Chapter Text
Emma could not help but observe that the weather had turned out very fine.
Which made her all the more regretful for missing out on the picnic. But she could not possibly leave her father until he had calmed his nerves and risen from his bed.
What sort of daughter would she be to abandon him in his distress?
The morning was long, but by the afternoon Mr. Woodhouse was recovered enough to journey downstairs for tea.
Emma, despite her best efforts, had made scant progress on her book.
But had managed to retain enough information that she felt confident she could at least catch Mr. Knightley out at his game.
She had also spent a good bit of time trying to recall the exact titles of the other books he had used to tempt her into arguments.
And to Emma's chagrin she could account for no less than half a dozen times which she had apparently taken his bait.
It really was most ungentlemanly of him.
Perhaps the most ungentlemanly thing she could ever recollect him doing.
Any ire she felt over his manipulations was lost under an new sort of excitement that tingled at her fingertips and warmed her belly.
It was odd indeed, Emma realized, that interactions which would have previously caused a rise in her temper were now met with anticipation and warmth.
With her new insight at the forefront of her mind she took greater care than usual in choosing her dress for dinner.
Emma could admit to herself, though she would never do so to Mr. Knightley, that she did possess some vanity about her form and figure.
She knew she was handsome, she knew men found her attractive for more than just her fortune. But though she always dressed to look her best she had never done so with the intent of attracting male attention.
Today, she set out to look her best, not because she felt best when she did so, but because she wanted George Knightley to notice, and possibly to throw him off his stride.
With that in her mind she chose a rose pink dress that she always thought suited her complexion very well, and that, on the first occasion she had worn it, had caused Mr. Knightley to walk into a table.
At the time she had teased him for his clumsiness, but now she suspected his distraction was the result of the gown's neckline, which gracefully danced the line of elegant and immodest, without straying into the territory of the latter.
Armored in her dress and armed with her new knowledge of Cambridgeshire's granaries. She awaited Mr. Knightley's arrival with an anxiety she had never felt before.
Emma took her time examining the feeling, as it was an odd combination of both exhilaration and dread.
Coward that she was, she counseled herself that should she and Jane both be incorrect in their assessments of Mr. Knightley's feelings she was not giving too great of an insight into her own affections.
At length she espied Mr. Knightley's form striding across the lawn towards Hartfield House and took a moment to consider her positioning.
Oftentimes, to present an image of a well accomplished young woman, upon his approach she would rush the piano-forte and take up in the middle of a song or chose a book and present the appearance of engrossment.
But Emma knew that, truthfully, she was neither a great musician nor great reader, and thus decided to be as honest to herself as she could. So, with some deliberation, she seated herself at a writing desk to add details to a drawing of Randalls she had begun as a gift to Mrs. Weston.
When Mr. Knightley entered the house he handed off his coat and hat to the footman and then joined her in the drawing room, but he seemed more agitated than was his usual manner.
And she was honestly disappointed when he did not seem to take notice of her or her choice of dress.
"Mr. Knightley, you seem in poor spirits..." She finally broached attempting to break him of his mood.
The gentleman, immediately sought to correct his behavior.
"Forgive me, Emma. I am being unpardonably rude. I hope your father is recovered and will be joining us?"
With that he finally gave her the full weight of his attention, and she could see the moment he did so.
It was highly gratifying to see his breath catch and to observe his eyes darken as they studied her figure.
"He is in a much better state than this morning, but despite how much I wish I could have joined the picnic today, I am not sorry to have kept him company. Indeed he retired early this evening and I fear we shall be dining on our own. If that is acceptable to you sir?"
She watched his face as she spoke, his relief at her father's recovery was clear, but at her mention of the picnic his features clouded with... anger?
It was not an expression often found upon the face off George Knightley.
Even at his most frustrated with her she could recall him being truly angry.
"By your expression I take it that the picnic was not all it should have been?" She asked, but noted, "That or the thought of dining with me is displeasing..."
