A/N: So this is a longer chapter in George's POV to make up for the short one the other time…it starts slow but it gets better by the end I promise
Chapter 10
That night I think I wore a hole in my carpet pacing back and forth so very much, all the while cursing myself for what I had come so close to doing.
Kissing Emma while she was drugged out of her mind, regardless of whether she seemed to want it or not was a certain and complete breach of the gentleman's code. Lord help me though, that woman might as well be my drug. She was a beautiful siren luring me to my doom and hers.
I tried so hard to resist her suggestion this morning, but she would not have it, and I thought I had mastered my emotions until she turned around on me, effectively shifting the tables against me.
Unbidden her scent of honey and mint and the feeling of silky golden hair flew into my conscious and I threw open the window in the room and leaned my head out to breath in the fresh and freezing cold air, I had to get her out of my head.
Even if Emma seemed to want my advances now, the doctor had warned us that her emotions would be far more volatile due to her medication. Could that make feelings of mere friendship multiply into romantic ones? Or did there have to be a basis for the romantic feelings first?
It was questions like this that I had been torturing myself with since our encounter this morning. There was one thing I knew for certain though, if I had kissed her, and she had responded and then when she came off the medication she no longer wanted me I knew I should lose my mind. I slammed the window shut in frustration and started pacing again.
Not to mention I myself should have damaged the reputation I had nearly laid down my life to save.
Stopping mid-stride I ran my fingers through my hair again, resisting the urge to tear it out.
Our conversation later that morning had mostly been from her, she assured me that she had never felt anything for Frank Churchill, and had only considered him not to disappoint Mr. and Mrs. Weston. She also apologized for any behavior that had led to the implication that she had desired him, and for any behavior 'nomatter how small that might have injured you, my dearest friend.'
It was those last words of hers that made me wonder if she had indeed read my letter or not. It was still entirely possible that that letter lay unopened on her dressing table at Hartfield, since Isabella had alerted her to the duel.
Did she know that I loved her? Were her actions and words directed by love for me, or merely medication?
At this point it was just as likely I should drive myself mad merely asking these questions.
When I eventually managed to go to sleep I resolved I should never put myself again alone with her in a room, that I should contrive a reason for someone else to be present.
Of course this was much easier resolved on than done, and I feared by the end of the following morning I was going to drive everyone else mad with me.
Somehow it worked though; Isabella joined us for breakfast that morning in Emma's room. I made Bridget clean the entire master bedroom from floor to ceiling while I sat there reading Emma the newspaper, and that evening both Mr. Woodhouse and Isabella were present for our nightly backgammon and pianoforte entertainment.
The weeks passed, and turned into months. Finally Dr. Perry declared what I both longed for and dreaded at the same time.
"Tomorrow we shall remove her stitches, and the day after she should be safe to return to Hartfield." He stated with satisfaction, "Then I shall give you a lavender salve for the scarring, and we shall slowly reduce your medication dosage."
Emma smiled, and Mr. Woodhouse nodded in agreement. Isabella sighed with relief.
As for me, well I knew that these beautiful days of living with Emma under the same roof were going to come to and end. She was not my wife, I had no claim over her, and this last month had really been the closest I would ever get to domesticity with her. I put a smile on my face for her, but I was not happy at all to see her go.
Before I knew it I was in carriage, escorting her and her father back home, Isabella having returned to London the day prior with my brother who had come to fetch her.
I think we talked about the weather, and Harriet Smith's pending nuptials with Robert Martin, but I could not really tell you, for I was rather miserable the entire mile long ride to Hartfield. So very miserable in fact, that I sent the carriage back without me and opted to walk back to Donwell that evening, putting off returning to my house without Emma's bright face across the hall in the morning.
Even my servants missed her sunny presence and Bridget one morning as she was cleaning the windows, went so far as to ask me if we should 'ever expect a mistress at Donwell?' Her question hurt more than words can say, not only because I was now convinced that while Emma had read my letter she did not desire a change in our friendship, but it was also apparently obvious to my staff that I was in love with her.
I didn't want their pity, I didn't want anyone's pity.
