A/N: I probably should have put this note up on the first chapter, but I was lazy. In case you have not noticed, I dislike Frank Churchill, always have, always will. Even if he was played by Ewan McGregor. Sorry Frank fans. I also, while attempting to stay true to Austen, am not her, and cannot write in her style without making it sound contrived. Therefore, I write as best I can. Please review!
Chapter 2
There was a soft, insistent knocking at my door that woke me from my slumber.
"Who is there?" I whispered, pushing back my tangled soft sheets with a yawn. The light was just rising over the hills in the distance, my messy hair tumbled unbound down past my shoulders as I tip-toed across the cool wooden planks to the door.
I opened the door a crack to peer out, and was surprised to see my old friend standing there, his face like the grave.
"Mr. Knightley!" I cried with concern throwing open the door disregarding propriety that I was not properly dressed to see him in my night gown and with my hair down. It was his disturbed face that concerned me, not the gossip.
"Whatever is the matter?" I asked concerned, and resisted the strong urge to embrace him. I had never seen my friend so clearly upset, he usually hid his emotions well. It is one thing to show him this, it is entirely another to embrace him. My heart went out to him though, he looked positively miserable.
He paused for a few moments before putting his hand in his pocket an uncharacteristic gesture on his part. With a small smile he replied, "Nothing is the matter Emma, I have business matters to attend to and will be unable to make breakfast with you and your family this morning I fear." He pulled out a sealed envelope and offered it to me.
"I had hoped you would read this though, after you eat." He said solemnly, and his eyes were missing their usual gaiety and chased by dark circles indicating a sleepless night.
"I do not believe you! Something is wrong!" I returned upset he would not tell me the truth.
A ghost of his smile returned, though I suspected it was only for my benefit, "Trust me Emma, there is nothing you can do about it." He continued to look down though.
Why not now? Why can't you just tell me?
As if he'd read my mind, he smiled, his brilliant smile, that showed only when he was about to tease me, "Patience is a virtue Emma, you should work on that." He grasped my hand and brought it to his lips to kiss me, something he'd only done once before at my social ball years before.
He is acting so strange.
The shadow fell over his face again as he paused to look at me, "Do take care of yourself my dear." His voice cracked, and before I could stop him, his thick autumn cape snapped around and he was down the corridor with the door closing behind him.
Whatever is the matter with Mr. Knightley? He never writes me letters to hand deliver them…
I turned the thick creamy parchment over in my hand, it smelled of anise, smoke and oak wood and brought to mind Donwell where he had no doubt written it. I was sorely tempted to open it, but Mr. Knightley always had good reasons for his requests, and so I laid down the missive with its strong yet elegant "Emma" scrawled across the front in thick black letters.
Not feeling sleepy I began my usual morning ablutions, but not without looking at his letter ever few minutes. I wanted so badly to open it, I almost felt like I needed to.
"Patience is a virtue Emma, you should work on that." His voice came into my mind as I picked up the letter to turn it over again, the thick brown sealing wax embossed with "G.E.K." and three acorns adorned it.
Simple and powerful. Just like Mr. Knightley.
I put the letter down. I would obey his wishes. I called for Bessie, and she helped me with the last of my stays and boots. Her mindless chatter was calming.
"…You know I swear something has gotten into the water at Donwell, old Harry was dancing a jig last Saturday during the harvest party-and he is nearly seventy and six years of age!" she brushed my hair skillfully, and then moved on to the curling iron. "..and just this morning both Mr. Knightleys came by ever so briefly to say they would miss breakfast and likely lunch as well today. I daresay Mr. Woodhouse should be upset even with his cold he wished to have a family lunch today with everyone-"
For yes, things were a bit topsy-turvy during this visit from Isabella and John, they came virtually unannounced late yesterday evening, but because father was ill they decided to stay at Donwell so he could rest this morning.
My mind registered what Bessie had just said "Wait did you just say both Mr. Knightleys were to be gone?"
"Why yes I did Miss Emma, rather unusual don't you think? Your father was so looking forward to the luncheon too. He was even going to allow-"
Bessie did not finish her sentence though, because there was a loud commotion below stairs, and shouting.
"EMMA!" Isabella screamed at the top of her lungs. Thankfully with the exception of my hair, I was fully dressed, I grabbed the iron from Bessie and tossed it aside, flung open the door and dashed downstairs as fast my feet would carry me.
Isabella was in trouble, it must be one of the children, that would explain why the gentlemen had gone out.
"EMMA!" she cried again. I nearly fell on the last step as I rushed to my distraught sister. Her face was red and puffy from crying, streaked with tears. She clasped a small wrinkled parchment, "Emma you must stop him!" she cried and began sobbing into my shoulder.
"Shhhh.." I rubbed her back, "Whatever is the matter Isabella?" I whispered softly trying to soothe her, her petite body was wracked with violent sobs and I realized only that most dire of circumstances could be the cause of her panic.
My father came into the room in his dressing robe and night cap, "Whatever is going on?" he asked gruffly.
"George and John!" Isabella hiccupped through her tears, "they'll be killed!" her hysteria overwhelmed her, and I pried the note from her fist.
