Part III

The Butler house had stood empty for a year, and the two-day advance arrival by a small army of servants could not entirely remove the musty air of the building. But by the time Scarlett arrived, the floors were polished and the furniture was gleaming.

As if with new eyes, Scarlett took in the home she'd begged Rhett to let her build, and was unhappy with it. The house seemed dark, ponderous and heavy, and lacked the simple elegance she'd come to appreciate while renovating Tara.

Her luggage had been quickly carried up to her room, so the crate sitting in the entry intrigued her. It was addressed to Rhett, in his own hand, and shipped from Paris. She stared at it with a mild curiosity while removing her bonnet and gloves. She wondered not about the specifics of the contents, but why Rhett had bothered shipping something to Atlanta at all. Could it be a sign he intended to remain?

Before she could ponder this question too deeply, or even put away her hat, the door swung open to admit Rhett and a gust of wind that fluttered her skirts. He quickly drew her attention, and she noticed that the air of drink and exhaustion that had surrounded him their last days together seemed to have departed, and there was once more a healthy glow to his skin.

"Welcome home, Rhett," she said, with exactly the proper amount of pleasantness in her voice.

Rhett removed his hat and stared at her for a moment, during which she could feel his eyes roaming the simple lines of her celery-colored dress. "The same to you, Scarlett. You're looking lovely as ever."

"Thank you." She nodded, and an odd feeling of discomfiture spread across them. To fill the awkward gap, as neither of them quite knew how to proceed, she began to tell him about Wade's time at school and how much Ella had grown.

As if routine, they ended in the parlor, with Scarlett serving them tea from the tray Prissy had wordlessly provided. She could feel Rhett's eyes on her all the while, studying her, not just her body or her dress, but watching her movements, the way one studies a dueling opponent.

She handed him a cup of tea and politely asked, "I trust you had an enjoyable trip you Europe? You look refreshed."

His eyes seemed to bore into her for a moment over the rim of his teacup before he responded. "It was an enlightening experience," he said ambiguously.

"Oh, where did you visit?"

It took her several leading questions to pry any sort of narrative from Rhett. She could tell that he was being vague and leaving out what had to be key pieces of the narrative, for surely he must have done something besides laze about. It was, she though, most unlike him.

The forced conversation ended when Rhett announced his departure for the bank. They spent the rest of their day as they had the last year together in this house, as cool strangers who happened to inhabit the same space.

Scarlett was inwardly frustrated by this cold distance between them, but remained serene. He had left her; she would not throw herself at him again.

A crack in the ice appeared as they settled down to an oddly formal dinner. Scarlett had almost forgotten how cavernous the dining room could be in the dusk of evening, and interrupted the quiet clinking of silver or porcelain. "It's terribly gloomy in here, don't you think?"

Rhett put down his fork and stared at her, suspicion and confusion and the faintest flicker of hope swirling across his face. "Yes, it is."

"I've spent much of this past year working on improving Tara. I think perhaps I'd like to spend some time now changing this house, if that would be all right with you." She was intensely curious as to what his response would be, for she knew he'd hated the way the house had been decorated.

"Well," he said, clearing his throat, "that sounds like a fine idea, Scarlett."

Conversation stalled from there once more, until they were finishing dessert.

"If you're serious about redecorating, I should show you what's inside that crate in the hallway you were so curious about this morning. Perhaps the contents could be incorporated into your plans."

She followed him into the foyer and watched as he broke open the wooden crating and unwrapped a canvas. He propped it against the wall and watched as she studied it. At first, she took a few steps closer, furrowing her brows, trying to understand what she was looking at, so different than any of the scant pieces of art she'd seen before. Then she took several steps back, looking beyond the whites and blues and greens, and was able to appreciate the larger image.

"Why, it's so pretty! But I've never seen anything like it before. You bought this in Paris?"

He nodded and removed the protective wrappings from a second canvas, this one too featuring boats on a river. "I did, several of them. The art world's not sure what to make of them, and this band of painters has received quite a bit of criticism. But I think they've done something unique."

