Hello everyone! Yes, I know, I'm very, very late (but also very very sorry!). The chapters in-between the most important ones (those that are already mostly written because very much expected) are always harder, because I have to make sure the characters be in a certain mindset, and with certain experiences in the way (and trying to make it believable), not to mention some interesting things that I find in the way while researching and can't help but add in the narrative.

Well... That mindset was one week and a few days ago. And then, my grandfather died after many years of Alzheimer, and there was a big blank in my life. Too much sadness, too much tiredness. Too difficult to write a burial scene, when you're not really ready to let go yet, and some things may ring a little too much to the truth.. And yet, I can't say my relationship with him was particularly good. But maybe it's why. There are many regrets now, many things that I would have wished to do before it happened.

There comes the weariness again. Once again sorry for the delay. So that you should not be disappointed again with uncertainty, I will update my progress and mindset on my profile, so that you know you're never far from my thoughts and when to expect it. Let's keep the once every two weeks, but if you don't have any new chapter by then, you can check.

By the way, thank you Guest. Don't ever be sorry for giving remarks. My answers may be cranky, but know that I'm always grateful for it once I got out of the emotional part and can easier see where I might have been wrong, and can discuss my choices in the story (a part I always like).

Thus, I wish you a good reading (hoping it's at least readable)! Take care of yourself and the others around you!

….

...

As the body of Charles Hamilton was lain to rest, after being lovingly taken care of by compassionate neighbors, family and friends stayed awake around the cooling board, silent and austere. Waiting, waiting, as if somehow the dead might awaken and would not bear to be alone.

As she waited, Scarlett could not help but recall the time before that, the time when she had kept the smile as she held Charles' hand, her eyes vague on the bed, the smile that he had last seen, as if frozen in time. It had become a crooked, broken smile when the Wilkes entered the room, and all stood, bewildered in front of that smile. There was something frightening about it, something mad and deadly, totally incongruous, and India was the first to proclaim in nasty whispers Scarlett had never cared at all about Charles, and that it wouldn't be surprising if she was the one responsible for his death.

Honey, after batting her eyes around her, and pouting at the lack of young gentlemen in the room, added softly it might be so, but did not really think of it. The truth was that Charles had never truly entered her mind as it fluttered from male to male, and now it felt mostly as if it was a stranger's death. She lowered her head as if mourning and played the part but did not feel it at all.

Only Ashley and his father, in all the Wilkes family perhaps perceived the distress behind the smile. Yet, the first only looked and admired the delicate frames leaned toward the dead, as one would admire a portrait, while regretting his powerlessness to give anything; and the latter had other people to give his support to.

It was only when the whispers began to deepen that finally Melly awoke from her prayer and realized what was going on, and Scarlett's apathy. With a fierceness that surprised her family, she raised and stared at them with disapproval until they looked down and placed a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder. A hand that was firm and which soothingly moved her, until now Scarlett was there, at the same time in this scene of her life, and out. From wake to burial, all with that same blurry feeling that would not leave her.

Hands joined, and Scarlett did not know which was the strongest, from her desperate grip to Melly's. All she could feel was the thin bones intertwined so tight it seemed one.

"Thank you, Scarlett," Melanie said softly, her chin trembling and voice almost breaking. "Without you, I wouldn't have witnessed his last moments... You're a true sister."

Scarlett could not help but shake her head, feeling helpless and burdened by that gratefulness she did not deserve. That she could not deserve.

Don't, she wanted to say. Don't! Don't thank me as well!

But her throat was closed, and she choked on the bitter feelings that arose. She felt the salt of unshed tears on her dry eyes and it stung as if to punish her for not feeling as much as she should have. Her hand squeezed back Melly's as she looked ahead. Her eyes would not meet that wooden box yet, that wooden box that was slowly descending through that hole, yet suddenly it felt like her heart was begrudgingly being dragged with it, while people whispered on her wake all sort of things, blamed her for his death, blame her for not crying, blamed her for living while their boy was gone.

She wished he had been cruel, or insignificant. If he had, she wouldn't have cared. It would all be so easy now. Instead, there was now a weight on her conscience, and she couldn't dismiss it. It was a little ghost haunting her, telling her it was her fault if a good man had died. That she had used him, and now he was dead, and everyone now would say as well that it was because of her.

And yet, how could she not think it was the truth? She had come to care for him, and care even more now that she knew without him her life would have been even worst, and he had taken her while knowing what she was.

She owed him, and that debt should never be paid. He would never see her pay it, and that was the worst thing. An affection almost filled with anger at him, at the injustice of the world, a world she would have liked to be easy, simple, yet which the more she went in life, the more complex it seemed. She had to look at it in the face, however blurry her eyes were. Her head raised in adversity, and she almost seemed haughty. But that was good. She wanted to be aloof and unfeeling. She did not want to feel.

On her shoulder rested Melly's head. I must not break, Scarlett thought. If I break, she'll break too. And then, what else would be left? She is the only one that should hate me, and yet, she's still there.

A strangled sob. The poor girl was crying. Scarlett blinked, before pursing her lips. Her head tilted slightly towards Melly, a sudden and wild hostility darkening her eyes. Why are you still here? Why are you still looking if you can't face it? She wanted to scream. Why? Why are you still by my side, when others aren't? It shouldn't be my shoulder you're crying on!

For a moment, Melanie met that glare and felt startled, her eyes unused to such a terrible feeling. Yet, soon, the lids fell ever so softly with the mist, vanquished in their last rebellion, and the green, from acid, became a dripping river. As if to answer it, the brown went warmer and earthier. She squeezed once again Scarlett's hand, and the raven-haired girl lowered her walls, her weary head leaning on Melly's. As she did so, Melanie closed her eyes and smiled, relieved, in an almost childish abandon Scarlett envied her.

Yet, there was something that could not be dismissed.

Ashley's gaze was on Melanie.

...

