A/N: I'm trying to update this one pretty much as fast as I can write it out. It shouldn't be too much longer than this – one chapter, maybe two more at the most.
Thank you so much to the people who reviewed: The Ashes Fan, c, TheBlackSister, Lia06, iambbq, SakuraCherryBlossem and batzmaru347 – it really made my day!
To those who've added it to alerts, but haven't reviewed yet, could you just take a moment to tell me what you think of it, pretty please? Anything you want: if you liked it, what specifically you liked, speculations about upcoming chapters, anything that felt not quite right to you, suggestions for improvement, insights into the characters, etc. I'd love to hear it!
Kudos to those who catch the North and South reference!
Chapter Two – No Doubt of a Return
It was at the dinner party the Westons held at Randalls on Churchill's last night in Highbury that he decided he could not stand it anymore.
The evening had begun well enough, with Emma and himself arriving at almost the same time, bantering about his use of a carriage and whether or not it enhanced his gentility. This was the Emma he knew, the Emma who had been his friend long before Churchill had arrived, the one who was not afraid to tease him, the one who could share a laugh with him. She had not changed; was it possible that she was not so much in love with Churchill as he had at first feared?
He had his answer when as soon as they were inside she went straight over to where Churchill was standing with Miss Bates and Jane Fairfax (who had arrived only the previous week), joining their little circle.
Mrs. Weston came to stand beside him, and followed his gaze to the party of young people who were standing with Miss Bates. 'Does Miss Fairfax not look well tonight, Mr. Knightley?' she asked.
'Hmm? Oh, yes, very well, I suppose.' He saw Emma laugh at something Churchill said to her, and a muscle in his jaw tensed slightly.
'It is sad that such a beautiful and accomplished young woman should be fated to leave her home and seek employment as a governess,' continued Mrs. Weston, watching him carefully.
'Indeed,' he said dutifully, and Mrs. Weston smiled in approval, though he did not see it for his eyes were fixed on the small group at the opposite end of the room. He saw Churchill smile as he said something to Miss Fairfax and she smiled back. 'Someone should marry her,' he said suddenly. Churchill should marry her instead of Emma, and then both Miss Fairfax's and his own problems would be solved.
For some reason Mrs. Weston looked delighted at his answer. 'I think,' she said with a strange emphasis, 'that that is a very good idea.' Then she left his side to go and speak to Emma. He was not sure what their conversation was about, but they seemed often looking at him, and the speculative light in their eyes made him rather uncomfortable. He shifted his gaze over to Miss Fairfax and Mr. Churchill, who were now conversing quietly together.
Some minutes later, when he deemed it safe, he moved his gaze back to Emma, and tried to make sense of the shifting expressions of her face. She seemed genuinely happy to be in that man's company, and was often laughing and smiling at the things he said. And yet he could not fault the behaviour of either. They were not inappropriately focused on just each other; Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax had equal part in their conversation (well, Miss Bates perhaps more than Miss Fairfax), and he was especially glad to see that Emma was befriending the latter – despite his generally low mood he could not help smiling in approval.
He shifted his glance from Miss Fairfax back to Emma and found that she was looking at him, with an expression on her face which he could not quite read. It held a mixture of many emotions, most gone before he could identify them: he saw unsettlement, alarm, and something else which he could not quite put a name to before she looked away quickly.
Mr. Churchill followed her gaze and his eyes met Mr. Knightley's shrewdly for a moment before he turned and said something to Emma in a low voice. She shook her head and tried to laugh, but the mirth didn't quite reach her eyes.
Had she noticed him staring at her? Perhaps it had displeased her, or perhaps she was anxious that he found something to disapprove in her behaviour and feared he would lecture her about it. It seemed he did little else, after all.
With an effort he tore his gaze from her, but though he did not see her, his mind was focused on nothing but Emma, and what Churchill could have said to her.
Had he perhaps discerned that Mr. Knightley was in love with Emma, and had he perhaps warned her about it? If Churchill was in love with Emma himself, no doubt he would have easily discerned the feelings of a potential rival. He stifled a sigh; from Emma's response to Churchill's quiet comment, he doubted that she would ever see him as a contender for her feelings.
Dinner proceeded just as miserably. He was seated close enough that he had a good view of Emma where she was sitting in between Mr. Churchill and Miss Fairfax, but far enough that he could not hear more than an occasional word or two of their conversation, which only served to tell him that Emma was enjoying Churchill's company.
