Chapter 11

Deliberation

Thank you to chuckscharles & Leafhuntress These fabulous people answered or provided pieces for my questions from the last chapter. Invaluable! I can't thank you guys enough!


If she felt she had been embarrassed before she realized she didn't know a thing about the subject of embarrassment. It was mortifying, Knightley sitting atop his horse and the valet giving her a boost so that she could sit with him.

Her face flamed in humiliation.

"Tell Richard I am sorry for leaving early but my wife has had too much to drink and I will send a groom to fetch Mrs. Knightley's horse in the morning,"

She was not so inebriated. Had she been a confident rider she was certain that champagne would not have been a concern at all. The two things together she felt it wise that she not ride. All she would have required was a little time to recover, perhaps something edible that didn't reek of the nouveau riche trying to impress all with creative appetizers from France.

Should anyone be surprised that she didn't want to eat chilled oysters or foie gras to help with the tipsy feeling? Her stomach almost turned at the thought of it.

They were half way home when she finally felt she had endured enough of it.

"I would like to walk," she told him.

"It is dark Emma, you are not in your full senses and regardless, we are too far for that but we will be home soon," he assured her.

"You like walking— love walking in fact, we could walk together," she insisted with a positive upturn to her voice. Some part of her was over taxed by sitting so near him. It must have had something to do with the way her back pressed into his chest as if the horse shifted the counter balance on a scale for so many long moments and Emma could feel within her that it was causing her much tension.

Her disgruntled humph was met out before the reply. "On many occasions you are correct, but it has been a long evening and my sole aim is to return home by the quickest route in the fastest style; we will not be walking this evening,"

A few paces up the road she interrupted the quiet with a shriller than needed, "You are hurting me! The corset is digging into my ribs every time you shift me forward,"

"I cannot direct the horse without using the reins, it requires a bit of motion on my part to guide him and as much as I would like to feel sorry for you Emma but cannot help but remember that you were aware that the dress was uncomfortable and decided to wear it anyways. But I will try to be mindful of it now,"

"As if you care," she pouted, it had been such an exhausting evening.

"I do care Emma, even if at times I wish it weren't true. Rest now, lean back into me and I will try to avoid jostling you as best I can," told her, using one of his hands to encourage her to lean back against his chest.

It was a few paces down the road when he added, more to himself than to her, "And it is late and there is no sense dealing with anything tonight,"

She did as he suggested, at first only intending to rest her eyes, and he couldn't quiet catch it but she was murmuring something about George and the dragon as she fell asleep.


Of how she knew the feeling so well! It was almost a burning sensation, or a sort of anxiety that prevented her from thinking of other things or seeking distraction for herself with plans or tasks.

She remembered it as a feeling often present in her childhood. And while anyone would own that Emma was a good child, often she believed they referred to her open temperament and happy disposition.

For it was a known fact that she was also rather mischievous in her early years—to others dismay, in many cases, her mischief added to her happy look and feeling of self-satisfaction. But as all mischievous children learn, there are times that one is required to apologize, to whomever they had wronged, injured or inconvenienced with their antics.

Though the source of the tension was not the same; she knew what she must do to absolve herself of the feeling.

She quickly finished her morning ablutions, dressed and then headed for the breakfast room, where she hoped to find Mr. Knightley.

Upon arriving in the room she did not move the far side of the table to sit at the head opposite him as was custom but instead pulled the chair directly at his right and sat down stealthily.

He was still in the middle of chewing, and looked as if he was hurrying his motions so that he might bid her good morning.

"Don't speak—you needn't say anything just yet, for I am here to apologize, and you know how nervous the notion makes me—I feel I must get it right and my words often aren't able to convey with the same exactness as the pit in my stomach. I almost wish that I could impart to you the feeling of the pit itself, then you would fully understand my feeling of remorsefulness without the need for so many words" she told him, offering up a lighthearted smirk that the final word.

Mr. Knightley almost mechanically placed two pieces of toast in front of her and moved the bowl of strawberry preserve closer to be within her reach.

"Right," she said fighting the desire to delay due to her nerves. She silently chided herself—she must do this quickly for she would not be able to eat anything until it was done and the strawberry preserve from Donwell's strawberry fields were her absolute favourite.

"I know you may feel the impetus to interject but I must ask you wait until I finish and I hope you do not feel usurped by my interference in your customary duty as my conscience and corrector" she began, sparing him a glance to see if her attempt at humour had any reaction. He seemed rather sullen this morning, and though she would not have said he wore a look of impatience, she would have reflected that his face looked rather flat, devoid of most expression altogether.

