Disclaimer: I own nothing, and borrowed these characters to play with them for a little while.
Author's Note: Written with picture of Jeremy Northam as Knightley and Gwyneth Paltrow as Emma Woodhouse, now Knightley.
George Knightley rode into the courtyard alone after six weeks away on business.
The original plan had been to adjourn to London for just a month. Emma was to accompany him and spend some time with her sister, his brother and their children whilst he completed business. But a sudden illness on her behalf and renewed complaints from Mr Woodhouse had seen him depart for London alone.
He'd been obliged to stay another fortnight on a sudden pressing business matter, but in doing so, he had hopefully put off his next visit for a little while longer. It had been with a heavy heart that he had written his Emma and advised her of the protracted stay.
He had not spent more than four days away from his wife since their wedding prior and felt her absence keenly, both in his bed and in her presence throughout the day, and was thankful that he was returning on the eve of their one year anniversary. To miss such a occasion would have been heartbreaking.
Speaking of his golden haired loved one, she wasn't there to greet him as was the norm.
Removing his hat, he stepped into the hall. Nodding at the housekeeper, he enquired as the house's residents. His father-in-law had taken to his room, and he was advised that he could find Mrs Knightley in the morning parlour room. He thought the servant's smile peculiar as she took his hat and coat, but quickly dismissed it as he made for the desired room.
Standing at the door, his mouth was open in anticipation of speaking until he saw that his wife was asleep.
Emma Knightley lay on her side, one hand pillowed under her cheek, the other resting upon the light blanket draped upon her form. The sun fell in such a pleasing way, dappled rays decorating her in such a way that she seemed to glow.
Stepping further into the room, remaining as quiet as he possibly could, he felt his love for her deep within as he smiled at her form. Easing down onto the edge of the chaise, he brushed a stray curl from her forehead. Sliding his hand to cup her neck, he pressed a soft kiss to her brow.
She came slowly awake, a soft moan escaping her lips as her eyes opened. His thumb caressed her cheek as her eyes focussed on him. "Knightley," she whispered in recognition.
"Emma," he said, his eyes looking into the sleepy eyes of hers.
His young wife struggled upright then. The blanket trapped beneath his legs, it fell away from her form as she rose. Whatever he was going to say next never came to be as the sight of his wife at that point in time rendered him speechless.
Beneath the light green fabric of her dress there was a pronounced swell.
"Emma…" he breathed as his hand moved of its own volition to cup her swollen abdomen. Her hand covered his then as her eyes glistened. "You are with child."
"Happy anniversary George."
His breath caught in his throat. His wife only called him that when it was a truly momentous occasion. He spread his fingers reverently over her swell as his free hand cupped her cheek. She covered his hand with hers.
"Emma…" he repeated. At a loss for words, he showed his love for her and his joy at the news in the most elemental way by pressing his lips to hers and kissing her deeply.
Making love in their bed that night after a six week absence was all the more precious for the child that Emma now carried, a product of their mutual lasting devotion.
Finito.