A/N: Emma is widely considered to be set in either 1813-14 or 1814-15, but to make some of the dialogue in this chapter work, I'm sort of disregarding either this fact, or real historical dates.

Some trivia: German-born Queen Charlotte (wife of King George III and mother of the Prince Regent aka George IV) was supposedly the first to bring the concept of the Christmas tree to England, even though it was Prince Albert (Queen Victoria's husband) who popularised it.

Re: my playing around with dates – by 1814 King George III was no longer ruling England (due to mental illness), and his son George IV had stepped in as the regent. Plus Queen Charlotte first introduced the Christmas tree in 1801. So we're assuming either that Emma is set in 1802, or that history has been delayed some 12 years.

Please let me know what you think of this chapter!

After dinner was over, he sat admiring the childrens' handiwork aloud for their gratification, but he really was genuinely impressed. Their contribution to the decorations of the room was truly magnificent – it was not like anything he had seen before. They had decorated a small fir tree with strings of almonds and raisins, coloured paper decorations, small toys and the whole was illuminated by actual lighted wax candles.

As Emma came to sit on the floor beside him, he turned to her. 'Where did they get the idea?' he asked, genuinely intrigued.

She smiled. 'The boys saw a picture in the paper of a tree of Queen Charlotte's, which was decorated like this last year, and they spent the whole year lamenting that Christmas was already over so they could not try it.'

He thought he had a vague memory of seeing the picture himself. 'So they thought they would have a Christmas fit for a prince?' he smiled.

'Not just a prince,' Emma corrected him emphatically, and then she smiled at little Bella who was sitting next to her. 'A queen too, who is higher than a mere prince – is she not, Bella?'

Bella grinned hugely and nodded her little head enthusiastically, while young Henry and John good-naturedly protested their own claims, little George joining in, not quite understanding the dispute, but happy to take his brothers' side all the same.

Mr. Knightley grinned. If that was how Emma wished to play, he could match her. Standing, he lifted a giggling George onto his shoulders so that the little boy was now in the highest position in the room. 'Ah, but Emma, you forget King George up here – ruler of all England; with more authority than either queen or prince.'

Emma replied immediately. 'The queen is the king's wife – she should therefore be his equal.'

He raised an eyebrow. 'Should be, but in terms of who holds more governing power, she is not.'

Emma rose as well, perhaps feeling the disadvantage of having him tower over her while they debated. Of course even when she stood he still towered over her. His grin widened – times like these, he was even more glad than usual that he was a man and Emma was a woman.

'It is my opinion, Mr. Knightley,' she said airily as she straightened some of the decorations on the tree, 'that no matter who holds power in an official light, the person who holds the true power in the house is the one who arranges the menu for meals, for she – and inevitably it is always a she – runs the household. Without her, the place would be in chaos.'

There was logic there, undoubtedly. In every couple he could think of – the Westons, John and Isabella, the Gilberts, the Coles, the Perrys – the wife's desires and decisions were what guided the husband's. Perhaps not outwardly, but one could be sure that when one of these men mentioned some plan they wished to follow, it was really their wife's wish. Mr. Weston's plan to limit his Christmas party to select close friends instead of the whole of Highbury was obviously Mrs. Weston's plan; Mr. Cole's desire to improve his house was really his wife's; Mr. Perry's wish for a new carriage was really Mrs. Perry's wish.

'That's all very well, Emma,' he said, 'but what about me? I am truly master of Donwell.'

She looked at him shrewdly. 'That may be true, Mr. Knightley, but tell me, do you arrange your own menus?'

He began indignantly, 'I'll have you know that on occasion I actually...' Emma was looking at him, eyebrow raised, looking extremely sceptical and highly amused. He coloured. 'Very well, Mrs. Hodges does it.' Then he added rather defensively, 'But I do not think that I am under Mrs. Hodges' power!' He had meant "power" in a purely political sense, and only realised how it sounded after he said it.

Emma laughed heartily at the implication that he could be captivated by his stout, stern housekeeper who had to be at least twenty years his senior.

Mr. Knightley was glad to see her laughing and happy after all she had been through yesterday, but honestly, there was a limit to how much ribbing he could endure in one sitting. 'For your information, I am under nobody's power,' he said, rather crossly.

Emma wiped away the last tears of laughter, and she placed a placating hand on his arm. 'I am glad of it,' she smiled. 'Remain that way – never waste an extra thought on someone else; never cater to her whims and fancies; never allow her to insinuate herself into your heart where she can then have the power to govern your actions.'

As she spoke, the thought occurred to him that Emma had already attained all this from him, but he was not unduly bothered by the fact. It seemed somehow natural and right that she had, and he would rather it were her than anyone else. After all, they were partial old friends.