Mr. Knightley swiftly assured her his pique was a result of the former and not the latter.
"A man would be a great fool to decline such an invitation, and I hope Emma, you do not count me as such!"
"No indeed, but until dinner is ready and I can make good on my promise of it, perhaps you would wish to unburden yourself of whatever thoughts have you so put out." She offered.
Emma and Mr. Knightley had talked of many, many things in their long friendship. From subjects as weighty as philosophy and theology, to light and airy interests such as the shifting fashions of clothing and music. They talked, too often for her tastes, of farming and, too little, of his duties as a magistrate. But though these conversations were passionate, stimulating, and at times infuriating, they were never really intimate in this manner.
More than leaving the nursery, putting her hair up, or entering society, Emma felt in this moment she was defining herself not as a young girl to be tended or as a friend to be taught, but as a gentlewoman of equal station and status as he.
And yet, to Emma, despite this weighty implication the exchange felt utterly natural.
His mind was troubled and she was happy to help him calm it. If only by allowing him to speak his concerns aloud to her.
To Emma's surprise he sat upon the chair nearest the desk where she was situated and proceeded to oblige her.
"The day started well, excepting the absence of certain persons..." He nodded his head in acknowledgement to her and she felt a lance of satisfaction through her chest that her absence should have made his day anything less than 'well.'
And he continued to describe what, by all accounts, sounded as lovely an afternoon as one could hope for. Until-
"-but it was soured by thoughtless words and wounded feelings."
Emma frowned.
"No wounds for yourself I hope?" she asked, thinking on their conversation the previous day.
Mr. Knightley gave her an odd sort of glance from the side, but he said with a soft smile, "I can assure you that there was no one present who would be capable of wounding me. And, as I have had your own recent promise of keeping me from injury, I believe I am quite safe."
The insinuation that only she could cause him harm did not go unnoticed. Emma had to wonder if she had, however unknowingly, caused him injury before.
"May I ask who was wounded then? And who the assailant?" Safer to keep to the topic of the picnic, she thought.
"Miss Bates was the most direct cut, but I am sure the injury was felt by Miss Fairfax as well. As for the assailant there was some blame to be spread about, chiefly in my opinion to be laid at the feet of Mr. Churchill, but neither Mr. nor Mrs. Elton can be absolved of guilt either."
They had talked of the faults and improper actions of others before, but to Emma this felt less like a lesson and more like a confidence.
Foolish, stupid Frank.
What had he said or done in his quest to keep his secret?
"Though I will be the last to defend that woman, I cannot think Mrs. Elton would seek to injure Miss Fairfax, as she takes a great interest in her." She ventured, thinking on the sobbing Jane Fairfax whom she had comforted the day before.
That was probably the most generous thing she had ever said of Augusta Elton.
"As for Mr. Churchill," Mr. Knightley seemed to hold his breath awaiting her judgment, his blue eyes sharp. "You have yourself noted, many times, he thinks little of how his actions might be received by others. But this is the first I have heard of so obviously cruel behavior. I do hope it is an anomaly and pray he return to his usual thoughtlessness."
And that was the most stridently she had ever spoken of Frank Churchill's actions.
"Your thoughts do you credit, but I fear they are too kind to the parties at fault Emma." Mr. Knightley commented.
For a moment Emma pondered his use of her Christian name. She knew that it was not necessarily a sign of intimacy, but more so of familiarity. Now she found herself remarkably aware of how much she wanted it to be borne from intimacy.
She wished to be Emma because she was a woman he held in high regard, not because he had known her since infancy.
For her own part she searched the whole of her memory and knew he had always been Mr. Knightley.
But suddenly, with great fervor, she wanted him to be George.
"Mr. Churchill cut Miss Bates most egregiously, and Mrs Elton only added insult to injury." He stood up suddenly and paced back and forth across the room. "To his great credit Mr. Weston attempted to smooth over the offense, but then Mr. Elton deigned to come to his wife's defense..."
