Chapter Text
As Knightley and Jane Fairfax’s duet drew to a close, he once more looked around the room with the intent of finding Emma’s gaze. It troubled him now that they had not resolved their earlier quarrel, and he found it irked him each time he found her engaged in conversation with Frank Churchill. Emma and Mr Knightley’s eyes met, hers seemed to glisten in the glow of the candlelight while his creased into a soft frown. Almost as quickly as they made eye contact, Emma dabbed her gloves to her eyes and he watched as she turned on her heels, ignoring Mr Churchill’s outstretched hand of concern, and hurried from the room.
Emma’s heart raced as she hastened to find her escape, her eyes so blurry that she struggled to see where she was going. Her mind raced with the intensity of her emotion - she hoped to God he hadn’t seen her before she turned. Moving slowly enough so as not to alarm those around her, but fast enough to evade contact, she made a beeline for a huge set of windows left slightly ajar in the far corner of the room. Smiling and nodding at the other guests as she glided past, Emma finally reached the huge doors and slipped discreetly between them and onto the balcony, her heart pounding. Now stood next to the old, white stoned balustrade that overlooked the grounds, Emma rested her hands on her corset and lifted her head up to the darkened sky to feel the breeze blow across her face. Sniffing in the most unladylike manner in the feeble attempt to regain composure, she was faced with the crushing weight of her emotions - the realisation that she was completely in love with Knightley had hit her so quickly, it almost seemed laughable to her. Her own ignorance of her emotions was incredible.
Her constant pensiveness over the last fortnight, her concern for his good opinion and her upset when she did not receive it, all were testament to her blossoming feelings for Knightley. Her Knightley, she thought. The idea of him belonging to anyone else brought the taste of bile to her throat, especially Jane Fairfax, someone that caused her such unashamed jealously. She wanted him to love her and only her, as she did him. She realised that these feelings had most likely been developing for some time, masked as friendship, respect and loyalty. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to be looking at his face, to convince him to forget his scolding her earlier. She knew she would have him in any way she could, lover or friend, she only desired his good opinion of her, no matter the cost to her own feelings. How naive she had been!
Laughing softly to herself, she wiped her eyes, smoothed her dress and turned to re-enter the drawing-room before she was missed by anyone.
“Miss Woodhouse,” Frank Churchill was striding towards her, she could see his face dimly lit by the candlelight of the room he stepped from.
“Mr Churchill, what brings you outside?” Emma replied. Her voice was tinged with the surprise of his sudden appearance, while her face did little to disguise her thinly veiled disappointment that who she really wished to see remained safely inside.
“I noticed your hurried withdrawal from the room and hoped to inquire after your welfare.”
“Very noble of you, sir, but I simply found the room to be too stuffy.”
“Naturally.” Frank Churchill’s brief expression of concern had now evolved into that of a subtle teasing smile. “I too found the entertainment to be incredibly tedious. Such insufferable droning.”
“Oh come now, it was not so terrible.”“On the contrary, I believe it was! If I may say so, Jane Fairfax seems to have very little talent. Her piano playing leaves much to be desired.” Emma found herself stunned by his words - Jane Fairfax, talentless? Indeed, she did not much care for the woman - less so upon seeing how well acquainted the woman was becoming with her Knightley - but her talent was undeniable!
“I am shocked indeed, sir! I cannot say for one moment that I agree.” Emma began to bristle, but after catching sight of Mr Churchill’s now fully-extended grin, she relaxed. “You are too cruel, Mr Churchill. Surely you know better than to trick a lady.” she smiled.
“Yes, yes - I am a scoundrel I know. But has it not successfully diverted you from your preoccupation?”
“Ha! — indeed it has, you are quite right.” Emma laughed. He was right, her bewilderment at his abrupt judgment of the performance had quite distracted her from her brooding.
