Thanks everyone for your feedback. Especially the well-reasoned suggestions for the title. Although all those suggestions now make it even harder to pick one.

Here is the chapter I prepared earlier – literally. This is what took nearly 60K words to build up to.

~~H~~

Attack

Dinner was over and Charlotte excused herself claiming fatigue and a wish to retire early. Edith recognised the symptoms as Charlotte's courses starting and did not press the point to save her embarrassment.

Instead, she and Richard moved to the library to reference a book on which they had disagreed.

While they were discussing the book, a maid entered to add another log to the glowing embers in the fireplace, to warm up the room since Edith was unexpectedly using it. Being a thrifty soul, she preferred sitting in the small parlour in the winter months since it was easier to heat.

Edith returned the book to its shelf, noticing in passing the pleasant odour of apple wood. She had turned and was on her way to resume her seat when there was a small pop from the fireplace.

Edith opened her mouth to comment, when Fitzwilliam surged out of his seat looking about wildly and suddenly was focusing on her. 'Bloody frog, die,' he growled as he lunged at her with his right arm extended as if he was gripping a sabre.

Edith had only a moment to prepare before he was upon her.

~~H~~

Colonel Fitzwilliam was back at that small, nameless village in Spain with a unit of men.

They had not expected to encounter the enemy, only wondered at the burning orchard, when they were fired upon by French soldiers. The Colonel and his men took cover behind a wall, dismounting to reduce the chance of being shot.

Fitzwilliam was enraged since their intelligence had given no indication that enemy forces were in this area.

He had just taken a step forward to check beyond the wall when he saw the figure in a blue uniform approaching.

Furious about being taken unawares he growled, 'bloody frog, die,' as he drew his sabre and attacked.

The Colonel's face distorted in a bloodthirsty grin as he lunged, expecting his opponent to be skewered. Instead of meeting any resistance, he suddenly found himself lying in the dirt, with his arm twisted up his back and a weight holding him down.

He was so focused on trying to escape this unbearable situation that at first, he did not hear the soft voice, but slowly it penetrated his consciousness.

'All is well, Richard. The battle is over. You are safe. All is well, Richard. The battle is over. You are safe…' The same words repeated over and over again.

What caught his attention was that his captor used his given name. Not Colonel or even Fitzwilliam, but Richard. Only his family and closest friends called him Richard.

He slowly realised that the voice was female, a throaty contralto which seemed oddly familiar. As he focused on the voice, he noticed that his face was not pushed into the dirt of a battlefield, but a carpet.

Although his shoulder did hurt from having his arm twisted up his back, and the weight on top of him was real too.

But instead of smelling sweat, blood and guts, his nose was caressed by the fresh scent of citrus.

That smell was the trigger for him to regain his senses to the here and now. Only one person he knew used that perfume... Edith.

Oh god, have I hurt her? He groaned and found his voice. 'You can let go of my arm,' he said hoarsely, turning his head to one side to ease his breathing.

Immediately the pressure was relieved, and the weight came off his back.

The Colonel was shocked when he saw Edith collapsing onto the carpet beside him. 'What the devil are you doing here?' he gasped as he painfully straightened out his right arm and rolled over.

'Trying to stop you from killing anyone, including yourself,' she panted.

As he heard that shocking answer, Fitzwilliam sat up and looked around. He and Edith were the only people in the room.

His brow furrowed as he tried to remember what had happened. He remembered being under attack by French soldiers and returning the assault, only to be overpowered.

As realisation struck him, Richard pulled his knees up and dropped his head onto them, wrapping his arms over his head. No, it could not be. He had just had yet another waking nightmare and he had tried to kill Edith, the woman he loved above all else. How could she possibly forgive him? She must be frightened and disgusted with his actions.

Richard wanted to crawl into a hole and die. He had completely ruined everything that they had built between them despite him trying so hard to keep himself under control.

He was not prepared for the soft presence of her form pressed against his side as she draped an arm over his shoulder.

'All is well. I am sorry that I had to hurt you.'

Richard's head snapped up and he stared at Edith through eyes brimming with tears. 'You are sorry that you hurt me? Did I not just try to kill you? And you say that you are sorry?'

Edith gave him a tired smile as she said, 'yes, you tried to kill me, with TRY being the operative word. You did not succeed because I stopped you.'

'But you are just a slip of a woman…' The reality of what happened was starting to sink in as he let his gaze travel over her slim body. He dropped his head into one hand as he stared at her and shook his head in utter disbelief.

This slight woman had just defeated a battle-hardened Colonel in his Majesty's army, who weighed at least half as much again as she did, and here she sat apologising for hurting him. It was too much. He was torn between anger at having been made to look like a fool by being overpowered by a woman and embarrassment for exactly the same reason. Unsure which emotion was stronger, he started to chuckle somewhat hysterically.

Edith just sat there, still with her arm about his shoulders, her lips twitched, and her smile started to turn into a grin. 'I spent three years ensuring that any man who underestimated me would get a nasty surprise.' The smile had turned into a full and mischievous grin as she said, 'surprise.'

~~H~~

Edith and Richard had relocated from the floor in the library to the small parlour where they now occupied the big chairs in front of the fire, and both were holding mugs of hot chocolate with a generous dollop of brandy added to help steady their nerves.

Richard focused on his drink as he was struggling to steady his hands as the reaction of the earlier incident set in.

His mind kept going in circles. He had tried to kill Edith, but she had stopped him. He had tried to kill Edith, but he had failed. He had tried to kill…

He looked up.

'You overpowered me…' Richard stared in wonder at the lady who sat curled up in the other chair.

'Well, as I said, I could not let you go about the house attacking anyone else. While I think that Blake would have been able to deal with you, my maids certainly could not.' A thought occurred to Edith, and she muttered, 'perhaps I should get Blake to teach them too.'

