forlorn hope:

noun, military

1. A suicide mission, one for which men are asked to volunteer for and are not expected to return alive from but which is important to the overall battle strategy or tactics

noun

2. to despair that what is wanted can be had but to still hold on despite anxiety and fear and turmoil

Hunsford, Easter 1813

Her days she could anticipate with regularity; one she had meditated that first evening in her bed chamber. The quiet employments of Mrs. Collins which Elizabeth and Maria lend a hand to, the vexatious interruptions of Mr. Collins and the grandeur of any events to which they were deigned to be invited to at Rosings. The rhythm of her visit did not truly vary those first two weeks at the Parsonage and she was not sorry for it. Elizabeth was happy with her time with Charlotte, there were pleasant half hours of conversation and the weather proved so fine for the time of year that she was often out of doors. She soon found a favorite walk which edged next to Rosings Park and which no one else seemed to value but herself. It became a particular haunt of hers especially when Lady Catherine de Bourgh swooped in upon the Collinses on some pretext or other and Elizabeth could slip away while they engaged with their patroness. Their invitations to dine at Rosings continued even after Charlotte's father returned to Meryton but also continued with the style set that first evening: the grand, haughty lady sat on her throne dispensing advice, unasked for, to her audience. The evenings were not without amusement to Elizabeth as Lady Catherine was a new character to study and she, herself, was no longer under direct attack with impertinent and probing questions from the great lady.

Elizabeth had been surprised to hear that Mr. Darcy was expected soon on a visit to his aunt and his visit to Rosings was to overlap with hers. His was not an acquaintance she would truly care to meet again but it would bring a change to the rhythm of her days: not that she found them lacking in any way. She wondered how he behaved around his cousin, Anne de Bourgh, as Lady Catherine spoke of their destiny together with great animation; she spoke of Darcy and Anne's union as a certainty.

The day of his arrival the whole Parsonage knew the instant he appeared as Mr. Collins had spent the whole morning walking the lane so he could spy the esteemed nephew. He made his courtliest bow to the carriage as it passed and then hurried home to tell the ladies. Mr. Collins was most anxious to renew his acquaintance with Mr. Darcy again—though they had, in truth, only met once—and set off the following morning to Rosings to pay his long-winded respects to the gentleman.

It was another fine warm morning. Elizabeth was sitting in Mrs. Collin's parlor and was just considering setting out on a walk when her friend came running in from her husband's study which fronted the lane.

"Eliza! Mr. Collins has returned with Mr. Darcy and Lady Catherine's other nephew! This is quite an honor—I am sure this is due to you—for Mr. Darcy would never have called on me so soon." Elizabeth could not protest before her friend and the sister were setting the room to right and preparing for their visitors which were announced by the door-bell.

The three gentlemen entered the room. Colonel Fitzwilliam led the way; he was the younger son of the Earl of Dunchurch. He was not handsome but in person and address most truly the gentleman. Mr. Darcy appeared as he had before, composed and reserved and paid the exact compliments to Mrs. Collins. Elizabeth merely curtsied to him and he nodded in return before sitting down. The Colonel spoke warmly and heartily to all. He kindly complimented the lady of the house, teased and flirted with her sister and sought topics of interest with Elizabeth. He was a man blessed with easy manners and he made Elizabeth feel as if they were old friends and not ones of just a few minutes' acquaintance. She found herself looking from the handsome, yet silent face, of his cousin to the plain, yet regular features of Colonel Fitzwilliam as they wound through the topics of the weather, possible shared acquaintances and on to the different experiences of travel afforded by different carriages. At some point Mr. Darcy directed a remark to Mrs. Collins about her house and gardens then returned to being an observer again. Mr. Collins seemed to be in awe of the son of an Earl and sat, like Mr. Darcy, mute, leaving the conversation to the ladies and the Colonel.

It was only as the conversation was wrapping up that Mr. Darcy seemed to rouse himself and made a general inquiry of Elizabeth about her family. She answered him in the usual way, and after a moment's pause asked of him how his friend Mr. Bingley was and whether he and his sister Miss Bingley were in health?

"Quite well," was the cool reply.

Colonel Fitzwilliam's manners were much talked about at the Parsonage. All three ladies felt he would brighten their social engagements at Rosings with his easy manners and happy discourse. Maria Lucas was the sort of girl who always depended on the society of men to feel truly happy so she looked forward with eagerness to an invitation from the great Lady despite her wishing in the same breath for the company of one cousin and disdaining over the sour face of the other.

