Thank you, thank you, once again, to all who reviewed! I appreciate it so much!

And without further ado, here is chapter three:

- - -

In the months that followed, Emma was quite content to rid her mind of the infuriating Miss Purkey; however, her awareness of the dreadful woman was in no way decayed. For Miss Purkey, in a truly abomidable perception that Emma enjoyed her companies as much as she did Emma's, was obliged to send her a letter at least once a week, on Wednesday. It soon became Emma's least favourite day.

If Emma was in good temper enough to read the letter, instead of throwing it into the fire as she did many others (with less regret than even she deemed healthy), it contained such nonsense that she was constantly sighing in annoyance at the lack of wit it portrayed. Miss Purkey's hand was fine, Emma had to admit, but it was not merely elegance that was wanted in a woman who claimed to be Mr. Knightley's future wife. After the first couple of pointless letters, Emma did not have scruples enough to prevent her from tossing them away as she pleased; which, she reminded herself with satisfaction, she did not mind at all. The letters were long and tedious, and horrendously boring; and furthermore, Emma was in ready mind to destroy anything that pertained to the marriage between Miss Purkey and Mr. Knightley; whether it be letters, or relationships.

If Mr. Knightley could have witnessed her deeds, he would have been appalled - but Emma, whom had grown adapt at understanding his reactions to such manners at these, completely avoided the subject of the lady altogether.

And, excepting Wednesdays, the whole (or at least most) of Miss Purkey was driven most happily from Emma's head.

- - -

Nearly two months after Miss Purkey's departure from Donwell Abbey, two visitors came to call on Emma and her father who were wholesomely welcome, but not at all anticipated. It was a warm day, full of bright spirits, teeming with life, and not a Wednesday; and Emma, feeling the need for a refreshing walk, had only just returned from the excursion when Miss Bates and Mrs. Goddard appeared at their door.

'Miss Woodhouse! Oh, dear sweet girl! I haven't seen you for ages and ages! Are you well? Have you gotten yourself a beau? How could you not, you pretty thing - no? I am surely amazed, quite thunderstruck, but surely you will - Oh! Mr. Woodhouse, what a pleasure! A pleasure indeed! It is quite a lovely day, is it not? The flowers are splendid; in front of Mrs. Goddard's schoolhouse are the prettiest daisies I ever did see - quite lovely, quite inspiring. If I did draw as you do, Miss Woodhouse, I may might have wanted to capture their beauty on canvas! But no, no - not all creatures are so lucky as you to harbour such a talent!'

Between breaths, both ladies were ushered inside and made to sit down. Emma noticed their rosy cheeks and bright eyes and determined they had been walking - this inference was quickly confirmed, and Emma was then to puzzle the reason of their unannounced visit, not that she minded the company. She was not willing to talk much, and Miss Bates was more than willing to help on that matter - hardly without topics to discuss, she was constantly dominating conversation in her own oblivious, amiable way. Emma would not have to speak much, if at all.

Miss Bates was speaking:

'It all happened around noon this day (and believe me, Mrs. Goddard and I were quite surprised!); all three of us - Mrs. Goddard, her young pupil Harriet, and myself - sat down for tea, and who should come by but the mail carrier? He brought a letter from Mother's parents in Bath. They seem to be aquainted with a family named the Purkeys, who - I am sure you will be quite astonished, Miss Woodhouse! - has a lady, courted by none other than Mr. Knightley! Is that not the most interesting news? Mother was quite pleased, quite pleased indeed. We have always been horribly fond of Mr. Knightley; a very pleasing, sophisticated man - and such a gentle countenance! I have been telling dear Jane Fairfax that if he had been any younger ... but no, no. She would not hear of it.'

Emma was in need, if not desperate, for a topic that did not involve Miss Purkey, and commented, 'Your niece does not think Mr. Knightley very old?'

'Well, I suppose - but she is very young.'

'He is but thirty years old!' cried Emma irately; 'a very young age for such a man! She would be fortunate enough to have his friendship, let alone his affections!'

Miss Bates coloured. 'Yes, very true. You are quite right.'

Mr. Woodhouse looked between his daughter and Miss Bates, and said amiably, 'I did not realise such news traveled so quickly, or that it had traveled at all! Miss Bates, you will be very interested to hear that Miss Purkey and Mr. Knightley called on us but two months ago. And together, I might add. I was very much pleased.'

'Indeed! Mr. Woodhouse, I am very happy for Mr. Knightley. He is so amiable and handsome - and in such good society - I had wondered before why he had not married. What do you think, Mrs. Goddard?'

'I am inclined to believe that he had not found a woman worthy of his affections,' said the lady quietly.