There were but few things that could shock Randa Tarleton, or so she thought, in the very few years she had lived. Life had been until then running softly like the easy wave of a lake, predictable and constant. Pretty boring, if you would ask her. She had wandered and wandered aimlessly in the County without any scratch, any obstacle, and had found it so very uninteresting and bland, like a piece of bread without salt or butter. Waking up, dressing up, chatting with the girls, chatting to Ma who had just finished her morning ride with her favorite stallion, making some piece of embroidery that everyone knew would be a disaster but was too polite to say so, eat, chat once again with the girls, being mocked by the boys, chat about the boys with that incessant quest of the right and gentle husband that would give a meaning to their life, reading to feed that hope, to stop the boredom, eating again, praying, and sleeping...

Boring, boring, boring. And yet, her family wasn't the biggest bore around. The Tarletons were hot-blooded, but generally a friendly and mischievous lot, who knew better how to have fun than these Lovejoys, Munroe, or the Wilkes. Pah, the Wilkes! A strange stock, these ones. Too well-bred to be modest, yet too inbred to be prest. At least that was what Ma said.

But now, she had no other choice. No, even Scarlett, who had the decency to leave Melly's side to her own family's side so that the Wilkes could allow themselves a few private words for her brother's memory without any taint of that first dismay after Charles' death, would have to agree to that.

"We cannot encourage her in that union," Randa declared, her fists clenching and jaw tight. "Melly must marry Ashley. You don't like it, but you know it, and I know it. It's the right thing for them to do."

"She can't, how could she?" Scarlett dismissed, looking elsewhere. "She doesn't want him. Why that change of mind?"

Randa gritted her teeth. Did she have to say it?

"My sister is in the family way."

Scarlett snorted, and a feeling of hatred came suddenly through her friend.

"What does it have to do with the situation?"

"She won't say who he is, but I know," Randa groaned. "It's that Goldin!"

The raven-haired girl paused.

"Are you sure?"

"When he went away, my sister cried for three days. It can't be a coincidence!" Randa hissed. "I knew I didn't like him from the first!"

"You made that clear when you and your other sisters quite harassed him during his sojourn."

"It wasn't nearly enough."

"Well, where's the girl who said she was up for a few scandals?" Scarlett retorted. "Fiddle-dee-dee, it's all good when it comes from others, but from your own, it's a whole new story!"

"Oh, because you know many things about scandals, don't you, Scarlett?"

Scarlett gaped for a moment, shocked by the viciousness of Randa's retort. Yet, unwilling to show it had hurt her, she turned her head and pursed her lips. And Randa was very unwilling to admit it had been so, as she was boiling with the indignation and injustice of it. Especially when she could see Scarlett was observing Ashley and Melly. Ashley getting closer to Melly, whispering softly to her.

"Even if it were true, Melly mustn't know. She just got better," Scarlett hissed. "And there's the war."

"Yes," Was answered darkly to her. "Hopefully he'll die in terrible agony."

"You are quite wrathful, Randa."

"He did wrong by my sister," Randa stubbornly shot back. "My brothers are gone. Now, there are only the Tarletons girls, and Ma won't forget as well. She doesn't have my suspicion, but I see her eyeing every day Pa's gun, and stamping around."

"And your Pa?"

Randa sighed at the softer tone, her shoulders tensing for a moment before falling slightly.

"I think his attention is so much on containing Ma that he doesn't think of it for himself."

Silence dropped as Scarlett fanned herself, thinking and thinking. What was it in old men these days, that they could not fight and face the reality of troubles at home, yet were eager to throw themselves into a war that might end their lives?

"He loves Melly," Scarlett managed to say finally. But did it really mean anything now? Had the word 'love' a meaning anymore when it came to a woman and a man? Her last illusion was slowly fading before her eyes as the words sank.

But had she truly believed it? Has she reflected on it, she realized she had liked the picture better than the reality, for it made her remember what she had wanted, but could never have.

"Does he?" Randa's eyebrow made a quirk toward her bushy hairline. "It's your fault too, you should never have invited him. Now, are you against him, or against mine?"

Indignation ran up and stayed blocked in Scarlett's throat, as she could see. Her eyes were suddenly on Ashley and Melly as the first was making an approach, his hand hesitantly raising to rest on her shoulder. The alarm was right drawn on her face and she bit her lips, caught between two fires. But it only fueled Randa's further.

"Oh, God's nightgown, Randa," Scarlett muttered, her eyes glaring at the scene before her. "It takes two for that kind of thing! What about your sister?"

Ashley's hand came to Melly's shoulder, and the girl startled, raising her bright eyes toward him.

"I should have known..." Randa eyed her maliciously. "That's good for you to say, after all! Married a boy, impregnated by a rat! You wouldn't know differently, would you? It may seem good for you, even! What do you know of honor, after all?"

After that diatribe, Randa bit her lips, but it was too late. The words were gone.

Scarlett reddened, then paled, and somewhere in the middle grew green. Eyes narrowed, acid, until they ached, and sight blurred in a bloody rage as it seemed that something snapped and exploded in her. A vessel, and then blood, a red flood of blood coming from her nose as her head buzzed. There she fell, lost in a flurry of silk and taffetas.

For a moment, Randa stared down, unbelieving and irritated, before Melly's cry was heard, followed by the furious rustle of her skirts as she ran and knelt by Scarlett's side.

"Randa! What have you done?"

"She..." Randa began angrily, before faltering as she looked once again at Scarlett's form on the floor, at Melly embracing her, and the others watching in disapproval. Not at her. At Scarlett. As if somehow, it was all her fault and she was faking it. In her mind came the terrifying truth that she had thought the same as them, when she knew Scarlett was not one to faint easily. "Oh, God, what have I done?"

...

"Scarlett, you should be more careful," Melly softly berated as Scarlett finally awakened in her bed with a cold cloth on her brow tenderly patted by said girl. "You are..."

"Don't say it. Don't you dare say it." She snarled, suddenly raising before faltering and breaking in sobs. "Oh Melly, forgive me! I don't know what came over me."

Her head fell brutally on the other side cover as she cried, yet she could not utter the words she wanted to say. 'Don't leave me as well, please don't.' And yet, she feared to say it. Not in front of Suellen, nor in front of Randa!

