"False love, desire, and beauty frail, adieu. Dead is the root whence all these fancies grew." Sir Walter Raleigh

April 1871

He knew it was highly improper. He knew that honour and reason demanded of him to turn back.

But he could not.

The first time he'd done it, he had hated himself so much he'd had to relieve himself on his way home by heaving up the meagre content of his stomach. He'd felt cheap, and tried desperately to forget what shame he had brought upon himself, and, in a way, on his own wife and every one else he held dear. They thought of him as an honourable man, bound to principle and virtue, and would not deem him capable of such heinous actions.

Still, even worse than what others might think of him was his own self-loathing. He had always considered himself a decent person who respected and cherished public morals that were binding for all. But surely, after such a transgression, he must revoke his good opinion of himself. He was no good. He had spat on all virtue by performing acts a true gentleman should refrain from at all costs.

But it was done now, and his honour, the one thing he'd always put before everything else, was lost. Utterly lost, he knew that to be true. He was no better than any other man. He was no better than that Butler reprobate. If only he had not given in to his desires. If he'd only refused to yield to his body's commands, his honour would still be intact and he would not have to liken himself to a man such as that bastard, who used and discarded women at a whim, caring only for his own selfish demands. A man who betrayed his wife by consorting with females of ill repute.

It was done now.

He, Ashley Wilkes, had abandoned all morality and set foot in a bordello. That first night, the sound of his footsteps ebbing away in the corridor as he followed his "girl" to her room, he knew he'd sold his soul to the devil. That was two months ago. Ever since that night, which had opened his eyes to a world of sin and depravity, he had been living in fear of being discovered.

Unfortunately, that had not kept him from coming back.

The thrill was too great, the deed itself too intoxicatingly immoral. He loathed himself fiercely for entertaining such thoughts but he did not know what to do to stop them from invading his traitorous mind. During the day he would think of it, fearful that his expression might give him away. At night, lying next to his unsuspecting wife, he would conjure up images of previous encounters with the whores he consorted with, and it filled him with such desire that sleep eluded him for hours.

To Ashley, who had never considered himself a fleshly person, easily ruled by carnal lusts, it was utterly humiliating to admit that he could not defy the basic cravings of his body. And yet, there it was, a piercing ache that tortured him, never leaving him in peace. Physical intimacy had been absent from his life and marriage for so long, for the sake of Melanie's health, that his body was simply not willing to comply with his views of proper behaviour anymore. That first time he'd stepped into Belle's, he felt that if he did not find release immediately, he would go mad, and so one thing had led to another.

He could not comfort himself with the knowledge that most men craved sexual intercourse on a regular basis, that they needed it to quench the ever-present desire. He'd always strived to be different, a man of honour, and now he was one of them. It was completely disenchanting.

Striding through the darkness now, knowing his way by heart, the thought of his moral downfall was as unnerving as ever, and, as always on his nightly campaigns, he felt watched, as if the whole town knew of his misconduct. Should people ever learn, God forbid, he would be ruined. He had grown up within these social bounds of Southern chivalry, knew the unwritten rules and regulations of this society inside out. And although he was sure that other men of his circle occasionally went to brothels, it was not something a gentleman would be proud of or that people would openly talk about. In any case, his friends and family would despise him for consulting with the likes of Belle Watling and betraying Melanie, the best wife any man ever had.

It tortured him to imagine Melanie's face as they told her of her husband's betrayal, the pain in her eyes as her good opinion of him crumbled into dust. The thought was too painful to be borne.

But you have to think about it, coward! A voice inside his head whispered. Look what you're doing to her! If she finds out, it will break her heart.

She was too good, too kind to understand any of it - she would probably defend him in the beginning, unwilling to believe in idle gossip. And yet he knew her subtle strength well enough to know that, eventually, she would come to hate him for it. It would hurt her so much to know that the one she loved most would do something so evil to her.

But I'm not doing it to hurt her...

