Gone with the Wind 1. Chapter 1

**Hi all! This is only my second published fic ever, so apologies if I mess anything up. Everything is MM's, naturally. Further Author's Note at the bottom.  
**

"You made this dress too big."

"What, sugar?"

"You made this dress too big, Mamsy. This waist is twenty inches!" Scarlett O'Hara stared in horror at the tape measure wrapped around the dark green dress form that currently wore her new ball gown. "You know I can get down to eighteen!"

"I know, honey, but you'll be dancing in that dress," replied her closest friend and surrogate grandmother, her voice muffled by the huge pile of ruffles and lace that she was carrying. She dropped them on the sewing table and began to sort through them. "You're not lacing that tight in a ball gown."

"Oh yes I am," cried Scarlett, her green eyes flashing. Mary Eugenie Bilton-Carter, or Mamsy as she was known to the O'Hara girls, just tutted and shook her head, incensing Scarlett more. With a deep breath she turned around, fixing a sweet simper on her pale, thin face. "Oh Mamsy, you know I won't look my best with a twenty inch waist. A lady in 1860 would have laced her corset as tight as she could," she added, playing on Mamsy's love of historical accuracy. The old lady just shook her head again.

"Sugar you ain't lacing down past twenty inches. If you do you won't be able to dance a single dance, and I know you were looking forward to it." Scarlett couldn't argue with this, but she was certain that she could dance just as well with an eighteen inch waist as a twenty inch. Better, probably, because then more men would want to dance with her.

"If you don't take it in I'll tell Mother and she'll send it to another tailor," she tried, but her threat was only met with a booming laugh on the part of Mamsy.

"Honey, you and I both know your mother won't pay some other tailor when she knows I'll sew it for free."

"Then you will take it in?"

"No."

"But it's not fair!" protested Scarlett, stamping her foot. She may have been twenty but she wasn't above such immature expressions of anger. "Mamsy, please. If you take it down to eighteen I'll be five whole inches smaller than Suellen."

"And you'll lord it over the poor girl's head till she's green with envy. Uh-uh honey."

Scarlett frowned and sat down in the chair across from Mamsy's work table. It was the only other piece of furniture in the entire room that wasn't covered with swathes of fabric and piles of lace trim. There were few places she loved more than Mamsy's sewing room. "Wouldn't you like to see Sue go green, though?" she asked, smiling sweetly. Mamsy just chuckled.

"Honey, Sue's already a green little peahen without our help," she said, causing Scarlett to giggle. While Mamsy claimed to love all of her surrogate granddaughters equally, Scarlett knew she was the favorite. After all, Sue never had time to walk the three blocks to Mamsy's condo and help with the sewing or bake pies or just chat, and little Carreen was too sweet to indulge Mamsy's gossip and occasionally wicked humor. Scarlett, on the other hand, adored the old lady.

Before downsizing to her condo fifteen years ago Mamsy had been the O'Haras' next door neighbor. Having no family of her own she had doted on the little O'Hara girls and had insisted that she was practically their grandmother – better than, actually, seeing as Granny O'Hara was dead and Grandmother Robillard was a straight-laced stick-in-the-mud who only saw her grandchildren at Christmas and Thanksgiving.

Mamsy also happened to be the best seamstress in a fifty-mile radius, something she never let anyone forget. Ellen O'Hara had enough skills to fix buttons and sew hems and Scarlett had spent years taking lessons on Mamsy's old Singer, but no one else had quite the same talent for coaxing a few yards of old fabric into something new and gorgeous. When she was little Scarlett had thought that Mamsy worked by magic, like a fairy godmother. She now knew of course that it was just skill and thirty years as a home-ec teacher, but there was still something magical about the dresses she made.

"Have you picked out what you're wearing to the barbeque, honey?" asked Mamsy, handing Scarlett a pile of fabric scraps to fold. "It's so nice of John Wilkes to hold a party like that for the Historical Society. Is Ashley gonna be back in town?"

Scarlett frowned. She had thought that visiting Mamsy would take Ashley off her mind. "According to the Tarleton twins."

Mamsy looked up from her sewing. "Now you don't sound a bit happy about that. What's wrong, sugar? I thought you liked Ashley Wilkes."