However, Melanie seemed to understand it all the same. She put her soothing hand on her head and caressed it softly, as one would caress a terrified pet, and there was something so very maternal in her touch Scarlett wanted to cry even more.

"It's alright, sweetheart," Melly cooed. "You're overwhelmed. Just rest. I'll go ask Mammy for some tea and cakes."

She left them alone, both Scarlett and Randa eyeing each other wearily while Suellen was sewing and looking at them with curiosity.

"I didn't mean it." Randa finally uttered.

"Of course, you did," Was answered to her in a huff.

The fabric was torn between Randa's fingers. She thought, thought hard. The truth was that she was angry, and she wanted to shout at the world. She wanted to scream at the injustice of it all. And yet, she knew she couldn't. Not if she did not want her family to face the following social disgrace.

She snorted. Well, what was left, after all? Soon people will know...

The door opened slightly, but she did not notice.

"I hate men," She fumed. "I hate that they take and take and don't even think twice on what may happen. It's so easy for them! They walk on and find something else to like. Games, women, wars... It's all the same for them, isn't it? What do they care of a woman's virtue, if they don't intend to marry her? And Hetty... How could she have let it happen? How could she have let him? My own sister, just like... Just like that Emmy Slattery!"

"So, this is what you think of me?" Protested a tearful feminine voice.

Randa raised her head, bewildered, but the only thing she saw was the retreating train of her sister.

"Hetty!" She called, running to get to her.

Meanwhile, two other sisters looked in disbelief as the silence settled again, barely broke by Suellen's needle on her work. But perhaps it was that that gave the former some confidence to break it, though the voice was still very much nervous.

"Sisters, uh?"

"Always troublesome," Scarlett sighed, smiling begrudgingly, yet hopefully. "Are you going to tell me you're pregnant too?"

The smile returned.

"No. You are enough."

"Frank Kennedy still hasn't returned," Scarlett hazarded reluctantly.

"Hasn't he?" She startled, frowned. On her face, it was plain that she was surprised, yet not so much at not thinking about him. Then came a little guilt, and her chin trembled.

"Don't force yourself to feel. My, that'd be too much for that ninny! You deserve much more than that old boy!"

"I never knew I would ever say that, but... Thank you, Scarlett. It's good to hear."

Hands touched, hesitantly, then more firmly.

Scarlett's convalescence lasted a few weeks, though she would have wanted it to last much less. It felt as if everyone wanted her to stay in bed, while she swore she could get out. It was as if they were afraid she might break the peace. All, except poor Melly of course, the only one that was certainly genuine in her concern.

It was with many calls that one would have called harassments on the doctor that she finally got to go, though she was sure her mother wouldn't have said no to some weeks more, despite her soft silence.

Yet, now, it meant Melly had to go back to Atlanta, back to her Aunt Pitty and the pressure of the Wilkes, as duty called her to leave her hiding place.

"Do not fear, dear Scarlett," She said on the last day. "that I might be so weak as I was before. I have something that I did not have before, and knowing you will support me no matter what gives me strength. He gave me proof of his heart, and I'm bound to him forever. And yet, I only gave him such tiny words in return!"

Tiny? That letter seemed quite long, Scarlett thought as Melly pressed her hand fondly.

"Do come to Atlanta soon, Scarlett. I can hold my own, but I'm stronger when you're with me."

"Oh, Melly, silly thing," Scarlett hushed in a soft tone that was almost tenderness. "Of course I will."

Scarlett stared at Melly's shadow as she left in her carriage, and went silently back to her chambers, feeling empty and weary of it all.

For a moment, as she passed in front of her mirror, she looked at her body, and it filled her with dread. Because suddenly it wasn't her own, but another's. Her proud breasts were bigger, too big for her frame, and her waist non-existent. And her face, so puffy! Her little feet, now swollen like any peasant girl!

She was not Scarlett O'Hara anymore. She was something else, and she hated it. She hated it with a passion. She hated it, and she wanted to scream it. Wanted to run like a child on the red clay, as she had before. Yet, she couldn't. She was no little girl anymore. And not even that charming Belle of the Counties, the equivalent of a queen, a title which she had taken for granted.

So, she settled on her desk and wrote, the pen hurting her fingers and ink staining like blood.

This is all your fault and I hate you! I hate you, I hate you, I...

She sobbed and crossed the sentence.

Rhett, I am with child. Your child. The world is changing. I am changing and I'm terrified. I need you. I love you. Please come back! Please do!

She crossed it once again. No, she will not beg. He wouldn't make her!

Rhett, you have a debt to me. Come set it right. Come claim what had always been yours.

She looked at it for a moment, and for that moment it felt right. She sounded powerful and indifferent, just as she had wished to be.

She sighed and put the paper back. The headache had settled, and she did not want to think about it. She would have to forget about him.

Oh, she wished she could!

...

Savannah, September 15th, 1861

The ports were busy and loud with the cheer of war, each finding its opening a challenge to the enemy who wanted to close them. Yes, the Confederacy was not afraid, and it held its head!

Of that, Belle was very much admirative and envious. The pride was in her heart but not the education, and she felt the unfairness of her status as people avoided her and dismissed her faith in the Cause. Why, she believed in it much more than some so-called ladies did!

Yet, well, it was not the Cause that had brought Belle back to the City. At least, not that Cause.

She was looking for Rhett. Looking for the man who had helped her become more than the little harlot wandering aimlessly from Charleston to Savannah for new lovers that could keep her.

A gentleman, that was what Rhett Butler was. But not one of these prudish gentlemen that were afraid of a little blood, no. His blood was hot, red and thick.

To Belle, who had once been a little girl from a poor household, with that "white trash" taint as she had learned to hear herself called, he was like the prince in these fairy tales that always found its mate in one improbable place, a tale she had long dismissed but which came back regularly to her sentimental heart. Yes, a gentleman, a dark prince for her, and it would be so unfair that some of them pampered ladies got him and not her, when he had been so generous, so gentle with her.

It was a curse for a whore to have a sentimental heart. She knew it. But she could not help it.