That was the furthest thing from his mind. Melanie was the purest and goodliest person he knew, a woman worthy of the greatest love and respect. She was a loving soul, who had never seen darkness, and before the striking evil of his misdeeds she would surely recoil in disgust and anguish. Worst of all was knowing that she had only ever loved and supported him, and he was trampling with his feet on her endless trust and devotion. He was a bastard.

Ashley shook his head in self-hatred as he scanned the streets for nightly strollers. Most nights, such as now, the streets were virtually deserted. That made it easier to reach his destination, and he would not have to hide behind a tree or around a corner to prevent the unthinkable. It occurred to him that taking a walk in the middle of the night was not necessarily a wicked thing, but still, it might make people suspicious. Sometimes, though, it seemed to him as if all of Atlanta was flocking around the streets. It was humiliating to hide himself from view, but what could he do? He preferred hating himself for acting like a scared little boy to being discovered and publicly shunned.

As usual, the closer he got to Belle's the more careful he became, even as his anxiety reached unknown heights.

It was not the sight of the brothel itself that made him shiver. He had gotten used to its gaudy exterior as it glittered there in the darkness. He had learned to live with the noise that welcomed him each night - the moaning, the screaming, the guffawing laughter of drunk men. He had even gotten used to Belle Watling's scrutiny as she welcomed him through the back door to hide him from unwelcome eyes. He did not know how she managed not to strangle him for doing this to Melanie – he knew her to have a very high opinion of his wife. Sometimes he wished she would berate him for it. But she never did. The first time he'd tried to explain himself, shamefacedly, she had interrupted him by saying, "It's not my business, Mist' Wilkes," her tone all business, but the disapproving look she'd bestowed on him had told him all he needed to know.

As he rounded the last corner, the big townhouse came into view and the familiar noises made their way to his ears. Ashley sighed and prepared himself for the always peculiar task of getting to the back door without being noticed by any of the people looking out of the big glass windows or those performing unholy acts outside. He was nervous.

It was as if he could hear the pounding of his own heart.

With a thud, Scarlett closed the big leather book she used to keep track of the sales and expenses of the mills.

Financially, it could not have gone better. She was a wealthy woman and it was purely of her own making. There was not a day that she checked the ledger and did not feel proud of her achievements. This was what she excelled in, and the numbers proved her right in every aspect.

She smiled a satisfied smile. Seeing how her business flourished, she could not care less that no one in Atlanta appreciated what she did.

Let them grumble, she thought defiantly. What are they but a pack of jealous fools?

Stretching her arms, Scarlett looked around.

Two hours ago, she had locked herself in her room (she'd been doing so for almost two years now) to work on the ledger. Now that she was done, she sighed, satisfied with herself. No matter how late it was, no matter how garishly the lamp gleamed there on her desk, she felt relaxed. Working with numbers always put her strangely at ease. It took her mind off of other, unpleasant things.

Abandoning her desk, Scarlett walked over to close the great window that led out to the balcony. But, as she breathed in the still pleasantly warm air of the April night, she stepped outside. It was comforting to be out here. She took in the view of the property's enormous garden, at least as far as she could see in the dark, and enjoyed the soft breeze grazing her skin. Closing her eyes, she sighed again. She felt like staying here for the night, in the open. Looking at the night sky, she knew she wasn't ready to go to bed yet.

Out of the blue, the incredulous idea of going for a walk came to her mind. But no – she couldn't do that. It was not done, the danger was too great. No lady would venture outside at this time of the night, alone. But she was not like other women, and right now the idea of crossing deserted streets, with no one there to scrutinize or disturb her, was soothing. She did not fear the dark, nor the solitude.

Annoyingly, she had to think of Rhett and what he would think of it. She figured he would be against her walking through Atlanta at night, all by herself. If he were here right now, he would probably try to persuade her to stay, and then, when she refused to listen to his remarks, he would tease her for entertaining such peculiar notions, telling her that no proper lady would wish to go strolling right now. He would mock her and she would be furious, but strangely taken in by that curious smile of his. Perhaps he would make her laugh...

