Chapter 10

A Proper Introduction

To the guest who called Emma tiresome in the review last chapter, I almost had to laugh when I read that! It was the very word I have written in her description of herself in this chapter. Uncanny coincidence!

I promise Emma will not let us down! She will struggle-headstrong and opinionated girl that she is!

Enjoy! Keep reviewing- it is my life blood!

"You hate that dress," he informed her as he was putting on his riding gloves.

She smiled gleefully. "Yes, I have never liked it. I think it is the odious brown colour; it seems so wrong that any dress should be brown. I will give it credit on one point though, it is a respectable morning colour, even if it does nothing for my complexion! Oh, and how astute you are Mr. Knightley; I should wonder do all husbands know their wives so well?" She asked aiming for silly but it seemed to cut him a little deeper than she intended.

He seemed to ignore the barb and gave her a compliment in trade, "It does not harm your complexion, it is old but barely wore and I remember you said once that it was itchy or had you forgotten?"

"It is three—no four years old but only worn twice. If wives tales can be relied upon the third time might hold some sort of charm" she offered dryly, "but I doubt it, the corset sits lower at the chest and I feel it pushing everything upward. Itchy isn't the right word, more that it digs into me in certain areas where other dresses sit comfortably," she told him vaguely, and she did remember complaining to him about the dress once-she must have been all of seventeen and at that time she had been vaguer still as it would have been immodest to give him any more detail. Itchy may right have been the euphemism used to explain the feeling of her corset pressing too sharply against her chest and ribs.

"And I nothing that while you wear no jewelry, Mrs. Knightley, your eyes sparkle with mischief. I know your goal is to appear outdated and drab but the dress is attractive—against your best wishes. Obviously, the tailor intended that the dress would be more becoming than it is comfortable—it appears a good tradeoff to the outside observer, but then they aren't the ones being jabbed and gouged in the wrong places. " his voice walked a zigzagged path between serious and teasing. His eyes were honest though, at least she felt they were. From all appearances, he really did think the dress was beautiful.

"Thank you, Mr. Knightley, you are too kind," she offered back biting her lip to avoid complimenting his appearance. Whatever his words about her looks tonight she didn't fully believe it herself, and his looks were such that they more than made up for everything she lacked. She could have praised him with lavish words and high esteem but could not bring herself to surrender to it.

She distracted herself fiddling with her riding gloves and carefully adjusting them again.

His tone was serious, "And you are comfortable side saddle? I have only ever seen you ride astride around the estate when there was no one around to impress,"

She blushed a little, it had been so long ago but her father hadn't minded a girl of fourteen riding around astride to test out the impeccable new horse that Mr. Knightley had purchased. Upon seeing how happy she was, Mr. Knightley had brought over to Hartfield an older gelding named Hampton that he assured was not needed at Donwell and was only ever ridden by grooms to keep him in good form. Hampton's saddle was astride and she spent many summer days riding around in a lighter sundress and adventuring with him. Riding anything but sidesaddle would have been said to be improper but Mr. Knightley was right, her father hadn't minded as long as it was in the quiet of their estate away from anyone of consequence. It was the summer she turned fifteen and at the end of summer, they returned Hampton to his home at Donwell Abbey.

"I am comfortable enough," she tossed back; had she really not ridden a horse in seven years? It was true, she had limited experience with side saddle due to her father preferring she take carriages.

She could still hear his lament clearly in her mind to this very day, "Horses are much too dangerous Emma," she remembered how distinctly disappointed she had felt. They would not see Hampton back the following summer and any adventures to be found were to be found on foot from then on.

Her father meant well, even in her disappointment she understood this. And she knew his new paranoia had nothing to do with the temperament of horses and everything to do with the fact that a young man in Highbury had died suddenly after being kicked by a horse. The young man was a groom working with a cantankerous stallion- a stallion whom Mr. Knightley had said had always been given a wide berth for the very purpose that he had been known to be unpredictable and easily spooked. The farm had only kept the stallion because he sired strong racehorses. Surely, Mr. Knightley had encouraged, most horses were not dangerous or ill-mannered.

Her father would not be convinced and thus ended her days of riding horses.