Oh, she knew he looked down on her birth. She would have been a fool not to know it. And yet, she clung to that hope, especially when she knew it was her child he had promised to look after and promote. That meant she was worthy, wasn't it?

So, she waited. Waited for that hope, in one of the first houses of pleasure she had opened thanks to Rhett.

And still, the days passed and passed. Until one day, she heard his sensual drawling voice asking for some whisky and news.

Belle smiled as she slowly turned to him, feeling all her senses overwhelmed by his powerful presence. Damn, that man was the thing! He was not touching her, and yet, she felt as if her plump chest was pressed on his masculine one.

"I knew you'd come back."

"As you say," Rhett Butler smirked, or so she thought by the glint of his beautiful white teeth. He looked so much better now, and not a hint of the trouble that disturbed his brow during the last year seemed to have survived. Her "And I need you..."

"Oh?" Her heart fluttered in excitement. He needed her!

"What do you think of taking a longer term to your little house of pleasure in Atlanta?"

She blinked.

"Atlanta? Why Atlanta?"

She felt his presence as he slid behind her, and his big, warm hands resting on her shoulders.

"Oh, but Atlanta is the very place to be right now. It is the heart of things, the center of every railroad. you need to be in it. You and I. You and I need to know everything about it, everything that goes in it."

She narrowed her eyes then shrugged. After all, that little girl was still in her lost country. There was nothing to fear. And then, he did not appear to miss her at all. His hands were on her.

...

...

...

Tara plantation, November 22nd 1861

"Now, that's what I call a house of the dead."

This was Pierre Robillard's salutation as he finally entered Tara's parlor and was shaken by the lugubre atmosphere of the room, and the women in it, heads bowed like withered flowers.

In his chest, his heart shook with indignation. No, he couldn't let it be!

He gave the usual pleasantries, before launching the assault.

"I'll be taking Scarlett with me for the Christmas season. The girl needs fun before getting buried for a few weeks."

"Confined. And she's in mourning." Came Ellen's soft, but sharp retort. "I'm not a girl you can chasten anymore. I'm a mother and she's my daughter."

"No. You're not a girl anymore." Pierre countered quietly, with a sharp silence that meant I've lost you, I admit it. But I won't lose Scarlett. "She's expecting, and unhappy. An unhappy mother makes an unhappy baby."

"Scarlett would never." Ellen tried again.

"Scarlett would."

"What wouldn't I?"

With an ironic smile and dancing eyes, Pierre Robillard turned toward his granddaughter, and Ellen O'Hara stopped in her needlework, holding her breath as she looked at her first born.

"To go with your old grand-père in his old house, with his old friends…" Pierre said idly. "and the occasions to share a few laughs and the Christmas charity among gentlemen and ladies. Now, what would you say to that?"

Scarlett put her arms around his, with a defiantly satisfied smile.

"I'd say: When shall we go?"

He barked in laughter while Ellen bit her lip. She looked at Gerald, who seemed weary and unwilling to fight, then at Scarlett, who wasn't about to give up.

She sighed.

"Suellen will accompany you, then."

Hopefully, she would prevent any scandal, she thought.

Savannah, December 24th 1861

And yet, Ellen O'Hara's wishes went unanswered, as the air of scandal was already on Scarlett's path, and Pierre delighted in it, even exaggerated it to for his own pleasure. So, when Langford Butler and his son deigned to come to his little Christmas party, it was like the cherry on the cake.

A surprise, considering the patriarch had not dared come to any of them since his failure at securing a match for the black sheep of his family.

"I don't believe in young girls having to be looked down forever for the sake of the dead. This is not what is done in France. Six months are already enough."

"But we aren't in France," Mr. Butler senior relented for the second time. "She isn't French. I'm not sure she is even fluent, with the learnings our Youngs have these days, not to mention the... father she has."

"Oh, you'd be wrong to underestimate her, especially when your own is rusty," Pierre teased. "You aren't getting any younger. She's a sharp one, and she might bite you."

"She should be mourning. Not parading herself in a feast. And in confinement, dear God!"

"And it's Christmas," Pierre retorted. "Indulgence for young women about to give birth should be expected. This is why I took her. A reminder to those who would forget it."

A sharp intake, almost a snort, came to Mr. Butler as that veiled insult was uttered. His chest puffed for a moment, before his thoughts took him back to what seemed to him the true oddity.

"You're an eccentric. You've always been. But this... this is too much! It's a farce."

"Life is a farce, mon cher. It's better to laugh with everyone than to be only the laughingstock," As Scarlett appeared closer, he gestured her to come closer with an amused grin. He caught her petite hand in his, and felt a quiet pride burning in his chest as he saw her so charming and daring.

"Ah, ma chère. Let me just present you one very eminent gentleman."

She made a grand and gracious curtsey, which despite the discreet belly that was showing through the thickness made her skirts and hoops fall prettily around her, all of that alighted by a pert and defiant twist of the mouth. Her eyes twinkled mischievously, the lids for a moment fluttering in affected modesty.

"Bonjour Monsieur Butler. J'ai beaucoup entendu parler de vous."

"Young Mrs," Langford Butler bowed stiffly. "You, of all people, should know your duty."

She froze in her salutations, gritted her teeth.

"Isn't it my duty as well to visit and entertain my family? Isn't it right, grand-père?"

"You talk quite boldly for your sex." Was answered back to her. "But I do remember you throwing things at me. I shouldn't be surprised."

A wry smile came to his lips, and for a moment, Mr. Butler senior looked so much like Rhett she wanted to cry. There was this mixture of danger and affectation that thrilled her, though it lacked Rhett's humor. But somehow it emboldened her, her blood running hot in her body as she turned towards her grandfather with an affected perplexity.

"Oh, Grand-Père, je crois qu'il veut me fouetter pour cela. Dois-je lui lancer d'autres choses pour le dérider?"

Pierre Robillard only smiled in amusement.

"Oh, je pense qu'en fait il pourrait commencer à aimer ça, même si lui ne veut le reconnaître," He answered cheekily, and she pursed her lips at his teasing. "Il en a besoin, je le pense."

