Hello, all! Sorry for the long time in between updates. I was visiting some relatives and it took longer than I expected... Long story short, I didn't have a computer for a week or so, so I couldn't do anything in way of updating.

I hope everyone has a good holiday! Have a Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah! And, for others, have a good winter break!

Cheers,

-Marilolo

- - -

As excited as she was for her ball, and counted down the very seconds until its beginning, Emma could not but express (if only to herself) the anxiety that came with it. Mr. Woodhouse wanted to make the celebration a hearty one, and insisted upon bringing almost everyone of Emma's acquaintance. This, to her dismay, inevitably brought Miss Purkey, and it was with irritated footsteps that Emma returned back to her quarters upon hearing such news, finding solace only in the fact that Mr. Woodhouse could not read her feelings on the matter. He believed, and so must most, that Emma was completely and utterly content.

She longed to speak to Mr. Knightley in the old way – not as strangers, as it seemed they were becoming. They spoke, but it was only out of necessity; they smiled, but it seemed a mere façade; and every time Emma went near him he turned away, and she, losing her nerve, would abandon her quest to repair. Every day seemed to remind her of Miss Taylor's words, and every day Emma wondered if Mr. Knightley knew her heart and was disappointed in her. It seemed the only likely truth, though she dared not believe it thoroughly, instead dwelling on the upcoming ball. And like all things long-awaited, it took longer than she wished, but it arrived as planned, on her birthday, and not a moment too soon.

Emma had resolved to confront Mr. Knightley and plead forgiveness, if necessary; she had made preparations, hardened herself to the fact that he might lecture her. But she was willing to take his abuse in return for complete and absolute answers. Usually her own dignity and pride would not permit it; but as everything seemed on the brink of collapse, Emma was willing to do anything. And in no time, the evening of the ball was upon them.

She had taken extreme pains to refresh her appearance, and curl her hair to twist into an elegant bun, and coordinate the color of her shoes with the color of her dress, and made sure she and Miss Taylor both were very pleased with her countenance before descending the stairs into the ballroom. Her father was the first person to spot her, and broke into a string of raptures that caught everyone's eye and ear. He held his daughter at arm's length and exclaimed that she looked like an angel, that she was the belle of the ball – the loveliest young lady in the room!

Emma laughed as if to brush off the compliments. 'Oh, Papa, you say such things every day – how am I supposed to believe you?'

'Because you have a second opinion,' said another male voice. Emma looked up in surprise and delight at Mr. Knightley, who immediately took her hand and brought it to his lips. He smiled, drew her from Mr. Woodhouse, and said, 'You are truly growing up, Emma. I am very proud of you.'

Oh, what better indication of warmth and feeling did she need? Emma's heart swelled at his words, and indeed all that she had feared seemed now groundless and unproven. Even if by accident, she had redeemed herself in his eyes, and felt all the better for it. If she did not see him but once more that same evening, she would have been quite content, so deep had his words touched her.

It seemed as if all of Highbury had come to her ball, and Emma was genuinely delighted. She saw Miss Bates, Miss Nash, and Mrs. Goddard gossiping by the punch table, all smiles and friendliness; Isabella and John, standing next to a roaring fire, talking to Mr. Woodhouse (little Henry was tugging on his mother's dress, asking for white soup); Mr. Knightley had left her side to converse with old Mrs. Bates, in his common gentleman-like way; and Mr. Perry, the apothecary, passed Emma and complimented her graciously, for her blooming state of health and her elegant party, at which Emma bowed her head and smiled.

There were two gentlemen, however, who Emma was not acquainted with; and she, overcome with curiosity, made her way over to Miss Bates, keeping her eye on the younger of the two: a fair-haired, bright-eyed, stout-chinned young man about two and twenty, considerably handsome, and who had a very proud and dignified air that seemed to caress his own countenance. He seemed to be a well-rounded kind of young man, and Emma took a liking to him at once, and was determined to know his name and business.

