Thanks all for reading and all of the review. Sorry for the delay, at first I was seeing a guy and that was absorbing what would have been my writing time. That was my fault for not making time for some of my other passions and allowing him to take over significant chunks of my time. And then, I got basically broken up with out of the blue, super painful. I write often out of my emotions and I did not want that to colour my writing. I feel that I've just had one of the worst months of my life, and every review has been a ray of sunshine.

Thanks for sticking with me.

My hope is to be quicker and have another update in early August.


Chapter 28

An Invitation

Scene: for the entry to this chapter we have Emma, this time at George's desk in the study penning a letter. It is early Sunday morning and she is dressed for church.


It has been a longer span than normal since we have corresponded; I imagine caring for your dear aunt takes up most of your time. I hope that she is also well and that this letter finds you well, but I'll tell you more on the full reasoning for that wish soon enough.

For now, in your absence Frank I must admit that I have made a new friend, and possibly a new enemy, but again I will tell you more on that later as well.

For the new friend, do you think it is possible for a fully grown adult to have a friend that is six years old?

I cannot say we have a good number of common interests, but for our shared love of raspberry, crème filled cookies. Although I dare suspect even my newfound enemy likes those too, provided they aren't baked with too much flour, and more on that later perhaps too, unless I have a change of heart between now and that later half of this letter. Ah, that hesitation right there is proof enough! George is making me into a better person, I am sure of it! Disregard that!

As to my new friend, she is six and a very humorous creature; I have become acquainted with her on account that her mother is gravely ill. It has been pressing on 3 weeks since I first met her and I make attempts to visit every few days to make sure all is as right as it can be.

Both my doctor and my apothecary can seem to find no solution, for some days the patient will show improvements and on other days it is as if no progress has been made, and some it would seem regressive.

Poor Amy, that is my friend's name, she is so young but she bares it so well, she is often in very good spirits, I often wonder if perhaps six is too young to understand the gravity of the situation.

At my last visit, she taught me a game with hands and string and it kept us both entertained for almost half an hour. I have promised her a visit to Donwell when her mother can spare her, but I am half worried that George's housekeeper would have her checked for lice and straight into a piping hot tub to be washed and thoroughly scrubbed the moment she laid eyes on her.

I'd hazard a guess that might be a touch dramatic but I can envision it perfectly. Although I don't think the bath would be remiss. I have often wondered about having my dressmaker make up a few very simple dresses for her. I think she would be able to make them in the same style as the village girls wear but finding the right fabric might be difficult –they are not silk, muslins or linens that much is for certain, I know not what it is, I don't think it is cotton and it feels more like burlap than any material I have ever known. Perhaps it is some kind of woolen-cloth? I'm not sure how the child isn't too warm in the summer weather if it is truly a wool type. I might see if my dressmaker has something that would be of the similar type but more designed for comfort and summer weather, for although I would not want the new dresses to draw attention, I also would like them to be comfortable. Another thought I had is that Mrs. Goddard's school might have some hand-me-downs that may fit, some of the girls there are as young as six, so it would be entirely possible that there might be a few outfits that could be remade or repurposed. It would likely be less eye-catching, though a good deal less exciting. Truth be told, I was so looking forward to picking her out fabrics and dresses. I'm sure I'll come to some decision about the best outcome.

My little friend keeps me young and in good health and spirits, the visit prior we spent half the day in the field across from her house looking in the clover patches for a four-leaf clover. The girl is convinced it will bring her mother good health, as clovers of that variety are known for luck. I did not wish to ruin it for the child, and I hadn't looked it a clover patch since childhood and it was so invigorating and uplifting. The best was that just as we were both about to give up, I found the lucky clover. Amy has it pressing within a book I have given her.

Would you believe she does not even know the alphabet?

It is true, and what more is that it is unlikely that she will ever be in school, even when her mother's health improves. Apparently, there is no money for such an expense. I can hardly believe it, it seems such a necessity to be able to read and write. Do you think it would too bold to offer to support Amy's schooling? I have not even asked George his thoughts. I would value your opinion as you have benefited from having a benefactor all of your life, was that agreeable? Your situation was a little different as it was your aunt, have you ever felt displeased by it or that the aid was unwanted? I could ask Jane Fairfax the same question, for if I were to help Amy in the way described, it would have more in common with what the Campbells had offered Jane, I wonder if she would hear my question without assuming anything in my motivations for asking.

Speaking of Jane, our rector's new wife has taken quite the interest in Jane; I'm told this by Miss Bates, but it was only while passing in the street, so I am sure I'll hear more about it in my visit this week.