Perhaps he would not.

Scarlett shook her head as if to block out the thought of him. She did not even know why she had to think of him in the first place. It was not that she set great store by his opinion, was it? Then why did the image of him creep into her mind like some kind of poison, a poison for which there was no antidote...? And why, in the name of God, did she care what he would think? Over the past two years, he had certainly not given her the impression that he gave a damn what she did, where she went, or what was going on in her head.

She was getting irritated with the way her mind seemed to be working and turned away from the dark night, shutting the window behind her. Her decision was made.

She was already in her nightgown and wrapper, as she had undressed and dismissed Mammy about two and a half hours ago. Quickly, she changed into a dark blue, almost painfully simple dress – she hardly ever wore it but she wanted to avoid being seen, and it was the easiest gown to get into on her own. Grabbing her hat and gloves, she tiptoed down the hall and the great staircase.

She carried her shoes in order to make no noise that might wake the servants, or the children for that matter. Rhett had not returned home yet, and she was glad. Facing him these days was a constant vexation, and before the blandness of his face, void of the mocking humour of old, she did not know what to do. Where he was she did not exactly know, although in a dark place of her heart she thought she knew. Strange, that she should be unwilling to further explore this place and put her suspicions into words, as if ... as if...

No, she wouldn't think about that right now. She would think about it tomorrow. With an effort, she pushed Rhett out of her mind.

Quietly, not daring to breathe, she opened and closed the great front door as carefully as she could, then sat down on the steps and put on her shoes. It was absurdly exciting to flee from one's own house, and she stifled a giggle.

Finally, she left the premises and began to walk down Peachtree Street in the direction of the town centre. Scarlett breathed in the warm air and congratulated herself on her good idea. It was beautiful out here, and she marvelled at the emptiness of the street. But then again, maybe it was better that way. If anyone saw her, she'd be the talk of the town for days.

Wouldn't be a first, she thought drily. Thank God the old pea hens were all behind locked doors, so that she, Scarlett, could enjoy her stroll in peace.

She walked in silence, enjoying the exercise, the way it eased her limbs after hours of sitting at her desk. It felt marvellous. The trees lining the sidewalk swayed gently in the soft breeze. Scarlett skipped a little, forgetting herself completely for a few blissful moments.

The pleasant mood remained until she passed Aunt Pitty's house.

Seeing it, her face fell. A great longing took hold of her.

It was not the house itself that made her enthusiasm vanish, though, or the thought of the old lady dwelling in it.

It was the house behind Pitty's that triggered these emotions in her. She could not see it, but she knew by heart the way to get there: across Pitty's little garden, through an opening in the hedge, and there it was, a simple and flat little building, not at all to Scarlett's taste.

And yet it was dear to her, for Ashley was lying there right now, sleeping peacefully, she hoped. She would not disturb his slumber for the world, but, like a selfish child, she wished she could enter his house right now, push Melanie out of the bed and lay down beside him, and they would sleep together, hands entwined, shutting themselves away from the world outside. It would be just the two of them.

The notion was so beautiful that she simply stood there for a while, gazing into space.

Sometimes she was in danger of losing hope that she'd ever be with him in that way. Always, always, Melanie was there, restraining him, and Scarlett knew by now that Ashley was too honourable to leave his wife for her. But whenever that treacherous thought came up to torture her, she would reassure herself of their love for each other, and it would give her the strength to face reality every day. This whole world was only endurable because Ashley was in it, warming her with his love. A love that was the only pure thing in her life, the only link to the girlhood she had lost, and therefore she treasured it above everything else she possessed.