Mr. Knightley ran a ran over his face, clearly perturbed.
"Miss Bates, who is so good, who is so reliant upon others, to be stripped down in such a manner-" he paced the floor in his agitation.
"Is there any possibility she was at least unaware of the slight?" Emma ventured, for though Miss Bates was a very good sort of person, she was equal parts silly and oblivious.
Mr. Knightley let out a sigh, "Would that she were so! As it was Frank Churchill's meaning as well as Mrs. Elton's were felt and understood keenly." His face was so dejected that Emma felt moved to sorrow herself.
Emma rose to meet him and, feeling bold, took his hands in her own.
"Let us hope that Mr. Churchill and the Elton's will be moved to make amends for their actions." Given her knowledge of Jane Fairfax's agreement with Mr. Churchill she thought this was likely already being planned by the gentleman. She had less hope for the Elton's.
"Yesterday at the Abbey I invited Miss Fairfax to join me fore tea at Hartfield tomorrow, perhaps I should extend the invitation to Miss Bates as well."
Mr. Knightley looked at her incredulously.
"You invited Jane Fairfax for tea?" His voice was colored with disbelief, but the corners of his mouth lifted as he studied her.
Emma merely gave an exaggerated sniff as she turned up her nose at him.
"Considering the number of times she has been suggested to me as a companion you cannot disapprove..."
He replied that he did not in anyway disapprove, but he appeared to be trying to puzzle her out. "I must admit to curiosity at what has affected this change of heart."
"Perhaps Mr. Knightley, I am attempting to better myself to meet the standard that you so often tout before me." She quipped playfully, but then looked up at him earnestly, "I know I struggle to do so given my proclivity towards vanity and contrariness, but I hope my behavior does not shame our friendship."
Her heart thrilled as he turned her hands over and now gripped them in his.
"You lay too much credit at my feet Emma, I am sure you would have been equally offended on behalf of Miss Bates, and even Miss Fairfax, though you might pretend otherwise."
They were so close, surely closer then they had ever been before.
Emma was acutely aware of the absence of her father or any sort of chaperone.
She couldn't think of any other time in her life she had truly considered needing one. But suddenly she was aware of how very close they were, how very alone they were.
"I am gratified that you think so well of me." She managed to say. His hands were so large and warm. She could feel the light rasp of calluses along them, reminding her that he was a man who took the overseeing of his estate very seriously and very personally.
How many hours did he spend mounted upon his horse, riding the paths of his property, helping his tenants, bettering the futures of all who relied upon him?
"Emma, surely you know, surely you are aware, there is no one equal you."
She could feel a blush burning its way across her cheeks.
"Mr. Knightley, you are going to encourage the vanity which you have previously been so corrective of." She said with a grin.
He released one of her hands and moved as if to bring his hand to her face, then seemed to think better of it, and taking a step back from her dropped her other hand as well.
"Any conceit of yours is, to my mind, at least rooted in truth, where it grows from there I cannot always account for..." Though you may not always be correct Emma, do not think for a moment you are anything less than the cleverest and best woman of my acquaintance."
Emma allowed herself a rueful laugh.
"Sir now I will think you are unwell! For I know you are acquainted with Miss Jane Fairfax, whom we both know to be my superior in many faculties!"
Mr. Knightley's brow furrowed.
"Miss Fairfax is a sweet, lovely woman to be sure. She is quite accomplished and possesses an elegance many would envy. But she had faults of her own, just as you have many praiseworthy qualities to boast of."
Emma found herself desperate to hear these qualities, but only if Mr. Knightley was the one telling her of them.
Instead she found herself reminded of her concern for Jane.
What a wretched friend she was, so focused upon Mr. Knightley and his proximity that she neglected to ask more on the injuries to Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax!
She opened her mouth to ask Mr. Knightley more about the end of the ill fated outing, but the door to the parlor opened and she quickly stepped further away from him.
The footman who entered gave no indication that anything untoward was occurring, but informed them that it was time for dinner.