"Yes. I don't know anything about art, but why wouldn't anyone like these? They make you want to be outside somewhere just like this!" For the first time since she'd arrived, a true smile was teasing at the corner of her lips.

"I'm glad you like them, Scarlett. Are they something you'd like to incorporate into your decorating scheme?" He looked expectant, and she swiftly moved to reassure him.

"Oh, yes. They're lovely, and the house would look so much brighter done in colors like these."

"You've changed," he said simply, no longer paying any heed to his new artwork, lost in her face. "But not all for the better, I think."

"Why—why what do you mean?" She was confused. That she had changed was in no doubt, and while the praise and comparisons to her mother she'd received were reassuring, she wasn't all together certain she was happy. But she'd expected Rhett to be, who seemed to care so much for ladies like his mother and Melanie.

Silence filled the monstrous house for a long moment before he answered, eyes fixed on hers. "You seem to have matured. Today you've been a lady all day, and it hasn't been an act. But something's gone out of you, the sparkle had vanished from your eyes until just now."

She looked down at the paintings, fixated on the blotchy boats, hiding her eyes from his assessing stare. "I had to change, I couldn't go on being beat down one way or another at everything that happened to me. So I've just done what needed doing. Charleston seemed impressed enough," she ended softly, apologetically.

"And do I still hold your heart, as you so claimed in this hallway a year ago?" There was no maliciousness to his question, only curiosity. Looking into his eyes, she saw hope, too.

"You must have it, must have taken it with you when you left. I certainly haven't felt it, or used it, in this last year." She sighed and looked away, aware of the gravity of what she'd admitted.

Without a word, Rhett took her hand and led to her to the parlor. When she was seated on the divan, he poured them both some brandy and sat down beside her. Neither of them drank.

"When I was in Europe, I realized I didn't want the polite veneer of society after all. I wanted something of grace and beauty, but I wanted it on my terms, honest terms. I wanted a life that wasn't a constant battle.

"You've turned yourself into nothing but a veneer. All the passion's gone out of you, and the first time I saw any glimmer at all was at the mention of redecorating with those paintings. There's a balance somewhere between the veneer and the passion."

She furrowed her brow and tried to absorb all he was telling her. "I haven't allowed myself to feel anything in so long. There had been so much hurt, it was easier not to feel, to just be what everyone expected of me."

"And what do you feel now?"

For a long silent moment she stared at him, and sparkle and a barely contained tear in her eyes. "Afraid," she admitted.

"Afraid?" Rhett's voice was tender, and he looked puzzled.

"If I let myself feel anything for you, it will just hurt too much when you leave."

"What if I don't?"

"You want to stay? I thought you didn't love me." She took a first sip of the brandy, trying to calm her nerves and prevent tears from falling. Feeling was returning to her numbed soul, and it's potential was terrifying.

Rhett sighed heavily and swirled the brandy in its snifter. "I shouldn't have said what I did. I couldn't love you at that moment; it had been too hard to love you for a while, and I was worn out with trying. I needed time away to realize why I'd loved you in the first place."

"And that's changed things?" Her voice sounded very quiet, even to her.

"I need you in my life Scarlett, but I need all of you, not the shell of you. I'd like us to try again, to try and live pleasantly together. Do you think that's possible?"

Slowly, she nodded. "I think it is, we both want it. We just need to talk like this, rather than shouting so much, and saying things we shouldn't."

With a soft clink, Rhett tapped his brandy snifter against hers. "To second chances?"

"Second chances."

They both took a small sip then Rhett abandoned his on the side table in favor of pulling Scarlett into his arms. "I've wanted to do this since I walked in the door."

For a moment, she was happy just to be held in his arms once more. Then she tilted up her head and caught his eye, and their lips came together in a kiss. All the passion and emotion she'd been suppressing came flooding back in that instant.

She knew things had irrevocably changed between them, and the promise had been sealed with a kiss. It would not be an easy road ahead, but they would negotiate it together.

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End