“See, I suppose we scoundrels have a use after all, wouldn’t you agree?” Frank Churchill offered Emma his arm, she moved to take it and return to the drawing-room. She smiled up at him gratefully, but before they could move an inch, Mr Knightley appeared in the doorway. She thought she saw him frown slightly at hers and Mr Churchill’s joined arms, but as quickly as she saw it, the expression disappeared. A foolish notion, she chided herself.
“Ah Miss Woodhouse, there you are,” said Knightley, addressing Emma but looking directly at Mr Churchill.
“I wondered where you had wandered off to. Was our performance quite so unendurable?”, he now focused his eyes to Emma. She felt her heart thump, almost painfully, in her chest at his gaze and her stomach dropped. Again, she was struck by how many times she must’ve gazed into these gorgeous blue eyes before now; in anger, in annoyance, in jest.
“Emma?” Knightley was looking curiously at her, she realised. Emma looked between him and Mr Churchill in an apparent loss for words.
“I think I shall head inside to speak to my father if you’ll excuse me, Miss Woodhouse,” Mr Churchill dropped Emma’s arm and bowed first to her, and then to Knightley, who responded with a courteous incline of the head.
“Mr Churchill.”, he greeted.
Emma and Knightley watched as he strode back through the open doors and was quickly enveloped by the warm glow of the room inside.
“Emma, what on earth are you doing out here?”, asked Mr Knightley, his voice almost stern, “People are missing you.”
Emma’s heart fluttered. Even his lecturing, it seemed, could not stop her emotions, she thought.
“My apologies. I did not mean to offend so, I wished only to breathe the night air for a moment.”
“All is well, then?” he inquired.
“Yes.”
“I see.”
The unusualness of their conversation hung in the air around them. Desperate for the awkwardness to pass, they both began to speak at once:
“Emma, I—“ “I am sor—“
“Please, continue,” Knightley said graciously. Emma turned to walk back along the length of the balcony, nervously gesturing for bim to follow. Nodding his head slightly and with his hands clasped behind his back, he fell into step alongside her. Together they dipped in and out of the light as they passed each of the great windows to the drawing-room.
“I simply wished to apologise for my behaviour lately.”, she began.
“Apologise?”
“You know. I seem to have been more unbearable to you than ever. You are right to scold me as you do.”.
There was a brief pause. Emma found she could not bring herself to look at him. She only hoped this would remedy his poor opinion of her for the moment, for she now could think of nothing worse than their being at odds with each other. He stopped walking, forcing her to halt in unison.
“Emma, you must know that my earlier chastising...I wished only to bring you out of your reverie, forgive me if I implied any anger, for there was none behind it.”
“Oh, is that so?” Emma smiled at him.
“Yes,” Knightley replied, in his usual matter-of-fact way. “Now, may we stop this silliness and resume our friendship?”
“Hmm. Let me think.” Emma held her chin mischievously and pretended to ponder his suggestion as though it were the most complicated of philosophies.“Ahh, no. I daresay we cannot, sir.”, she replied with mock-seriousness, her eyes glinting. Knightley smiled and looked away quickly, before meeting her eyes once more and sighing in a long-suffering manner.
“And why is that, may I ask?”
Emma hesitated, her heart suddenly squeezing. Although she had only been teasing Knightley, there was suddenly that underlying tension again, for she knew that there was truth to her words. No, she did not wish for them to remain only friends, she wished to be able to call him something infinitely dearer.
“I am afraid we are unable to remain friends, for you are far too good of a musician that I shall pale by comparison!”, she tried to laugh off her hesitation. For now, she thought, she would have to settle for his friendship.
“Oh, well, we cannot have that,” Knightley teased, breathing a sigh of relief. While he knew she was back to her old self and only jesting, the thought the idea of her rejecting his friendship … well, unthinkable.
“Emma? Emma?”, the voices of Mrs Weston and her husband floated outside.
“There you are!” Mr Weston called loudly, obviously slightly intoxicated.
“My dear, we worried where you had got to! Come inside, what are you doing outside in this chill?” Mrs Weston beckoned her from the door. The pair laughed and Knightley offered Emma his arm.
“Shall we?” He smiled and escorted her back inside.