I recently saw Emma (2020) for the first time and I found myself loving the unique undertaking of this version. I confess that when I saw Mr. Knightley chasing after Emma was one of the most romantic scenes I've ever seen and I felt that Mr. Knightley needed his moment.
I hope you enjoy!
Emma, uninterrupted
George put out his hand, offering it to the young lady.
"Would you care to dance, Miss Smith?" he asked with a smile.
The brunette quickly wiped away the tears that were starting to form. She stood gleefully, smiling widely, nodding, taking his hand.
He led her just the few steps onto the dance floor, taking their position for the next song.
George glanced over at Emma, who was watching them. She met his eyes, giving him a soft, warm smile, nodding her head gently in appreciation. He returned the gesture before turning back to Miss Smith.
The music started and the dance began. Though it had been many years since George had danced – he had forgotten how many – he found the steps came back to him. He smiled grandly as he led Miss Smith down the line. She wasn't as accomplished a dancer as Emma, but together they pushed through, having a merry time.
For the present, his mind was distracted by how Mr. Elton had behaved and the gentle fury that filled his own heart, seeing Miss Smith humiliated and the pain that came over his dear friend, Emma. He had seen how Mr. Elton had looked pointedly at Emma before he had replied to Mrs. Weston. He aimed to hurt the golden-haired woman and had succeeded. George could see that plainly. He knew how rarely Emma had the opportunity to dance and how much she enjoyed it. Indeed, he enjoyed watching her dance. And now, due to foolishness, her evening was being ruined.
Before he could really think of it, he found himself moving forward, asking Miss Smith for the dance. The look he received from Emma made his heart happy, for indeed, she was happy once again.
The song ended and a young gentleman from the village had come forward, claiming Miss Smith's hand for the next dance. George made a retreat onto the sidelines, contented to watch once again as the others joined the orchestra in dance to another joyful tune.
Dinner was announced soon after and the loud room was vacated as everyone found their respective seats in the adjoining room. Laughter and the tinkling of silverware and glass replaced the sound of music for the time being.
George found himself across the table from Emma, near to Miss Fairfax and her aunt, on one side and Mr. and Mrs. Elton on the other. After hearing Mrs. Elton seemingly never-ending chitter for far-to-long, George turned in his seat paying his attention to his other companions, enquiring after their health and plans for the coming summer.
After a period, he noticed Emma had left her seat. Scanning the room, he finally spotted her standing in a vacant doorway, looking over the gathering. He noted how it fitted her—the lady over the proceedings.
While George was used to chastising Emma, he knew how different her life was from others. Not too many young ladies were allowed to become the Lady of the House at the mere age of 17. He knew her to be intelligent and self-assured, far more sharp-minded than her father and sister. Her lack of discipline to study or apply herself in meaningful ways were both laughable and frustrating to George. Often, he would give her advice and guidance, which tended to lead to disagreements, he could see how much she had grown from the child he used to know.
"Mr. Knightly?"
Hearing his name, George pulled himself from his thoughts, finding Miss Bates looking at him intently, a look of concern crossing her face.
He laughed softly. "My apologies, Miss Bates, I have found this rich food has put me in a stupor and my mind wandered."
"Oh yes, the decadence!" Miss Bates' eyes grew wide and a smile even larger appeared. "The sheer splendor of it all!"
Mr. Knightley spoke again, before she could continue further.
"If you'll excuse me, I find myself needing fresh air." He stood, nodding to his dinner companions.
He found himself drawn to Emma, standing next to her. She acknowledged him, though neither spoke for several minutes. He leaned against the door; hands clasped at his back.
"Thank you."
He turned towards her, finding her eyes with his.
"For your kindness to Harriet," she finished, turning away looking over the crowds once again.
"He was unpardonably rude," George responded, referencing Mr. Elton. "And he aimed at wounding more than Harriet."
She paused, holding his gaze once again. "I was completely mistaken about Mr. Elton." Her voice was low and thoughtful. "There is a littleness about him, that you discovered, and I did not."
George looked away. It was not often that Emma would confess that she was in the wrong.
When he finally spoke, he turned towards her. "You would have chosen better for him," he admitted quietly, "than he has chosen for himself. Miss Smith has some first-rate qualities, which Mrs. Elton is utterly without."