Langford Butler looked on, not understanding every word, but sensing clearly he was being laughed at, and his dignity was offended by it.

"Enough with this rubbish! This is ridiculous!"

"Oh, vraiment? My, my, what a language... Well..." Scarlett purred. "I'm disappointed. My grandfather insisted I practice more, and I thought with all your accomplishments, you would be the perfect partner. He can be so very severe when I don't say it right."

"I'm not someone to toy with, young girl."

"Now I'm quite out of bones. What do you prefer, an apple or a peach?"

"You should stop there, Scarlett," Pierre intervened lightly, entertained. "I still need him as a guest. It wouldn't do if some heard of a murder after one of my parties. Un peu de tenue, ma chère."

"Of course, Grand-père," He looked pointedly, and she let out a genuine smile. "Bien sur, Grand-Père."

"Ah voilà. Tu es une bonne fille."

"I should say there's an improvement. You're a bit less a savage," Butler drawled.

"But still you answer me. You're lucky. These are my only weapons for the moment," Her smile was pleasant, but her eyes threatening. "You seem to like having amusement out of others, and but few for yourself? I should have thought it goes otherwise," She couldn't help but say, by one wicked force that urged her to lead that conversation to him."Tel père, tel fils, comme on dit. At least for one part."

"You've met my son Ross, young girl?" Langford Butler asked, intrigued.

Her smile grew larger, and eyes glinted.

"Oh, no, I was talking of Rhett. He's the very picture of you."

Rhett. Oh, the joy to say the name, the painful, yet now twisted pleasure in front of that man!

Oh, if only you could see, Rhett! She exulted. If only you could hear too! How would you like it, to be compared to your father? How would you like me, to talk back to him ?

The fist clenched, pale and hard, while the man gritted his teeth, and suddenly came the thought that Rhett would be proud of her, proud of her defending him and...

Now, what was she talking about? Of course, she wasn't defending him! And she didn't need him to be proud of her! After all, she was well on her way to forget about him!

And yet, it was so tempting...

"I do not know that man."

"A pity, for as I say, you are quite alike. Though Rhett is more fun."

She made a little curtsey once again went her way, while Pierre Robillard and Langford Butler watched, the first admiring the fighting spirit that had been his wife's, the other with a disapproval that was only heightened by his vexation at not having had the last word.

"Common, very common. I believe your bloodline went wasted, after all."

"You think so? I think it only got stronger," He replied pleasantly, and with almost offended pride. "See her making her way without a fear? She's bold, she's brave and she won't break no matter what you throw at her. She's the future. Mine and yours' future. Our time is revolute, for one day our Youngs will question everything we've done, just like we did our parents. But they will not conform, no. The war will prevent them to. It is a fight between the old and the new life. Soon, we'll be nothing but a memory, a blurry dream they will like to recall when the time comes."

"If she is the future, I'd rather be hanged. By God! How could you let her walk like that? She has not even the dignity of Rosemary... which isn't much, poor girl."

"Well, you may have castré your young ones and made them chapons instead of cocks," Piqued, Pierre smiled viciously at his own jeu de mots. "all with your exigencies and expectations. But that's your doing. On and on they will demand and demand, and lean on you and your principles, and one day they will be lost without you. Scarlett walks like a woman sure of her beauty and charms and will succeed where yours won't. She'll be the queen of the courtyard. For yourself, I think it's time you make the prodigal son return. At least he will survive and the legacy will carry on. It's your only chance."

And still, the gentleman did not want to see it.

"It's a shame. A very great shame. I did not know you would plunge in it. I would have thought... By God... No gentleman..."

Pierre let out a burst of sharp laughter. "Oh, save your breath. In this world, you either adapt, or you die in misery, your name forgotten. Royalty doesn't save one, empires fall, I've seen it myself. Why should gentry? If the ship is wrecked, why should you stay on it ?"

Langford's body stiffened in self outrage.

"I'd say it is an honor to sink in one noble ship."

One look between dark eyes, one stubborn, the other cynical. Two men with opposing sides that looked too much on their differences rather on their similarities.

"Eh bien, I'm not a martyr myself, but I can appreciate the show of it. On verra bien," Pierre continued in a whisper. "On verra qui de nous deux a tort à la fin." A cruel smile was sent Butler's way. "At least I'll have the most comfortable seat."

And that wasn't lost on the Charlestonian, who failed at composing himself and used an attack he would have found dishonorable in another time.

"If I wasn't so sure of my wife's honor, I'd say..."

A simple wave of the hand was already enough for Pierre to express his annoyance at what he considered one more pettiness he had witnessed during the day. His dark eyes glared for a moment as he finally allowed himself to show resentment.

"No. You forgot I know you. I know how you've, with your brothers, silenced your own father. You may hide it, but it is in you. You just don't want to see it. You fight it, and it's a fight to the death. A pity, truly. Living with a mask on your face all your life. Living according to what people expect of you."

The allusion visibly disturbed the Charlestonian as his chest puffed and brow reddened. The tone of his voice drawled even more, controlled, yet too boiling to be cold as it intended.

"Life is such. We are all part of a chain where each member has to do their part. All united for one purpose, continuing it."

"All the same, without any mind of their own. One could easily swipe a part for another, isn't it convenient?"

"If it's rotten, either you get rid of it, either the whole is ruined. That's life."

"He was my friend."

"He was a drunkard. A bad father."

"And you're a bad father. Albeit a sober and rigid one. Perhaps it is even worse."

"It's your fault," Langford hissed, his eyes betraying for a moment a hint of pain that made his companion perplexed. "Weren't you the one who led Rhett astray? With that matter with Philippe Robillard?"

Taking one last sip of his wine, Pierre Robillard closed the discussion.

"I've provided means. But the seed was already there. And you were the one to provide it."

...

The rose stones seemed red at candlelight, and it sharpened the dark of the night. Far away, a seagull called, and a crow answered. A very sinister reply, Scarlett thought with a shudder.

Leaning on the balcony, she looked at the sky and wondered if it was still night in London. Wondered if it rained, if there was wind or fog. It was said it fogged often, and the streets were dangerous when it fogged. Any strong man could be killed, it said, in these narrow streets. Especially if he was a stranger in these lands.

