"Oh!"
He had heard the not so quiet gasp throughout the hall as he walked on her side of the west wing of Donwell Abbey.
Her rooms stood just two doors away now, yet the corridor had been eerily quiet—much too quiet.
"Shhh!"
Mr. Knightley, the grand master of his home, simply knew that she certainly must have been up to no good.
Almost rarely had the girl ever calmly kept to herself, much less hidden away at her chambers— in fact even in those frightening periods when overcome with sickness and fever, never could a single soul persuade her to take the bedrest required of her on the behest of Dr. Perry—and certainly much less on a healthy, happy, bright day like the one at present.
No, he agreed with himself, something was not right at all.
After all, Emma Woodhouse had been placed under his care at the tender age of nine, when her father died of illness, and it was due to all the years spent watching over her that he prided himself in knowing the girl quite well indeed.
And to think that he had once already thought to have known her well enough those mere nine years prior, ha!
It was however, just one of the reasons why he had accepted, when while in his deathbed Mr. Woodhouse, had begged George Knightley to take pity on his young daughters so that they could remain in Highbury, precisely where they belonged.
Though, already quite the gentleman land owner at the age of five and twenty, he admittedly was nowhere near ready to be charged with the care of two young girls; Isabella who had only just been out in society, and her little sister of seven years her junior.
It was only due to the incredibly high respect he had for his father's old friend, and the Knightley's long standing friendship with the family in question, that George had agreed to honor his promise to the late Henry Woodhouse.
After all, he had already been in charge of his younger brother's care, so really, what trouble could two more possibly cause?
Apparently, quite a lot indeed.
Not only did George have to deal with a then twenty year old John, whom was fresh out of University, but for another, he also had to worry over making sure Isabella was properly chaperoned at all times, now that she had then just been recognized as a respectable young lady.
And of course there was the matter of little Emma, whom George had always been very fond of, and who was of course as sharp and as trouble-making as she had always been.
Needless to say, he was ever so glad that he had still acquired the help of the Woodhouse's loyal governess, Miss Taylor, whom proved herself very vital in the raising of the girls.
Yet it had not been until that very Miss Taylor was asked to accompany John and Isabella to a season in Bath, when George Knightley had finally gotten a taste of how life as Emma Woodhouse's guardian would be.
In truth, he always carried high hopes that she would grow to be the perfectly accomplished young lady she should be, and he had made it his own personal duty to see that it would be so.
It certainly should not have been so far fetched a goal, as even at only nine she had already proven to be very clever.
Then again, he did suppose Emma had always been a lively child, with pale hazel eyes that shined impishly, and an angelical physical loveliness that only proved to enhance her spoiled nature.
Most days the little blonde was happy and fanciful, but other times, when provoked, had a bitter temper.
And throughout the years, almost eight in fact, her mentor and protector had come to notice that above all else she had a shameless mischievousness about her that could prove itself to be very troublesome indeed.
Silent giggles fluttered behind her bedchamber door, and Mr. Knightley had wasted no time in approaching it.
What could she possibly be up to now?
Ever so softly he rapped on the handsome wood, waiting for the response that never came, and instead was made aware of more giggles and muffled sighs.
Briefly wondering if and who could possibly be keeping her company, and without any more thought to her right of privacy, the gentleman promptly opened her door.
The next gasp that assaulted his ears was the loudest one yet, and unlike the playful little noises she had been uttering previously, this one was one of surprise and horror.
Mr. Knightley was sure that for the whole minute it took him to realize the scene before him was truly happening, his heart had momentarily stopped.
It only seemed to regain its strength only for him to feel it plummet mercilessly to the very bottom of his being.
There she was, Emma as lovely as always, with some boy shamelessly pressed on top of her in her bed.
The young man was quick to jump out of her arms and onto the floor below her, while she clutched one of her elegantly dressed pillows to cover her lack of modesty.
"Mr. Knightley!", she exclaimed, horrified.
Well she seemed horrified, Mr. Knightley observed bitterly, but he knew her too well.
"Get out!", He gritted at the young man—recognizing him as one of his stable boys—and watched him scramble to his feet, warily clutching the few article of clothing he had disrobed as he speed past him and out of the room.