The rector's new wife leaves me almost fit to be tied. It has fallen to me, and this household to welcome her, I'll not bore you with the details beyond that for I do not think it would be very dignified. You must know however that it is this lady that I wonder at being my new enemy—but I'll not say a word beyond that. It also reminds me, I have been intending to invite you to a picnic. Not the coming Saturday but the following one, it is a bit of a welcoming party for the rector's new wife. It is not just any picnic, we will have strawberry picking in the morning at Donwell and then the entourage will continue on to Box Hill. It is said to be very beautiful and the hill has a very entertaining history as well, I will have to share more about it with you when I see you in person.

And forgive me for saying it but I am hoping to have as many people as possible so that I will be able to dilute Mrs. Elton's presence as best I can. And the only way I can think of socially is to have more entities in the equation. Though it is unlikely either way that she should fall into the background for she seems to like the foreground ever so much! I know you may be busy with your aunt but I do also recall you saying that summer was often a little easier on her lungs, and fewer bouts of pleurisy without the rain and thus leaving Yorkshire more of a possibility. Is this the case? I am certainly hoping so; if I've ever needed you for something I need you for this. I will need others, and not just any figures, mainly colorful ones!

Do you know much about watercolour painting Mr. Churchill? I fathom not, I'll explain the logic now with a light anecdote and it will hopefully make sense of my thoughts.

Once I was painting a picture, it was all from my mind's eye—I knew how everything ought to look long before I started painting the piece. It was supposed to be a beautiful stream, accented by a lush bank, beautiful leaves and a stump near enough that a tired traveler might sit to rest awhile and enjoy the waters melody before carrying on again. When I was painting this picture something dreadful happened, as I moved to put more details on the fallen tree, the smallest hint of brown fell on the page. Oh! I tried for ages to remove it, the first approach was to dilute it with water, watercolour moves when you add more water, and it is part of its design. It makes it the most beautiful but the most difficult to work with, things do not always go as you bide them! Once I tried that, it did not fully rectify the problem; the water still looked brown-tinged –almost as if encroached by awful algae. It was not until I brought out the blues from my pallet and overlaid more effusive colours that the stain was forgotten—unnoticeable to the untrained eye.

You see Mr. Churchill, the lady Mrs. Elton is that unsightly brown colour, blotched against my perfect scene and I have devised that I will use the same strategy to diminish her presence, by using more water and more colour. This is where I think maybe certain people are the water; those like Mrs. Bates and people who are not colourless per se but are without their own vibrancy. These would be the water to dilute the situation. And then I need other people, people that bring a sense of colour and shades of life and would be the masking colour –the presence to ultimately hide the blemish underneath. And that is where I think you would fit in because you are sensational and you are someone that people like to talk to and talk about. You are certain to bring colour to the conversation! It is for these reasons I desperately need your presence and I ask that it would be extra colorful for effect. Do you think you can bring that quality with you? Would your schedule allow it, for you to be at the picnic to enjoy it with us?

I dearly hope so. For as much as I am fearful about how it will go, I also cannot deny that I am excited to see Box Hill and have been looking forward to it for quite some time. I don't mean to allow this whole circumstance with Mrs. Elton to spoil it, for she shouldn't be allowed that luxury, I draw the line there.

"Mrs. Knightley, the master asked me to remind you that you are to be late for church if you aren't having left in five minutes"

"Oh, right, yes! I got up so much earlier, I truly thought I had more time than I seem to have, I cannot imagine it has gone by so quickly. At least I had the foresight to get ready in advance, well mostly, have you seen the pair of gloves I like the best, Ginny?" She said standing quickly, discarding her pen into its resting place.

Her maid shook her head.

"Will you help me find them quickly?"

She nodded quickly, turning at once to being the search.

Emma picked up her pen and stooped over the desk, I'll write more about it later, my maid tells me I am to be late to church and we still need to find my favorite gloves! She scrawled neatly, before standing to follow her maid out of the study. Emma was fairly certain she had her gloves either somewhere in the front entry area or possible in her room in her glove box.

After a short while, her maid carefully produced the gloves from wherever they had been hiding, in the front parlor instead of the front entrance as Emma had thought.


A good thing was that she had not felt like sleeping this time while Rector Elton spoke, he had a way of droning on sometimes about the most mundane of notions that it sometimes had her pinching the skin on the top of her own hand sharply to prevent yawning or worse the possibility of falling asleep.

No, this time it was the happy wave of the very eager looking Mrs. Elton that had her wide-eyed and mind racing. Who was she to wave at the most prominent woman in all of Highbury? Really, Highbury was far less stratified by social status than many places, but really? Did this woman not come from London? Assuredly she would not reduce herself to waving at a near-perfect stranger in London! And she has not even seen the inside of Donwell's main parlor, just who did she thinks she was?

