A/N: Long awaited, the time has finally come. While I love this chapter it still feels a little awkward to me, and I might end up re-writing it some day. I have toiled over this one for a while. Please read and review! One more to go after this!
Chapter 14
I rubbed my hand over my eyes, biting my lip as I looked out on the falling snow under the twilight sky as the carriage jostled along.
She would choose red. Burgundy red on a fabric that also seemed to change to black depending on how the light caught it. Good Lord, I was in for it tonight.
Emma, to my knowledge, did not own a red dress in her entire collection. For which I had been eternally grateful over the last few months. She did have a red shawl and had had a red cape. The problem was she looked absolutely amazing in red.
There wasn't another color on God's green earth that brought out her features more, even now her lips looked more red than usual.
If I didn't know better I'd say she'd planned it.
I finally faced her again, she looked upset, "It's Christmas! Surely I am allowed to wear red?"
"Of course, it's just not a usual choice for you." I smoothed, running my hand through my hair again.
In her defense though, what I had seen of the dress was simply perfect. She was going to be the belle of the ball. I was going to have my hands full just keeping all the other young men off her, as for myself I prayed to God that I didn't lose my characteristic self-restraint tonight of all nights.
The fabric looked like satin to me, it was both dark red and black, depending on how you looked at it, and the hem had revealed her black boots with silver embossing. While she had surprised even me with her sudden interest in fashion, she clung to her favored boots. That silly choice of hers had been reassuring to me, I hadn't lost Emma amid all those frills and jewels.
We arrived at Randall Hall and the carriage line was atrociously long. It was snowing, and rather then arrive late and be rude, we decided it was best to get out and walk in, after all, it wasn't that far.
I helped her down from the carriage and I thought my heart would break at the sight of her beauty. She was enchanting, and worth every bit of the five and a quarter hours it had taken to accomplish this utter masterpiece, I found myself completely without words.
She looked at me with playful smile, "George," she tutted, "How could you?"
"What?!" I exclaimed nervously, "What did I forget?" I checked my pocket, and the watch was there, and both my boots matched, I was confused.
Her smile made me want to kiss her right there in the swirling moonlit snow. She looked like an angel from heaven, as she reached into her elaborate golden mane and removed a snowflake pin from her mass of curls.
She leaned in towards me, and murmured, "You forgot your cravat pin again." She put it between her teeth as she straightened my cravat, and I don't remember what half-witted response I replied with, but it made her laugh and that was all that mattered.
"Here," she placed the snowflake pin in it, "I'm afraid it's a bit feminine, but its Christmas, and you forgot yours, so it's your own fault." After she finished I offered her my arm and we walked towards the house.
The servant ushered us into the cloak-room where I removed my cape and dusted myself off.
Emma waited patiently for me, and turned around so I could help her remove her own cape. I shall not lie, I took more time than I should have as I wrapped my arms around her neck and undid the fastening on her cape, and I was so self-conscious I fumbled with it at the end and nearly dropped the cape on the floor. She giggled, and turned around.
I am fairly sure that I bit my lip so hard it bled, in an attempt to not touch her just then.
Emma stood there, in her red and black satin dress dusted with diamond snowflake lace in a fashion that looked like she'd been caught up in a snowstorm, or a fairy had sprinkled it over her.
She's a fairy princess again.
The past and present collided with a fury of impact that nearly left me reeling.
The dress cinched into an impossibly small point just beneath her chest and the deep-cut V-shaped neckline revealed more skin than I'd ever seen on her, and I felt my tell-tale face burning up despite the relative chill of being right near an open door.
She had chosen the flower diamond necklace that could pass for snowflakes, ironically part of my mother's dowry. Accented by tiny snowflake hair pins and my silver ribbon in her hair.
"I think you have made Aphrodite jealous." My mouth was dry, and I was surprised I'd gotten out a response at all.
She swatted me playfully, but I noticed the blush that crept up her face and shy smile on her lips as she took my arm and we walked out into the hall.
The whirlwind of greetings passed through my conscious like a sieve, all I could think of was Emma and how divine she looked. I don't even recall saying much.
Emma on the other hand was entirely non-plussed and greeted everyone warmly, none more so than her old governess, Mrs. Weston.
They had walked off a bit from Mr. Weston and I to share some confidence, and I couldn't take my eyes off her.
Mr. Weston took pity on me, "You know, Mr. Knightley, I should say, second to my lovely wife, you have the best-looking woman in the room there, see that you watch her carefully tonight."
I swallowed and replied thickly, "I shall."
If only she really were mine.
