Chapter One: Mr. Waterweed's Dilemma
Disclaimer: I do not own Emma.
The light glistened on the window; it seemed to be dancing like a divine waltz. Its loveliness surpassed any Greek or Latin phrase, which peered out like specter's eyes from the book page in front of her. Emma thought of real waltzes and dances that she would be able attend once grew older. For now she was detained in her father's house, while her sister enjoyed of the pleasantries of life, and had men court her form nearly every neighboring district. Emma sighed vivaciously at the contemplation of growing up but was for to attempt to read her foreign phrases. Yet, the act was impossible, for her mind had been completely consumed by the idea of balls, courtship, and marriage.
She didn't understand why she should learn Greek or Latin. She had no desire to travel to Greece, and it was her understanding that the Romans were quite dead, and Latin was no longer spoken. It is the language of scholars. She thought, and I certainly have no desire to become knowledgeable. It is not as if, after all, I could take such an occupation that requires that I learn such idioms.
Emma glanced up at Mr. Waterweed, her tutor, who was sitting slouched in his seat. He was not a disagreeable looking individual. Without his thin half-moon spectacles, and his ill-fitting garments, he could be, slightly, pleasant to look at. Yet, Mr. Waterweed was, like many plain men, single. Yet, Emma thought speedily, if he became attached to a woman, and (God willing) married such a person, she (Emma) would no longer possess a teacher, and therefore not have to continue these ghastly studies. Emma smiled to herself, her rosy cheeks pinking from her quickened thoughts.
"Mr. Waterweed," Emma said steadily, riding from her seat, clutching her book. "The Thornton's are having a ball next fortnight, and I was just wondering if you were to attend."
Mr. Waterweed looked up with sudden astonishment, obviously taken aback by her abrupt questioning. "Indeed, I am not sure Miss Woodhouse, I am aware of the fact, but an appropriate partner to such an occasion has not yet made herself known to me."
"My sister would be available," Emma said, "But she has already been asked by nearly a dozen young gentlemen, and has been unbearable anxious by uncertainness of who she should accept. If you added your proposal as well, I fear she would suffer mental injury. Although, it is spectacular to know that you are loved, is it not Mr. Waterweed?"
"Absolutely," Mr. Waterweed replied, after a few moments of awkward silence. "I wouldn't dare imagine asking your sister Miss Woodhouse."
"You would not?" Emma said, "What, pray, is wrong with you?" she questioned in mock severity, "Is she not beautiful enough for you? Many say they have never witnessed a lovelier woman. Or does she speak to little? Some say I converse too much, but I believe speech is an excellent attribute to a woman. Wait, I know what is troubling you." Emma's brow lowered, although she was laughing inwardly at the reddening of Mr. Waterweed's cheeks. "Her bosom is not nearly large enough. Indeed, I have heard women speak of it. She is the size of a small child, only slightly larger than I, and I am not yet twelve years old."
Mr. Waterweed's mouth opened and closed mutely for a few moments before he was able to stutter, "That is indeed not why I will not ask you sister to the ball!"
Emma was shocked at the brutality of his tone; she had thought her idea reasonable. "Also," Mr. Waterweed continued. "I am currently attracted to another woman!" As soon as the words had exited his mouth, it was obvious from his face that he wished he had not said a syllable. Emma's eyes brightened happily. He has formed an attachment! It is obvious that he will not tell me who it is, but I will discover her identity, and if I may, nuptials will occur!