"It is just as he was in Meryton; Mr. Darcy has such a look on his face as though he wants to be somewhere else," she explained to her sister. "Do you not think he has such a long face, Lizzy?"

"I see he has not changed much since we saw him last fall, that is for sure," agreed Elizabeth.

"He is far handsomer than his cousin; there must be a few years between them too," ventured Charlotte. "Mr. Darcy is four or five years younger by appearance."

"Yes, but his good looks are spoiled by his aloof, even haughty manner. I wonder that he cared to come visit the Parsonage?" asked Elizabeth.

"He has some right manners, Eliza, for he did come," scolded Mrs. Collins, looking directly at her friend. "Perhaps he is not easy in company? Some people are not as silver-tongued and comfortable with new acquaintance as Colonel Fitzwilliam."

Elizabeth who pulled up an image of the amiable Mr. Wickham in her mind and all of his grievances against Mr. Darcy did not wish to consider Darcy in a compassionate light, especially with what she suspected of Darcy's hand in separating Mr. Bingley and her sister Jane from one another the past fall.

"We are all called to make little sacrifices to the requirements of society, Charlotte. It is not such a difficult thing to remember to bow or curtsey and ask 'how do you do' and yet he seems to resent being asked to do so. Is it so wrong to be polite and inquire after a friend?" cried Elizabeth with a little more passion than was perhaps required.

Charlotte could make no argument against her speech and did not attempt it.

Maria was disappointed that there was not an immediate invitation to Rosings; no invitation came that day or the next. They did not see any of the Rosings family until the third morning when Colonel Fitzwilliam came to call. Mr. Collins was out but the ladies welcomed the Colonel with sincere pleasure. Their first impression of him was not changed in any way. He spoke with animation on a dazzlingly new array of subjects and gave a welcome bright spot to their morning. Mrs. Collins was pleased with the attention from such a guest while Maria felt that she must be an object of interest in the soldier's eyes, tittering and laughing at everything he had to say.

Elizabeth listened to his opinions and responded with her own where she had informed opinions but held her tongue and admitted her ignorance of a topic if she did not—all the while inviting Colonel Fitzwilliam to enlighten or instruct her. He stayed beyond a half hour and left laughing and apologizing to the ladies when he noted his overly-long stay.

Charlotte and Maria had a lot to say about the visit. Maria was so impressed with the manners found in so well-bred of a man. She was quickly developing a tendre for him; she had not been immune to the officers of the militia who had been stationed in Meryton and could now readily substitute Colonel Fitzwilliam for her previous favorites in the militia. Tea was spent principally in discussing the morning's conversation and sharing their delight in his attentions.

Elizabeth's sheltered walk called to her the next morning. Mature ash trees lined the path making a parasol unnecessary and Elizabeth was tempted to remove her bonnet. She loosed the ribbons on it and let it fall back as a soft breeze ruffled the curls around her forehead.

"Miss Bennet," hailed the Colonel. She spied him coming towards her and greeted him warmly. "Enjoying this fine spring weather?" he asked as he turned to walk with her.

"Yes. I am frequently tempted out of doors, especially in the mornings when Charlotte is busy with her household duties," she replied.

"And does not her sister wish to come out too?"

"Maria is not much of a walker," and then Elizabeth, feeling perhaps too critical, added, "she also helps Charlotte with her responsibilities. I suppose I could help with parish visits and the like as well."

"But you are frivolous and tempted by the weather," he teased. She smiled; she had the type of smile that lit up her whole face and despite her dark eyes they sparkled with merriment. He could not but be drawn in by them. "Have you enjoyed your time in Kent? Is this your first visit?"

"I have and it is," she replied, "one does not have to travel all over and see the sights and landmarks to say one has been to a place. A large part of the getting away is just that, being away from home and familiar surroundings and experiencing life in a different form."

"You are an astute observer," he replied, "most of my acquaintance have only the key points of interest of a place in mind, partake of them, and then scurry off back home."

"But that is human nature, is it not? We like to be comfortable, our home, family, our friends, our patterns of life," she replied.

"When you have been to war, do not discount the importance of home and family," his voice grew deeper. He was too new an acquaintance for her to ask about his time on the Continent and his experiences of battle. She was not sure if he would share such things with a lady anyways.

"Home: it is both a reality but also an ideal," she continued with their philosophical line of thinking.