She sighed; it was unfortunate that she had not had more practice in recent years. But that as it was she hardly felt the saddle type would make any difference—she would be out of practice no matter what.

And she did remember somethings she realized as her horse set into motion behind Mr. Knightley's in a slow walk.

"I am out of practice," she told him as they walked, partly in a quest for conversation—she never could stand silence when with another person and partly in earnest so that he would not overestimate her riding abilities.

"Yes, I can see that," he replied, "which is why we will walk a few paces for you to get the feel of it, however, to reach the party on time we will have to increase the speed as your comfort level allows,"

"I am not opposed to being fashionably late," she told him and her horse seemed to have other ideas as he pressed forward into a light trot.

He sighed loudly.

"You think I am a tiresome creature, don't you?" She asked him, asking her horse to walk beside him so that she could see his face. "Pretty but tiresome?" she encouraged darting to meet his eyes.

"You are more than pretty Emma, and the problem is you know it; you are not tiresome but stubborn. I would condemn your constant desire to tangle swords with me but I can see how well it pleases you. It would grow tiresome if it did not delight you half as much to have a final word on a subject, or to feel pious as you sacrifice as a battlefield tactic but never truly surrender," he told her, moving his horse into a trot. She followed, or perhaps her horse did it of its own accord.

"Oh, how you flatter me Mr. Knightley!" she tossed back, half pleased and half annoyed by his assessment. Did he mean she was more than pretty—like a great beauty such as Helen of Troy? Or that she had other qualities and her looks were not much of consequence? She was not sure but she contemplated it the remained of the ride, which she would own was not so bad once they were in a canter.

She felt the perfect degree of undignified as she rode up to the Cole's estate and allowed the valet to help her dismount and take her horse to the stables.

The pleased feeling passed as they stepped up to the entrance, it was candlelit and grand looking. Waves of embarrassment flooded Emma and some part of her wished she had asked her maid to do her hair in some grand style—instead, she had asked her to recreate the bun she had worn for working in the garden that morning—it made up in practicality what it lost in elegance.

She frowned sharply, she should not be here. She could not shake the feeling—it was natural for her to feel out of place, she looked at her husband then, he too was also frowning but she would learn it was for an entirely different reason.

"Emma, I will not stand next to you if you are planning to cast misery across your face the entire evening. As we both know it is for my benefit and that you are still seeking to prove a point— I will not give you the satisfaction"

It was all she needed from him confirmation of how she annoyed him. She held his gaze offering a look that must have been some combination of hurt and resentment for what felt like an eternity. Tension and anxiety rising as they waited to be ushered in, neither party willing to break the stare or accept defeat in this area. It should not have surprised him that she flounced in as soon as the doors were opened. Emma felt wild and guarded and could hardly calm herself long enough to greet their hostess. A dull curtsy was all she could manage in Mrs. Coles' direction.

Oh how she fumed silently in the corner, and tight grip on her punch glass. She felt as sour as the punch tasted.

Who in their right mind would serve a sour punch?

It was far too tart; she wanted some sweetness and finally took a glass of champagne from a passing tray. Her father was not in favour of drinking anything alcoholic, save for wine at Christmas or on special occasions. But then again he was not here to see her or to comment. She almost laughed; this laugh would have been tired and miserable—not humor at the very thought. She felt the notion course through her bitterly instead, her father should not have left her was all she could think as she took the first sip.

She started to feel more relaxed as she nearly finished the glass, her thoughts were still centered around her father, and what comments he might make about the unsuitability of the room—mainly a result of the air pulling through the house from open windows. She was interrupted from her thoughts, for better or for worse.

"I saw you arrive—an interesting choice for a party, are you fond of horses? No, you mustn't be you've worn a frown ever since! It is fascinating really, to be at a very elaborate party and to not crack a single smile—that is quite a skill and enviable really— for I have been smiling since you've arrived, try as I might I can't seem to wipe it off of my face." He told her and she took in who was talking to her with a look of shock and wide eyes. "I must say, that frowning, however, is hardly becoming of a wood elf or of any other elfin creature—but on my word, I will not repeat a word of it to the elf king as I travel through that forest—what he doesn't know cannot hurt him, right?"