He quickly looked around, making sure they weren't being overheard. Everyone was still finishing their suppers however, and the conversations were drowning out anyone from eavesdropping.
"She does you credit, Emma, as you do her."
His companion searched his blue eyes, opening her mouth to respond, when Mr. Weston suddenly appeared before them, capturing Emma's attention.
"Ah, Miss Woodhouse, come, set your companions an example," he smiled and gestured towards the ballroom. "They are lazy. They're all asleep!" He yelled this over the crowd, laughing grandly and causing those nearest to laugh as well.
Mr. Knightley turned his face away, attempting to hide his smile.
"You must dance another set!" Mr. Weston implored Emma.
"I am ready, whenever I am wanted," Emma smiled graciously, her voice amused.
Mr. Weston, happy with this response, quickly set off to rouse the musicians for more merriment.
Mr. Knightley leaned around the door, watching the elder gentlemen retreat.
"With whom will you dance?" he suddenly asked Emma, eyes now looking through the guests. He could only guess that he would find Mr. Frank Churchill seeking out his companion to secure the dance.
"Well, with you, if you will ask me."
He looked quickly at her, frozen, staring once again into her large, brown eyes, the smile gone from his face. He felt his heartbeat strangely in his chest at the idea of leading Emma though a dance. How strange. While it had been many years since he had danced at a ball, he had indeed danced with Emma and Isabella when they were all much younger and the girls needed dance partners in their lessons. How would this be any different?
He tried to cover up his sudden nervousness by a quick smile, offering his hand to her.
"Will you dance with me, Emma?"
She took it and he looked down where they were now joined. Fire shot through his nerves where they touched. He would have to ponder that later.
Grasping her hand more firmly in his and led her to the dance floor, where the others were now starting to congregate. The music started as they took their place and they both smiled, taking their respective bows, and starting in the waltz. It was a slower, stirring song.
As they moved together George found he was captivated by his partner. Their hands joined together and parted, and he found himself missing her presence to him, though she was only a mere step away. Their eyes were locked, their companions seemed to disappear around them. The music seemed to slow and the sounds of conversation around them became muted. They joined together again and when his hands found hers, he lingered and didn't release her from his grasp as though he were afraid she too would disappear along with the crowd.
She gazed up at him, her large eyes wide and serious, a faint blush on her cheeks.
He ran his thumb across her knuckles.
The room came rushing back in, the music was continuing at its normal pace, their dance companions were still moving, breaking their connection, causing both George and Emma to quickly release their hold as though burned. They moved down to their respective spots to continue the dance.
George shook his head slightly, as though in a daze, his heart racing.
Was this not his old friend, the woman he'd known since she was born?
Trying to compose himself, he steeled his mind when he finally looked at her again, willing his heart to slow its pace. The rush came back, however, and as the song was ending, he couldn't help but pull her closer as the others were parting, placing his hand on her side, finishing the dance in a close embrace.
Her hand was placed on top of his. As he pulled away, he felt as though he would explode when she followed his departure, as though unwilling to lose his touch, her fingers skimming over his. The two steps he took away from her felt like he was losing something inside himself. While the others applauded the musicians, he and Emma could only stare at one another.
Miss Smith interrupted their moment, grasping Emma's hands and speaking excitedly with her, breaking their gaze, and pulling her away.
George turned quickly, moving through the crowds. He found an empty hall, away from others and leaned his head against the wall, closing his eyes.
His normally clear and calm mind was tormented. Something had happened while he was dancing with Emma. It was as though he had never seen her before—not truly—not as she really was. A lady, his equal. He replayed the smiles he received from her this evening, lingering on the pink in her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes. Her voice sounded like a hundred beautiful bells ringing, her laughter as though the sun burst forth from behind a cloud.
She was his friend, he told himself, his dearest friend. He was just admiring the way she looked this evening, that was all.
Someone rushed by where he stood, rousing him out of his thoughts. He glanced into the room to find that some time had passed, and everyone was taking their leave. He breathed out deeply, stood straight and adjusted his jacket, brushing out any wrinkles and found his hands were shaking slightly. He collected his hat and gloves quickly, not allowing himself to look around searching for the golden hair and white dress.
