Friends of Hartfield
Chapter 2
The trek to Donwell always made her feel invigorated, even if her motivation was less than thrilling.
She stood outside the large front doorway and it felt as if no sooner had she knocked then the door was open. She wasn't sure what was more startling, the speed of it, the fact that it was the senior Mr. William Knightley himself or his set brow.
She was certain it was a tie, between him not being a footman as expected and his stern facial expression; he looked a man at odds with the world around him.
"Yes?" He said, sounding neither pleasant nor happy to receive a possible guest.
"Mr. Knightley," she curtsied, fairly certain she was trembling as she did so "Is your son at home?" she asked.
"Well I am not a mind reader— that would depend on which one you are looking for" he said gruffly.
Her eyes grew wide, she was annoying him she knew it! She was not used to having that effect on anyone—young or old. It was a rather startling revelation.
"Well, as much as I would like to see John as some point, it is George that I am looking for at present— to ugh—to help me resolve a dilemma," she told him carefully enunciating each of her words for she had some fear of being asked to repeat herself.
"George is in the stables," he replied crisply.
"Thank you, Mr. Knightley, I'm obliged to you," she told him politely, almost feeling as if her knees might shake standing one moment longer in his presence.
He grunted and Emma took that to be his version of good day.
"Your father is positively terrifying," she told him coming at him from the side of the stable.
"Well, hello to you too Emma," he replied, leaning over the fence watching the mare standing on the other side.
"Really," she urged dramatically, "I felt I might start shaking! He seems so stern and direct" she whispered moving to stand next to his elbow. "I think he'd wish to squash me like a cabbage worm if his true mind on it were revealed!" she added with a gasp, sounding genuinely astonished.
George Knightley for his turn laughed, maybe at her or possibly with her, she wasn't exactly sure. "Well, I'm glad you braved it all and have persevered!" he commented dryly.
"Why yes, it was rather urgent that I did, so it was certainly mind over matter," she informed him.
"Ah, urgent business—did you get word that my mare is likely to throw a foal in the next few weeks?" He asked, motioning to the horse on the other side of the stall. "Just look how rotund she is getting!" he exclaimed.
"No, I had rather forgotten Juniper would be throwing a foal soon," she shook her head. "Not to say that is not an exciting prospect, it is, but simply that it was not the source of my urgency," she explained.
"Ah, well do enlighten me then Emma," he moved between the bars of the fence to tend to something on the other side.
"Your harvest party is this evening," Emma told him.
"It is, very right," he agreed.
She wiped her hands against her skirt even though they were not dirty. "Father has given Isabella his agreeance," she told him.
"Most excellent," he smiled.
"Yes, it would be and I am happy for her but he is saying that I may not attending this year," she told him.
"Yes, it did seem he was leaning that way," George replied with a sigh.
"Now you will tell me it is a bad idea," she prefaced and then waited with a pause for him to respond to the suggestion.
"I will, will I?" he asked, leaving the task he was doing alone to stare at her directly. "And you are still keen to share it?"
"Yes, because you are my friend I'll share it freely," she told him, pushing the curls away from her eyes so she could look into his unfettered.
He looked so handsome then, and she had been so fixated on her task she hadn't really noticed when she had entered the stables. He had his sleeves roll up three-quarters of the way to be out of his way. He had a touch of moisture at his hairline from exertion and his cheeks held a hint of pink from whatever he had been working at before she entered and his eye looked like raw emeralds in this lighting.
As if believing that she needed so encouragement he smiled, "Very well, share away, you have my full attention,"
"You will tell me that I am very bad to even think of it," she offered batting her eyes gently before continuing. "But father is always very sleepy after eating roast duck –I dare say it is the combination of all the chewing and the fatty tissue that does it, but I was thinking that once he is asleep I will come to the party and only stay a few short minutes—just long enough to see what it is all about," she told him. "It is mostly out of doors so it might be said that I was merely in the neighborhood passing by,"
"Passing by," he snorted, "it's at least a ten-minute walk between the estates –it's hardly plausible to be 'just passing by',"
"Well, I love walking," she retorted
"At night?" he chortled.