The town at large did not really know how to react to our relationship, or lack thereof. It was generally accepted before the duel that I had always been her best friend, a sort of protector to her, bordering on brother even though I clearly was not.
Naturally, they had accepted a bit of possessiveness from me in regards to her, but now after the duel things were just plain awkward.
Emma continued to call me by my Christian name, which of course was one of the few bright things that had come out of the duel for me, but in doing so she announced that a change had occurred between us.
For the life of me, I could not (and neither could the town apparently) figure out what exactly that change was.
She did try to lapse back into 'Mr. Knightley' when in public, but usually failed to remember. People would often give us odd looks, and the evil eye I had always received from Mrs. Elton was now rejoined by one from the reverend himself though I could not discover why.
Miss Bates could not stop talking about how very gallant I was in defending Emma's honor, and how very brave Miss Woodhouse was for trying to save me.
She was the only one in the town with enough steel to mention the incident at all though. My servants thankfully, never mentioned the lapse in judgment and sanity that I had shown during those dark days, though I found each one of them looking on me with a combination of both newfound respect and pity.
The Westons were very obliging to both Emma and I after the affair, though neither of us felt it necessary as they had not been privy to their son's doings. Mrs. Weston would periodically stop in to check on me for no apparent reason, always looking like she had something to say but never saying it and leaving me with the kind but innocuous words, "Emma cares for you very much you know."
Mr. Woodhouse was probably about the only one in town that continued on as if nothing had occurred at all, only mentioning Mr. Churchill as a direly evil being the few times he came up in conversation at all.
Emma herself was the biggest enigma of all, she continued on as if our friendship had not changed at all, with the exception of her calling me 'George' and the little fact that she broke the unspoken societal rule of not touching someone who was not family.
It was the little things that kept me on pins and needles around her.
At breakfast her arm would brush mine when she reached for the salt.
At church on Sunday she would insist on my lending her my arm when we walked to and from.
In the morning in the parlor she would peer her head over my shoulder, just barely grazing it to gaze at something.
She would drop something in front of me that necessitated both of us leaning to pick up the same object at the same time, and thus touching hands for the briefest of moments.
Emma even went so far as to criticize my posture while I leaned over the backgammon board one evening and beckoned me to sit straight with a quick pass of her hand over my shoulders.
At Harriet's wedding she squarely refused to dance the entire evening despite her stunning seasonal ochre dress, claiming she was fatigued, and no one would challenge her after her ordeal, so she spent the entire night talking to me in the corner, whispering in my ear so close at times I could feel her curls brush against my cheek.
I countered this by making sure that when we were inside we were never alone together. Whether there was a servant dusting the bookcase, her father dozing off in the corner or even Miss Bates chattering about Miss Fairfax's new prospects as a governess in Bath with Mrs. Elton's friend. There was always someone else present.
It was about all I could do to stay sane.
There were times where Emma and I would lock eyes for what seemed like an eternity and I saw pleading and hurt in her eyes, but for the life of me, I could discern her meaning.
Had she been in love with Churchill after all?
Thus, it was with more than a little trepidation that one blisteringly cold and cloud-covered morning when I was walking into town to fetch some official mail from parliament that could only be transferred to me that I ran into the one and only Miss Woodhouse rounding the bend by the church. She had just finished tying up her horse outside the rectory, ironically next to mine.
"Emma!" I exclaimed in genuine surprise. I had taken the long route into town I was ashamed to admit, avoiding Hartfield because I needed to clear my head.
Emma was of course, going to prevent this.
"George!" she replied happily with a smile, pulling her cape a little tighter with a gust of wind, then she looked confused, "Where are you coming from?"
"Donwell," I replied casting about for a reason I had taken the long route.
"Why did you not stop by Hartfield? We could have ridden into town together." She replied as the two of us stood awkwardly there alone in the street.
Then realization dawned on her, and she looked down at her feet trying to hide her blush.
I could feel my own face turning red. What a mess you have made of things now George!
"Emma, I-" I tried to start, but wasn't sure what to say, her head shot up though at the sound of my voice. "I'm sorry I just needed to clear my head." The truth will set you free.
"Yes I gathered that." She replied a little hurt, "I would obviously hinder that." She made to turn around as she bit her lip her eyes tearing up.