Mr. Knightley was slightly relived to observe that the boy had not been completely naked, at least.
Bitterly, he made note to deal with him later.
He turned to Emma, who still sat up on her duvet, clutching the pillow to her chest, and he was reassured to see that she too was almost fully dressed, for the most part.
An inexplicable force of anger hit him then, and he felt himself grow more and more furious with each step he took towards her.
He was practically seething by the time he reached her, and in one swift move, grabbed her by the arm and dragged her off the bed.
She landed on her knees at his feet but Mr. Knightly swiftly pulled her up, and so intense was his ire that for the spilt second that she watched him lift his hand up to strike her, Emma felt true fear.
He made to hit her, but stopped himself half way, and dropped his hand.
"M-Mr. Knightley I—
"Why?…Emma…", He interrupted, and she noticed he was no longer looking at her as he spoke.
His face was turned away from her and was instead fixed towards the direction of the wall opposite them.
And for once in her life, Emma Woodhouse, truly felt ashamed of herself.
"Why do you do this?", His voice was thick with anger, and pain.
She suddenly couldn't find her own voice.
"ANSWER ME!", He turned to her then, as he roared the command in the harshest tone she had ever heard him utter.
"I-I…I—
"Do not look so demure, don't you dare look demure!", He snapped, inching closer to her as he clutched her shoulders tightly, "I have had enough of your games! What has been going through your head, Emma?"
Panicking, she bit her lip.
What had been going through her head? For the life of her, she couldn't seem to remember it now…
"Have I not given you everything you have ever wanted? Have I not taken good care of you—looked after you well?", Mr. Knightley asked, "Did not your Miss Taylor raise a respectable young girl? Where did you get it in your mind that you could do something like this!"
"I—we…Mr. Knightley I—
"You are playing with fire, girl!", he gritted, turning his hard gaze away from her once more.
He still could not believe it—any of it!
"I am not a girl any longer!", Emma suddenly shouted, finally recovering herself.
Mr. Knightley snapped his eyes back to her face, and if he weren't so angry and disappointed, he would have been amused at the indignant look in her beautiful down-trotted gaze.
"Yes.", Was his cold reply, "You most certainly are."
Emma flinched, tears blurring her vision as she attempted to pull away from his unforgiving hold with what little strength her slight figure allowed.
"I'm a woman!", She cried, desperate, "You want to refuse it, but it is the truth, despite the fact that you will always treat me like a child!"
"What you have shown me here today is childishness!", Her guardian countered, holding her arms still, "It is your wish to be treated as an adult—I know—but you do not act like one…and now you do this!"
"We did nothing serious!"
"This is very serious, Emma!", Mr. Knightley snapped, already worn, "The mere fact that you can't comprehend the severity of it, is exactly why you are no woman."
Despite his ire, he couldn't help but feel the tightening in his chest at the tears that spilled from her pale hazel eyes.
"I am sixteen!", she sobbed, breath ragged, "You have given me everything sir, I do not deny it—but I have no freedom here!"
Outrage overpowered George once again, and his hold on her hardened.
"Because you treat me like a child, everyone must follow in your lead and I am sick of it—I. Am. Sixteen!"
Her gasps were loud, and her hands shook despite her effort to remove them from his grasp.
Shocked, Mr. Knightley pulled back immediately, removing his much larger and stronger ones from around her wrists, as if they had burned him.
At the sight of the slight bruising of her skin, he forced himself to retreat a step back, from the absolute shame of it.
Despite himself, he then looked down to the palms of his own hands, only to find that they too were trembling.
And even in contempt of his ire, the loud and unpleasant gears inside his throbbing head made quick work of attempting to reorganize the jumbled mess laid siege in his mind.
For George would certainly think himself very daft indeed if he were to swiftly not comprehend now, what could have possibly been going through his ward's mind—and what exactly had transpired here.
Emma was the essence of mischief, it was true, but despite her naturally flirty way and her easy to come by and charming charisma, she was not a wanton girl—she was no whore—but she was cunning, and while he now seemed to understand that her actions were powered by her anger and desperation in getting her way—by showing him that she was certainly not a child—he was still very displeased.
It would never change the fact that she was reckless and wrong, and that had he not found her out in time—despite of her silly belief that nothing serious would have transpired—she could have been ruined forever!
