This is my first ever fan-fic, beautifully and kindly beta'd by Keladry Lupin and Little Beloved – Pulsars in the SSHG firmament, all errors are wholly and entirely mine, anything you recognize belongs to Miss Austen.

Chapter 1

It had been Lizzy's idea to send Colonel Fitzwilliam with the best carriage to fetch Charlotte. She wanted Charlotte to realise from the outset that she was being invited as an honoured guest and treasured friend, not some sort of poor relation who was coming to them as an indentured slave who would take what she was given and be grateful for it.

The Colonel was not the sort of man happy to ride two hundred miles in a carriage, dozing, drinking or contemplating the view. He liked the fresh air and exercise his horse afforded him. With this in mind he ordered the carriage to go on ahead of him by two days, so that they might arrive in Huntsford at about the same time.

Setting out from Derbyshire, Colonel Fitzwilliam contemplated the task ahead of him. He was ashamed to say that he had very little recollection of Mrs Collins: his visits to Rosings Park had always been endured rather than enjoyed, and between the improving lectures of his aunt and the repulsive attentions of Mr Collins, Mrs Collins had been lost in the melee. He could only hope that as Mrs Darcy's particular friend she might prove to be at least tolerable, and if she wasn't, what were a few days sacrificed for his friendship with his cousin? Darcy would do this and more for him.

Mrs Collins had spent the morning overseeing the removal and loading of her trunks onto the cart that would carry her possessions into Derbyshire. Despite having been married to a well favoured cleric, she had surprisingly few possessions, and these had been diminished even further in recent weeks as she had made gifts of certain items to friends dotted about the village. Whilst Mr Collin's sermons had been universally dreaded, his wife's kind words and sensible advice had won much admiration amongst the people of Huntsford, and they would miss her sorely when she was gone.

The rituals of mourning a husband prevented Mrs Collins from going much into society. Indeed, her gifts had been delivered by her maid Caroline as it was thought unseemly for a widow to go visiting so soon after her husband's death. These restrictions upon herself were bad enough, but it was her children who were always to be quiet and reserved though they hardly understood why, that she pitied. On this August day the weather was particularly fine, and both William and Anne were suffering in the oppressive heat of the day. They each tugged at the collars of their black clothing, hoping in someway to entice a cooling breeze to slip beneath. Charlotte regarded them piteously and dredged her mind for some way to give them some relief. At last she hit upon an idea. The rectory edged Rosings Park, and Charlotte knew that just a little way from the imposing gates of the park lay a small copse that Lady Catherine had been proposing for some time to do away with in favour of a folly. But at present the trees remained untouched and would provide both welcome shade from the heat, and concealment from prying eyes – here the children could run wild and laugh and scream without fear of censor.

Charlotte raided the kitchen for supplies, laughing at herself for feeling almost like the twelve-year-old girl she had once been, scrumping for Apples with Lizzy or stealing peas from her father's tenant's fields. The children were so utterly delighted to be leaving the house, and with their mother no less, that they proved surprisingly easy to marshal. Once in the woods, Charlotte loosened their clothes and removed her bonnet and boots. She sat on a rug and smiled indulgently as the children ran about her examining rocks and stumps of wood for juicy caterpillars that they would present to her like the treasures of the ancients. She received them with all due gravity, and when she had amassed what could be described as a trove of caterpillars, she decided it was time for them all to have some bread and cheese. William and Anne ate heartily, both keeping up a non-stop monologue on the various sights they had seen so far that afternoon. After lunch, all three Collins' rested a while in the balmy shade of those tall Beeches. Waking from an hour's sleep, the children were even more excitable, and their mood even transferred itself to Charlotte who found herself removing her stockings and chasing them barefoot about the wood with gay abandon.

It was at about this time that Colonel Fitzwilliam rounded the hill above Rosings Park and began to make his way to the gate. His aunt had insisted he stay at the park, even though she was in town. As his horse Scheherazade slowly wended her way across the field, Colonel Fitzwilliam heard a shriek of laughter from nearby. It appeared to be coming from the Beech wood, and the Colonel knew that his aunt would never forgive him if he didn't see off the intruders. Dismounting at the edge of the wood and looping Scheherazade's bridle over a nearby post, he walked stealthily into the copse. At first he saw nothing, and all was silent but for the birdsong, when suddenly from the right streaked a small girl perhaps five or six years old, barefoot and whooping with laughter. Half a second behind her came a woman in a most dishevelled state: she too was barefoot and laughing uproariously - her black dress covered in dust, the collar buttons undone, her bonnet nowhere to be seen and her hair more or less completely escaped from it's pins. She had almost passed him; he thought, perhaps, that she must not have seen him, but she came to an abrupt stop, turned and gasped, her small hands flying up to her mouth a second later.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam…" She could say no more, her eyes wide with shock and fear.

The woman had the advantage of him: she knew his name and he was unsure of hers, though quick calculation suggested that this wild woman might, in fact, be the widow on whom he had planned to call later this afternoon.