You've hurt her.
"Emma," I grasped her shoulders, the first time I'd voluntarily touched her in anything beyond courtesy since she'd been at Donwell. "Please Emma, I'm not trying to hurt you!"
She shook her head but would not face me.
"Will you walk into town with me Emma? Or I shall take you home if you prefer."
When she spoke her voice was thick with emotion, and I knew that I had caused it, "Why should you want to walk with someone who puts you ill at ease?"
Dear Lord this is a terrible mess.
I closed my eyes briefly to gather my thoughts, "Emma, you do not disturb me." I soothed.
She rounded on me suddenly, "Then why have you been avoiding me since that day at Donwell? Do not think I have not noticed!" She was on the verge of tears, and very clearly hurt. She brought her hand to her mouth trying to steady her face and prevent a break down.
"Simply because I do not know what you desire of me Emma!" I said losing my patience with this whole situation. My emotions, like hers were boiling to the surface and causing me to act out of character. The strain of the last two months was finally coming to a head.
How could I have thought I could avoid her? The love of my life?
She looked at me astonished blinking back her tears, "George all I've ever wanted was you." My heart jumped into my throat at her words. She took a trembling step towards me, "Please say you will still be my friend!" She pleaded. She only wants you as a friend, even now.
Then you must take what you have, and treat her like a friend.
I wrapped my arms around her, disregarding propriety. Hell I fought a duel for this woman, surely I can hug her, society be damned.
She clung to me shivering from cold to be sure, but was there emotion as well?
Whispering into her ear, "Emma my dear, I never stopped being your friend." I heard her sniffle and I felt my own eyes tearing up despite myself, wanting to weep for the months of misunderstanding just as much as the likelihood she still only wanted me as her friend.
I love you Emma. More than you can ever know.
We stood there for an eternity it seemed, and nothing else mattered around us. Finally I recovered myself and pulled away, she smiled at me weakly. I brushed the errant tear on her pale cheek.
"Don't weep, I will never leave you Emma." I vowed in utter seriousness. Leaning in, I kissed her lightly on her forehead.
"Now will you come into town with me?" I asked again, hoping to have recovered the situation and to change the subject before I broached something I knew I should not.
"Yes," she laughed before sniffing again, looking to her feet first, and then up at me with a smile. I offered her my arm. She took it, and we walked down the street into town like the last three months have not happened.
Soon I realized she was rambling on about the invitation to the Weston's annual Christmas Ball and the dress that Mrs. Elton was having brought in from Bath for the occasion.
I wondered why she was discussing such mundane things with me, then I realized with a shock that Emma was terribly lonely.
Isabella was back in London, and had been for some time. Harriet was married and barely had time for visits anymore, and Mrs. Weston had just announced she was in a family way and was visiting less.
Emma had no friends to talk to, which must have made my putting her at an arm's length even more excruciating.
I had been so wrapped up in my own pain, that I had not even seen hers.
Badly done George!
I vowed I would never treat her like this again, nomatter how much it hurt to be near the one woman I desired more than anything else in the world, I should be there for her. Through thick and through thin I would be her constant.
"I mean really George, isn't that most terrible of Mrs. Elton? Ordering her dress from Bath and not using the Fords' shop like the rest of us? She means to ruin them I am sure, for she is the leading lady of fashion in town-or so she thinks and in doing this she will cause them to lose much business I am sure, and around the holiday too! Most unthinking!" She exclaimed
I realized my reflections had driven my thoughts and I had not listened to her rambling.
"Hmm…Yes, most disagreeable action on her part." I concurred belatedly.
"Therefore, I ordered the Fords to import the newest cloth from Paris, and was told it came in this morning. I intend to have them make me a more fashionable dress than Mrs. Elton for the ball, and prove that you don't need to go to Bath to get a stylish dress." She continued, having missed my inattentiveness, "Do you not think this is a good idea? To use my influence for good?" she asked most eagerly looking up at me for my approval.
"Won't the cloth cost a good deal coming all the way from Paris? How are you sure your dress will be better received than Mrs. Elton's?" I could not help finding the loopholes in her scheme, just like old times. I smiled in spite of myself.