"We meet again Sir," she said and smiled lightly at his antics.

"Yes, and at very last a smile. There! Nothing for anyone to report to the elf king now," he told her

"I must tell you, I spoke in error the last time we met in regards to my name, I am Emma Woodhouse—or I should say I have been her. But I had been just recently married the last time I saw you and I gave you the old name out of habit. I was too mortified to make a correction, I was very sure our paths would not cross again," Emma confided.

"I see, I was fairly certain that you arrived with your husband—thought it may have been a brother. I could not tell from the interaction but to say that you are cross with him, regardless of the relation," he offered with a smirk. And then he abruptly shook his head,"Forgive me, that was a spontaneous but foolish thing to say, I often speak without thinking deeply. What I should have said was what is your new name?"

"I understand, I am prone to the same condition—I will try not to be offended over your observation, as it is only the true and my emotions were on display for anyone to see. I am Emma Knightley, and I realize I do not know your name,"

"Frank Churchill at your service," he offered with an exaggerated bow.

"Thee Frank Churchill!" Emma exclaimed with a laughing tone without really thinking at all, except that this was the stepson of Mrs. Weston and the long-absent son of Mr. Weston. "Impossible! In the flesh?"

"I did not realize I would have such notoriety!"

"I believe I know your name better than I do my own!" she told him moving to happily explain the connection. "You see, as I also lost my mother at an early age, as a child I always felt some fellow feeling and connectedness between our situations. Only last summer I had the happy privilege of seeing my dearest friend married to your father Mr. Weston and was so disappointed that you were not at liberty to join us" Emma offered, noticing that he looked saddened at the mention of missing his own father's marriage she attempted to change the subject. "Yes, indeed it is a very small world!" She remarked happily, "and I am certain he was overjoyed to see you, he talks of little else!"

|Uh, it pains me to say this but I have not seen my father yet. I have attempted it several times, I have even come as far as to be mere meters from his home but every time I feel this fear rise up and I turn back. In fact, that day you saw me in the woods I was venturing into Highbury for just such a purpose and only to realize once more that could not," he told her, "I do not have many connections in Highbury and it would be so great a favour if you did not mention my attendance to your dear friend, my father's wife—I do mean to meet her. I think I give the wrong impression by avoiding the visit. I am excited about the prospect and I am so pleased that my father has found companionship once more. It is good for him, she is good for him. I mean really Emma, that she is your good friend would be evidence enough and he also speaks so highly of her in his letters," Frank explained.

"I understand Frank," she told him, she almost startled herself her familiarity, to call him by his name did not trouble her mind as it did for others. It signified that she had always thought about him as Frank in her head or spoke to others asking about him by his name as a child might.

'But where is Frank now papa? Why did Frank have to leave his papa? Will I have to leave you someday too?'

'Do you think little Frank much misses his Father. Miss Taylor?'

She completed her reflexive action with a gentle pat to his arm to reassure him. He may not have known her well but he had by happy accident bumped into the one person in Highbury that did not enjoy the act of passing on gossip. She didn't fully mind to hear it from others, Ms. Bates was always a steady almost never-ending source, but Emma was never the one to disseminate it herself. The stream flowed one way. "Be at ease, you have a confidant in me," she assured.

"Is that really true?" he asked looking her in the eyes.

"Absolutely! I, sir, am a steel trap," she explained with a laugh.

"If you call me Frank, may I call you Emma? Since you are my confidant it seems only fair,"

"I will permit it, for I have only ever called you Frank-as a small child addresses another and I feel it will be near impossible for me to call you anything else, solely out of habit,"

"I am a good judge of people Emma and I do believe you are going to make me an esteemed confidant," he stated. "If you would honour me with a dance, I believe I would like to discuss another matter which requires all secrecy,"

"Secrecy, well you have piqued my interest, Mr. Frank Churchill!" Emma smiled back eyes lite with delight at the prospect. "We will need a waltz then, it truly is the only dance invented to allow for sharing secrets,"

"Right, a waltz an excellent idea—I like the way your mind works. I will ask the host if he might request a waltz next,"

She nodded and finished her champagne. As much as she detested the idea of attending the Cole's party she was excited to meet Frank, to encounter the gentleman from the woods once more and to her delight that he was the long-awaited son of Mr. Weston. It all seemed so complete, so providential. Something about it indicated to her that for all her protests, she was meant to be here this evening, regardless of what social custom or decorum said.