"Mr. Knightley—I must beg your forgiveness. Know that I am sorry, I never— I did not realize that champagne would have such an effect. I had not had it before and am not used to alcohol at all. In keeping with my father's thinking on the subject, I do not intent to drink at all again—well except maybe for Christmas and your birthday— and maybe my birthday and on truly spare special occasions. But I am resolute; I shall not partake in the fashion that others are accustomed to these days. I did not feel good about it last evening and I am sorry for how my lightheadedness reflected on you," she concluded.

He served himself another measure of fruit salad and bacon.

"Is that all you have to say?" tightness around his mouth and the curtness of his tone Emma could not help but notice.

She did not feel welcome to approach the source and with her conscience relieved, she took one of the toasts and measured out a full scoop of the jam.

"No, it isn't all!" She offered excitedly. "I had the most ridiculous encounter."

"Yes, that is saying something," he muttered dryly, either at a tone too low for her to hear or she ignored the comment as it did not suit her.

"You will never guess who I bumped into on happenstance!"

"The same gentleman you danced with thrice?" he tossed back, without malice but his words lacked all emotion and were empty sounding.

"Yes Mr. Knightley, the very same!" she returned, she words sounding chipped and excited.

"Emma, you really wish for me to guess at your gentleman company?" He asked, and this time his words were not devoid of all emotions—slight hints of anger were easily recognized. "The one you paraded around to make a spectacle? Do you realize how bad it looked to everyone?" he asked cutting his question off in a clipped tone. He was certain he would continue to ask question after question and he was certain he could hear his own jealously in the questions that were phrased already. He wasn't sure what following questions might draw out in him.

"Mr. Knightley, when you realize who it is, you will not be cross. Think of it. Who is it that I, my entire life, have had a deep desire to meet?" she said her eyes aflame and excited at the offer of the first clue. How was it that she could be so excited over another man? He shook his head to try and rid it of the jealous thoughts that clouded him. She continued the same boisterous tone and expressive mannerisms, "Think of it Mr. Knightley, who is it that I had thought perhaps our paths were intertwined?" She paused again, watching his face to see if he was rounding on the correct answer to her silly hints. He couldn't have been further from it; his mind was stuck on the word intertwined. She felt her life was intertwined with this gentleman. And what were her thought of her husband; with the vows of matrimony were they not considered intertwined –two wholes transformed to become one? Was that not the very picture of intertwined?

"Oh Mr. Knightley, I shall give you a final hint! Who is it that would be a young man about my age, who around the same time that I lost my dear mama had also lost his own mother?" he couldn't help but notice the pleading in her eyes, as if willing him to get it.

"You are meaning to say that that gentleman was Frank Churchill?" he asked, uncertain of how the information made him feel.

He was the gentleman who Emma had mentioned offhandedly after she had proposed the idea of marriage. How had Emma put it then? He remembered something about her mentioning him vaguely as the dashing step son of Mrs. Weston.

"The very same!" she echoed happily, "thee Frank Churchill, who would have foreseen it?"

She paused suddenly as if shocked by something and then turned to him. "Now Mr. Knightley, I have just realized, I have put the thing out of order," she stopped for a moment, as if trying to right something in her head. "I should have asked—no demanded that you keep this matter to your person. For I do not believe very many other people at the party knew his name, or rather the profound connections of his name. It is important that his presence there is kept secret as he has not yet had the opportunity—nay that is not expressly true—he has many times made the journey to his father's house and one would say that he has had several opportunities to connect with his father but he is consistently turned back at the last minute by some strange fear—at least I think it is a reaction born of fear— but I did not tell him this! Yet, I think perhaps that he is fearful of being rejected by his father—to be turned away from ones father at such a young age—can you imagine it Mr. Knightley? How grievous, I cannot fathom it myself. Yes, it is such a grave thing and it was bound to leave some sort of impression! And we know of course that poor Mr. Weston could not have done any differently given the situation as it were but perhaps there is something –some deep pain that keeps him from seeing his father after all this time?! Perhaps there is something there that causes him to feel unwanted? Regardless, he has not told his father of his presence in Highbury and he does intend to see him. He has many times and on many occasions made the effort to venture this way on the intention of meeting his father again, and the new Mrs. Weston for the first time. However, he had been held back. Now, all that. What do you say of it Mr. Knightley?" she concluded before taking a bite of toast.

The preserves did not disappoint and she felt joy shiver through her veins at the taste.

Mr. Knightley was silent a long few moments but this Emma was used to, it was his way to think first and then to speak.