After dinner, once the gentlemen had rejoined the ladies, it had been Churchill's idea to have music, a suggestion which had delighted both Miss Fairfax and Emma – of course, he would be the one to make Emma happy – and which found them all sitting in the drawing room with the pianoforte.
Miss Fairfax performed first, very well, and despite the pang it caused when he knew it to be from Churchill's influence, he was glad when Emma seemed to genuinely appreciate it and urged Miss Fairfax to play another. Previously she might have disliked the possibility of another outshining her, but now she could give credit where it was due.
During the second song however, Miss Fairfax's voice began to show some strain, particularly in the high parts, and he seemed to be the only one who noticed, for most others were clamouring for a third song.
He was about to speak up and relieve the poor girl when Frank Churchill pre-empted him. 'I fear Miss Fairfax is tired,' he said. 'We should allow her to rest this time – perhaps we can have the pleasure of hearing Miss Woodhouse now.' This was assented to by all with a good grace, but Mr. Knightley could not help his low mood. Of course that man would come to Miss Fairfax's rescue, and be the one to request the pleasure of listening to Emma's music. He seemed to know how to manipulate everyone in his favour so well that he practically made an art form out of it.
Miss Fairfax gratefully retreated, and Emma smiled and walked over to the piano stool.
For a while he just allowed himself to enjoy her voice, but then he noticed that as she sang the words of the love song – for it would be a love song, his luck was just like that – she was smiling in the direction of Churchill where he was sitting next to Miss Fairfax.
'But love is such a mystery,
I cannot find it out;
For when I think I'm best resolved,
I then am in most doubt.'
She raised her eyebrows slightly, and her look seemed to hold some significant meaning as she smiled over at him. Mr. Knightley closely observed Churchill and was dismayed to see that he was blushing, smiling back before looking away. So his heart was touched by Emma, and he would offer for her – if not before he left Highbury on the morrow, then when he came back – and she clearly returned his feelings and would accept him. That is, unless they were already engaged...
The thought was like a blow to the stomach, and it made him feel physically sick. He could not do this – he could not keep watching in suspense anymore. He had to speak to Emma and ascertain her feelings and the true extent of her relationship with Churchill, and he would do so first thing tomorrow.
The next morning he walked into Hartfield and was in the passage when he heard voices coming from the drawing room. He immediately recognised them to be Emma and Churchill, and a few seconds were sufficient to tell him they were alone in the room, for he heard no one else. It went against everything he knew to be honourable and gentlemanly, but he stood outside the door, silent, listening. He would save his guilt for later; now he had to know.
'I finally recognise that Miss Fairfax is just the sort of person I could be good friends with,' he heard Emma saying, and for a second he felt relief that their conversation did not appear to be of any consequence, but then he stiffened as he heard her next words. 'I have you to thank for helping me overcome my prejudice against her, and helping me to see that my dislike of her was from jealousy – for it was only then that I understood my own feelings.' Mr. Knightley's hands clenched until his knuckles turned white.
Churchill laughed. 'If I must be thanked for that, then allow me to thank you for the same, and for all your reassurance. I just could not help feeling threatened – such a close friendship with another man...'
He could see in his mind's eye Emma taking the man's hand and smiling that devastating smile of hers as she reassured him that there had been nothing – as far as she knew, anyway – between herself and her old friend. But even he could not have imagined her reply and how it would wound him. 'What an idea,' she cried, laughing merrily. 'I'm sure you never had anything to worry about from that quarter,' she said, and he could hear the amusement – the incredulity – in her voice.
His heart stopped for a moment, and his shoulders slumped. But then he could have laughed at his own stupidity. Of course she would find the idea ludicrous, perhaps even repulsive. After all he was so much older than her, and practically a brother to her; and on top of all that he had never flattered her as a lover ought – he had instead lectured her and scolded her, in a way hardly designed to recommend him.
He could listen no longer. He could not bear it. He had to get out. Hardly knowing where he was going, he made his solitary way out of the door, out of the grounds, and then further and further still.
He walked through Highbury, through the village of Donwell, through the fields at its borders, unseeing. If Mr. Knightley was a fool in the morning, as he assured himself at least twenty times he was for having ever entertained a doubt about Emma and Churchill let alone a hope for himself, he did not grow much wiser in the afternoon. All he gained in return for his ridiculously long walk was a more vivid conviction that there never was, never could be anyone like Emma, that he had lost her forever and that there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.