Her love for him was as strong as ever, although, over the years, she had learned to curb her emotions when it came to him, to hide her feelings under a layer of false restraint. Knowing that they were both true to each other, not only with their hearts but also their bodies, made her happy. She knew he did not share his bed with Melanie, and as for Rhett and herself… well. She'd put an end to that after Bonnie's birth. And although she'd missed his absence from her room at first, the talking, sometimes his mere presence, it had become easier in time, and after a while she had been able to convince herself that she had closed that chapter completely.

And anyway, Ashley's love was ample compensation for her pains. Every time she saw him at the mills, she rejoiced. He was as dear to her as he'd been in those days at Tara, so long ago. She could not let go of him and this love she knew they had for each other, and she never would. It was the milk that nurtured her.

She was nearing the town centre now. There was no one to be seen. She imagined the streets in broad daylight, herself in a beautiful dress, her arm linked with Ashley's. They were smiling, chatting idly. If only he'd never married Melanie. If only things had been different, they might have been together for a long time now. Years. All lost.

Oh for goodness' sake, she thought, annoyed. I sound like a sentimental fool.

Maybe there was still a chance...

She decided that she would double her efforts to be kind to him, to try to grasp the workings of his elusive mind. And although she had promised him she'd never throw herself at him again – and she did not plan to - she'd let him know she loved him in a subtle manner. It had to work. It would work! She would do everything she could to make him approve of her, and perhaps one day in the near future he'd realize that he belonged with her, not Melanie. He loved her, and if she convinced him of her undying support then... then he'd surely reconsider. They could run away together! She'd do anything for him... and she had plenty of money to provide for them. That it might bother him to be maintained by a woman, she did not think about. She did not think of anything but succeeding in winning him over.

There was nothing she could not achieve if she truly set her mind to it.

As for Rhett and Melanie, they'd deal with them later. She knew, cruel though it was, that she'd leave Rhett, and the children, and everything else - the mills, Atlanta, even the South, behind, in order to be with Ashley. He had told her he would not abandon Melanie, but he did not know what he was talking about. They could leave her money… everything would fall into place somehow, she was sure of it. It was just that Ashley was too honourable and good to admit that he, too, was sick of it all sometimes and wanted to run away.

She'd been so caught up in her dreams of their future together that she'd lost track of where she had been going.

She had crossed Five Points a while ago, she remembered. Now she found herself in a dark alley that did not strike a chord of recognition.

Looking around, she grew a little anxious. Why did she not know this place? She'd presumed she knew Atlanta like the back of her hand. She moved forward, down the alley. It was paved but not in a good state. Apparently, it had not been cleaned for ages.

To her ears, the impact of her heels on the ground seemed louder than before. Her surroundings were eerily still, so still it almost frightened her. She was about to turn around and run back to where she'd come from, wherever that was, when she heard a noise. She perceived the loud laughter of a man, then the giggling of a woman. Something fell to the ground and burst into pieces.

Intrigued in spite of herself, she proceeded. When she came to the spot where the glass had fallen down, the pair was gone. Looking up, she caught a glimpse of the hem of the woman's dress as she walked around a corner about 50 metres away. Scarlett felt a strange ecstasy rush through her. It was exhilarating to walk the streets alone at night, to follow strangers and spy on them. The fear she'd felt before was slowly receding to the back of her mind.

She crossed a street and walked down the next pitch black alley as noiselessly as she could. She found herself nearing the said corner when she realized with a start where she was. Why had she not noticed earlier? This part of town was hardly known to her because it was no place for a decent woman, or a decent man, for that matter.

Round that corner, and she'd face Belle Watling's brothel.

Hatred and disgust welled up inside of her. She hated that woman. She loathed and despised her with all that was in her. It did not matter that she was a lady (she was!), and Belle Watling an illitereate whore, and they lived in two completely different worlds. Something about that woman made her blood boil.