It felt like mere moments before their waltz started.

"I trust you, it is perhaps foolishness but I do," he told her in the first few steps.

"Yes, you did own to being foolish before," she teased, and then moved her tone into the realm of sincerity, "Jesting aside, I am glad, I hope to prove as trustworthy with time as I do at first glance," she replied.

"I feel I should share with you the reason I am here. Unlike other occasions, today it is not my father than brings me to Highbury—though I was worried I might unsuspectingly meet him here of all places! How would that look?" he confided, his eyes seeking hers for reassurance. The waltz continued and Emma was glad she knew the steps so well so that she could ignore the fact that they were dancing and focus only on what he was sharing with her.

"Do not fret about that, Mr. Weston will not be at this party," she told him. Although stranger things have happened, she herself was standing before him and she wouldn't have predicted it in a million years.

"A connection I made is said to be staying in Highbury—I had rather hoped to see her here tonight, it was silly, a day's ride for the prospect of seeing her face from a distance. Can you imagine it?" He asked.

"From a distance? Why from a distance?" she asked keen to hear more and better understand his story.

"My aunt would never approve, it is critical that I remain in her good esteem—everything is at stake," he told her and they turned several rotations in comfortable silence.

"She is not a proper match, is that it?" Emma guessed.

"I should say! We are true opposites in every way. I didn't even care for her at first. She was so hesitant, so sedated, and so quiet –I thought it almost a skulking silence—it was unnerving. I was not looking to love her—" he broke off quickly.

She didn't know if she was supposed to probe him for more information. She was certainly enthralled, Who was this creature? What was her name? How did he fall in love with her?

"Do you love your husband?" he asked suddenly and she could not have been taken more off guard. She had never expected the conversation to become about her.

"Mr. Churchill!" she exclaimed in a hushed tone. How could he ask her such a question?

"Fine Emma, I can see in your eyes I have startled you. I was just poking fun, but truthfully there is only so much baring of my soul that I can handle before I need a reprieve. I thought you might prove an interesting topic of conversation,"

"All right," she said granting him clemency. She recognized that that dance had changed, a while ago she realized from where her feet were in the steps. It must have been amidst her mortification at his question.

"But really Emma, have you ever deigned to love anyone?"

She stared at him wide-eyed and mouth slightly agape. She felt perhaps she would leave; tear herself away before his questions became more probing. She could not do it mid-dance, that would be merely welcoming all sorts of foolish speculation.

"Well, I am human after all, not an elf creature as you first imagined, everyone knows that elves are heartless" she offered him a jesting tone instead to answer his seriously phrased question.

"Ah, well I will tell you what I see Emma. Beneath your happy charms I see a solidness, a rigidity about you, that dares a man to fall in love with you. Dares him because he knows he may be turned away but it is King George and the Dragon. An impossible feat Emma and you are looking for one who will challenge that," she was certain she must have been turning red the whole while he spoke. Who was he to say such a thing!

"Were you a fortune telling gypsy Mr. Churchill, I would ask for my farthing back!" She told him flatly.

He chuckled, a wry smile remaining on his lips as he began again, "I digress Emma. In my case it is a convenient thing that you are married, whether you love him or not, it is of little consequence to me. It is better in my interest that you are married. If you were unmarried it would be more problematic. Although you are not the type that I could ever see being in danger of becoming too attached to anything, as much as it pains my vanity, I include myself in that category," he reflected with a hint of humour. "But now I can be seen in your company and we can be friends, and most importantly, I do not have to worry about giving you the wrong impression,"

"Friends?" had he not insulted her moments before?

