Chapter 14

Reunion


A hint of shadow was thrown because of the fire. Perhaps it drew her notice first because of the way the flames flicker now and then, light dancing across the upper and shadow collecting under the lower.

Or at least that was what she told herself.

If not that, then maybe it was the different shapes conjured when he spoke, smooth lines, the crook of a smile with sometime mildly amusing or flattening and tightening with a serious tale. Perhaps the most noticeable was the gentle press out that jutted out the lower of the two when he was looking for her approval in some way; it was actually her inspection of him that drew her notice to the fact he even did that; seek her approval that is. She had not been keenly aware of it before.

Or maybe it was the colours themselves, the peach tones that ranged from almost a flesh like nougat candy colour to that of a ripe peach sherbet. She blushed at when the thought that both descriptors were very much appetizing.

This was very much Frank's fault, for he was the one that had put the thought in her head when he said "I would suggest you kiss him…"

And she would blame Mr. Churchill later for ultimately being the cause of her thoughts but for now she was transfixed. Thinking about the shading it would take on her sketch book later to reproduce its likeness. The fullness of the bottom lip, the arch of Cupid 's bow, the way the left corner seemed slightly more expressive than the right. For then she would be able to look deeper and a longer and later she thought to herself without stirring any questions or without embarrassment.

She heard Frank's words again in her mind's eye "Do you wish him to show that he is in love with you?"

"Kiss him," he encouraged.

She caught herself as she almost lifted her hand from her lap to reach towards him.

The action registered with her mind first, thankfully. She pulled back sharply enough and with a quick intake of breath, that Mr. Knightley stopped talking and looked at her.

"Are you alright?" he asked, "was I boring you?" he added, thinking she had the look about her of one roused from almost sleeping.

She shook her head "No," hardly trusting herself to talk.

A blush flamed her cheeks; how positively embarrassing to be nearly caught out in such thoughts; oh, how— would he notice? Had he? She panicked. Would he ask her about what absorbed her thoughts or why her face was so coloured? She needed to get ahead of it, "I'm warm from the fire, feel my face" She rambled quickly drawing his hand into hers and pressing his cool-to-the-touch palm to her cheek. "I was not bored, certainly not—fascinated um—no, not exactly fascinated but I meant to say you are not boring me Mr. Knightley please continue," –all this she said holding his hand against her—and then she, realizing the strangeness of it all and perhaps that her cheek flushed even more against his touch, flustered further and dropped his hand as if burnt by it.

"And you are certain nothing is the matter?" he asked her—looking at her squarely. It completely unnerved her than her eyes sought out his lips of their own accord—perhaps out of habit.

Oh!

Could one form a habit so quickly?

She panicked again, "I'm fine, I go to visit Mrs. Weston tomorrow for our weekday tea, I am certainly not willing to be sick—as I think on in now, perhaps I should go to bed. After all father had a lot to say on the merits of young women getting the correct amount of sleep. It is good for one's skin, one's comportment and one's constitution. Yes, that it a wise notion. I want to be well rested for taking tea tomorrow, "

She stood, "Good night," and curtsied awkwardly out of—it was deplorable but she could not even say it was out of habit for her had never curtsied to him in her life.

"You may say I have inspired your drowsiness Emma, I will not be offended," he called after her but she didn't have the heart or the state of mind to reply.

She was an idiot.

This was all Frank's fault!


She had been expecting to pass the entire time sitting out of doors with Mrs. Weston and sketch while talking. It was so reminiscent of old times when she would draw while talking idly to Mr. Knightley and her governess. She aimed to avoid thinking of how much had changed since. She thought slyly, she would not be asking for advice on shading this time, as she practiced sketching the images of a certain mouth that would not leave her thoughts. Mrs. Weston had always had an eye for subtle detail; Emma would not be surprised if she could discern the owner of said mouth after looking upon a few of its sketched expressions. It may have been foolish but she hoped perhaps she could extract the images or reduce its presence in her mind by copying them to page.

It really was Frank Churchill fault, Emma thought ruefully as she continued sketching.

Speak of the devil and he doth appear. In this case it was not right away but the point stood. She heard the gravel and looked up from her sketchbook to see that he walked up the garden path shoulder to shoulder with his father.

She held back the glare with sheer willpower; afterall this fixation was his fault.

Emma snapped her sketchbook shut and held it tightly to her side as the two gentlemen neared the picnic blanket.

She had never seen Mr. Weston face look so please, save for maybe at his wedding to her own friend Mrs. Weston. Sheer joy radiated off of him in waves.

