This is a new story which has been floating around in my head for some time. It contains a more brooding Colonel Fitzwilliam, but the character has always fascinated me and I do believe that he deserves his own love story. For every tortured hero needs a heroine to complete him. So, while I am not entirely content with this first chapter I felt that I should share the beginnings of Colonel Fitzwilliam's story and get some feed back.

Synopsis: Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam is battling the demons of his time on the battlefield when by chance he meets Grace MacKenna who is battling demons of her own. Neither is interested in romance, but just perhaps these two will be each other's saving grace.

Chapter 1: Glimpsing Grace

There was a chilling calm which rested on the dark surface of the water. The only movement was in the silent rippling of the blood red rose petals on the water's surface. Broken pieces just like her heart. The dew on the early morning grass coldly claimed its mark upon her bare feet and spread through her whole body. As she stared at the water she could only think of how fitting it was that upon the surface the water may be calm, but beneath it there was a torrent of activity. Calm she may appear, but calm she was not.

Looking heavenward, at the night sky with its sparkling stars, the light began to dim as clouds swiftly moved to block the light of the moon. It felt colder now. Colder and more threatening the air shifted with malevolence trying to fight back the light that threatened to come by way of the moon. A sigh escaped her as she tightened the shawl around her shoulders and stood, fully preparing to return into the house and the warmth of the fire, when she realized one thing and that was that something was terribly and irrevocably wrong.

A shallow wind shifted the wisps of hair on her face and for once in her life Grace MacKenna was afraid. She was afraid of what came next. She was afraid of the shadows which threatened to consume her in her misery. A rainstorm of tears fell down her face and she let out an anguished cry which carried itself across the fields to the forest which surrounded the estate. She screamed until her throat was raw and she had crumpled to the ground in a broken desperation of a ravaged spirit.

He was gone!

Somewhere to Gretna Green, perhaps never to be seen again, but that wasn't the worst of it, the worst was that she had believed he had loved her. The great Grace MacKenna had been duped again by the idle thoughtlessness of a man whose only goal was moving the chess pieces across the board. It didn't matter what piece was taken from the board, all that mattered was the conquest because that is what scoundrels did; they made conquests and held no regard for the results of the endgame.

He had painted her a blue sky. He had made her smile and laugh with his engaging manner. She had been disarmed by how everything seemed to effortlessly come to him. Her virtue was still safely locked away, but there was no doubt that her innocence had been broken. At three and twenty she felt much older; it was as if this one final event with him had aged her way beyond her years. She was tired.

His eyes had been so beautiful. He'd made her feel special. She couldn't see his faults then and sometimes she still could not grasp how it had all gone wrong. She had missed the looks and the flirtations he had carried out with other women behind closed doors. She had missed his clandestine affairs behind the curtains of ball rooms and in the shaded darkness of a rose garden. She had missed the insults to her person subtly made. She had missed the true nature of the man and was blinded by what she had wanted to see. She had been greatly deceived. She had been burned down by a man with no care for her.

George Wickham had set her on fire!

And just like that George Wickham doused the flames with reality leaving but smoldering embers.

That anguished cry was what startled Richard Fitzwilliam astride his horse. He had been lost deep in remembrances of his battle torn mind. It was on nights like this that he wandered the countryside. It was the nights when he could not sleep because his memories of battle haunted his slumber in attempts to draw him back into their terrifying snare that he was forced to wander as if he was a lost soul meant to forever roam the countryside looking for a home. Trying to locate that source of such a retching cry Richard spurred his stallion through the foggy terrain.

It was some minutes before he beheld the silhouette of a woman through the fog. Her fiery auburn locks where almost like a burning beacon to him in the night. She wasn't moving, but was a motionless heap on the froze ground. Richard had been so transfixed that he had unconsciously moved his horse closer and it was then that she slowly turned her head towards him and their eyes met. The most startling emerald green eyes started back at him. They were beautiful and as dormant as the rose bushes in his mother's garden. He had never seen the eyes of a living person look so dead.

Grace stared at the stranger before her. He was tall and his presence was strong. His blonde hair was disheveled and his brown eyes studied her and held her transfixed. He had a beautiful horse. He carried himself well atop such a fine stallion. The stranger's voice broke through her thoughts.

"Miss is everything alright?"

His voice sounded like smooth chocolate and burning embers. It was a mixture of rough and smooth. It was a masculine voice which bespoke of authority. Still holding his gaze Grace opened her mouth to speak before a sense of self preservation seemed to grab a hold of her as she realized the stranger had left the top of his stallion and meant to approach her, and she bolted as fast as she could back to the estate. Grace expected the sound of hoof beats to follow her, but none ever came. She had made it back to the estate unscathed.

Lady Amelia Matlock sat down at the breakfast table and regarded her youngest Richard, who at the moment was staring pensively out the window. If he wasn't careful he was going to resemble his cousin Fitzwilliam Darcy before he'd met the wonderful woman, Elizabeth, who became his wife. Richard was not quite the same after he'd returned from France and despite being retired from the Army now he still looked battered and bruised. This morning he looked like he hadn't slept at all.

"Are you alright Richard?" murmured Lady Amelia before taking a sip of earl grey. Lady Amelia Fitzwilliam always attempted to present a calm disposition while inquiring after instances which gave her great worry. For her children, all her children, meant a great deal to her and it gave her great pain to see one of her flesh and blood so wounded and so clearly in an immense amount of turmoil. While it may never have been expressed it was fact that Richard was by far her favorite child and to see him look as he did now did not sit well with her.