Her hair bristled.

No, she wouldn't think about it.

"You shouldn't have said that, you know."

She startled a few seconds, unsure, before recognizing the different drawling voice, that was so much weaker, so much softer.

Ross Butler. She rolled her eyes.

"Another Butler, telling me what I must and mustn't do ? That's surprising. You should just gather together to point out my wrongs on your own and leave me alone."

"You're a stinging little thing, aren't you ? Any approach, and one might get scratched," He looked at her with interest in his eyes. "He must have liked you tremendously. Like tends to love like, after all."

She said nothing to that.

"My father... He's a very imposing man, you know. And with Rhett... It was unbearable," He continued. It seemed a cry from the heart, something struggling and repressed for years in that young man. "It is difficult to exist with one, but with two? It's a nightmare... And Rhett... He never stopped! He always fought and fought and..."

"And you admired him."

He looked at her, horrified.

"I don't!"

"He fought and fought, and you watched, and you admired him."

She was like the cat that had found a mouse. She had seen the vulnerability in her adversary, and now she was taunting it, playing with it, and it gave her a cruel pleasure she wasn't about to lose.

"You know nothing about he and I..."

"Then, why do you say it to me?"

He broke.

"Because... Well, there's something in you... It reminds me of him. You know, I remember once... Once, I could tell him everything. And when I risked myself some mischief, he would take the blame, always, and with a smile. It seemed to amuse him, truly, to see Father angered, and I couldn't understand that. I was so... impressed by Father. My Father is a great man, Mrs. Hamilton. But he is not an easy man to love. But his way is the right way. It is a true gentleman's way."

"Well, I don't understand it at all!" She cried in dismay. "Now you're going to tell me you are happy?"

"Now, I am the one that can make Father proud. I've always wanted to make him proud."

"If he can be so," She rolled her eyes. "You mean you let him rule your life."

"My life is not my own," He justified himself, yet his voice was not strong enough to state it as a true belief. "I'm a Butler. It is a life of great expectations and duty."

"Ha! You and your great expectations! Your duty!" She exploded. "Duty, duty, duty? Are you all that? Well, that's a bore."

"Are you mocking me?"

"Fiddle-dee-dee, as if no other family had any expectations or duty, and the name Butler was linked to some superiority one would fail to achieve! One would almost forget you had a pirate for a grandfather!"

"A corsair. He was a corsair," He mumbled.

There, her irritation became hilarity and she let out a peal of open laughter, indecent yet contagious, that ran to the sky, then fell like rain.

"Ah. That felt good." She let out an exhilarated breath, her face breaking in an opened smile. "Thank you. I haven't laughed like that for a long time."

"I suppose I should be happy to have made you so... Yet, I would have preferred it not to be at my expense."

"People will talk..." He fidgeted, looking nervously around.

"They will, won't they?" She wiped her tears of mirth. "They never stop. No matter what one could try, they will never stop."

Ross' shoulders fell, and he felt very weary.

"It's tiring."

They let silence fall between them. He knew she expected another thing from him. She expected him to be someone else. He felt it, and the shame that came with that, not to be what people expected of him. He tried to dismiss it, but the noose only tightened, until he felt he could not breathe until he named the shadowy presence that followed him around and watched, daring him to talk about him.

"How... how is he?" He whispered hesitantly. "What is he doing?"

She froze for a moment, heart stopping. Her eyes went bright and misty, like the eyes of a lost little girl, until she blinked and squared her shoulders, her chin raising stubbornly.

"The same as he was before, I suppose," She cut bitterly. "Still looking for the best bargain."

She turned away. The night was suddenly too suffocating.

….

Suellen hadn't meant to hear the conversation. At least, not this one. Many times had she tried to sneak out to discover Scarlett's mischiefs, in the hope to show her true colors so Suellen herself could get what she rightfully deserved. No, it had only been an accident after too many dances which had left her as excited to be remarked as weary for her feet could barely hold the beat.

Yet, heard, she had, and she could not help it. It echoed with so many feelings that she had to express it.

"I understand," She whispered for a moment, looking at the sky as her sister had, wondering if she had seen the same things.

No. Scarlett would never look at the sky to ask herself if she could one day fulfill all the expectations others had of her. She had not that kind of sensitivity Suellen had, that need to cry and wave at the world: 'look at me! I'm interesting too! I'm worthy of love too!'

"Oh, an eavesdropper?"

She froze. Oh no. Had he heard her?

Oh, yes, he had, she thought as she saw his slim profile slowly turn to her, clear grey eyes meeting hers.

She lowered her gaze, her cheeks burning, and it prevented her to see his shrug as he leaned on the balcony and continued his scrutiny.

"My brother used to say there was nothing wrong with it, if it was useful. Was it?"

"I couldn't help..." She tried to justify herself. "I..."

She attempted to dusty her dress, but it could only highlight the nervosity at being discovered. She looked right, then left, feeling helpless and in need of a savior, but there was no one. No one but her and that man. Her mouth opened and babbled, and she felt she did not quite know what she was saying.

"Please, let me apologize for my sister. She's..."

His brow raised as he looked at her, lovely and fidgeting. An unwilling smile came to him.

"Incredibly insolent, improper and wild?"

It felt like a slap. She reddened, this time in anger. Who was he to say so? She straightened. "Mister, I must ask you to correct yourself. I won't hear that about my sister."

"Oh? But you certainly think so, from what I've gathered."

"She's a pain in the neck. But she's my pain," Suellen retorted, before biting her lip. Her eyes stung as she remembered how she had herself talked on and on about Scarlett's mischiefs, about her unsuitability to many, and now she only felt shame. For a moment, she wondered what had brought that change, when once she delighted in hearing so. Yet, there was something in hearing it from that stranger that did not seem right, and that made her feel what she had done before wasn't right. That she ought to defend her family no matter what, for they would certainly be the only ones to defend her.

"It seems we are fellow sufferers. You've met my brother, I suppose?"

Her head snapped back, and anger calmed.