"To think, poor young Frank—I used to think of Frank all the time as a little girl—perhaps I thought him the only person who might have just cause to be sadder than I—losing both his mother and his father to the same calamity. I used to have a concocted image of him waving goodbye to his dear papa from a carriage window—it was awful and heartbreaking but somehow gave me comfort in my own pain—for I could run into the living room and press my papa's hand to my cheek—poor Frank could not. I might have taken some comfort to think my pain was not near as bad—poor Frank and to think that after all these years I have finally met him. It seems so odd, and yet so providential,"

"I think Emma that I understand it better." He told her, "However, there is another matter at hand, one which is regarding propriety. As a married woman Emma, you cannot behave as you did. It is not as simple as it were before—it is not that you cannot dance with who you wish but it must not be three times. You may fill your dance card and dance all evening but it will be talked of if you give any one person a singularity in your attention or a special treatment of any but me. "

"That is unfortunate, as you didn't dance with anyone. And Mr. Knightley we both are well aware that you do not enjoy dancing. You do not desire to dance with me either and although I do believe that if the entire world attended a ball I would be you first choice. As in times past, back when we were just friends—I know I would have been the one you would have danced with if you were pressed to it."

"Well it is true Emma, I am not fond of dancing and I know that you are, that it has always brought you great enjoyment. But how would – how would you feel," he paused a moment, his voice was stammering slightly and he had never known himself to hesitate or for his speech not to sound clear and polished. He cleared his throat and attempted it again, "how would you feel if there was a lady there—say a Jane Fairfax sort, and if I were to sit in the corner and read to her poetry and only to her—would you not think it unt—uh that is, would you not expect more from me as a husband?"

"What sort of poetry?" Emma asked actively considering his question.

"That is beside the point," he argued, his hand sweeping across his brow.

"Pray, what sort? I cannot accurately answer your theoretical without the details—as you know, the Scotch Reel is not a waltz—and The Tyger is not a Shakespearian sonnet –it does signify."

"Blake, Wordsworth, Coleridge—a chapter of Milton—for it really does not matter, I only selected the example of reading because I would say that I enjoy reading. Alas, with the details included, in your estimation would it be proper?" he inquired.

"Yes, I think you are right it would be entirely improper. I think that a private reading in the setting of a ball is not quite right—balls are for conversation, community, gaiety and dancing—I think to read in any context of the setting, be it alone or with another person, strikes me as the very picture of improper," she told him.

"But would it not be improper for me, as your husband, to be sitting off reading to a young unmarried lady?" he pressed.

"It is not the same, if you are pressing for me to make the comparison I could not, for it is not enough the same," she protested.

"It is the same," he countered gently.

"It is not, for it would not be polite for you to read to one and twenty ladies in succession! Even if you were giving your attention to no one in particular, as would be proper in a dance; yet, it would not be wholly proper when reading. This is true regardless to how you divided your attention as it is not the company that makes it impudent but the very act of reading and making the appearance of being disinterested in the festivities. It is an insult, in that setting, to the host and hostess," Emma explained firmly.

"Alright, I concede Emma, they are not exactly the same. But if you could ignore the general impropriety of reading amid the ball setting, would there be anything within you, any part of you as my wife that would question the matter—that would demand better from me?"

"Mr. Knightley I know what you are trying to suggest. But I must prevent you from arriving a false conclusions, before you get ahead of yourself, Frank and I have decided to be friends," she proffered plainly—hoping to ease his mind and divest him of any concerns he may have.

"Friends?" He echoed an octave higher than his usually tone, the inflection indicating that the very idea was indeed ludicrous to him.

"Yes, you see, I cannot help but notice that he and I are most alike, a bit overzealous and at times unthinking—but a happy sort of breed, with an openness in temperament. " she told him thinking of her new friend and not especially aware of the expression worn by her oldest one.

"And to know him so acutely having only just met him?" he challenged.

"Oh Mr. Knightley, that is just it—we are similar in that regard as well. I think that Frank and I, in our own ways, are the sort that has never met a stranger, open and friendly –easy to get to know and befriend. I feel I have known him far longer than I have in actuality. And I do think we will compliment nicely, for example while he has gifting for timing and an effortless knack for comedy—I do not, but I make up for it with an easy willingness for laughter, which anyone would say is an important asset in someone else proving comedic. Each of us is, if not always the most practical or level headed, a fine sort of friend for the other" she offered.

"Emma, as you describe it, with vocabulary like overzealous, unthinking, not levelheaded—it sounds more and more to me like a remarkably bad combination than it does a winning one," he admitted, feeling annoyed at her mention of the similarities and alikeness between herself and another gentleman.

"You are only saying it because you have not met him and because you are the other sort of person," she announced, as if he ought to know what was meant by the phrase other sort of person.