Clever, clever woman! thought Emma triumphantly.

Mr. Woodhouse smiled and glanced towards his daughter. 'Ah, but you forget his favourite! And she really is worthy!'

Emma blushed. 'Papa, please.'

Miss Bates eyed Emma: 'Oh, but Miss Woodhouse, he is so fond of you! Such devotion from a man I have not seen in all my years! In fact -'

Emma stood up, her entire face crimson with embarassment. 'Pray, Miss Bates, do not speak of such things - if I may infer what you were about to suggest; for, despite all of his affections, I am sure Mr. Knightley has no feelings of the sort whatsoever towards myself - and I certainly do not towards him. And there you have it. It is a hopeless cause, I assure you - unpractible, unreasonable, and without a basis. Now, if you'll please excuse me, I have promised Miss Taylor a walk this afternoon.'

And, with a slight smile, Emma left the room.

- - -

Miss Taylor, in fact, was quite surprised when Emma appeared in the kitchen, looking red in the face, and claiming to need a walk. She was more than willing to accompany the dear girl, and told her so with a touch of loving reserve, and Emma seemed to be appeased; so, together, they slipped out the back door and started up a path, Emma not speaking a word, and Miss Taylor lost in her thoughts.

It was hard to say who was more alarmed when Emma blurted out, sounding most distressed, 'Dear Miss Taylor, I am in such an awful mess! I must vent; I cannot keep this to myself any longer!'

Miss Taylor stopped walking completely and turned to face her. 'My dear child, what is it?'

Looking quite overrun with anxiety, Emma cried, 'Am I such a horrendous friend to want what is best? to dislike someone so passionately whilst others adore? Miss Taylor, I feel like the worst person alive! and yet, I cannot see why I should feel so strongly this way! I have only done what I think is right, and nothing less of such, but despite all of this, I have woven myself into a meticulous web of self-doubt and self-loathing; how shall I approach this I shall not know - for everyone seems to create their own story according to my own! Oh, and do not forget Miss Bates! Hideous, hideous, atrociously mannered woman! Saying something so inappropriate, so rash! The shame I feel!'

Emma burst into tears and flung herself into the arms of Miss Taylor, who recieved her graciously and spoke softly as a mother would into her ears, 'Emma, you dear, dear girl. It will be all right in the end, do not distress.'

She immediately withdrew from the sanctuary of her governess's arms, feeling mortified and ashamed at such a unwonted display of emotion. For Emma knew that Miss Taylor could not decipher her ramblings, and was ignorant to her woes; and such thoughts immediately stopped her tears of anxiety and frustration with humiliation. Emma lowered her head.

'Surely I shall not ask, in fear of creating more mortification,' commented Miss Taylor in tones of deepest sincerity. 'I shall soothe and I shall coax, but nothing more. It is not my place to ask, unless, Emma, you tell me what is bothering you so. Otherwise, I will tolerate not knowing, until years hence, when we shall laugh about it's frivolity.'

Emma smiled warmly at such considerate an exclamation. 'Dear Miss Taylor, it only heightens my regard for you to hear such words spoken! It is not a secret, nor should it be one. And, I shall tell you, certain that you will keep such ill-humours to yourself; and gaining such wisdom and appeasement on the matter at the same time, I will put it all behind me.'

Emma had readied herself for such a speach, drew in her breath; but just as fate would have it, her words were swallowed as the figure of a man came walking towards them eagerly. The paleness of Emma's face averted Miss Taylor's attention from the words she was waiting for, and looked around as Mr. Knightley approached them. She not but draw a line between the speach and his appearance, despite all rationale exclaiming the opposite; she was certainly just embarassed to be interrupted from an important talk with a white face, shaking hands, and bloodshot eyes. As Emma turned away to hide these symtoms, Miss Taylor smiled and greeted Mr. Knightley warmly.

Emma tried to keep walking, and Miss Taylor tried to keep Mr. Knightley's attention upon herself, but he would not pay any heed to anybody but Emma, and said most concernedly, 'Emma, are you feeling ill?'

Upon not recieving an answer, Mr. Knightley came around to her side and touched her arm tentatively, asking again what was the matter.

Her inability to answer such a question, the grief and frustration at the mess in general, had Emma at her wit's end; and instead of answering his question, turned to him and began sobbing onto his chest. Emma herself was beyond incomprehensible mortification, beyond caring at any rate, and allowed herself to be swallowed up by her own worries and misapprehensions. He probably hated her now, if that had not already been confirmed by her behaviour towards Miss Purkey; she might as well astonish him before the storm of lectures overcame her. Oh! but if she had kept her abuse to herself! It would have been simpler just to despise the woman in apparently unaffected, reserved silence.