"It seems so indeed. Though you have more luck," She jested clumsily, her cheeks reddening. "I still live with mine."

He let out a weary laugh. "Oh, but it doesn't stop, does it? It only changes form."

He leaned on the banister and stared on. To what, she did not know, but his dark gaze seemed to lose himself in it, until suddenly he was darkness himself.

"One cannot live their lives for themselves," He continued softly. "It's not the honorable thing to do. And I'm a gentleman."

"Are you happy?"

"Well, you're the second to ask me that tonight," His eyes looked at her askance, and she fidgeted through his scrutiny. "That's an impertinent question to make."

Suellen shrugged sheepishly.

"Scarlett is Scarlett, she wants to provoke you because she's unhappy," She said. "I... I just want to know. We've been raised, my sisters and I, to believe being ladies would bring us happiness, but now..."

"Now, you have a bad example, and you begin to question it all," He remarked quietly. "I know that struggle."

"And what is the issue?" She continued eagerly. "Who is right? Who is wrong?"

He looked at her and she seemed so deeply to depend on that answer that he felt a fear deep inside of him, that of disappointing. He was like a little boy eager to please, and that constatation concerned him.

"We should go," He finally said, softly, so very softly. "People may raise questions."

Not about him, no. Not really. He was a married man, and a man in generally was allowed some misconducts provided it was discreet. The Butler name ought not be tainted. But a young lady...

She seemed to think the same as he.

"Oh," Her eyes widened, and she blinked. Her head lowered in shame as she took a step back. "Yes, they may."

She turned away with a few worried looks around her and went, and suddenly he felt so very alone. The air had become misty and suffocating. He waited for a moment, trying to swallow his self-pity, before turning back to his life.

...

Tara, January 22nd 1862

It was a sharp day, the one Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton gave birth to a boy. A day like any other at that time of the year: cold and with a little snow grazing the red clay without settling.

It had been easy, too easy, it had been whispered. A lady should not have delivered that easily. She should have been torn by the pain, and it should have been long and hard.

Disheveled and sweaty, Scarlett disagreed. If giving birth was that messy, she would rather not do it again!

In fact, she wanted to forget about it all, close her eyes, and realize it all had been a dream, and she was still a little girl. Oh, why couldn't she stay in Savannah with her grandfather? Why did she have to go back?

For a moment, she cursed her grandfather for not keeping her for more than the holy days, her own mother without feeling the guilt of it yet, cursed Mammy for getting too close with that bundle in her arms, that bundle of cries and pain she did not want to look at. And still, the imposing woman insisted, over and over until Scarlett swore her face had grown red with anger.

"Look at him, mah lamb... Look! He's your babe."

She turned her head on the other way.

"No, I don't want to! You won't make me!"

It was screaming and screaming, that thing that went out of her.

What was it to ask it of her? How dared it demand anything? How dared it be so close, so she could smell its disgusting smell?

"Look, mah lamb, look..."

Oh, what a pest!

Well, that won't make her love it. No, it won't!

Scarlett turned her head and finally at it fiercely, rebellion growing in her emptied belly. No, she would not be the slave of it, not her!

I hate you, she mouthed. You disformed me, and I hate you. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I...

Her heart fell as finally the baby opened his eyes. Suddenly, a hot rush of blood crossed her body, filling her chest so much she thought she could not breathe. She was gasping through air, yet all she could catch was that baby's scent, sickening, so sweet, so intoxicating, and suddenly she felt a craving for touch, a craving for love.

As surely as she could have dismissed it, Scarlett was discovering motherhood, and suddenly it something else, something primal. It was nothing sacred, nothing beautiful as a picture. It was reachable.

She did not think that had the father been different and she hadn't loved him as much as she did, the experience would have been much different. No, all that came through her head was that it was a part of her, and it was a part of Rhett. A part of her love, and a part of his. She could touch and claim it. And claim it, she did.

"Mine !" She gasped and cried, her hands wild with the want of his touch. "He's mine ! Don't you dare...!"

Skin met skin, and the scent went stronger. She tried to take a look, yet she couldn't see more than that wet tuft of black hair covering a red head. Her arms suddenly shook as she tried to sit, and Mammy secured the baby, and turned him softly, until finally eyes met, and her heart melted.

"Oh!"

Her chest heaved and fell, and she felt the wetness on her body so much that she could not think if it was sweat or tears. Or maybe a little bit of both. The world was too blurry anyway, and it was just her and the baby, her and her own.

"You're mine, little man," She repeated, amazed.

The baby only looked at her with serious eyes, so serious eyes, as if considering that statement. She felt her heart flipping in her chest, almost with anxiety. Her breath caught as she waited for the verdict. It was so strange, this sudden feeling when at first she would have nothing to do with that little thing that had been expulsed from her. Yet, as she looked at him, smelled him, a raw, very primal feeling overcame her.

She shouldn't have looked, she knew that. Yet, now she did, and she was lost in that overflowing sensation, that possessiveness that took over her heart and body without she could exert any rational control to it.

"Yes, you are mine..." She whispered hungrily. "Mine only... And you will love me. Only me... You'll stay only with me, won't you? Yes, I know you will."

She let out a triumphant laugh that startled the baby.

"His name will be Wade Hampton. A perfect, perfect name. The name of a gentleman, as Charles would have liked it. After all, isn't it the trend to name the child as the one who led his father to death?" She let out a sharp chuckle. Her voice went shrill as she seemed to choke her own bitter amusement. "And indeed, you will like it too, won't you? Wade Hampton Hamilton... Ha! Wouldn't you like that?"

A powerful cry came from the baby as he struggled in his mother's arms, and she seemed to come back to reality, far from her anger, to witness her son's. For angry he was, so red and protesting! She felt her heart plummet.

"Mammy... Even he doesn't want me!" She broke in a sob, and it fell on her cheeks like rain.

"Mah lamb... " Mammy fussed, taking back the baby to put it more comfortably. "Ye be squizing him too hard. He be afraid. Ye shudent put dat much on a babe. It kain hold it."

"I want him to love me... How can I make him, Mammy? He's already so reticent, so red in his anger..."