Miss Bates was delighted to answer any questions Emma had, and said (in a whisper that promptly failed in its singular duty) that he, and the other gentlemen, were the brothers of Miss Purkey.

'They are quite handsome, are they not? Pity Miss Purkey could not come, we all do so love her – but her brothers are very nice company as well … They came up from Bath this very day … perhaps I shall go introduce myself …' At that same moment, however, Mrs. Goddard dragged Miss Bates back into conversation, and Emma was left to reflect upon her own thoughts without the ramblings of her friend to distract her.

She could not readily place her feelings. Miss Purkey's brothers? everything about their relations was grossly disagreeable, but, as it could be supposed, Emma was much gladder that that awful lady had not been able to make it herself, though she suspected she would receive a very thick letter indeed by the next day's mail, apologising for missing the event. It would be agonizing to read, but at least Emma would not have to face her in person.

Emma had been watching the two gentlemen discreetly for some time, and Emma concluded that despite being her brothers, they resembled nothing of Miss Purkey's air or tone, and was consoled. She had suspected that they might be there just to take her place, to perhaps keep a close watch on Mr. Knightley – but after a while, the thought was deemed preposterous. They never looked once in his direction. They seemed safe enough; Emma could detect no harm in them; it would be best, perhaps, to go introduce herself.

Gathering her wits about her, and smoothing down her hair unnecessarily, she sauntered towards them. When she neared, they looked up from their conversation, and Emma's face was engulfed in a shy and rather inevitable blush that covered her cheeks from ear to ear.

The two brothers looked her over, somewhat perplexed, and Emma wondered if they perhaps did not know her by face, but by name. It was evident that they appreciated her nonetheless – they both seemed pleased by her coloured cheek and slender form, and took note of her clever eyes. As she stood and smiled as she ought, she introduced herself, and both gentlemen broke into smiles. The younger (James, Emma recalled) said:

'So you are the talented Emma whom my dear sister has been raving about! A pleasure! This is your ball, is it not?'

'Yes, sir, I am fifteen today.'

The older of the two men, whom she remembered was William, said in a very flat, tired voice, 'I am rather surprised. You have a much older look about you.'

Emma smiled, inwardly wondering if that was considered a compliment or not.

'Don't mind William, Emma,' said James, grinning; 'he does not know what fun is.'

He looked over at her and smiled playfully, and Emma felt her heart flutter inside her chest. She must have been blushing, for James cried, 'But I have embarrassed you! I am dreadfully sorry. I get ahead of myself. I have not even been properly introduced!' He took her hand, kissed it, and said in an exaggerated voice: 'Hello, my darling – I am James Purkey, and I will be your escort this evening.' As Emma laughed, he lowered his voice. 'If I may, that is. Lovely young girls like yourself should not be without an escort for a moment.'

'Mr. Purkey –'

'James.'

'James,' said Emma with an amused smile, 'I live here. I need no escort, however honoured -'

'I understand. But you will dance with me?'

Emma was quite taken aback. She found it rather inappropriate to refuse (but also rather inappropriate to accept) and looked around as if to stall her decision. There was no one to save her from this situation, unfortunately, and so Emma said warmly, 'Of course, and I will introduce you to my father.'

She was just about to lead James away across to her father, when a very peculiar sight met her eyes. William, whom she had not realised left until that moment, had spotted Miss Taylor on the stairs, and was speaking to her! Not that Emma was surprised, for Miss Taylor was the epitome of all that was good and ladylike; but to be so distinctly sought out from such a crowd – it was delightful and amazing all at once, William Purkey was smiling and talking, quite rid of his dull demeanor, Miss Taylor in a fluster of self-conscious spirits; smoothing her dress, blushing, smiling, laughing. Emma was so entranced by this exchange that she did not notice Mr. Knightley's expression until she turned back to continue her own excursion. There she was stopped short by his flushed cheeks and stern, straight mouth. Emma was all shock; God save the man who received Mr. Knightley's glare at that moment! William Purkey, it seemed, was the target, but Emma could not understand why – that is, until she saw Miss Taylor's warmth, which concealed only a small portion of both party's actual flirtation. Emma was speechless; it was impossible! but no, it seemed – Mr. Knightley was disdainfully jealous, and of William's growing place in Miss Taylor's heart!