She pulled a Lady's fashion magazine from inside her cape, "I am assured by Isabella who sent this with her letter this very morning that the patterns laid out in here are the latest in Parisian fashion, and that it only came to London a few days before, it cannot have made its way to Bath already." She replied beaming, barely stopping for breath, "And, I told the Fords I should pay for all the cloth regardless of whether or not I chose to use it now. I can always use it later." She finished with a self-satisfied smile.
I reached for the magazine, "Very well, may I see this pattern?"
She pulled it from my reach with her mischievous smile, "No!" she laughed, "It's a surprise!"
I stopped walking, "Emma you know I don't like surprises!" I returned
"Simply because you do not like surprises does not mean that everyone shares your opinion."
"So I may not see the dress?"
"Not even my father will see the dress before I wear it to the ball! I will not have a word of its design leaking out!"
"Emma I'm just as likely to forget what it is all about the minute I close the magazine, you know I do not understand women's fashion."
"Oh but you will remember this dress, I am going to make sure of it!" Her face was positively aglow with her plan, and her eyes twinkled with merriment. Clearly she has something else intended besides only showing up Mrs. Elton.
I extended my arm again, "Very well, you may have your surprise on one condition." I said calmly, though I was on tenter-hooks about her response to my suggestion, "I will claim one dance with you at this ball of my own choosing."
She took my arm with approval, "Well that is not so difficult a price to pay." We continued into town, first to the post office for my mail then to Fords'. Where she promptly banished me to the men's top-hat section lest I see any of her plans.
She whispered and laughed and exclaimed over by the counter, and I tried to occupy myself with what claimed to be the latest fashions in men's ware. I couldn't find any difference between what was in the store, and what I was wearing now.
Realizing the amount of time I'd spent over here would indicate I'd have to buy something, I grasped at a square of dark green cloth and headed towards the counter.
Emma saw me coming and narrowed her eyes at me bundling up her samples into her arms and under her cape with the magazine.
I did see one piece she snatched up too late though, it was incredibly intricate work an impossible combination of nearly invisible silver and white lace that bore a strong resemblance to snowflakes and glittered in the sunlight with the fire of dozens of miniscule diamonds.
Dear Lord! What has she ordered?
I plunked my one puny sample down on the counter, "I shall take a new vest made of this." I stated simply.
Mr. Ford picked it up, running the material through his wizened fingers, "Thick evergreen silk, nice choice Mr. Knightley," he replied, "and will you be having a new set of breeches and coattails to go with it as well?"
"Of course." I replied, somewhat perplexed as to why I needed these additions, but whatever got me away from the counter and Emma's glare fastest would suffice.
"The usual then." He determined, scribbling a few things down on a slip of paper, noting the sample number, "It shall be ready within the week for a fitting."
"Thank you." I replied quickly, wondering how I'd gotten roped into a whole new ensemble that I didn't need and was likely to be uncomfortable to wear.
Emma then banished me to the ladies' gloves section.
I was even more lost there, they all looked exactly the same. White, white and more white. There was the periodic black or blue. Oh wait, that one had a flower on it…
Lord I abhor shopping…
Emma was still rambling excitedly though, and I had to find something to occupy my time.
I glanced about the shop, and noticed ribbons.
Well at least these look different!
Wandering over there were rows upon rows of every color known to mankind. From a sickly green that looked like cat vomit to a vibrant red that looked exactly like holly berries.
Finally, I decided to devilishly select a very fine silver ribbon with some sort of ruffling at the edges and moved back over to the counter. Thankfully Emma was just finishing up, but she gave me the most terrible look when she saw what I had in my hands.
Placing it in front of Mr. Ford, "I'll buy this for Miss Woodhouse's new dress." I drawled with ease, waiting her angry response. Mr. Ford's lips were playing to a smile, but he was trying to stop it as he replied,
"That will be eight shillings, Mr. Knightley."
I favored Emma with a taste of her own medicine, smiling at my triumph as I closed her tiny little hands around the spool of ribbon. She harrumphed.
We walked out and I swore I could have heard Mr. Ford laughing as the door closed behind us.