"Mrs Collins?" he asked in uncertain terms.

She curtseyed, and by this stage the little girl had return to see what was keeping her mother from giving chase.

"Mama, why did you … ooh, Soldier! Hullo, Soldier."

The Colonel smiled down at her and said, "Hullo, little girl."

Charlotte could see that her daughter was about to launch into one of her prolonged interrogations, and so said, "Anne, why don't you go find your brother? Don't you think he would like to meet Colonel Fitzwilliam, too?" Anne dashed off shouting for William to come out from wherever he was hiding, leaving Charlotte and the Colonel alone once more.

Charlotte immediately began to tidy herself, buttoning up her collar, tucking up her hair as best she could and trying surreptitiously to brush the dust from her dress. This gave the Colonel time to study her - she was perhaps 35 years old, by no means a beautiful woman. Her figure was of the ordinary sort, though she was perhaps a little taller than the average woman, and a life of walking everywhere meant that she was of a browner complexion than was fashionable, though her recent exertions had brought a pleasing colour to her cheeks. All in all, nothing special, but just for a moment the Colonel recalled her face minutes before, radiating delight, and felt that perhaps there was something beyond the ordinary about this woman.

William's arrival marked the end of Colonel Fitzwilliam's opportunity to scrutinize Mrs Collins. William whooped with delight when he saw the Colonel, running to within feet of where he stood and then pausing to survey the spectacle before him. Of all the toys in William's possession, his favourite by far was the wooden toy soldier his uncle Lucas had presented him with the previous summer. He took it almost everywhere with him, and now he held it out before him, partly in comparison with the real life soldier who stood in the dappled glade and part as religious offering.

"Hullo there, young man," said the Colonel. "What's that you've got there? A soldier, is it?"

William found that presented with a real life soldier he was suddenly shy. Charlotte watched his gaze drop to the Colonel's gleaming boots, and she felt the need to give him support. Taking his hand as she dropped down into a kneeling position, she said, "William, this is Colonel Fitzwilliam. He has come to escort us to our new home. He'll think you terribly rude if you don't shake his hand."

The Colonel smiled at the woman kneeling in the grass and lent down, extending his hand to William. The idea of a soldier escort was one that obviously impressed William, because he stuck out his hand to shake the Colonel's and said,

"Like King George."

Both Charlotte and the Colonel smiled at this, though neither could quite see the connection.

William once again resumed looking between the Colonel and his battered toy, and thankfully for the Colonel he seemed very pleased with what he saw.

Charlotte watched the two of them for a moment and then said, "I think it is time that I got the children back to the vicarage. The next few days are going to be very tiring for them."

Not waiting for a reply, she stood up and made her way over to the tree under which lay her bonnet and the picnic things. The Colonel followed her with Anne and William trailing in his wake. He folded the picnic blanket and helped Charlotte gather up various items, but did not hand them back to her, making it clear that he would carry them back to the vicarage for her. Lastly, Charlotte pulled on her bonnet and regarded the children to see what straightening and neatening might be required before taking to the lane by the vicarage. A few buttons and ties saw them restored to as close to presentable as they were ever going to get on that lamentably hot afternoon.

It was a quiet little party that traipsed out of the shady wood and into the lane that August afternoon. Anne held her mother's hand tightly and peeped at the Colonel from behind Charlotte's skirts. Her brother ran on ahead, occasionally bringing back offerings for his new hero. The Colonel accepted them all reverently, but by the end of the walk his hands were pretty full, and he could have sworn that he heard the briefest burst of laughter from Mrs Collins as he attempted to juggle all that his arms contained.

Even the most gentlemanly of men could not open a gate for a lady with his arms full, and so it was that he charged "young Captain Collins" with his first mission of their acquaintance. William's small hands in conjunction with a garden gate that was at least 6 inches taller than him meant that this was no easy task. Desperate to impress the Colonel, he would accept no help from his mother or Anne, but after several minutes of huffing and puffing he managed to wrestle the gate open and was loudly praised by Anne, his mother and the Colonel.

The Colonel had explained to Mrs Collin's during their walk to the house that his horse was still tied up in the copse, and that he would have to see her fed and watered before he could think of doing anything else. He parted from the family at the kitchen door, saluting 'Captain Collins' as he went and taking his treasure with him.

The walk back up the lane gave him some peaceful moments to contemplate the little family whom he would be keeping company with for the next three or four days. Nothing in Mrs Collin's manners gave him cause for concern: she seemed a deeply sensible woman, and her children were quiet and well behaved. It would be no chore at all to see them safely into Derbyshire.

While Colonel Fitzwilliam was riding Scheherazade down the drive towards the big house, Mrs Collins was trying to recover from the shock of his having seen her in such a state; her hair all wild, her dress dusty and worst of all, propriety thrown to the wind as she leapt and cavorted in his aunt's woods. What must he think of her? The next four days where going to be interminable, but she would endure for the children's sake. She only hoped he was not so disgusted as to give Lady Catherine a full report of her behaviour.