'Is that your father there?' asked James curiously, beckoning towards the fire. Emma looked.

'Yes,' she said breathlessly, still amazed by her discovery. 'Yes – I will go introduce you.'

- - -

Emma had not any time to speak to Mr. Knightley during the entirety of the ball – James had requested dance after dance, and when she was not in his clutches she was constantly being addressed by friends and family, and could not get away. She did not want to talk to him on the subject that had been occupying her very excitable mind; well, perhaps she did, but it was not wise, for it would only anger him, and Emma felt too well the joys of his being her friend to jeopardise it. No, what she really wanted was to ask him about Miss Purkey's absence from the ball – it was subtle, but close enough to bring around a more interesting subject; one in which Emma was particularly interested.

Finally, when the guests began to leave in their carriages, kissing and calling good-bys to their hospitable hosts, Emma slipped without notice into the middle of the well-worn pathway that connected Donwell Abbey and Hartfield. She was hoping that Mr. Knightley had not his generous tact in saying his own adieus tonight, because she was simply dying to speak to him and was fearful of sitting down on a bench all night waiting for him.

She did not have to wait long. She soon found him walking swiftly down the path towards her, looking simply rattled and confused and bearing, to Emma's dismay, the same tight-lipped frown that he wore watching William and Miss Taylor. She was sure that even she could not face such a look from Mr. Knightley, even if it was not directed to her, but towards her.

Emma was a girl of firm mind, and recalling this about herself, she raised her spirit and morale. She would not falter because of a mere look! The thought was stupid, trivial, petty, and Emma stepped out of the shadows to greet him.

She immediately feigned surprise, but Mr. Knightley was not to be fooled. Sighing heavily, he sank onto the bench she had recently occupied.

'What is it, Emma, which brings you here to question me? I am not stupid,' he said sharply as Emma made to contradict him. 'You know that, I am sure, well enough.'

She was at a loss for words; he had taken away her plan of innocence, and was now forced to go about her questioning bluntly. She mouthed wordlessly for a moment, her ingenious dulled by surprise.

'I apologise,' said Mr. Knightley suddenly, in a very tired voice; 'you do not deserve my bad mood. I have just been ... preoccupied. But you need not face my wrath. Go run home, Emma, your father may be looking for you.'

'What kind of friend would I be, to leave you in such a bad mood?' said Emma firmly. 'No, I will not go home. I will stay here until you tell me what is on your mind.'

He laughed, and it seemed like some of his good humour was returning. 'I cannot escape you, can I? Very well, Emma, I will tell you. Miss Purkey is getting married.'

Emma's heart contracted grievously and she said quietly, 'To you?'

Mr. Knightley laughed. 'No, no, my dear, not to me. I would not be so very depressed if she was to marry me. She is marrying somebody else.'

Emma tried to look anywhere but at his face, inwardly rejoicing at this very agreeable news. 'I'm very sorry, Mr. Knightley, I knew you loved her so.'

'Oh, Emma,' cried Mr. Knightley laughingly, 'you sweet girl! I knew how much you dislike her, no need to beat around the bush. I appreciate your concern, but, I don't think you understand – there was once a time where I did love Miss Purkey ... but, that time is gone. I am more concerned about the respectability of Miss Purkey's so-called "good match", and – the woman I truly care for.' He smiled at Emma and patted her hand. 'But though you are still young, I can still imagine sometimes that I'm talking to someone older and wiser than even myself. For, in many ways, you are.'

As he spoke, Emma's mind raced. Oh, happy news! He was in love with Miss Taylor! Emma herself could not dream up abetter match.

Emma's smile was genuine as she watched Mr. Knightley bow and dismiss himself from her, walking briskly up the pathway towards Donwell Abbey.