What could she want now?

She looked so positivly excited.

What could the woman want?

And as they exited the church, a bit hastily, that was Emma's doing, she had squeezed George's own hand several times in a pulsating rhythm as the service was coming to a close as if to convey her exact ideas to him by the repeated squeezes. He shot her a peculiar look but did not seem to be agitated by it. In fact, he has seemed to respond correctly, although her sharp tug at his arm when they stood at the end of the service may have been more the indicator he has relied upon.

"Yoouwhoo, yoohoo, Emma!" Mrs. Elton called as she came sailing from the church behind them, her hand waving in the air above her head as she dashed after them, seemingly as rapidly as her skirts would allow for she was almost running.

Emma and George stopped and waited where they stood for her to catch up.

"Emma dear, oh and Knightley! So pleased to make the acquaintance!" she curtsied, not even the slightest out of breath by the commotion. "My husband has told me all about you. Only the good things, I assure you," she said with a tight smile that was almost the look of one pained, and a touch of the cat with the canary in its paws—as if she knew something or meant something by it.

Emma resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the woman and her non-sense. There wasn't a negative thing that could be said of George Knightley—there literally were only good things and everybody knew that.

"I am so very excited about the picnic, it will be such a wonderful opportunity to meet the truly important people of the town, but my husband assured me that you must also be planning a dinner party and that I shall likely know all the particulars soon enough "Augusta, he said to me, in that sort of serious tone of his, if I know anything about the Knightleys it is that they do not do anything in half measures. You will have your invitation to dinner before you know it, at least three, maybe courses and this picnic will be merely another celebration – one of many, for you are a woman who deserves to be celebrated often— can you believe that? Is he not a very sweet man? Certainly, he is doting in his words, and I am sure if he were a rich man he would also be doting in gifts!" she said as if she felt the need to cover for his perceived failure in that regard to them. She hadn't the slightest clue that George nor Emma would care a wit about this man's failures perceived or otherwise—nor her attempt to point them out and then excuse them.

Emma inside was fuming, how was she roped into not only a picnic but then a dinner also!

This was not the plan.

This not the way everything was to go!

Even George had suggested the majority of the plan—that must have meant it was logical, that should have lent it credibility—that it should have meant it was going to work! It should have been enough to appease these—these—the greedy Elton's.

Who were they to demand their own dinner party?

Oh, how crafty indeed, to make it all to be some sort of accidental mentioning –to point out the oversight in a way that left no room for anything but a dinner party to be extended.

Oh, and how right she was, the Knightley would never do anything in poor taste! Although maybe we should, just this once, Emma thought gleefully.

There was a long moment of silence; to Emma, it was remarkable that Mrs. Elton had not eaten it up hastily, for she clearly loved the sound of her own voice.

No, they could not do anything to humiliate her, it would be entirely wrong—no matter how she had back them into a corner, it was their job to be the better citizens and stand on principle.

Emma manufactured a smile, she hated herself for playing into this woman's hand, but what choice did she have now? To do or say nothing would be inconsiderate at this stage, "I have invitation cards at my desk; they will be going out soon. I have it in my mind that it is important to get the right mix of individuals at the dinner, once I have decided that I can decide on the menu, and once I have done that I can properly send out the invitations, " Emma told her, all of it true, for she always had invitation cards on her desk. None of it was in progress prior to this moment.

"Oh, that is exceptional. I cannot wait to see your choice in stationary, I am sure your taste will be very fine indeed—I almost imagine a gold trim around the card or something very fine and striking,"

"I am afraid you will be disappointed, they are a plain pearl cream, I was hoping to decoupage a dried flower and some leaves but I may not have the time or the inclination for the occasion at hand. It would have been a pretty idea but they may remain in their purchased state if I do not have the energy for the enhancements," Emma told her.

She wouldn't be decoupaging anything, she knew that much at the instant but she wanted to make her point clear.

She did not care for this party and she was going to do the very minimum. Gold trim, who did the woman think she was?

"Oh, well, you needn't worry that your invitation will look drab, I am very good at anything related to art and crafting as well. In fact, very talented that was the exact phrase my former governess used about my abilities—I could certainly help you,"

"No" Emma said with almost fear in her immediate response.

Even George looked surprised at her.

"Or rather, that is to say, I could not allow it. For it is your dinner, after all, it would be untoward to have you involved in any of the preparations. You'll understand," Emma nodded and Mrs. Elton agreed.

Emma thought, "Very well. It is resolved, you'll not worry about a thing to do with the party and with that accomplished, I bid you a good afternoon," Emma added, to the woman, extracting herself far more easily than she would have expected based on the conversation up until that point, prior to Emma had not felt at all the have the upper hand.