"But, mah lamb, he already loves you!" She soothed, tending to the two babies she had witnessed the birth of with a fond glance. "He be angry because he's hungry and not kamfy. Babes like tait, but not that tait."

Scarlett blinked dumbly for a moment, before looking down.

"He does? Yes... Yes, he does..."

Her arms embraced him softly but firmly as she finally let herself be conquered entirely.

"And fat too," Mammy added sneakily. "Ye be too tin, mah lamb. De babe..."

"Don't push it," Scarlett answered, amused.

On his face, a contented smile appeared, and she felt her heart grow alive with love, all idea of revenge leaving her.

...

Tara, May 1rst 1862

Scarlett was going. Once again. This time, she was going to Atlanta, with that little Hamilton who had come for the occasion.

Once again, Ellen hoped that it could appease Scarlett's restlessness, and bring some peace to her household. Yet, she already knew that peace would not be lasting, for the war efforts grew more and more consequent and with them grew her duties.

Yet, she welcomed it, for it would prevent her to think, to feel.

She had not looked at the baby. She had not dared to see her daughter give birth to a child from a man she married hastily, as she, herself, had done. She could not bear the thought of it.

Still now, her daughter was going, and Ellen O'Hara felt the guilt of feeling relief instead of sadness. And a little anger for that man who had unsettled it all and transformed her already spirited daughter into that woman she couldn't recognize herself in.

She was overlooking with apparent calm at the uproar of the departure, trying to ignore the absence of her husband as their oldest was coming and going, agitated with her bundle that was surprisingly silent for all that movement.

Mr. O'Hara was more and more absent, taking less and less pleasure in what he had once enjoyed.

Once again that man's fault. It was her cross to bear, and yet she had the Unchristian feeling that was one she did not want to bear.

"Ash? Ash?" Scarlett called, irritated. "Prissy! Prissy, where is that dog? Ash!"

"Dunno, Miz Scahlett," Prissy shrieked. "It be runnin' roun' dese days, 'nden gone. Ain't seen him since."

"Well, they all seem to go away somehow," She swore through gritted teeth. "Men, dogs..."

"Tis the war, Miz Scahlett," The young girl shrugged, and at that moment, she seemed older than her years. "Dey don't like dat. Pets don't like dat at all."

"And the men too much," Scarlett groaned, before frowning as she looked through the window. "Melly, don't you dare stay too long under the sun like that!"

There Ellen met the baby's eyes as his head rested on her mother's shoulder and she froze in horror.

"These eyes..." She realized with a fright.

Scarlett squared her shoulders, a hand laying protectively behind the baby's head, and looked back at her, a very striking difference to years before, when she had been a little girl that would have done anything to please and be praised.

"They are black, like yours."

"Scarlett…." And in her voice, there was the blame she couldn't help but make, and this acknowledgment, this terrible acknowledgment she would not utter, for it was a taint on her delicate sensitivity.

How could you do so? She wanted to say. Why that man, that terrible man, among many?

Scarlett raised her chin in defiance.

"I regret nothing. Nothing, Mother. Isn't it what you wanted me to?"

Cat eyes stared back at her, almost vicious, waiting for her next move. But Ellen stood still.

Was it my daughter? She thought. Was it what I brought her to?

"Scarlett!"

The look was cut as Melly's soft voice came from the outside, frail like a kitten.

"I'm coming, Melly. Come on, my little one..." She cooed a little at the baby, yet it was not the cooing of a young mother blind to nothing but her offspring. No, it was a cooing with a bite, a resentment, and it stung Ellen as well. Suddenly, she felt so very alone, so very empty. And weary, so weary. "We'll take some good, fresh air."

For a moment, something beat heavy in her, something cracked, and she almost faltered. For a moment, her life was seen through another's eyes. A younger one, more passionate, full of dreams and hopeful love. A girl that died, her heart far away from her body.

Was it her heart?

No, she couldn't let it.

So, she maintained her composure. A lady had to, if only to hide the breaking foundations.

...

Wilmington, May 22nd 1862

Melly... oh, my Melly, I'll come back to you... Edward thought as he stood in front of the door of the Captain's cabin. I'll come back a man, a man that you won't blush of, and who'll allow you to be what you want. I'll protect you.

She had written all the words that were in his heart that he couldn't say, and he kept these words on him, always on him. These words, he had tried to express them through a drawing, and she had seemed to delight in it. Yet, it felt so little compared to what she had given to him.

And now he was there, at one very important crossroad of his life, one that could lead him to become who he wanted to be.

Eugenio was brooding most of these days, as if he had lived some untold tragedies (which Edward doubted very much, knowing his friend), but his information was consistent. There was no error. It was that ship.

And now, no turning back.

He knocked.

"Enter," Called a sinister drawl.

With a firm hand, Edward opened the door and closed it behind him, taking in the very Spartiate interior.

Surprising for such a man, he thought. He would have thought it more comfortable and exuberant.

"Mr. Butler?... Cap-captain Rhett Butler?" He coughed at the scent of dust and cigar.

"Oh. I knew I'd smell the smell of one poor, unfortunate soul," Came a drawling, powerful voice behind the desk. It was too dark to tell yet, however, Edward had the feeling the man was smiling at his expense, and he almost regretted his coming here. Damn that woman. What had led him to listen to her?

The air bore the scent of the man's cigar, and from the embers of it came a slow, taunting smoke, and the dim light the impression of muscles in tension, as if ones of a big cat about to pounce on its victim. Yet, somehow, Edward was realistic enough to realize it had been the right choice. Indeed, that man would survive, and not just survive. He would become important.

"Or rather my friend must have told you I was coming," He retorted, but his voice was almost shaking. Eugenio had once again talked too much.

"That too," Rhett Butler shrugged as he took another puff. "Are you finally here to join the Cause, boy?"

Edward stayed still for a moment wondering if he was not signing his soul to the devil. But Melly's face came to his mind, and he nodded.

"Ha!"

Rhett Butler let out a sharp smile, full of white animal teeth that bit on the cigar. He leaned in and shook his hand.

"Come on in."