Scarlett bristled. "Well of course I like Ashley Wilkes," she said stiffly. "He's a decent guy, which is hard to find these days. I'm, uh, very glad we're friends."

Mamsy chuckled. "Scarlett, honey, you know you can't fool me. I know you don't just wanna be friends with him, though you know I have a way with love and you two ain't right for each other."

"Why not?" cried Scarlett, sorry she asked as soon as the words escaped her lips. So much for convincing Mamsy that she didn't care about Ashley.

"Cause he's a quiet little book-reading wet blanket, and you honey girl have got life in you! Honey you've got more life in your little finger than in all the Wilkes family combined."

Scarlett couldn't help but smile. Only Mamsy could say something so insulting about Ashley and not be offensive. "It won't matter, though," she whined, her frown reappearing. "Stu said he's bringing Melly Hamilton with him."

"Well she's a nice girl, isn't she? And it's better than him bringing someone who doesn't know the first thing about costumes."

Scarlett rolled her eyes. "Melly's never done civil war before, though. She only does Georgian, and that's probably because she knows she hasn't enough curves to fill out a corset."

Mamsy raised her eyebrows. "You be careful, Scarlett. You sound mighty jealous. You know you'll have all the other boys fawning on you. Why honey you're like a light and they're all little moths."

"I'm sure the boys would love being called moths, Mamsy," said Scarlett, giggling. "Well, at least I know I'll look better than Melly will."

"Honey, you're gonna look better than a real-live southern belle herself."

"I would hope so, seeing as a real-live southern belle would be about a hundred and fifty by now," replied Scarlett, grinning. Mamsy chuckled.

"You know what I meant, sweet pea. Now you never answered my first question. Are you gonna wear your rose organdy? Or what about that lavender dress that you just had to have but I haven't seen you wear above twice?" The last part was said a trifle accusatorily, causing Scarlett to bite her lip. Mamsy put so much work into all her dresses, but the truth was Scarlett felt like a schoolgirl in the striped lavender ensemble. What was the point of dressing up like the past if you didn't feel like a princess doing it?

"I'm not sure yet," hedged Scarlett, pretending to be intent on untangling the lace. She knew exactly what dress she wanted to wear, a dress that would surely show Ashley just what he was missing, but she knew Mamsy would never approve.

"Well honey you've gotta decide soon. What if I need to make an alteration? I can't just wave my wand and make something fit. What about that black bombazine?"

Scarlett wrinkled her nose. "I look so old in that! Like I should be married with four children already."

Mamsy grinned. "You shoulda been if we lived back then. Not married at twenty – why honey girl I'm ashamed of you."

"Oh come on. You know I pretend to be sixteen at events."

"How about the green plaid, then? You've only got so many dresses, sugar. You gotta pick one."

"I know," said Scarlett, grinning to herself. Unfortunately the grin wasn't quite as private as she'd thought.

"What dress are you thinking about? And don't you dare tell me you don't have one in mind."

Scarlett smiled sweetly. "And why would you think that, Mamsy dearest? I told you I'm not sure yet."

"Scarlett honey you know you can't lie to me. Which dress is it gonna be?" Her eyes narrowed. "Not the sprigged muslin?" Scarlett tried to school her features into an innocent expression but Mamsy was perceptive as ever. "Oh no you ain't, missy. You know you can't show your bosom before three o'clock!"

"So what if I do!" protested Scarlett. "I'll still be more accurate than Emmie. Her last dress came straight from the Halloween store."

If she had hoped the jab at Emmie Slattery would divert Mamsy's attention she was sorely mistaken. "Honey you ain't wearing that dress and that's final."

"Oh please, Mamsy?" whined Scarlett. "You know how pretty I look in it and the green sets off my eyes so well. I'm sure it'll impress Ashley."

Mamsy shook her head. "Ashley Wilkes is as big of a stickler for accuracy as anyone else. He won't talk to you in that dress."

"Yes he will," protested Scarlett. "It's not like we're all really from 1860. I bet no one will even notice! Oh please? Pretty pretty please with a cherry on top?"

The old woman pursed her lips. "Well, if your father's okay with it then I am. Only don't blame me when everyone calls you forward."