Stopping next at Dr. Perry's Emma picked up her father's cough syrup and asked for more of the lavender salve. She removed her cape and her shawl to show the doctor how her scar was progressing, and I decided to let her have her distance as I examined some of the doctor's remedies on the shelf.
Though I could not help but overhear some of the conversation.
"Will it ever go away completely doctor?" Emma pleaded
He sighed, "I do not think so Miss Woodhouse, young though you are, the human body does not easily forget trauma like that."
She nodded mutely, but bought the salve anyway. We walked in companionable silence back to our horses, and I noted that the wind had picked up significantly.
Emma placed her purchases in her saddlebag and I put my mail in mine, making sure to fasten it securely in case the rain that had been promising to appear all morning finally did.
"Will you be staying for dinner tonight?" she asked suddenly as I helped her on to her horse.
"I have nothing pressing at Donwell, I don't see why not."
Her face lit up, "Good because I had cook make lamb stew in the possibility of you coming."
I shook my head, "Were you so very sure of it?" I mounted my own horse and we set off at a trot.
She gave me a semi-incredulous glance backwards, "But of course George, you always seem to know when we are having lamb stew."
Nearly a mile into our five mile return to Hartfield, the dark skies opened up into a most inconvenient downpour. Mr. Woodhouse will be so upset with me for letting her out in the rain.
I reached over to grasp her horse's reins, effectively stopping her, "Come we should return to town to wait this out, you father wouldn't want you taking chill in this cold weather."
She placed her gloved hands on top of mine, and pried them off her reins, shouting to be heard above the din her eyes had that impish look about them again, "Have you not always said that rainstorms are most invigorating Mr. Knightley? I propose a race to Hartfield. In the rain. Last one there is a rotten egg." The rain was pouring down on both of us, and I could feel it soaking through my clothes.
Lord this woman was impossible!
"Emma that is very dangerous in this weather, and besides, you forget I am the better horseman, I should easily win." I countered
She pouted, crossing her arms.
I sighed, "Very well, I shall give you a twenty second head-start, now make good use of it!"
She needed no second warning and was off as fast as I could blink, determined to win one of our little bets. Some things will never change. I laughed to myself remembering all of our little contests when she was growing up.
I counted slowly to twenty, watching her lean determinedly forward on her horse, her blue cape flapping wildly behind her, and I laughed with amusement as her bonnet, not securely fastened enough, fell off her head to her back, hanging on for dear life by its ribbons. Emma didn't even notice she was so intent on putting ground between us.
Twenty-nine…
I'd counted higher than I'd promised accidentally, so I kicked my horse to tear after her. Despite my misgivings I was glad Emma had insisted on the race, I was already feeling a lot better.
The rain beat against my face like iron cold needles, and I heard my own cape snapping in the wind as the ground separating me from my dear friend shortened.
God help me, there must be some masochist spirit in me that makes me take joy in storms. The worry and dread of this morning was forgotten as nothing but the race mattered, and my faster horse ate up the ground between Emma and I under the thunder of hooves to match the rolling thunder in the skies.
It was not long before I crested the hill blocking the village from Hartfield, and saw Emma not too far ahead of me. Her hair was a complete disaster, having lost the protection of the bonnet, nearly half of it had escaped its bond of ribbons and pins to tumble down her back. She dared a glance back, and is seeing me closing her, she nudged her horse faster.
We could have closed her in no time, but somehow the vision of her racing at breakneck speed over the brown grass under the grey skies the cold silver needles of rain beating down on us, her golden and blue form the only color in the world surrounding her, my heart caught, and I could not ruin that for the life of me.
She was going to win this race.
A/N: I think it's cute that even though they're super competitive all the time, he gives up on the race cause he'd rather watch her win.
Johonna Marie: I'm so glad you think the characters are true to the book, sometimes I wonder if I've changed them too much. I think the worst thing is I can't write in the same fashion as Austen herself, I know if I tried to it would sound terrible, so I've chosen to write more or less how I talk. We're about 2/3 through the story now, hope you enjoy the rest!
Thoughtsthatfester: Glad you enjoyed it! Thanks for hanging around!
Bet: Sadly men don't speak the same language as we females…not even Mr. Knightley. ;)