He stepped out into the morning, breathing deeply. Closing his eyes, he allowed the coolness of the morning to wash over him, willing for the fog he was in to dissipate. The sun not quite risen, the world cast in a soft blue glow. Around him, other guests were departing, sending their tired well wishes to him and others. He nodded to a few in return, not quite aware of who or what they were saying.
Placing his hat on his head, he started walking past the carriages being loaded with passengers. He barely registered when he had come upon Emma's. His mind still in a daze, he stopped next to it. He could see his breath in the cool air, before he turned to see Emma inside her carriage, looking at him.
At a glance, she looked unsettled, though maybe not as much as he. He watched as her mouth opened as if she was going to speak. What was she going to say? Suddenly, the horses took off, jerking her carriage forward, pulling her away, leaving George standing alone.
Watching her depart, his brain seemed to wake slightly. He cursed himself when he felt the urge to watch her carriage disappear around the corner, and after a small debate in his mind, he found himself moving quickly, catching a glance of her carriage once again.
Why did he feel like his heart, mind and soul were tearing in two? He felt foolish, like an adolescent boy-an adolescent boy who was in love for the first time. Her carriage disappeared fully from view.
He breathed out, a weight lift from his shoulders. His mind now clear.
Love. He loved Emma.
His feet started to move before he could think further. There was no reason to think further. He started to run, cutting across the Highbury ditch. Once out of the village, he turned down the path across the fields he knew led to Hartfield, where Emma and her father lived, some distance from the village.
He came into the courtyard, out of breath. The sun had broken above the horizon, casting its light on the world.
He finally stopped, but his mind was racing. He knew he should have just gone home, reflected, and approached her later in the day, during his usual visit to her home. Propriety would demand it. But too much time had already passed, him in a slumber, unaware of the feelings that had been growing through years towards his dear, sweet Emma. How could he let another hour pass without expressing his feelings to her?
George found his hands shaking once again. He looked around the windows in the house facing him, finally catching sight of her, sitting in one of her favorite spots for reflection. She did not seem to notice him at first, but as he watched her, he allowed himself to admire her, fully, for the first time.
Then her eyes met his and he could see the shock cross her face, quickly replaced by something else. As he took off his hat, unabashedly staring at her, she left the window.
Suddenly nervous, George took off his gloves, fidgeting with his hat. He couldn't remember ever being so out of sorts. How long had he dreamt of the moment of finding the woman whom he would love and express as much to her. This was nothing like he had ever thought possible. Where were the manners of a gentlemen? Should he not talk to Mr. Woodhouse first?
As she appeared before him, the door to the house opening, he felt his mouth go dry. She came to him willingly, curious and intrigued. He gazed upon her for the first time as a man in love.
There was nothing beyond her—beyond them; the entire world seemed to condense upon them into this single moment. He willed himself to speak before he lost his nerve.
"Emma," he spoke her name softly, barely more than a whisper. She took another step towards him. She was close enough he could see the uncertainty in her eyes, but something else too. Her hair was falling out of its pins from a night of merry-making and fun. It framed her face gently, adding to her features.
"Mr. Knightley," her voice wavered.
He closed his eyes, briefly, collecting his thoughts.
"My dearest Emma. For that is what you are to me."
The words hung in the air between them. He opened his eyes, finding her standing poised before him. Her eyes were sparkling, her mouth open, but unspeaking.
"I cannot be wise, dear Emma," he spoke earnestly. "Forgive me, but I must speak my mind, though you might wish it unsaid the next moment." He felt the tears in his eyes as the sudden thought of her rejection entered his mind the for the first time.
The morning breeze caught her hair, pushing the tendrils across her cheeks. George wished to step forward and push them away, tucking them behind her ear for her.
"I will hear whatever you have to say, Mr. Knightley, and we will both bear the consequences of what follows." She had her hands clasped in front of her, wringing them slightly. "As a friend, I will hear whatever you like." Tears sprung into her eyes as she spoke.
George tore himself away from her in torment, turning his back on her, anguish filling his heart. "A friend? Oh, Emma," He came back to stand in front of her. "That I fear is a word—" He stopped himself. "My dearest Emma, for you will always be my most beloved, dearest Emma. I cannot make speeches," he admitted, faltering slightly, "If I… If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more."