When had she started hating her again? Ever since… well, to be honest, ever since that day she'd found out that Rhett was consorting with that woman. Belle had given Melanie money for the hospital, wrapped in Rhett's handkerchief. Scarlett still remembered seeing his inititals, R.K.B., embroidered on the white cloth, and the pang of rage and hurt pride it brought. Yes, she'd always hated Belle and thinking of her alone made her furious - but why that should be she did not know.

Clenching her fist in impotent anger, she was about to turn around and leave, when something bright caught her eye in the darkness.

She moved forward and realized it was a man. She squinted against the dark, tying to see if she knew him. It would be too comic to catch one of Atlanta's respected citizens near Belle Watling's house. She stood stock still, avoiding all noise, not daring to breathe for fear the man would turn around and see her. All she could make out in the darkness was that he was wearing a suit of a dark colour, probably brown. He was very blonde, and the faint moon cast a silvery glow upon his hair. She could not see the exact contours of his tall body: it was too dark, the neighbourhood being scantily illuminated.

It was clear to hear he was waiting for something, probably the right time to get to Belle's house unseen. She suppressed another giggle. Why, apparently he didn't dare step out of this alley to reach the place. Men were such fools sometimes. They consorted with bad women but were too gutless to admit it to anyone. Wasn't that double treachery?

There seemed to be some commotion in front of Belle's. A few people were shouting and laughing. Scarlett could imagine what they were doing. Sacrilegious, vulgar, extremely interesting things…

Stop it, she though angrily.

She did not dare shake her head, as if fearing the movement would stir up a breeze that might reach the stranger. The man was still waiting. It amazed Scarlett that he did not sense her presence only ten or fifteen metres behind him, but he was probably too tense to notice, she figured.

Finally, after about fifteen minutes, the stillest minutes of Scarlett's life, the noise died down and the man seemed to take heart. It was then that, even as a the light of the half-seemed to be growing stronger for a few fleeting seconds, illuminating the corner for but a moment, he turned his head and his profile was visible in the silver light.

Scarlett's eyes flew open, her hand to her mouth in order to trap the piercing scream that was forming in her throat.

No.

No, her mind reeled, no, no, no, no, no. No, it cannot be! It CANNOT be!

But as she looked at him again, she knew it to be true.

It was Ashley Wilkes.

Ashley.

Her Ashley.

She was afraid she'd fall to the ground and lose consciousness. It shocked her so much she could hardly breathe. She could not conjure up one single rational thought - it was as if her brain was hammering against the walls of her scalp. She shook her head in defiance, her nails digging into her cheeks till it hurt.

It could not be true and yet it was real, right there before her very eyes. A cold hand of ice gripped her heart and gave it a squeeze, mocking her, casting a chill on her entire body. She was frozen in place.

Her hand was still on her mouth, her eyes still wide, when Ashley finally made a move and dashed around the corner like a hunted deer fearing the onslaught. Scarlett, unable to hold herself in any longer, reached for the cool wall of the house to her left and sank to the ground.

She did not know how long she sat there, probably just a minute, when a voice inside her urged her to reassure herself of what she had seen.

Perhaps, she tried to make herself believe, perhaps he's lost, as I am! He lost his way and was just anxious not to be seen! Then why did he not turn around and leave, a voice inside her intoned. Why did he seem so hesitant, so frightened of being caught?

I don't know, I don't know! she screamed back in her mind, unwilling to believe yet unable to block out what was so obvious.

But she had to make sure. This was Ashley, not just some random person. This was the man she'd thought she knew so well, the one she was supposed to love!

She heaved herself to her feet and ran to the end of the alley. If he was gone, she'd never know for sure, and that would kill her.

There! She saw a last glimpse of his hair as he walked round the house. On impulse, she followed him. There was no one to be seen, and she could not think straight. Her body moved without her having any control over it. All she knew was that she had to find out if he was truly going into that house, and if he was, then… she did not know.