"How so, what do you mean?" he asked.

"We all experience a home of some sort. We are raised in one and no doubt look back fondly or with some concerns about our childhood. But we also have an ideal of home in our heads that we are striving for in our current situation. If we are unmarried, perhaps we are looking for a partner that we will meet and help mold to our new ideal of home. Perhaps, if we are one of those not inclined to marry we strive to make our current situation improved—are we the best daughter to our father, the best sister?—those sorts of goals. And perhaps, as with Mr. and Mrs. Collins, we have just partaken of a new ideal and are testing it, these new limits, to see how it works and what sort of adjustments need to be made."

He had listened intently to her, absorbing her ideas with an interested look on his face. They reached the end of the covered grove of trees where it opened onto an expanse of meadow and the pair stopped while she arranged her bonnet and tied its ribbons.

"So which of the three ideals is mulling around in your head?" asked Colonel Fitzwilliam.

"Well I am not married or betrothed so I do not obviously know about the married ideal," she began.

"Obviously not," he replied as they began to cross through the meadow.

"I rather believe I am not inclined to marry," she continued.

"I am surprised!" and his voice and manner showed that he believed it.

"I love my family and am always felt called upon to better myself that I may be more helpful to them. There are five daughters in our family and we are not necessarily all inclined to marry. I shall, perhaps, become a devoted aunt and teach my nieces to embroider or indulge my nephews," she mused.

"You seem, Miss Bennet, as someone perfectly content with the present," he observed.

"I believe you are correct. I may be inclined to marry because I fall in love and experience some deep passion but marriage is so often not just about love."

"There must be a foundation of it. My brother Richard is a testament to that; I doubt I have ever seen a man more deeply in love than he is with his wife."

"Is he your oldest brother? Does he have the luxury of being able to love without worry for money?"

"Richard is actually the middle brother. Everard, Lord Radbourne, is the eldest and remains unmarried to the annoyance of my mother and father."

"So you are the unwanted third child?" she teased turning to look at him around the brim of her bonnet. He laughed.

"Oh no, I have sisters you know, Lady Susanna and Lady Clara."

"And were they fortunate to fall in love?" her tone was light and playful still even though the topic was a, perhaps, more serious than was usually discussed with a new acquaintance.

"Lady Susanna has not given her heart to anyone and given her temperament, I do not believe she will marry. Lady Clara has a brood of four and I suspect there are more planned."

"How fortunate for your family! I am sure your Mamma is pleased to have grandchildren. Are you a devoted uncle?"

"I do enjoy my nephews immensely."

"All boys!" she exclaimed her voice rising and he chuckled.

"It does sometimes happen that way—you did just tell me there are five daughters in yours?" Elizabeth nodded. "I have the advantage of being the dashing, exciting uncle, uniform and all, which accounts for my popularity." They had crossed the meadow and reached the drive that led up to Rosings House. They stopped.

"I can well understand it, sir, why you are a favorite with nephews and in society in general," and she curtsied.

"I thank you, that is a pretty compliment," and he bowed. "May I induce you to come up to the house?" he pointed up the drive, "I am sure Darcy is about though I do not know what Lady Catherine's plans are for this morning."

"No, I thank you. I am over-due to return to the Parsonage. Those parish visits, you know. I am, no doubt, neglecting my responsibilities," her eyes twinkled.

She considered him, when alone in her bed chambers, Colonel Fitzwilliam. He was a worthy man and she felt she had never known such a man, of such caliber. His education had been note-worthy and no doubt he had the best tutors and schooling given the sphere he grew up in. And he had taken advantage of what he had been given in terms of that education. She felt it was wasted on his being a mere soldier—what good could he do in such a position, what poor luck at being born third son that he had to find some occupation when his oldest brother and presumably the second—the married one—were free to be gentlemen of leisure.

Confounded fate that a man so blessed with charm and character and a richly informed mind had to have an occupation and such an occupation—soldiering. In order to free himself he could marry, but must marry very well, an heiress, he must consider looking for one worth 20,000 or 30,000 pounds to be able to retire from the army. Elizabeth, with her 1,000 pound dowry could never tempt him.

A/N: The story is mostly written, I am tightening and editing. Thank you to Amaranthais for suggesting I give in to my life-long love for Colonel Fitzwilliam and write a story for him. Updates twice a week. And as I said in my description, not for everyone's taste. It's complicated.