The ladies glanced back at us, and Mrs. Weston looked at me and whispered something into Emma's ear. Emma smiled and said something quickly before she returned to me.
"Come on, George," she chided, "It's almost time for dinner." As we walked over to the long dining table I reflected that it was highly unlikely we would be seated together, and I wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.
Just then she spotted Mr. and Mrs. Elton. The reverend was completely (as usual) outshone by his wife.
She looked repulsive though, in contrast to Emma. Her dress was downright vulgar, made entirely of thick gold cloth and dotted over in yellow gems too large to be real.
Emma might be verging on temptress, but her dress had class that Mrs. Elton's clearly lacked, and even I who was a veritable blockhead in regards to all fashion, could see that.
Emma leaned in to whisper in my ear, and her curls brushed my ear, "I almost feel sorry for her." Her hot breath scalded my neck, and the cool touch of her diamond earring brushed it in an odd contrast.
I couldn't even look at her, I just nodded my assent.
Arriving at the table I noticed with some consternation that Emma was seated directly across from me, obviously an oversight on Mrs. Weston's part, as parties were never supposed to sit together, but it was too late to fix now.
Dinner was pure albeit delicious torture, and Emma made sure of that. Her classic trick of finding an excuse to touch me seemed to be on overdrive tonight. Her hand brushed against mine as she reached for the gravy, and her eyes met mine.
The emotion there was very intense, and truly confused me. She was trying to tell me something without words. I could not decipher what it was though, and relinquished the gravy to her elegant gloved white hand.
I had never truly experienced what John had called 'schoolboy love,' otherwise known as emotions so intense that you cannot think of or feel anything else around you. However, I was paying for that exponentially now, I hadn't the faintest clue what was going on around me, and I'm pretty sure I ignored several attempts by my neighbors to engage me in conversation.
Relief flooded me when they served the traditional yule log dessert. Dinner torture was almost over. Besides, the yule log dessert had been a favorite of mine since childhood.
With some satisfaction I noted that Mrs. Weston had directed it made with fudge icing, somewhat unnecessary given that it was already rich, but she remembered that I liked it that way, and it was the holiday after all.
Then I saw a flash of silver and a fork intruded on my dessert, I followed the thieving utensil back to its owner and saw Emma's smirk as she dug into my favorite dessert.
"Emma Woodhouse!" I hissed and my schoolboy love spell snapped, she was that mischievous girl stealing my favorite dessert again. Just like she had every Christmas Eve to date. "That is your dessert!" I pointed with my own fork towards her plate.
She put the piece and the fork into her mouth with a cat-ate-the-canary smile and it was all I could do not cause a scene right there.
However, such an affront could not go unpunished, and I quickly dashed off a piece of her dessert, grinning from ear to ear, and ignoring the tiny voice in my head screaming about our scandalous behavior.
She frowned, but said nothing; I received my response in the form of a kicked shin under the table.
I bit my lip to keep from laughing and shook my head at her. I don't think she'll ever grow up, and I don't think I'd want her to.
The last course was finished without further incident though, and she latched herself to my side once again near the punch-bowl.
The musicians took their places and I steeled myself for the onslaught of inevitable hopeful partners to Miss Emma Woodhouse.
One young gentleman, I believe it was the Jennings boy started to make his way towards us, when Emma suddenly glanced at him, made eye contact and turned her back to him, stirring her punch with a stick of cinnamon as she gazed up at me, and I almost lost my place in my explanation of crop-rotation to Mr. Cole.
Jennings looked like a lost puppy, but turned around and walked away. I should not have been so elated at this, but I am ashamed to admit that I was.
Just then Mrs. Elton arrived, with a brittle smile on her face, to interrupt our conversation.
"I must say Miss Woodhouse, I've not seen your style before, wherever did you invent it from?" she began
Emma smiled prettily, and I waited with baited breath her response, hoping it would not be too harsh.
"Why Paris of course, by way of Mr. Ford's shop." Emma said coolly.
Mrs. Elton seemed to deflate for an instant before brightening again, "Well I don't know about Miss Woodhouse, but I don't follow every silly fashion from France, I know my friends think I have exquisite taste after all." She laughed a little, but no one replied.
Changing the subject she spoke again, "Have I mentioned that my good husband and I are expecting a little one come summer time?" She sipped at her punch and I found I had no response to her forwardness. That was not a socially acceptable way to announce one was in a family way. There were stilted congratulations offered, but nothing more. I just shook my head and returned to Mr. Cole and Emma.
Eventually Mrs. Cole retrieved her husband for the first dance and I was left with Emma.