She vaguely recalled Mr. Weston's happy cheer, "Someone you both should meet, my son Frank Churchill,"

"Oh! You are as handsome as all have said—and to see the delight you have brought to your father's face. We have been looking forward to seeing you; it is such an honour to meet you!" Mrs. Weston charmed.

"Frank Churchill, a name I know better than my own, for I have heard it so many times," she gushed smoothly, "Emma Knightley, pleased to meet you," –mentally she thought of how at present the familiarity was more likely due to the seething recitation of his name in her head as her mind had been concocting ways to retaliate against him while she had tried miserably to fall asleep the night before.

"I hate to interrupt your tea," he promised, "and were you sketching just now? I should think you might have been interrupted," he offered politely.

"It is nothing, we can easily have tea service brought for you and Mr. Weston to join us," Mrs. Weston offered agreeably.

And to Emma's surprise her it was the beginning of what turned into a very agreeable afternoon.


"Oh, I wish you might have been there to see it," Emma exclaimed as soon as she was near him. In her own excitement she seemed to forget herself slightly, her hands braced against his forearms pivoting around him like a small child ambitiously trying to spin a larger marry-go-round intended for the older children. "I have never in my life seen Mr. Weston look so happy, oh and that is in confidence because course I believe Mr. Weston was very happy the day he married Ms. Taylor, I would never repeat it to my dear friend but this seemed even more than that. I mean, it must-have been liken to how Moses appeared after the mountain top! Mr. Weston's face seemed to almost grow more and more radiant as the afternoon went on! One might imagine him capable of bursting if left too long in the company of his newly returned son. Thankfully that didn't happen and after a long tea and joyful conversation Mr. Churchill needed to head back to London, after which he will return to Yorkshire the following day,"

"And you are clearly very happy," Mr. Knightley told her, stopping her spinning him but doing nothing to remove her hands from his person.

"Oh, well yes I am—I think I have been burdened more than I thought under the secretiveness of it all—I mean, to have met Mr. Churchill already, all the while knowing that his Father and step mother have not been reacquainted or aquatinted as the case may be. Thankfully I was not too surprised at his arrival that I blundered. How awful that would have been? No, I will not think on that now—I am so happy that it has all worked itself out." Emma explained, flexing and relaxing her hands unconsciously as bouts of stress came and went as she spoke.

"Indeed, and not only to have met him but to have been corresponding with him secretively, it must have been a tremendous bur—," he started rich with sarcasm and it was his turn to be surprised as one of her hands left its place on his arm and she pressed two fingers against his lips.

"Please let us not," she said softly. And then she was rapidly trying to ignore the fact that her fingers were pressed against where her eyes had inspected so thoroughly to the point of distraction the previous night. And yet she couldn't ignore the fact that despite the way his lips were pulled in a tight line reflecting his annoyance with the Churchill situation, they were still markedly soft under her touch.

She suppressed the shuttering feeling that threatened to tremor through her. "If you promise not to goad me I will remove my hand," she offered the ultimatum; she could literally feel his exhale against her hand, hot and humid.

"Is that agreement?" She asked, her fingers itched to be removed or perhaps simply to move from their place as they were stationary against his lips.

"Fine, what is it you wish to talk about instead?" he asked, his eyes focused intently on her own. Her hand fell away as quickly as it could.

"I thought we might talk about my birthday party, I know you had said a ball was out of the questions but perhaps a small gathering of close friends—what would you say to that?" She asked, still standing impossibly near him, and she couldn't help it if while she spoke she was rubbing the tips of one set of her fingers against her other set as one hand still buzzed from the sensation of touching his lips.

"Well since you are so well versed in persuasion, my mind on it shouldn't signify, for I do not think you would find it hard to convince me otherwise," he muttered.

"You are marring my motives, you make it sound as if I have some callous reason or have applied some form of enchantment!" She gripped at his arm again and applied pressure this time as if to prove her seriousness, "I have no foul motives, I simply do not wish to fight with you, not tonight, not ever—please?" she looked up at him with big blue eyes and stared directly into his own hazel green—his almost had a grey property about them in this light. "Please?" she repeated.

Please what? She thought to herself hearing her own voice reflexively in her own ears.

Her eyes found his lips again of their own accord. She couldn't help but wonder what her lips would feel if they, like her fingers were placed there. For she could not remember the feel from her wedding day—for it was too much a surprise and as she had not expected it had seems there and gone before she could really dwell on what was transpiring. The details were hazy, all that she was left to remember was that it was a pleasant feeling.