Miss Taylor, who in every right understood when to quit herself of a situation, exclaimed her grief at having to leave them, and departed for the house with a prominant quickness of step not unnoticed by Mr. Knightley; he did not call for her to come back, however, and allowed Emma the sanctuary and comfort she needed. He, himself, was not to complain. And she, oblivious of Miss Taylor's absence, was unaffected by it.

Finally Emma drew back, having wept her share, and apologised most readily to Mr. Knightley, on having dampened his cravat; in the same breath, reddening with each syllable and thanking him in a hushed, embarassed voice.

Mr. Knightley, if he had felt uncomfortable, would only offer smiles and hopes of her feeling better. Emma, who in every way did not expect such a light-hearted manner, was delightfully surprised; and feeling much better off than before, let her lips curl into a small smile herself.

'I will not ask you what is wrong,' holding out an arm to her, 'but I will try to weasel it out of you on this walk.'

'You are very confidant.'

Still smiling, he said, 'Not as much I should be. Come. Let us forget our differences! I can bear this bitterness no longer.'

'Yes, let us be friends,' said Emma. 'You are the only one who shall quarrel and find fault with everything I do, Mr. Knightley, and yet, it is your good opinion I want. I am so afraid this is so much lacking at times you are able to sink me lower still!'

'Not consciously, I assure you.'

'But you still do.'

Mr. Knightley laughed. 'Ah! once again, Emma, you have made me regret my behaviour towards yourself. Perhaps that is why we can be such friends!'

'But is there anyone for you to regret your behaviour towards but myself?' teased Emma, feigning shock. 'I am alarmed, Mr. Knightley, that you could be so unfeeling outside of my influence!'

Mr. Knightley just smiled and shook his head.

'You smile, Mr. Knightley,' cried Emma; 'what are you thinking? I must know!'

'It would not be half as fun to reveal it.'

'But I will push you if the lake if you don't.'

Mr. Knightley laughed. 'You are bold, Emma, to be talking to an adult so!'

'An adult!' she cried, 'nay, Mr. Knightley, you are like a brother to me! I cannot consider you an adult.'

Mr. Knightley's smile faltered only slightly before he replied, 'I see.'

Emma stopped her playful banter and watched him fall silent. She felt her arm loosen within his, almost unconsciously, and she stared ahead and said not another word. Clearly she had touched upon a nerve; clearly, she had pained him, however slightly, in a way unreadable. Emma felt her spirits sink, and her eyes lower to the cobblestone pathway.

Nearly a minute went by before Emma nervously addressed his silence. 'Do not think I disrespect you,' she said kindly. 'I meant it only in fun.'

Mr. Knightley looked mildly surprised at this. 'Oh - yes, of course - I understand, do not - I understand. You are sixteen years my junior,' he added. 'It is only natural to think - no, I do not think that you disrespect me.'

'Good,' said she.

Another silence prompted a change in subject, but Emma had not one to give. Her feelings were strongly opposed to mentioning anything that could blacken his mood thoroughly; and yet, she willed to make amends, and though it was painful for her to think it, certainly the most obvious way was to talk about Miss Purkey. It was all her doing, Emma thought in bitterness and asperity, and the irony of it was, being the one to distance herself and Mr. Knightley, Miss Purkey was perhaps the one who could close the chasm. Irritable, most irritable, but what else was she to do?

'I recieved a lovely letter from Miss Purkey this Wednesday.'

Emma looked anywhere but at Mr. Knightley's face and continued to walk down the path. Because he was so adept at reading her (and partly because she was just a terrible liar), Emma was far was wishing to stretch the truth; and, being that this was the only letter she had not yet disposed of, and being that Mr. Knightley would probably ask to read it, she could not say that she had been in contact with the woman for over two months, in fear of his asking for the letters prior.

'Did you?' he said.

'Indeed. It was a lovely letter.'

'Really.'

'Very elegant, very fine.'

'She always had a talent for letters.'

'Really.'

'Yes.'

'Oh. How lovely.'

'She is in good health?'

'Very much so.'

'Ah.'

'Yes.'

And so ended their conversation.

Before long, they came upon a split in the road, and each feeling slightly uncomfortable with the other, bid farewell and strolled down their separate walkways.

Emma now only had to hope Miss Bates had left their humble abode, lest she bring up again the subject that had been claiming her thoughts for the past few hours hence; and that Mr. Woodhouse, who was not at all clever at interpretating inferences, had not stumbled upon her grossly exaggerated idea and taken off with it.