"Yes, certainly it is hardly an inconvenience–I know my way by heart –why not? It isn't as if there are vagrants or unsavory characters in Highbury, and besides I'm in the habit of sketching darkened landscapes at present –perhaps that's my reason for venturing out,"
"Interesting," he replied, "and if your father should wake up after his light nap, what then?"
"Then, to all others I'll be bathing—" she told him.
"And Miss Taylor will attest to that?" he asked giving her a critical look.
"I wasn't going to tell Miss Taylor that it was not true. It isn't bearing false witness if she does not know what she is relaying is false," Emma explained
"Ah, so you spare her from the task of lying for you but me, oh me you give the full burden of information," he said dryly with a raised brow.
"It isn't as if my father will ask you where I am," she stated "and if he has ventured far enough to find you then he will likely find me next to you –you'll not need to lie,"
"I need not lie, only harbor a temporary fugitive," he tossed back.
She countered quickly rattling off dramatically, "Oh! Fugitive phooey! We might more accurately say an unfairly restrained young lady, who previously had been given her own invitation to said party and whose father might I add, had said the year previous that she could go 'next year' and who is now seeking for a brief moment a fragment of happiness amongst the cruel and unjust denial!"
"You have a creative spin to everything, I'll commend you that."
"Well?" she asked hopefully.
"Well what? Surely you are not hoping for a glowing endorsement of this tomfoolery plan?" he asked.
"Well, would you leave me standing lonely if I happen upon your party this evening? Or would you welcome, embrace and introduce me to your friends?"
"Why does it feel like I am the bad guy in both of those outcomes?" he asked.
"Please! I'll be forever indebted to you, I'm desperate to play the night watch game," she with so much glee it was hard to contain.
"Emma," he shook his head, "There will always be next year,"
"That is exactly what you said last year! And do you remember how fiercely I was crying then?" he nodded, "this plan, if nothing else, attests to how much I have grown up since then because instead of crying away like a silly baby, I am making a plan that will allow for a positive outcome and far less embarrassment," she told him.
"And what does Isabella say to all this?"
"Please, she'll be too fixated on your brother to even notice me, and perhaps I'll wear a mask to add to the mystique –say you'll treat me well if I came to visit your party tonight," she said changing the subject and plying her expression to be a doe-eyed, girlish one.
"Emma," he shook his head hating the position she placed him in.
"A few introductions, a glass of punch and one game," she told him.
"Emma, I don't think it a good ide—"
"Fine, no punch, that is my final offer—and that way you can say, in good conscience I might add, that I merely meandered by and you can maintain moral neutrality by offering me no encouragement to remain in the form of refreshments," she told him.
"And Isabella, what does she really think of all this?" he asked.
"Well, I haven't asked her— say, what do ladies normally wear to this party of yours? Isabella only said it is not as fancy as a ball—however there are many degrees beneath that caliber," she explained.
"You would do to turn up in a ball gown; it would serve you right for scheming,"
"I'd probably fit right in, or perhaps make other girls jealous, wishing they had worn a ball gown, I have several—I started having orders commissioned this summer. One is such a pretty navy-even you would drool over the colour and silk fabric," she told him, "but I'm saving that one for the New Year's ball!"
"Even me? Do remember Emma that it is me that you are begging acceptance to a party tonight,"
"Oh, I only meant it as a comparative not an insult, that even you—with your interests tending more towards horticulture, books and masculine ventures would find the fabric alluring," She smiled at him. "The first day I had it in my possession I couldn't stop running my hands all over it, Miss Taylor eventually scolded me saying I would ruin it," she confessed with a laugh.
"Now, I am intrigued to see it," he told her with a deadpan tone.
"Well, you will have to wait until New Year like everyone else, unless of course father changes his mind about that too." She told him with a dramatic huff.
He didn't say anything to acknowledge the dramatics.
"Please say you'll not embarrass me by sending me off if I turn up to your harvest party tonight," she pleaded.
"All that I will say Emma is that if you decide to defy your father's wishes to attend the party, I recommend you wear something that is easy enough to move around in and that does not rustle when you walk, that would be helpful for the game.
"Thank you!" she squealed with a beaming smile.
"No, don't thank me! That only causes me to feel more complicit!" he retorted.
"Complicit in my happiness," she tossed back - she could stop smiling like she was the happiest girl in the world.
Yay!
The second chapter! Hooray!
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