Frank Churchill's words sprang to mind. "…you have every right to kiss him, should you wish to."

"I won't tease you," he insisted, and for the briefest of moments the wires were crossed somehow and in her mind she took his words to mean a response to her thoughts which were dedicated purely to the idea of kissing him. Please just kiss me, she thought silently.

"I can't help but feel that I do not want to be the one to initiate," she murmured softly, followed by a sigh, her gaze roving to meet his eyes, as if it might convince him to follow-through.

"Initiate?" he asked quizzically, looking at her strangely.

And just like that the spell was broken. Her eyes widened, her heart began beating rapidly as she was panicking and staring at him—opening and closing her mouth without a single sensible thing to say.

"Initiate what?" he repeated, and her mind was racing then to find explanation

"Initiate a fight, or weren't you listening to a word I said?" she asked with a scoff, giving her best rendition of the churlish belittling tone she had heard the shopkeeper Mrs. Mitcham use to beak her husband when he had said or done something foolish.

She pushed herself away from him with a small amount of force. "It was silly, forget I ever asked about it, I've decided I do not wish to have a birthday party of any fashion," she reeled, calling out her reprisal over her shoulder as she turned away –she desperately needed to escape.

"Emma stop," he called after her. She had only just turned on her heel to walk away—in a real argument she might have been halfway across the room at this point.

"I'm sorry, I have no qualms with your idea for a birthday party," he told her, "I reacted foolishly, mostly because I envisioned your new friend Frank in attendance of the party," he explained.

She drew a quick breath of relief. Had that really worked?

"You needn't worry about Frank, and yes I would invite him but I also intend to invite the lady who is the object of his adoration—should he provide the name to me in time to do so. Regardless, trust me that Frank Churchill need not be a cause of jealousy."

He sighed.

"While were are still somewhat amiable, I think I will go and read awhile before supper," she explained.

"Read awhile?" he reflected, "Who are you and what have you done with my wife?" he attempted humour.

"Oh George darling you know me so well," she cooed at him petting his cheek, trying to sound the part of a doting wife, hoping in earnest that silliness would help both to forget the tense moments from moments earlier. "I did not say a book mind you, Mrs. Weston gave me a few clipped articles on gardening from a periodical she subscribes," she explained, stepping near enough to kiss him daintily on his cheek. It was the same action she had used all her life to bid her own papa good night or in greeting but it did not feel at all the same. "See you at supper," she added.

"Would you mind if I requested it in the study?" he asked,

She paused, "Oh, you wish to eat alone?" her heart sunk a little.

"No, I meant for us both in the study—I prefer the smaller table if we are planning a birthday party for you," he explained.

"Oh I see, I think of the study as belonging to you, and being rather off limits, so naturally I assumed that maybe you wished to have some space away from me for a meal which I would completely understand but—" she prattled, but stopped herself suddenly, hating the way his eyes looked when she noticed his expression.

"Oh, I see! It is as if you imagine yourself in the fairytale La Belle. That's right, you must be the famed beauty—I can see the resemblance keenly. Donwell must be the beastly castle and that would leave me to the role of beast—how kind. Oh but beauty darling, I forget. When was it exactly that I forbid you access to any part of the estate?" he asked sardonic in tone and humour.

She wasn't entirely sure how to respond but realized quickly that she would not have to, as he pulled her close to him, kissed her cheek in the same fashion she had his earlier and then patted her cheek. "Go read, beauty."

She blushed for what felt the hundredth time as a flutter of pleasures coursed through her. She quit the space quickly to do the very thing.


A/N: Sorry all. I know that this has taken forever. Thank you for all that expressed concern. In the words of a certain Monty python character 'I'M NOT DEAD! I am doing pretty good, I have no excuses for the lack of updates aside from Netflix feeling way easier for 'decompressing' after work than writing. I remember in high school writing was my main way to release stress.

But I felt motivated yesterday and I updated my other Emma story yesterday and then felt drawn to writing a chapter for this one. I missed it. I missed my angst-y and tenuous- Emma & Knightley combination. Hopefully you guys did too, but not too much because I know it has been forever since the last update.

I need some honest feedback on this one. What are your thoughts on Emma in this chapter -believable or are you guys feeling like her thoughts have come out of left-field?

What are your thoughts on Mr. Knightley in this chapter?

Any requests of what you might like to see from them (or from other characters) in future chapters?

Despite delays, are you still interested in where this story is going?