Three days after Christmas, the John Knightley family, much to Mr. Woodhouse's dismay, uprooted from Hartfield to Donwell for the remainder of their holiday stay. This had been their plan all along, and it was the same plan they had enacted during every Christmas holiday since Isabella had married John, but Mr. Woodhouse did not easily acknowledge that Donwell had any claim to his daughter and her family, let alone an equal one.
Upon their departure for the Abbey, Mr. Woodhouse had proclaimed that as a certain amount of snow still occupied the ground ("half an inch" claimed John, while "buried in snow" was Mr. Woodhouse's description of the same road), he could not be expected to venture to Donwell for the duration of their stay, absent a significant change in meteorological conditions. Mr. Woodhouse's daughters knew that their father was not intentionally being difficult. It was simply his nature, and neither of them found fault with him for it; they simply smiled at one another, hugged and gave their good-byes.
As she waved goodbye to them, Emma was sorry, indeed, to lose the steady company of Isabella and the children, particularly since she had lost three days with them while she was snowed in at Donwell. Not that she had minded her stay at the Abbey. No, indeed, she found it most surprising that her visit ended up being … well … a complete delight! She thought back on it, and could find only two blemishes on her sojourn: first, her worry about her father worrying about her (though, ironically, Mr. Woodhouse had admitted to being more worried that she would try to leave Donwell during the storm rather than that she would stay!), and second, her fear that her childish demeanor during that last morning at Donwell might have ruined Mr. Knightley's view of her stay (which fears were unfounded, she had decided, after a very pleasant Christmas Eve spent with Mr. Knightley and their nieces and nephews). All in all, really, she had been in perfect felicity at Donwell and had felt almost … at home. It was difficult for her to put her finger on the source of this feeling but it seemed, in some intangible way, that Mr. Knightley had made her feel, well, his equal. She appreciated this sentiment very much. It was as though while she was his guest, he had suspended his normally persistent evaluation of her conduct (except, perhaps on Christmas Eve morning) and just let her be … herself. Although at first she wondered if that was because she had been on her best behavior, she then realized that she hadn't consciously altered her manner at all … and that was the best part! She sighed contentedly.
Her thoughts then briefly returned Isabella, whose carriage was now out of sight. Though she had lost Isabella's companionship yet again, she knew that she would soon visit her sister at Donwell, and she looked forward to seeing Mr. Knightley's home again.
More important, Emma thought, was that Miss Taylor was due to return tomorrow from her visit to her sister's home, so she would not lack female companionship for long. It was a happy reflection, for not only did she enjoy Miss Taylor's company, she missed the continuation of her most recent "secret project," as Emma called it: namely, the making of a match between Miss Taylor and Mr. Weston. She had wished for this match for a long time now, and it did appear to Emma as though some headway was being made. For months Emma had made sure that she, her father and Miss Taylor would pay their respects to Mr. Weston at church every Sunday, and if Emma saw the unsuspecting suitor while she and Miss Taylor were visiting Highbury, she could try to concoct some reason why they must seek him out. Emma had even connived for her father to invite Mr. Weston to Hartfield's dinner parties from time to time. For Emma, such careful planning on her part had become quite an interesting pastime. Emma did feel it a hindrance to her secret project that Miss Taylor had abandoned Hartfield for the holidays, but at least Mr. Weston had remarked upon Miss Taylor's absence at church services last Sunday. Perhaps Miss Taylor's absence might even make Mr. Weston's heart grow fonder? Ah, matchmaking was such delightful business, she mused.
*****
On the second afternoon that Isabella and John's family was at Donwell, after one particularly boisterous escapade involving their two oldest sons – something to do with defending the Abbey from a band of unruly gypsies, they explained in their defense –John Knightley said to the housekeeper, "Well, Mrs. Blakeley, how has Donwell been faring since Mrs. Knightley and I last stayed here? I suppose you think the manor becomes quite lively when my children are here, though I fear that speculating which vase might be broken or which upholstery might be stained next cannot make your duties any easier. I daresay that when my boys are here, my brother's dogs take refuge wherever they can find it. I believe I haven't seen them since yesterday!"
Mrs. Blakely smiled and replied, "Oh, we do love it when your family is here. Your children are so dear, and never any trouble. We are always very pleased when you and Mrs. Knightley are able to visit. It makes me think that Donwell should have a family of its own. Just remembering how happy Mr. Knightley was last week makes me think so."
