambers.
"I give up."
Three little words, but she felt they had destroyed a hope she did not know she still had.
I am a Butler, she thought. I will not bend. I will not break.
Yet, her body did not seem to agree with that.