She re-filled my punch glass and I found myself wishing that Mr. Weston had not insisted on his wife adding whiskey to the mix. It was not that I could not tolerate it; I probably had a better tolerance than I should have had, but I didn't know what Emma's was.
Emma frowned, "Is something bothering you George?" she handed me my glass.
"Just Mrs. Elton, her comments were unpardonable." I replied with disgust
She leaned in towards me and stood on her toes to whisper in my ear, "Not all of us are blessed with such exquisite taste as you my dear George."
I nearly spit out my punch at that I tried so hard not to laugh, it was ungenerous of me, but the comment was too funny.
Emma beamed, her eyes dancing with mischief. Then she glanced over my shoulder and her face fell.
I turned ever so briefly to see a determined Reverend Elton approaching us.
She took a large swig of her glass, finishing her second, a bit too fast for my taste.
She lowered her voice, "He means to ask me to dance George, please do not let this happen." She pleaded.
Before I could reply I heard his silky smooth voice behind me, "Mr. Knightley! Miss Woodhouse! How are you both this evening?"
He did not await a response, but barreled on, turning to Emma he leaned in, "Surely you intend to set the example for us Miss Woodhouse and join in the dancing? Might I be-"
"I'm afraid Mr. Elton, that Miss Woodhouse is already claimed for this dance, I was merely waiting to finish my glass." I cut in, my voice as hard as steel, and my face grim.
I took her hand in mine, placed the empty crystal down on the table and walked her towards the dance floor.
"Might I perhaps have the next dance then?" he called after us
I stopped to turn and look at him barely concealing my exasperation, "That is a question for the lady not me."
Emma returned, "I am sure I shall be too exhausted after this one. I am still recovering after all." Her voice was light, but the words warned him off.
The music had started again, and I took a deep breath, willing myself to remain calm, "From the top then?" I asked.
"Yes," she smiled taking my hand and we began weaving our way in and out of the couples.
She twirled this way and that, her glittering body never still even for a moment, she was like a gorgeous butterfly finally free of its chrysalis. There didn't seem to be a single man in the room who could resist watching her on the dance floor.
When we had made our way through at the very end, Emma melded one dance into another that I had not expected, as the end of the song crescendoed she twirled out one last time to the very tip of our comparative arms' lengths. Pausing for an instant she met my eyes, then closed hers and blindly, dizzyingly, and with complete trust that I would catch her, she spun in a flash of red, black and gold into me. Landing with her back against my chest and out of breath, I thanked Heaven above for my quick reflexes that had stopped her from falling.
She opened her hazel eyes, and I knew in that instant what it looked like to gaze directly at the sun. Her bright red lips parted so she could breathe, time seemed to freeze around us, and I couldn't have moved if I'd wanted to.
The necklace rose and fell in shards of brilliant icy fire against her chest and I realized there was nothing to it. I could not tolerate this any more.
My heart in my throat, my emotions boiling over, I grabbed her arm and directed her off the dance floor and out the door into the falling snow.
Emma skipped a little to keep up with my inconsiderate pace, her dress hampering her movement across the snow-covered cobbles.
I did not stop until our tracks led us around the side of the Weston estate and out of the way of curious eyes.
With more force than I perhaps should have used I twirled her onto the cold stone wall and let her go, placing my left arm on the wall above her head.
I tried to catch my breath, and she was still out of breath herself from the dance floor, gazing up at me with her eyes stirred by some deep emotion.
The snow was falling on her skin and melting on impact, and she looked so beautiful so divine there I could not believe that I was finally going to ruin our friendship over this.
"Emma, do you have any idea what you are doing to me tonight?" I said in a low voice
She reached up to trace my jawline, leaving a line of fire behind her fingertip, in an equally soft tone she replied, "Probably the same thing you're doing to me."
I grabbed her chin and pulled her in to me, closing the distance between us and pressing my lips to hers like I was dying and she was my only hope.
She was not startled, or angry as I'd expected. She closed her eyes with a soft moan and snaked her hands through my hair, responding with the same desperation I'd felt.
My first kiss with Emma Woodhouse was pure bliss.
Finally she did pull away, her chest heaving as she tried to breathe and stumbled back against the wall her hair more than a little askew, and I more than expected to be slapped.
"Emma, please my sweetest dear friend, tell me that you love me as I love you, or if nothing else that I at least have some chance of winning you." I stuttered my thoughts and emotions racing so fast I nearly felt sick at the thought she might not reciprocate them.
"Please tell me I have not destroyed our friendship or your reputation with this."