She ran faster to avoid losing him and then she saw him again. Terrified he'd turn around and spot her, she pressed herself as closely to the wall of the house as she could, hiding in the dark shadows. She was starting to sweat, so great was the tension. Bewildered, she watched as he raised his hand and knocked at the backdoor. She did not move. There were footsteps, then the creaking of the door as it was being opened from the inside. Belle Watling's guttural drawl rang out to her ears, and it pained her so much she clenched her right fist and put it into her mouth, her bosom rising and falling with murderous rage.

"Good evening Mist' Wilkes. How lovely to see ya!" Belle mocked. "Beautiful night, ain't it?"

Ashley, after muttering a barely audible "Good evening", said nothing.

Scarlett willed him to say something, anything, so she could stop thinking about what all of this meant. Here he was, talking to Belle Watling, the madam of Atlanta's most notorious brothel. Her Ashley, sweet, honourable Ashley. It was a thought too monstrous to be borne, but it was real. The last thread of denial inside her let her hope that he would not enter this place, but it was dashed a moment later when Belle said impatiently, "Well come on in, mister! I don't have all day to stand here and talk to ya! Your little tidbit is waiting for ya. Same room as always."

This last piece of information almost broke Scarlett's reserve, but she held back and watched in horror as Ashley stepped over the threshold and entered the house. Belle slammed the door shut with a bang.

Years later, she would never remember how she mustered up the strength to drag herself away from that place. She felt drained of all energy, spiritless, utterly disbelieving, and yet so terribly aware.

Before her very eyes she had seen the man she had loved for years walk into a brothel, heard that he did so regularly, saw him squirm and yet not yield under the eyes of that whore. Scarlett pressed her lips together as she staggered through the night, willing the tears away. It was too much. Why did he have to do that? How could he hurt her so? How could he betray their love?

She tasted the salt of her own tears, and it broke her resolve. She had not cried like this since she did not know when, but she let it flow. She let the tears flow, and flow they did as her fool's paradise crumbled into dust.

It was a physical ache, to know that he did not honour their agreement of being faithful to each other, both physically and emotionally. In fact, he had kicked it with his feet and not given a damn about the consequences. She could not even fool herself by pretending that it was a one-shot. He'd done it before! He and his little "tidbit", she thought jeeringly.

The world is full of beds, she heard a voice mock her.

… and most of the beds are full of women…

Rhett's words rang true, now that she had seen the man she'd loved since her childhood and always thought of as honourable and honest, enter a whore house. What drove him to do it, and how he reconciled it with his conscience, she did not know, and she did not really care. She only knew that he had betrayed her trust.

And it was not just the fact that he'd gone to such a place to… sleep with other women, breaking the delicate promise of chastity they had wordlessly given one another after Bonnie's birth, or at least so she had supposed it to be. Worse than this was the knowledge that, apparently, she did not know him at all, she, who had believed for such a long time that she came first in his heart, that they were made for each other.

This episode proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that that was not true. Had never been true. This knowledge stung. It hurt her pride and laid bare before her the naivity she had been prone to for so many years when it came to Ashley.

The sad, undeniable fact was that if he truly loved her, he wouldn't have done this. If he truly cared for her, he would never even have considered doing this. The truth hit her hard, and, had she been in her right mind, she would have fought it with all her might. But she was not in her right mind - she felt hopeless and confused.

I've fooled myself about him, my love, about Ashley, she achingly realised as she continued walking through the night. It was as if the tears of disappointment and hurt pride would burn her skin, and she almost wished they would. She longed to feel something else, anything but this terrible blend of anger, hurt, and bitter disappointment. Not in the darkest hours of her life had she felt like this, not ever.

She had believed in something that had never truly existed, had built a big castle of dreams, and tonight its foundations had been shattered. With all her heart she wished to convince herself of the contrary, but it was not possible.

Before the evidence of Ashley's betrayal, she could not shut her eyes. Her rational mind would not allow it.

He had betrayed her, forsaken their so-called love, and left her bereft, weary, like a child lost in a dark and all-consuming nightmare.