"Last week?" John Knightley inquired curiously.
"Yes, when Miss Woodhouse was here. It was different to when your children are here, of course, but how happy we all were last week … to hear her music – Miss Woodhouse plays the violin so beautifully! – and singing, and their conversation and laughter at supper, and quiet whispers in front the fire. Such felicity! How nice it would be for Donwell to have a mistress and a family."
"Mrs. Blakeley!" John fairly snapped at her. Quiet whispers indeed, he thought. "Surely you do not mean to imply that …"
Mrs. Blakeley immediately realized her error. She had intimated that the servants had been talking about intimate matters concerning the master of Donwell, and it would not do. She purposely interrupted him, even though it was rude to do so. "Oh no, Mr. Knightley, I meant no implications at all! I assure you! I only meant to say that it made me realize that it would be nice if your brother were … not … always alone at Donwell. That is all. I'm sorry, Mr. Knightley, if my carelessly chosen words caused any misunderstanding or distress …."
"Well, mind you don't share your thoughts, Mrs. Blakeley." With that, John Knightley, who had never exhibited the degree of patience or tact possessed by his older brother, as was made painfully clear to Mrs. Blakeley at that awkward moment, turned and strode away briskly.
*****
Mrs. Blakeley's words stuck with John Knightley like thistles to silk stockings. Quiet whispers, indeed! It was a ridiculous idea, and he knew he should simply strike it from his mind. Then why could he not do so? He thought back on the recent interactions he had witnessed between his brother and Isabella's sister. Everything seemed perfectly normal. On Christmas Eve, George and Emma had played with his children much of the day at Hartfield. He remembered their pile up in the snow, but that innocently had been caused by his children. And there was an awkward moment when his daughter had made some comment about Emma's stay at Donwell that had made Emma blush, but he could not even recall what Bella had said. Was anything different between them? Clearly, there was no different manner on the part of his brother. No, John was certain that from George's point of view, Emma was as much their little sister as she had always been. Still, while he could not directly put his finger on anything, Mrs. Blakeley's irritating words … quiet whispers in front of the fire … would not leave his head. His brother was the same George he had been for as long as John could remember: reliable, industrious, kind and steady of character. No, there was nothing to spark the servants' contemplation as far as George was concerned. What about Emma, then? He had to admit, perhaps with chagrin, that previously he had had little occasion or inclination to think about Emma at all. But he now acknowledged that Emma had grown up, and for at least a few years, really, she had been at an age when she might receive suitors — indeed, now she was at almost the very age that Isabella had been when she and John had become engaged. But, he mused, there were precious few potential callers for Emma while she remained at Hartfield: the eligible bachelors in Highbury were surely not of sufficient wealth, stature and interest to be eligible to lay claim on her attentions. Without question, her prospects would fare better in London, but Hartfield was not in the path of London's social order, and Mr. Woodhouse would hardly allow Emma to venture to Brunswick Square, that Isabella might have an opportunity to introduce her into their society. No, her chances for a fair match seemed small, indeed.
John's next thought was so sudden he was fairly thunderstruck. Was it possible – dare he even think it – that with no other eligible gentlemen in sight, Emma was considering a match with … his own brother? No, the mere idea was farfetched, and he laughed at it. George was much too old, and his attentions to Emma were of the same combination of keen mentor, gentle protector and critical evaluator that they had always been. She was beautiful and clever, John would grant her that. But an often strident temperament and a strong will were as much a part of Emma's nature as her good looks and intelligence, and honestly, what man could ever be attracted to the former characteristics? It really was a pity. Still, what if Emma herself did not see the ridiculousness of such a match? What if she did, indeed, have such inclinations with regard to his brother? Well, obviously her tender young heart would be broken into a thousand pieces when she realized that such an attachment could never be – George could never think of her in such a way. Sadly, not only would it ruin their decades-old friendship, but family relations would be severely strained when George rejected her, however gently he might try to do so. It would be a very bad occasion at Hartfield, indeed, with repercussions felt as far as Brunswick Square. No, John told himself, as far as his brother was concerned, Emma must never allow her foolish innocence to draw her into that sort of predicament. As awkward as it might be for all of them, John vowed to be on guard and, if necessary, to alert George to prevent such a disastrous misunderstanding from ever taking a foothold.