"My Dearest Isabella-
I regret that I must write this by note and not in person, but secrecy bound me. My brother and I upon learning of a certain gentleman's immoral designs on your sister have felt it necessary to demand satisfaction from him for his duplicity.
For Mr. Frank Churchill was already engaged when he asked Emma to marry him, and George would not stand for this ruination of Emma, so he has challenged him to a duel this very morning. I am to be his second. I am not worried for myself truly, but for George, while he is a good shot, and I do not expect to be needed, I do not know Frank Churchill's skill. It is very likely George might die, the Churchill family are known for their martial skills, you will remember the Duke of Marlborough…
I have attempted to dissuade George, but he will not be moved. He will defend Emma even if he dies for it, and as his brother I am bound to his side. I love you dearest, and the children so very much.
Pray that justice shall prevail at the ford this morning.
Your Truest Loving Husband-
John Knightley
I dropped the note in shock. Now it all makes sense, why he would not let you read his letter until you could not stop him.
I must read it now. My feet flew up the stairs.
Grasping the offending letter I ripped open the seal and feverishly read the lines which he had so carefully written.
"My Darling Emma Dear,
In the twenty-one years that I have watched you grow from a precocious child who knew more than her elders at times, to a stunningly accomplished young lady with a brilliant mind (hindered only by your self-opinion) I could not have asked for a better, truer friend.
These years have been the happiest of my life, and I thought as did many that things would continue on as they were for ever. You would stay at Hartfield, Mistress of it and your father's heart. I should be your confirmed bachelor friend, and like everything in Highbury nothing should touch this.
How very wrong I was.
Mr. Frank Churchill came in to tread all over Highbury and our wonderful patterns. I know that you love him my dear, and this is why I feel honor-bound to tell you this story in full, nomatter how much it may hurt you. You need and deserve the truth, and as you old friend I can give you nothing less.
A letter was received by your father not three nights past from one Mrs. Churchill, she was deeply concerned about a series of explicit letters she found among her nephews things at her house. Letters to a one Jane Fairfax spelling out their secret and long-standing engagement. Having heard from her brother Mr. Weston about his certain impending nuptials to yourself she was in horror, and wrote to remedy the situation immediately hoping to save you from any further heartbreak and Miss Fairfax from a dallier.
Your father in his deep concern sent for me, and showed me the letter, and I in turn decided it was necessary in these circumstances to do something I naturally abhor, I must challenge Mr. Churchill for your honor since it had been besmirched by his underhanded black dealings. Your honor is of greatest import to me Emma.
So I sent in urgency to my brother John for his counsel, and support, he responded in kind and arrived late the other evening. I was to tell you nothing of this initially and rather let it play out as God will have it, but my brother has played my conscience again.
For I have not been entirely honest with you my dear.
There is another reason I wish to challenge Frank Churchill.
I love you Emma.
You must be thinking me Bedlam-material, as of course, you love me too, as a friend loves another.
I don't love you as just as friend Emma, and I cannot tell you when my regard for our friendship somehow slipped into something more, and much much deeper.
I love you as a man loves a woman Emma, and if I loved you less perhaps I could explain it more, but I am not the romantic you wish, and actually a rather indifferent lover, having criticized more than praised you.
My only regret is that I wish I had not belatedly realized just how much you mean to me. While I doubt you would even consider a man such as I for you suitor, you must realize that I love you more than life itself and nothing you say today or tomorrow shall change that. Even if you wished never to speak with me again, my regard will not change.
So let me be plain with you, I do not want you pity, nor do I expect your love, what I do, I do as a gentleman should for a friend. All I ask is that if I should not live to see tomorrow, please remember me as your dearest companion and truest friend.
With all my love, your most steadfast friend-
George Elliot Knightley
"NO!" The scream of terror and agony that escaped from my mouth must have rent the gates of hell itself open, and I collapsed weeping as our friendship flashed before my eyes.
Him holding me when I stared at my mother's coffin at the young age of four.
George rescuing me from the lake, a dripping wet mischievous seven year old, even though I had pulled him in as well.
My childish attempts at comforting him after his father's untimely death when I was only eight and barely understood what death meant. The only time I had ever seen him shed a tear.
Teaching me how to play chess, even though he always beat me.
Him dancing with me when nobody else would at Isabella's wedding.
Planting the line of trees together behind Hartfield, as he painstakingly explained each one and what it's characteristics.
His utter refusal to attend my social coming-out ball, only to show up at my door with his carriage to escort me. Then, him asking me to dance despite protesting he did not like dancing.
Our fight over Harriet during archery practice.
My head spun.
The handshakes, the smiles, the witty retorts, the rescues, my tears, the rebukes, that funny feeling I got in my stomach these last few months when he looked at me.
I stood when I heard footsteps pounding up the stairs.
Good Lord.
I Emma Jane Woodhouse was in love with my best friend. The realization hit me like a wagon full of bricks, and I collapsed on the floor.
I closed my eyes and tried to breathe, when I heard his voice reading me his words, "I must challenge Mr. Churchill for your honor…"
He might die for me. The thought cut into me like a searing blade, and I doubled over as my stomach emptied itself all over the carpet.
The door opened. I didn't even note who it was as I pushed past, grabbing my brilliant red cape as I tore out of the house like the hounds of hell were after me. One thought drove me.
I must stop this duel.