"The other sort of person?" he echoed, flat sounding – he was not an ignorant man; he felt he should not feel guilty for needing clarification, but a piece of him did.

"Oh yes, you are certainly the other sort. While you are lovely and friendly to those you know well, you cannot be said to be easy to get to know or overly friendly with strangers. No, I dare say it is not in your make up Mr. Knightley, that you should make friends readily. However, do not be concerned! For I assure you, the friends you do make overtime are just as loyal and lasting. But for myself I have never seen a problem with easily befriending others—there is no danger in it; Frank is a fine sort of fellow and I think, given the opportunity and the time required by your personality, you would grow to like him infinitesimally better than I do, once you've gotten to know him of course," Emma explained carefully.

Realizing that she still held his attention she continued, "Now there is a matter which I may not go into the details of—for I have promised confidentiality and I do not have all the details myself at this point. I may only say that it is well within my skill set to help him and that I feel I have been created for the very purpose of aiding others with problems such as this one. I am passionate about the topic and I look forward to having something to occupy my thoughts—my thinking has been grey, tepid and boredom has not been a positive influence. But this venture is something I can take on as a project and I might be so bold as to claim to be an expert in this area specifically. I am not sure any of this is explaining anything for you—I am sorry, as I do not rightly know how to explain it in such vague detail. Well—to put it simply, I do feel that it is my place and within my abilities to help him and in fact I have given him my word as such, that I will endeavour to do all that I am able to do in order to help him in this matter as his confidant,"

"His confidant!" he fumed knowing full well that the ire and jealously was evident in his tone, he didn't appear to care or try to repress it.

"Mr. Knightley you do not understand it is a matter far beyond—" she began but was cut off prematurely.

"Are you saying you understand his business Emma?" and he may as well have called her Judas or Brutes from the tone that he used in his articulation of her name.

"Well, yes. In a way yes, I do understand about his business –well more than you do at least. I have glimpses if not the full picture of what he is intending for his life and may I promise you, I am certainly not more than a friend, "

"Are you serious Emma? You're joking? That man may well be in love with you and I guarantee you would not see it,"

"He is not and I guarantee it— and he does not see me in that way and in due time he will be married and not to me—because I am already married and if you must know, though I do not know with whom, I do know that his feelings are placed elsewhere! He has asked for my help Mr. Knightley and I will give him my help,"

"And you do not care how it would look—how it does look?" he modified.

"Mr. Knightley, I do not believe it is the cause of speculation that you imaging it to be. I am your friend, your dearest friend. They would not twist something as trivial as this, no one would ever suspect that—" she urged.

"They do Emma, they talk," he protested again with feelings of ire rising up and marring his features and voice. "They talk about it—a source of gossip," he trailed off gradually letting the ire leave him—replace with a more melancholic sound.

"Mr. Knightley, I respectfully hear what you are saying. I am telling you that you are mistaken and it would not do for you to be upset by this,"

"Do you care for him Emma?" he asked, his tone sounding hollow even to his own ears.

She was not sure how to answer it properly. In truth she hardly knew him—although she had empathized with him over his familial losses her entire life—did that constitute care? And now, she had grown to sympathize with his current plight. This problem sparked her curiosity and innate desire for problem solving and with it brought a craving to use application to make his problem yield and vanish.

She was stumped by his question. Whether it was the gentleman or merely his problem she cared about she could not rightly say—for she did not know where one ended and the other began.

"I will take your silence as confirmation, but I will leave you with the question of how you care for me,"

He left the room in gentle strides, the speed was such that she was certain she could call him back at any point and yet she was not sure she could bear it. His question had felt as if it had clawed gouge marks across her heart and lungs—breathing hurt, simply being hurt.

How could he not know how much she cared for him? He was everything to her now; all that existed for her. That he would belittle that, that he could dismiss it so readily simply to prove a point – she felt pain flooding through her and couldn't summon the words to call him back.


Hey guys, reviews have been steadily declining. Most chapter have had between 10-15 or even twenty reviews and the last chapter has 3! Those three are keeping me from throwing in the towel on this story. I know it is summer but if you read the chapter can you put in a review? Loving it, or hating it I don't mind but I do need to see that people care about the story and how things are resonating with readers. I had hoped I would hit 100 by this point, it was consistently heading in that direct but with chapter 9 & 10 things have suddenly stopped being predictable.

Few reviews or a sudden drop off, I start to think people aren't very interested in the story-I start getting in my own head about it.

I need to see that people are actually interested this chapter. It will be a deciding factor on whether it continues.

Thanks.