Scarlett just rolled her eyes. Her father may have been the president of the Historical Society and a verified expert on all things Civil War but she had always had him wrapped around her little finger. "Mamsy we don't all actually act like it's 1860. It's not like it's a time machine or something. You should come to one of our events."

"And play your slave?" she asked, referencing her skin color. "Na-uh, sweetie. You wear the dresses – I'll just make them."

**So, thoughts? I'm a historical costumer myself and just couldn't resist the idea of a modern Scarlett who still wore hoops and corsets! I tend to focus more on the Regency Era, though I've been branching out into Victorian (actually, I'm currently making a Scarlett inspired gown). All the sewing/clothing info is accurate, though when we get to actual Clayton County Historical Society Events I'll be making things up a bit, as there's no real HS where I live. :(**

**This will probably jump around a lot, as I'm not sure that I'm up to carrying a full story arc. Likely I'll just write the major scenes and leave the filler up to imagination. Also, be prepared for major costuming info-dump, as I know way too much about this hobby!**

**Oh, and one last thing - Scarlett's waist is freaking tiny, particularly for a modern woman who only dons corsets occasionally. Seriously, I'm petite and I can't get down past 23, and that's with really tight lacing! So, yes, this is stretching believability assuming she doesn't corset train (which I can't see her doing), but we couldn't just lose the iconically tiny waist. :)**

**Hope you enjoyed and please review! Also, my first fic hasn't been getting much love, which I assume is because it's a crossover. It's Caroline Bingley as Scarlett O'Hara, so if you like P&amp;P please check it out!**

**Thanks, Elsie Edwina**


	2. Chapter 2

**Oh my goodliness! People actually read and reviewed this little story! Great balls of fire!**

**Thank you sooooo incredibly much. Seriously, you don't know how much each review meant to me. This chapter was a bit difficult to write (I forgot how much of a brat Scarlett was in the beginning - it's so hard to write Ashley-love and Melly-hate haha) but your reviews kept me going.**

**Apologies if this is moving too slowly - I hope to have chapter 3 up within a few days, and we'll probably meet that _mysterious stranger_ within the next chapter or two ... Hope y'all enjoy!**

**As always, everything goes to MM.**

There were few things that Scarlett loved more than the turn off of the highway to Twelve Oaks Drive, when sprawling suburbia was traded for rich, red earth and Tara Plantation pulled into view. It was the sort of view that could almost convince her that it really was 1860, provided she forgot about the banged-up minivan around her. It was a wonderful feeling, to make that turn off, all at once comforting and exhilarating – filled with both the thrill of new adventure and the reassurance of coming home. The day of the barbeque, however, she hardly even noticed.

It was all Ashley's fault, of course. She'd always believed that nothing could make her dread a visit to Tara, but just knowing that Melly Hamilton would be there was enough to make her want to turn back and stay firmly in 2015.

Scarlett couldn't stand Melly Hamilton. She'd only met her a few times, as Melly lived in Atlanta and had attended public school there, while Scarlett had attended Fayetteville Catholic. But the Hamiltons were good friends with the Wilkeses, and they'd been thrust into company together enough for Scarlett to form a decidedly negative opinion. Melly was frankly unhateable, and that was what annoyed Scarlett the most. She was just so prim and proper and Disney-princess-y, to the point that Scarlett wanted to gag. And, moreover, she was coming as the guest of Ashley Wilkes.

This wasn't the first time Scarlett had lost a boy to another girl, and she wouldn't let this be the first time that she didn't get him back. But this time it all seemed different. Before it had been a matter of keeping up her reputation as the belle of the county. Now it was a matter of actual love.

And that was it, really. She loved Ashley Wilkes and she had since about freshman year. The Fontaines and the Tarletons and Cade Calvert were all good for flirting and a fun time, but Ashley was different. He was sweet, and tender, and smart – he performed Shakespeare and wrote poetry. The other boys were, well, just that: boys. Ashley was a man.

She'd always thought that he liked her. At least, he acted like it, in his own sort of way. He didn't flirt with her in the over-the-top way that the other boys did. No, their love was quiet and measured – and all the more special for it. It was how she liked to imagine courtship going way back when, all subtle hints and quiet smiles. It had been perfect, really, until Melly Hamilton just had to come along and ruin it.