He reached forward now, hesitantly touching his fingers to hers. She watched his movements and then to his great encouragement, she allowed his hand to grasp hers fully.
"But y-y-you—you know what I am. I have… lectured you, I've scolded you, and you have borne it as no other woman in England could have borne it."
Emma smiled slightly at this, sniffling away her tears.
"God knows that I haven't been anything sort of a lover," he chuckled at this. "I admit that I didn't even realize my feeling for you until last evening, but…" he looked down now, away from her gaze. "I have come to understand now that, for the longest time, I have been in love with you, though it was hidden from me."
Now with earnest he looked back at her, leaning in further. "But you understand me. You—you understand my feelings?"
"Can this be true?" Emma whispered.
George lifted his hand, touching her cheek softly, finally pushing away the curls that framed her face. "You'll receive nothing but the truth from me." He sighed deeply, letting his hand drop back to his side. "So, tell me what you think."
She closed her eyes, letting out a shaky breath. George studied her face, waiting on the edge of the precipice for her reply. When she finally spoke, her voice quivered, eyes opening.
"What of Jane Fairfax and yourself?"
"Miss Fairfax?"
"Are you not in love with her?" He heard the accusation as well as the hurt in her voice.
"Why—what? That thought has never crossed my mind. Why would you think so?"
"It's of no conscience," Emma blushed.
"Emma," George said sternly.
She seemed unwilling at first, but then she took his hand in hers, studying it intently, which he did not mind.
Finally, she huffed and looked at him. "Mrs. Weston thought she had been able to sense an attachment between the two of you."
"Well, she was—is— mistaken." He pondered before continuing, "Besides I believe that Miss Fairfax is already attached, though she might not wish people to be aware of it…at the present."
Emma looked curiously at him and opening her mouth to ask for more, George reached up touching her lips with his fingers, shushing her. "I have regard for Miss Fairfax, as a friend. She is also not who, or what, I wish to be discussing right now. Or is that what you wish to dwell on in the moment?" He smiled slightly.
She blushed, dipping her head. When she didn't speak further, he stepped closer to her, moving his hand to her cheek once again.
"My dear Emma, will you marry me?" He finally asked.
A tear fell down her cheek as she nodded, laughing joyfully.
George's heart leapt with happiness.
Then, to his great amusement, Emma leaned forward, pausing for a moment, as though testing the waters and placed a quick, chaste kiss on his lips. She pulled back, her eyes sparkling and a playful smile on her face. She started to turn away, but he grabbed her chin, and dipped down kissing her fully.
Moments passed, but so did eternity. It was the most intense thing he'd ever experienced. When they pulled away, both were smiling widely.
After several minutes of staring at each other in bliss, George became all too aware of where they were and who could be watching their intimate moment. Clearing his throat, he stepped away from her, grasping her small hands once again in his.
Less than one day ago, if someone had told him of his actions and fortunes of today, he would have deemed them mad, but here he was, having found his love that he'd waited so patiently for the better part of his life. Holding her hands in his, he felt utterly complete.
The smile on her face radiated forth from her and his greatest desire was to ensure it would always be so.
Emma turned slightly pulling him towards the house, but he resisted, though he did not wish to.
She pouted at him, but he only smiled. "We've been awake through the night and are in need of rest, my dear one." While he was certain he wouldn't be able to sleep, he felt the need to refresh himself and he was certain she felt the same.
"I wish to talk."
"And talk we shall," he emphasized, squeezing her hand.
"But—" she began, trying once more to pull him towards the door.
"Emma," he said gently, his eyes piercing hers, "While I wish more than anything to go in, there are things that need to take place. We need to talk to your father, first and foremost."
He watched the beautiful blush from her face fade away, her skin turning quite white.
"Oh!" she seemed suddenly vexed. "Must we?" She pulled her hands away, smoothing them over her skirt nervously.
"Yes, Emma." He kept his voice steady, hoping to reassure her. "I wish to do so at once, but I need for the both of us to be in the right state of things, and while I am most content and pleased, I need to rest and process and so do you. We've had a long night and morning."
She nodded, still looking quite pale.
