A/N: Yes, it's me again, and yes, I am still alive. I know I haven't written anything for ages now, but I seem to work best under pressure, when I don't have much time and know I should be doing something else. Now that I have holidays (ie. hours of free time), I seem to have zilch inspiration and motivation.
But after a couple more rewatches of the new mini-series (which everyone should watch now!), I got the idea for this. This will probably be around three chapters or so. Please review and tell me what you think!
So Much the More Enchanting
Chapter One – Not Speaking It
'I do envy him, Emma. In one respect he is the object of my envy.' He met her eyes then almost for the first time in their conversation, as if trying to gauge her thoughts. She looked away quickly.
Emma could not trust herself to speak. She took a deep breath, trying to quell the sobs she could feel rising up in her throat, the sobs she was all too afraid she would not be able to contain if she heard him speak of his love for Harriet.
'I must tell you what you will not ask,' he continued, his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides as he spoke, 'though I may wish it unsaid the next moment.'
The words burst out of her spontaneously. 'Oh! then don't speak it, don't speak it!' She covered her face with a shaking hand, turning away. 'Take a little time, consider, do not commit yourself!'
He was silent for a long moment, but then nodded stiffly. 'Thank you,' he said quietly, and not another syllable followed.
They walked back to the house in silence, and she managed to sneak a few glances at his face on the way. What she saw almost broke her heart; dejection seemed written in the slump of his shoulders and the turn of his downcast eyes. His plans had probably met with a similar manner when he had confided them to John, and he was undoubtedly hurt at her lack of support for his choice. She could not bear to give him pain, but she was selfish and cowardly. She could and would do anything for him, anything but listen as he confided his love for another. She had not the strength for hearing the confirmation of that heart-crushing truth.
They reached the door. 'You are going in, I suppose,' he said, his voice sounding rather hollow.
She nodded, unable to meet his eyes. 'I am.'
And so she did, after they had muttered subdued goodbyes and parted. She could see him through the window of the entrance hall, his tread heavy, kicking a stray pebble from the gravel path as he walked. It was all she could do to make it to the secluded safety of her room before the dam broke and the floods of tears which had been building up inside her were released.
Life in Highbury continued to go on around Emma. She still met with Harriet, although rather more seldom than formerly; she still visited Mrs. Weston, who was nearing her confinement; she still tried now and then to visit the poor and give them what relief she could.
Not everything was the same. Emma was making sure of that: she would go regularly to visit Miss Bates, determined to be a genuine friend to her instead of conferring her visits with the idea that she was doing the lady a great favour. It made her ashamed to think of what her behaviour had been before, and even though Miss Bates, in the excellence of her heart, never alluded to it, and indeed, appeared to have really forgotten it, it was always in the back of Emma's mind, and it only made her more determined to do what was right.
She was also continuing in her efforts to make friends with Jane Fairfax, and those efforts were now being met with equal acceptance and eagerness on the other side. They had early apologised to one another, Emma for her behaviour of the past several years, and Jane for hers of the past several weeks. However, despite all her endeavours, sometimes when she saw how happy Miss Fairfax was, when she saw her face light up at the sight of her beloved, when she saw in her eyes the contented glow of loving and being loved in return, some part of Emma envied and resented her just as much as ever.
She fully understood Mr. Knightley's sentiments when he had told her that he envied Mr. Churchill's situation. It was hard to witness such happiness when one knew that one's own love was unrequited and hopeless. Of course Mr. Knightley's love was no such thing, and a few words from Emma could have cleared up his problems, but she could not bring herself to do it. She could not take even the smallest step towards assisting that match.
Mr. Knightley had also changed. He did not come to Hartfield nearly as often as he had used to, and he had taken to bowing in greeting when he did see her. He had known her all her life, and she had always thought that they were beyond such formalities. She often had to fight back tears as she curtsied to him in return, the gesture feeling clumsy, awkward. She wished she could put things right between them, apologise for not letting him speak that day; however, that seemed to be inviting him to continue the conversation she had cut off, and she did not think she could stand that.
Her thoughts were never far from wandering in this direction, and such introspection made her noticeably quieter. At first the Westons had worried that despite her claims of indifference she really had been hurt by Frank, but their minds were soon set at rest as they saw the perfectly easy way the two conversed together on the occasions when he was able to visit from Richmond.
Although she was far from happy, Emma had achieved a sort of uneasy acceptance of her life. A few weeks had passed since he had returned from London, and Mr. Knightley was still single, and as far as she knew from what she could glean from either him or Harriet, matters were not yet progressing to the stage where they would come to a head. If things would only remain that way, then she might hold out hope that Harriet's affections would transfer themselves elsewhere in the interim.
However, there remained one major problem which she could not do away with; and that was that Mr. Knightley was so kind and considerate towards everyone that he, unlike Mr. Elton, would do absolutely nothing to assist the cure.