"George," she began softly, and walked towards me, leaning in towards me cupping her hand under my chin, "I don't kiss friends like that." I took a hold of her shoulders, pulling her off me, confused that she actually could love me like this.
"You mean to say that you do love me?" I had to be sure; this was too good to be true.
She laughed a joyous laugh, and twirled about just like she had all those years ago by the ford, her spirit had not changed with age. She was still my Emma, after all these years.
She stopped, her chin jutting up just under mine with the most heartfelt smile on her face, "I Emma Jane Woodhouse do love you, George Elliot Knightley with all my heart." She paused for effect, "Now kiss me George!"
I happily complied.
She tasted like mint and honey and there could not have been happier man in England at that moment than I.
When we finally parted she rested her forehead on mine, and smiled shyly as our breathing returned to normal.
I reached for something in my pocket that I should have done a long time ago.
"Marry me, my wonderful, darling friend."
She made a muffled sob, and launched herself into my arms, burying her face in my chest, "Of course I shall marry you! I thought you would never ask!" she cried.
"I love you Emma," I stated simply and closed my eyes, my chin resting on the crown of her head. Relief and joy flooding over me like a midsummer rainstorm. "I love you so very much."
We stood there holding each other in the twirling snow and moonlight not caring who saw us.
Eventually she started to shiver, and I let her go, "Are you cold?"
"A little," she rubbed her arms together.
"One last thing before we head back in," I paused until I had her attention.
She looked at me expectantly eyelashes laced with snowflakes, and the deep emotion I saw in her eyes I finally realized was her love for me. I wondered that it had taken me so long to see something so plainly written.
"Will you do me the honor of wearing this?" I asked, producing an old but re-worked gold emerald ring surrounded by diamonds.
She gasped, "I should love to, but wasn't this your mother's?" She inspected the ring closely in the dim light, and found the new inscription, and her smile grew as she began to read:
"…For all the mercy that makes me flourish or decay is in her power."
"George! That was the poem you wrote for me when I was injured!"
"More like borrowed, but yes." I replied with some embarrassment.
"Are you quite sure you do not mind?" was her inquiry.
"Emma, it's yours now," I replied, taking her hand and asking her with a glance before placing the ring on her chilly finger. I gathered her in my arms, "She would have wanted you to have it."
"Thank you George," she said softly.
I pulled away to look at her, "For what?"
"For everything." She replied simply, wiping a tear from her face, "For our entire relationship."
I caught sight of her scar in the moonlight and sobered a little, "It is I who should be thanking you." I ran my finger over her scar, amazed at how her body had healed itself from the trauma.
Overwhelmed with the emotions of the last few months I said, "I love you and your scar Emma, it was because of this that I learned to hope I might mean something to you." She blushed, and I leaned in to kiss her scar, probably a breech of protocol even between those affianced, but I cared not. She shivered under my touch, and I do not think it was from the cold.
I took her arm and we walked back in, "I should warn you my dear, that I shall be a rather jealous fiancé tonight. I do not wish to see you dance with anyone else tonight."
She laughed, and tapped my nose in an affectionate manner, "Well I should warn you, Fiancé, that I do not intend to miss any more dances tonight."
I looked at her with mock amusement, "Oh you do do you?"
She leaned to whisper conspiratorially in a manner she had had since a child that I found as impossible to resist now as I did then. "I see but one solution George."
"And what might that be?" I raised an eyebrow at her
"You shall have to dance with me until the musicians fall over." She laughed with joy
"As you wish."
"Oh wait, is the Mr. George Knightley going to dance more than one dance at a ball? I shall have to call the town gossips!"
"Is the proper Miss Emma Woodhouse going to break tradition and declare to all of Highbury at a ball she is engaged by dancing more than twice with the same man?"
A/N: So what do you all think? Please review and let me know! Anyway, I realize the Eltons are married to each other, but I always felt like Mr. Elton in particular realized the woman he married and part of him still wanted Emma, which prompted his asking her to dance.
I know the outdoor scene was way out of protocol, but I though proposing on the dance floor-or worse kissing her there would be even worse. At least poor George had the presence of mind to drag her off the dance floor first. I've also always loved the picture that falling snow sets at twilight. There's nothing quite like it.
I know red is an audacious color for Emma to choose given her pastel wardrobe, but she wanted his attention, and she got it…finally!
Bet: I wondered if I'd made her too familiar with them, but she basically grew up with them, and this isn't some palace or stuffy London townhouse, it was Highbury and I think the interaction level was appropriate.
Jan: Hope you enjoyed this one just as much!