"All will be well," he assured her, reaching out once more, taking her hand. "I will come back this afternoon, during my normal visiting hours and we shall proceed, if that pleases you?"
She finally smiled once again, "It would, Mr. Knightley."
He laughed gently at this. "Shall I remain Mr. Knightley to you?" he teased.
"We're not married yet, and you shall always be Mr. Knightley," she quipped.
"Will you ever call me George?"
With a sparkle in her eye, she shook her head obstinately.
He glanced around quickly and not seeing signs of anyone, he leaned over, stealing another kiss from her lips. He heard her hum gently in appreciation, which pleased him greatly.
"I shall go now, my dear Miss Woodhouse," he whispered to her.
"Wait! I wish to say something to you." She gave him such a serious look that amused him. "Jane Fairfax, I wish to know what you do."
He gave her a pondering look, "Only if you answer me in return."
"What would you wish of me?"
"When did you realize your feelings for me?" The question was one that could wait, but he was curious. When she didn't answer right away, he continued. "For me, it was while we were dancing."
She nodded; her eyes bright. "Yes, I felt that too."
"But that was not when you realized, was it?"
"I confess, no." She looked away from him, seeming to ponder her words before continuing. "The night of dinner at the Coles', that is when I realized I felt something more for you than just friendship."
"The Coles!" he took a step back, surprised. "But… that was three months past."
She blushed.
He thought briefly. "I had a duet with Miss Fairfax at the Coles'."
Emma sighed. The blush and sparkle were gone from her eyes. "I believe that I have Jane to thank for making me realize my true feelings towards you, Mr. Knightley. For it was that very night that Mrs. Weston approached me on the subject of your heart, and I found myself utterly lost."
"'Lost', dear Emma?" He looked upon her tenderly, moving closer.
"I later took a reflection of my own heart and found you there," she now looked up at him, smiling gently. "Never to depart."
George wished to wrap his arms around Emma, holding her close. But he resisted, only allowing himself to gaze upon her in rapture.
"And what of my request, now that I have answered yours." She raised her eyebrow stubbornly.
He ran his hand through his already messed hair, "I shall answer you, but remember this is purely from my own observations and could be grounded in no truth at all." He gave her a sharp look. "And I am only telling you this dear Emma, because I dearly wish for your mind to be at ease."
She didn't waver under his stern look, waiting patiently for him to continue.
"I believe that I have witnessed a hidden attachment between Jane Fairfax and—and…" he paused here, suddenly feeling unsure of how she would react to his next words. "And Frank Churchill."
What he was not expecting was for Emma to start laughing. "Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax!" she exclaimed.
"Indeed."
"But surely you must be wrong."
"As I said, I have only observed things that I believe could only be explained as to a previous understanding between the two…. Hidden looks, private conversations."
He was nervous suddenly.
"If it were true, Emma, how would that make you feel?"
"Feel? It was scandalous and honestly unkind—what would his father think? And Mrs. Weston—it would hurt them deeply."
"And you, Emma?" he asked her quietly.
"Of course, it would wound me, but…" She stopped, gazing at George intently. "You have no need to fear any hurt on my account, Mr. Knightley. After all, it is you, and not Frank who has a permanent place in my heart."
George breathed out a sigh of relief. "I admit, I was afraid, but I know now, especially after the events of this morning that I have been unwise in my thoughts."
"It appears we both have been unwise," Emma responded gravely. "I do hope, for his father's sake, Frank is not being untruthful. I know it would hurt Mr. Weston deeply."
"Come, dear Emma, let us think on brighter things." George prodded her out of her musings. "I shall depart you now and return in but a few hours time."
"I wish you did not have to go."
"Nor I! I never wish to be parted from you again." George found himself laughing suddenly. "I realized that when I saw you depart in your carriage. The idea of not seeing you again, even for half-a-day, seemed impossible, as if I would not be able to breathe again, until I had secured your affections."
She smiled at this. "I am glad you did not wait, my dearest George."
Though she had of course said his name in past, albeit on rare occasions, he had never heard her say it in this way. He placed his hands on each side of her face, running a thumb over her cheek.
"Farewell, dear Emma, for a few hours."
He leaned down once more, kissing her gently, before pulling away, a smile on both their faces.
Let me know what you think in the comments!