Beside her in the car Suellen and Carreen nattered away about something inconsequential, and in the front seat Ellen and Gerald discussed the Historical Society property manager in hushed voices, but Scarlett didn't notice any of it. Instead she made a mental comparison of herself and the other woman.

She frowned and pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the van window. None of it made any sense. She'd gone through all the important criteria – eyes, smile, figure, sense of humor – and the undeniable conclusion was Scarlett all, Melly none. She groaned in frustration, forgetting her company in the car.

"Scarlett? Are you alright?" Ellen turned around in the front seat, looking at her daughter in concern. "Are you carsick?"

"She's just looking for attention," huffed Suellen, who was still irritated that Scarlett wouldn't loan out one of her green dresses and had therefore stuck her with a pink dress that was a year old.

"She can't be carsick," announced Gerald officially. "Scarlett's never been carsick before."

"Yeah, that's usually me," said Carreen bashfully. She made a face. "Do y'all remember the drive to Florida last year?"

"How could we forget?" asked Suellen nastily. "You threw up all over me."

"Is it a headache, dear?" pressed Ellen, pulling out her purse and rifling through it. "I might have an aspirin in here."

"I'm fine," said Scarlett. "We're practically there already."

Ellen still looked worried. "Are you sure, sweetheart? You wouldn't want to be sick at the barbeque."

"Yeah – Ashley Wilkes will be there, you know." Suellen smirked. "He wouldn't want to see you sick."

"Why would Ashley care if Scarlett's sick?" asked Carreen. As a somewhat flighty sixteen-year-old, she was more or less oblivious to Scarlett's current romantic angst. Suellen, though, had certainly noticed.

Scarlett glared at her middle sister, wishing she would stop acting like a jealous middle-schooler for once. "Ashley's my best friend," she said loftily, sitting up straight and raising one perfectly-plucked eyebrow. "I would hope he would care."

"Only your best friend, Scar?" wheedled Suellen. Scarlett cringed at the use of the old nickname.

"Yes, Susie," she retaliated. "Only my best friend. He's dating Melly Hamilton, you know."

Suellen's eyes went wide, and for one small moment of triumph, Scarlett was glad for the existence of Melly.

"Is he?" asked Ellen in a tone of mild interest. "She seems nice enough."

Gerald, on the other hand, seemed appropriately shocked by the news. "Did that lily-livered Wilkes choose an Atlanta Hamilton over my daughter?" he roared.

Suellen snickered. Carreen blushed. Scarlett wanted to sink into the ground and die.

"Gerald," admonished Ellen, fixing her husband with a stern glare. "You mustn't talk about that – and in front of the girls!"

"We're not girls, Mom," muttered Suellen.

"You are so long as you live under my roof and I pay your expenses," announced Gerald, pugnacious as ever, even when it was against his cause.

"Can we just stop talking about this?" exclaimed Scarlett, suddenly thinking how nice it would've been if she'd gone to college on the West Coast, or even up North, rather than staying right at home in Georgia. Of course, she had chosen her college based on its proximity to the Historical Society and, therefore, Ashley. She could only imagine how quickly Melly would've snapped him up had she been across the country.

"Why should we?" asked Suellen, much to Scarlett's annoyance. "After all, it shouldn't matter much, if you're only friends."

"We are only friends," said Scarlett testily. "So I really don't see the need to discuss it."

"Of course you're only friends," said Carreen quickly. "It's Brent Tarleton you really like."

Scarlett rolled her eyes. "No, Brent's just fun to be around. But," she added as she saw her little sister light up, "that doesn't change the fact that he's way too old for you. You're in high school, for Christ's sake."

Carreen frowned. "Sixteen's practically grown-up."

"Oh come on, Reenie," groaned Suellen. "It wouldn't even be legal.""And that is enough of that!" exclaimed Gerald as he finally pulled into the lot and parked the van. Usually Scarrlett would have laughed at the bright red shade of her prudish sister's face, but as they began to unload the hoop skirts and petticoats and other supplies from the trunk there was only one thought on her mind: Ashley.

**Well, hope y'all liked it! Please review!**


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Gone with the Wind