He would never have forgiven himself if she had been, nor would he have forgiven her.
"…And as a protest, you do this…?", He finally responded, looking her hard in the eyes.
"Emma, this was badly done—you have completely tarnished your reputation, even before it started—and now I am left with having to fix your blunder, as I have had to do with all your other errors!"
The young girl, now much calmed, ignored the slight stinging of her wrists as she lowered her eyes and bowed her head in shame.
She had only wanted to prove to Mr. Knightley that she was no longer a child.
Though not only had her plan backfired on her, it had hardly even been executed correctly!
She had only meant to flirt with William, hoping to capture his attentions so that whenever Mr. Knightley was around, he could realize that if other people no longer saw her as a little girl, then perhaps neither would he.
But curiosity had gotten the best of her, and before she knew it, she had given away her first kiss.
And that only served to lead strange new warm feelings in the flutter of her stomach, which lead to more kisses—and soon they were in her room and it all seemed so clever to her at the time—she thought that maybe, if she continued to kiss and touch William, then perhaps there would be no doubt in anyone's mind about her being a woman.
And to a very horrible and wrong extent she had indeed wanted someone to find them both in that way.
Because she was tired of being treated as a child—of being trapped in the Abbey, while other girls her age were all allowed to attend balls and go on seasons.
She had been desperate, and now she was ashamed.
"Emma…"
She looked up to find Mr. Knightley's dark blue eyes staring back at her, and she noticed with some slight relief that they were not nearly as cold and angry as they had been moments ago, though Emma's shame heightened when she realized she had never seen them so sad and hurt before.
They were beautiful, and it truly broke her heart.
"Dry your tears", he muttered, coyly bringing his thumb up so he could gently wipe the long wet trail marring her left cheek, "you are not a child any longer, I know…but you certainly are still very young…and I also happen to know that we all make mistakes when we are young."
Forcing himself to push forward despite the discomfort of the situation, he swallowed thickly, "It is our duty to learn from those mistakes."
Emma nodded, trying to offer a small, compliant smile, but it only forced more tears to well up in her eyes.
"I'm so sorry…Mr. Knightly…", she whimpered miserably.
Whether she truly realized the extreme severity of her actions and regretted them or not, he could never know for sure, but he wanted to believe she did—and he would believe it as blindly as he could, for the sake of his own sanity.
"Shhh…", the gentleman responded, conceding at last and bringing her towards him once more, this time in a comforting hug "…no more crying…what is done is done…"
"—So sorry, I am so sorry!", The blonde girl in his embrace continued to sob, sullen and miserable, while thin pale fingers clutched to his coat in her grief.
Mr. Knightley sighed and laid his cheek on top of the golden crown of her hair, "…no more tears…", he hummed.
No matter how much she did not want to be seen as a little girl—and George had to admit to himself that she had indeed grown into a young woman—he could not help but want to keep her like this forever.
He knew she was overdue for her coming out, and that he could not fool himself into stalling it any further, but Emma was precious to him, and his only claim on her was the one he held now as her guardian.
There was no doubt that once she would be out in good society, it would not take long at all for some man to come in and take her from him.
He had always been there for her all her life, from the time she was an infant, to the time she was completely orphaned, to now, where he had just almost lost her—and that thought scared him, especially how it had all been so real.
The truth of the matter was that he had always been her protector, and therefore he could not imagine himself in a world were he no longer was.
George was still angry with her, and he would be for quite some time now, though he could not help but notice that apart from angry and disappointed, he was hurt by her action—more hurt than he would have ever imagined— in fact his heart had yet to calm.
So while he stroked Emma's long hair soothingly, George Knightley couldn't help but clench his strong jaw, as he came to the sudden realization, that he had never ever wanted to hurt another human being more than he did that treacherous stable boy.
.
.
A/N: Just passing through, doing some updates on all the chapters that require it. Warning though: I started writing this fic a long time ago, when I was much closer to this Emma's age, actually...so even with a nice new update, the first few chapters wont be as "improved" in terms of my writing as the later ones might be. But anyway, if you choose to stick around, whether you're an old friend or new reader, I really hope you'll enjoy the story!