Richard was unsure how he felt at present. He was relieved that Edith was unscathed from the experience, but his own ego as well as his shoulder had taken a severe bruising.

'But how could you do what you did? Even Darcy, who is taller than I am cannot beat me at fisticuffs, and yet you, who are so much smaller, overpowered me. And I do not even remember feeling anything until you had my arm twisted up my back.'

'When you engage in fisticuffs, you meet your opponent head on and try to beat each other to a pulp. Since I do not have the size or the strength to do that, I did not try to stop you, but used your own strength against you.'

'How?' Richard was genuinely interested.

Edith grinned as she answered, 'by softly redirecting your arm when you lunged at me. Since you felt no resistance, there was nothing stopping you from overcommitting. Once you were off-balance, I was able to grasp your wrist and pull your arm behind you. At that point I was in the perfect position to push against the back of your knee. That combined with your forward motion caused you to fall. After that I held onto your arm for grim death and used my weight to hold you down until you regained your senses.'

'Did Blake teach you that technique?'

'He did, indeed. He said he learnt it from an oriental man who was a head shorter than himself, and yet that man could always beat him in a fight.'

Richard shook his head, amazement and respect warring with his hurt pride.

Edith watched the conflicting emotions wash over his features. She offered a small balm to his pride. 'I confess that I am grateful that you did not have a real sabre in your hand when you lunged at me. I suspect that I would not have fared as well if you had been armed.'

'In my vision I was lunging at you with a sabre.'

'Do you remember anything which might have triggered this vision?'

The Colonel frowned in concentration as he tried to recall the particular scene he had remembered. 'I remembered a skirmish in a little village in Spain. There was a lot of smoke about from a burning orchard just outside the village. But there was nothing special about that fight that I can recall.'

'A burning orchard you say? Do you know what kind of trees?' Edith asked as a suspicion dawned.

Richard shrugged. 'I am not an expert on trees. They might have been apples, but I cannot think why this would be relevant.'

'Last year, lightning struck an apple tree in my orchard,' Edith answered with what appeared to be a non sequitur. 'It killed the tree which had to be cut down. Since apple is a long burning wood which gives off a pleasant smell, we add it to the fire. The piece the maid added may not have been completely dry because I remember it giving a small pop just before you… ah…'

'Went out of control,' Richard supplied when Edith struggled to find the right phrase.

'I know that certain smells remind me of the past… some of good times, others bring back bad memories. It may have been that the smell of burning apple wood took you back to that fight.'

Fitzwilliam nodded thoughtfully. 'That would explain my reaction.' He sighed. 'I know that certain sounds are also difficult for me to tolerate. Gunfire during a hunt, hail on window shutters, severe thunderstorms. They all bring back memories.'

'I remember that hailstorm at Netherfield. You were exceedingly uncomfortable, but you remained in the present.'

'Since I knew it was coming, I had braced myself for it and you holding my hand offered an anchor and a distraction,' Richard explained and added with a rueful smile. 'I never properly thanked you for your kindness that evening.'

'It was my pleasure to be able to help,' Edith said distractedly as she was thinking furiously. 'You said that if you know that one of those visions could be coming, you can control it… at least somewhat.'

'Yes?'

'It seems that you need to learn all the sounds and smells which can bring on your visions since it seems that if you are aware that what is occurring can trigger your vision, you can at least partially control it.'

'It could take me a lifetime to discover all the thing which can set me off, and that is when I am awake,' Richard lamented. 'It still does not address the problem of my nightmares when I am asleep. That is how Miss Bingley was injured.'

'So, we have to also discover what is happening when you have a sleeping nightmare.'

Richard gave a derisive laugh. 'It seems ridiculous that I am having nightmares now that I am safely back in England, when I never had one while I was at the front and half the time ended up sleeping in the mud.'

Edith's eyes lit up. 'You never had a nightmare while you were on the continent? I would have thought that in those circumstances the nightmares would have been worse.'

'No. Not that I remember.' Richard frowned as he searched his memory. 'Perhaps some bad dreams, but nothing like the ones I have had in the last few months.'

'What is different?' Edith asked sharply, excitement bubbling up insider her. When Richard looked thoughtful and did not answer immediately, she added, 'apart from you sleeping in a clean bed, rather than a bedroll in the mud.'

'I cannot think that a clean, soft bed would bring on nightmares. Although I am certain that Bennings must be grateful that I did not disturb his sleep when we were in camp. We needed all the rest we could get before a battle, and even more so after one. A tentmate who has nightmares would be a nightmare,' Richard quipped.

'Your batman shared your tent?'

'Yes, at times a very small tent, but at least it kept the worst of the rain off.'

A calculating look came into Edith's eyes. 'So, you did not have nightmares when your batman was guarding your back.' She raised a challenging eyebrow.

'It is a pity…' he started to say and stopped himself from continuing. He did not wish to embarrass Edith by what he was thinking. It is a pity that you cannot guard my back.

'I can have the servants move the bed so that you can sleep with a wall guarding your back. Perhaps that would help to reduce the number of nightmares?'

'It is certainly worth a try.'

They continued the conversation in a desultory fashion, until the reaction of the earlier incident caught up with them. Within an hour they gave in to exhaustion and sought their separate beds.

~~H~~

Btw the technique which Edith used is perfectly legitimate. I know… it happens to be one of my favourite techniques in Wing Chun. It does not require strength but perfect timing and execution. 😊 With it a small person can take out an opponent twice their size and make it look easy. (say 168cm/54kg vs 185cm+/95kg+)

~~H~~

The Colonel and the Lady (working title) by Sydney Salier, Copyright © 2022