"I should like that and it would be very convenient as I may have told my aunt about a promising young lady that lives near Highbury. Aunts are nice like that; all they want is to be regaled with tales of agreeable prospects. They do not need proof, or to see the lady; somehow it is enough simply to hear the story about dancing three dances, and cutting oneself off at three though feeling as if you could have danced the whole evening, but doing the noble thing for proprieties sake. Yes, aunts want to hear that the lady smiled at the jokes and listened to stories, and then they are satisfied. "

"And you could not make up all these details?" Emma asked moving away from the dance floor as she caught his word about three dances—where had the time gone?

"I am awful at imagining, and there is something about a lie containing a grain of truth that allows for it to be more believable. I am by nature a horrible liar, perhaps the most difficult thing about the whole situation has been exactly that."

"All right, Mr. Frank Churchill, we shall be friends," Emma stated. "As friends, I should confess to you, I have spent seasons of my life as a matchmaker, bringing together love and what more could I do for you than I have done for every other friend! If it is of value to be seen at my side while you are biding time or to allow me to manipulate circumstances so that you might see your secret love without speculation, then I am more than happy to oblige you," she laughed then, "I cannot express in words how happy I feel at the prospect," she admitted to him. "I feel as if after a very long time I finally have something to look forward to—you have brought me the warm sunshine after a long, cold winter" she explained, "thank you for including me in this Frank, until we meet again," she curtsied.

As much as she might be tempted to spend the entire evening talking with him and goading him into telling all about his love, she knew it wouldn't be proper and that she needed to move about the room and if she could bring herself to do it, talk to other people.

She was delightedly humming into her new glass of champagne when Mr. Knightley arrived in front of her.

"Are you smiling because you are happy with your demonstration?"

"Perhaps I am smiling because the champagne is going to my head," she quipped.

"We are leaving," he told her bluntly, his hand moving to her forearm.

"I was not joking when I said the champagne was going to my head," she told him, feeling the applied pressure of his hand but making no motion to remove her arm from his grasp.

He closed his eyes and sighed.

"You could ask me to dance, that would be the obvious way to pass the time," she implored him, her eyes searching his in an effort to discern how mad he was with her.

"I'll not reward you for your poor behaviour, Emma," he told her dryly without one hint of humour.

"I see, your idea is that we will stand here silently, looking the very picture of uncomfortable for all who are unfortunate enough to glance in our direction, and you tease me about making a spectacle,"

"I was not teasing—I cannot fathom that you think I was joking with you. No Emma, it is a serious matter and one which we will discuss at a place and time when it may be done properly,"

"I see, and until then, you will say 'bad Emma, no you may not be made happy to dance with me'—yes I understand – I am being punished and you refuse to see that you are trying to act a father to me instead of a husband," she commented, her hurt sheltered under the casual tone and accusation.

"A husband has as much right to expect propriety from his wife as a father does his daughter," he told her, drawing his mouth close to her ear so that he could admonish her without others hearing.

"Oh yes, propriety, such as attending the party of a family who has made every farthing of their filthy lucre in trade, " she was not whispering as he had and if she had gone a single notch higher in volume, Mr. Knightley would likely have clasped his hand over her mouth to bring her to silence.

"That's enough Emma! We are leaving; you'll ride with me if you can't sit atop your own horse,"

"I will not! Call for a carriage," she demanded

"Don't be fickle darling! We are leaving right away and I will not flatter your vanity or reward you for your childish behaviour,"

Alright! I have a few questions that I need help with desperately. Please throw your answers in a review if you think you know the answer. I haven't read Emma in a few years (three?), and don't have the time to reread Emma, both my Emma movies (1996 & 2009) are lend out to others at this moment. I hate being inaccurate.

I need this info in coming chapters (at least 1, 2 & 3 -4 and 5 are my curiosity and the visual image from the films leaves a lasting impression)

1) Where is Frank Churchill from (like where does his aunt live?)

2) Are we told where Frank and Jane met the first time? If yes, where?

3) Are we told what attracted Frank to Jane-feel free to use inference from the movies or book or your own speculation here!

4) How is Jane's appearance described in the book?

5) While I tend to just imagine Romola Garai, is Emma given physical characteristics in the book - eye colour, hair?

Would you believe that next chapter is a break from the fighting? HOORAY!

Until then!

Cheers