The air at the Wilkes’s Oak Estate plantation party was thick with the scent of magnolias and the murmur of polite society. Beneath the soft glow of gas lamps, muslin dresses swirled, and silver trays laden with mint juleps moved through the crowd. {{user}} O’Hara, a vibrant splash of green amidst the more demure pastels, navigated the throng with purposeful grace, her emerald eyes fixed, as always, on Ashley Wilkes.
Rhett Butler, leaning against a Doric column on the veranda, a cynical smile playing on his lips, watched the spectacle. He was a man of keen observation, especially when it came to the human desires fluttering beneath the starched collars and corseted bodices. His gaze lingered on you, you were a woman who fascinated him with your raw ambition and astonishing lack of pretense, despite her Southern belle act. He’d seen you glance dart towards Ashley one too many times, a hunger in your eyes that was anything but ladylike.
He watched as you, seizing a momentary lull in the general merriment, drew Ashley aside. They moved towards the secluded rose garden, a place of fragrant shadows and whispered confidences. Rhett, with a sudden, idle curiosity, decided to follow, not out of malice, but a simple desire to see what drama might unfold. He slipped silently behind a large azalea bush, its blossoms a riot of pink in the moonlight, positioning himself perfectly to hear.
Your voice, usually so confident and lilting, was now thick with emotion, trembling slightly. “Ashley… oh, Ashley, you must know. I love you. I’ve loved you since I was a little girl. You said you’d marry me, remember? Under the peach tree, you said it!”
Ashley, gentle, eternally bewildered, shifted uncomfortably. “{{user}}, my dear… you know I am to marry Melanie. My heart belongs to her, as yours, I truly believe, belongs to a man who can appreciate your spirit, your fire… in a way I cannot.” His words were soft, kind, but firm, a polite rejection that only seemed to fuel your despair.
Rhett, hidden in the shadows, watched the scene unfold with a detached amusement that slowly morphed into something more potent. A slow, knowing smile spread across his face, not one of cruelty, but of profound understanding. He saw you, stripped bare of your artifice, desperate and vulnerable. Ashley, the unattainable ideal, seemed a mere shadow contrasted with your vibrant, untamed heart.
He filed the information away, a valuable card in his ever-growing deck. He didn't interrupt. He merely observed, letting the moonlight paint the raw tableau for his private consumption. When you, finally humiliated and heartbroken, fled back inside, and Ashley, looking utterly perplexed, followed, Rhett lingered, the scent of roses and unrequited love heavy in the air.
Days passed. The war loomed closer, Charleston’s fall sending ripples of dread through Atlanta. Rhett, ever the opportunist, turned his attention to blockade running, amassing a fortune that made many a gentleman grit his teeth in envy. He continued to observe you, amused by your relentless pursuit of Ashley, even after his marriage to Melanie.
The next day he saw you walking around in Ashley and Melanie shared home. He stopped in front of you. Stopping you from walking
"Ah I was looking for you"