Richard turned slightly towards his mother. "I'm perfectly alright, why wouldn't I be?"

"You look tired."

Turning back to the window Richard sighed. Of course he didn't look well. He'd woken up in a cold sweat the night before. He dreamt every night about his time fighting Napoleon. He could still hear the screams of agony and smell the blood soaking into the earth. Every time he closed his eyes he could see the tangled and detached limbs of the fallen. He remembered the look on the faces of dead men whose mouths still hung open in silent screams and who's eyes had never closed but still registered the shock and brief pain of being wounded before falling down to the earth to die. It was those nights that he wondered on horseback through the countryside trying to regain some semblance of normal.

It was during his ride last night that he'd met the mysterious vision. He had been shocked and he wondered if he had actually seen the redhead who looked as dead as the visions of the men in his dreams. She had bolted in terror when he'd tried to approach her and he'd been left standing dumbfounded as she slowly disappeared from view. He should have gone after her, but a feeling had come over him which prevented such folly. She obviously wanted solitude.

"Richard, remember we are to call on Lord and Lady MacKenna today."

Richard nodded towards his mother in acknowledgement and left the breakfast room. He quickly made way to his room to compose a letter to his cousin and esteemed friend Fitzwilliam Darcy before he was to depart with his mother to the humble estate of Lord and Lady MacKenna. It was fair to acknowledge that Mr. Darcy was more like a brother to him and perhaps it would do him good to remove himself to the good company of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy of Pemberley. It was clear that he was upsetting his mother which only made his illness of mind more difficult to suppress.

Lady Amelia furrowed her brow and let out a deep sigh. She turned towards Lord Matlock who had just seated himself and exclaimed "Something is not right with Richard."

Lord Henry looked at his dear wife in surprise. "I'm not sure I understand you my dear."

Lady Amelia was not surprised the her husband had failed to notice Richard's disposition. It was not that he did not love Richard, but he always seemed to favor their daughter, Lady Emily. Taking another sip of her tea she leveled her husband with a stare and stated plainly "Have you not noticed a change in Richard since his return from France?"

Henry smiled and patted his wife's hand. "My dear, you concern yourself overtly with Richard's affairs. Richard is seven and twenty and can nigh take care of himself. He does not need us surrounding ourselves with his business. Whatever demons ail our dear Richard he will be able to conquer on his own."

Looking askance at her husband Lady Amelia cried, "How can you be so unfeeling when one of our children clearly needs our aide!"

In truth Henry was not blind to the change in his son's disposition. In fact, he had noticed very acutely the darkness that seemed to surround his youngest. It gave him pause and in turn a great deal of concern. Perhaps, it was not the wisest course to present the appearance to his wife that he was indifferent. "Amelia" he murmured "I apologize for misleading you. I am well aware of the change in Richard. However, I don't think there is much to be done until which time Richard decides to confide in us. "

Amelia was faced with the wisdom of her husband's words however much it pained her. It was with a sigh of despair and a loving look at her husband that she took pleasure when he raised her hand to his lips and murmured "Dear heart how I love thee."

Richard and his mother Lady Amelia had arrived at the MacKenna estate and had been settled into the drawing room for nigh an hour, partaking in tea and scones, before Richard began to lose interest in the conversation of lace and the gossip of the ton. It was this predicament which found Richard again staring silently out the window. How he longed for some peace from his personal hell. It was a wonder he still managed to remain alert some days, as sleep continued to elude him most proficiently. He had seen so much and yet, at times, it felt as if he had not left the battlefield.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam….Colonel Fitzwilliam". Richard turned suddenly, being shaken from his reverie by the soft Irish lilt of Lady MacKenna.

"I apologize, Madame. My mind seems to be wandering elsewhere."

"It would appear so. Perhaps, you would enjoy a turn in the gardens," suggested Lady MacKenna.

With a quick bow towards his mother and Lady MacKenna Richard made an exit from the drawing room and proceeded towards the garden. However, Richard had only preceded a few steps before he was assailed by a soft voice and the melancholy ministrations of the piano.

" Oh come, Oh come, Emmanuel
To free your captive Israel
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear
Rejoice, rejoice, Oh Israel
To you shall come Emmanuel

Oh come, Thou Rod of Jesse, free
Thine own from Satan's tyranny
From depths of Hell Thy people save
And give them victory o'er the grave…*"

At the creaking sound of the door and the click of footsteps Grace's fingers stumbled on the keys and her voice caught and her breathing became labored as she feared to turn around and see who had disturbed her seclusion.

"Please forgive me for disturbing your playing, but I heard your voice and…."

Whirling around at the sound of his voice Richard came face to face with the young woman whom he had encountered on his nightly rambling. In the light of day her hair was a deep red and her eyes were still a startling emerald shade of mystery. Her lips were full and she possessed a pleasing figure. Realizing the impropriety of the situation Richard gave a small bow and introduced himself, "Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam."

When the lady made no immediate move to return the favor of introductions Richard feared he had perhaps done something to offend her. He had made the decision to turn on his heel and leave so as not to prolong the awkwardness of the situation when he was halted by the musical sound of her voice.

"I am Grace MacKenna, Colonel. Please excuse my poor manners."

*O Come Emmanuel is a translation of a Latin Hymn. The origins of the hymn are unclear, but it is believed to be 8th or 12th century. The version I used for inspiration was from Enya and it appears on her album And Winter Came.