Chapter 15
A Day to Remember
She had thought he had forgotten.
It stung at first—even in her earliest memories she had always been given something by him. A book of fairy stories when she turned four was the earliest of her actual memories but she was certain he had presented her a rattle as soon as his term break allowed him to be back from Eton College when she was born.
She knew this because although it had lost the soft velvet ribbon, she still had the rattle packed up in a box of other sentimental trinkets. It was the first gift and naturally it was sentimental. One might wonder if a sixteen year old boy had had any involvement in picking out a childish rattle or if it was merely passed off as a gift but she knew it was from him. Her father had shown her how to understand manufactures stamps and when she had looked on its markings it clearly showed it was even manufactured in Windsor –home of Eton College which proved he had chosen it himself and that it wasn't merely something picked out by his mother.
"Any special requests for the evening meal?" Mrs. Hodges had even asked her.
Emma must have been more sullen looking than she felt for she shook her head. "I love surprises, especially on my birthday," she explained with a manufactured sort of cheer.
It was silly. She shouldn't be so moved by something as simple as an oversight.
He likely is thinking that we will celebrate my birthday on the day of the party. She assured herself.
Needn't be extravagant. It would be rather foolish to celebrate twice.
She was feeling better by lunch time, she brought the flowers she had collected in through the back kitchen doors where cook stopped her.
"Mr. Knightley said that you have had no taste for cake since—uh rather no taste for cake in recent months and I—is he to be relied upon? I couldn't fathom not wanting cake for my birthday. And especially at one and twenty such a wonderful age, a true cause of celebration," cook prattled. "Is it true about the cake, dear?"
"It is true," she smiled pleased that Mr. Knightley, regardless of gifts, hadn't forgotten it was her birthday afterall. "But I know Mr. Knightley very much enjoys cake, you might at least allow him to enjoy it on my behalf," she told her with a warm smile.
Her sweet tooth had been a source of conflict at times between her and her papa. The one delighting in sweets and confections at all times, and the other believing all sugars to be pressing all—man, woman or child towards an early grave. It was almost ironic to her that she lost all desire for sweets in near proximity to his passing.
"Gateau cakes are his favourite, if you pair it with fresh seasonal fruits I will certainly eat the raspberries," Emma told her.
"Excellent idea," the cook smile and Emma left the room with her basket of flower so that she could make fresh arrangements for the parlor and her bedroom.
"I hadn't thought I would find you sleeping on your birthday," Mr. Knightley exclaimed and she roused from her spot on the recliner in the garden.
"I was sketching and I must've dozed off," she offered blinking, and then wincing slightly as the rays hitting her eyes before they had fully adjusted.
"Practicing mouths? I've always thought your sketches were rather lifelike and without the want of practice but perhaps it is like the pianoforte and scales, where one practices scales to learn and with the expressed intention of not needing to practice scales in the future, only to find that they still must play scales out of some sense of obligation or compulsory habit even once they are impossibly accomplished."
"You sound the expert, any hidden pianoforte talents you've neglected to inform me about?" Emma smirked, closing her sketchbook gently as she moved to sit up, bringing her hand to block the sun from her eyes so that she could better see his face. More than a little fixated as his mouth crooked in a light smile in response to her words.
"I am no Haydn, sorry to disappoint but my mother would play scales, repetitively as her illness worsened, but when she was healthy she was really very good," he stopped seeing the question etched on her face, "it was some form of a disease, an almost delirium, and it worsened with time but that's enough somberness and tale of woe. I apologize, Emma. Do forgive me; it was hardly the topic to bring up for a birthday celebration. All that to say I remember enjoying her playing so well as a young boy," he sat on the seat next to her, her expression still looked pained. He'd never confided anything to her about his mother before.
"You needn't apologize for anything," she said, "really, I don't mind sharing my birthday with your memories, happy or sad. It is what friends do," Emma offered with a light smile.
Perhaps taking in his reaction to the word she altered her phrasing, "Really there is nothing that could prevent me from wanting to know all there is to know about those that I love, I think it is in my nature, a curiosity definitely but also a deep caring,"
"Yes, I suppose I know it," he said softly, squeezing her hand. "Now, come and see your first gift," he told her and she was aware that he likely wanted to change the subject.
"First gift? Does that imply that you have gotten me more than one? George you certainly did not need to. Haven't you heard it said for years that Emma Woodhouse was spoilt? You yourself had warned my father about the dangers of overindulging me but now you will follow suit as well? Tsk-tsk," she admonished gently but her face was overflowing with smiles.
"I was never speaking about gifts Emma," he tossed back, holding the garden doors open for her.
"Pray, what were you speaking about then?"
"A father who would step to your every whim, a governess who would do the same, leaving me the last bastion against you running roughshod over everything,"
"Oh yes, because you were so well versed in telling me no," she laughed teasingly. "I remember you brought me an entire bag of cherry lollipops from London because I had asked you for one,"
"Oh Emma dear prepare yourself, you have unwittingly struck a sore spot! I went into six confection shops to find that godforsaken flavour. A flavour which I almost believed to have been mythical but for the fact that you had been given the most scrumptious cherry lollipop by that French friend of Doctor Hughes and begged specifically for it to be cheery and forewarned that it not be mint or lemon. The testimony and your ardor proved the flavour must have been real and I was half convinced I'd be forced a trip to France as you couldn't have asked for lemon or mint like a normal child, certainly not, it needed to be cherry. So yes, Emma you had better believe that in the sixth shop upon discovering cherry I bought every last cherry lollipop they had in stock on the expectation that they would last you for several years. But to your point, yes I was better versed in telling you no, at least more often than others, or when it was on a matter that did not involve my opinion, I at least, would point out the potentiality for error privately to your father, if not in advance then retroactively,"
"Six confection shops! Well and here I thought you were looking to alarm my father at the sight of an eight pound sack of lollipops and yes, cook assayed it with her kitchen scale and yes they did last a very, very long time on the reason that they were locked in a high cupboard a doled out when I did especially well in arithmetic or on occasions when I practiced piano for more than one hour without prompting," she explained.
"—to think of the rarity of both those things— I have a strong suspicion that cupboard might be still rather full of lollipops," he retorted.
She used her hand to slap at him gently, it seemed more a brush against him than a blow of any kind.
Her hand was still pressed at his chest when she saw the box, large, so white it was practically gleaming with a large red bow. She recognized the name on the packaging; it was from an expensive London dressmaker that exclusively used silk from Lyon. She didn't travel, every dress she owned was a product of a Highbury dressmaker.
"Oh, wow, you needed have really, I—thank you,"
"Open it," he offered,
The bow slipped freely, untying easily. And the box once opened revealed an abundance of soft tissue.
The dress colour was breath taking; it held similarities to her favourite rosy peach colour dress. The fabric was gloriously soft and every bit a true ball gown. Oh, how immaculate each tuck and seam was, though Emma believe the people of Highbury to be every bit as accomplished as those in London, she could not help but admire the workmanship.
"It is beautiful, almost Grecian in its detailing, very charming. I have an antirrhinum majus flower, in the exact shade of pink. The fabric is so rich, the pink colour almost seems to have a peach undertone within it—almost iridescent. Thank you, it is lovely and I adore it in every way—you have excellent taste," she rattled off quickly, turned again toward him to kiss his cheek. "feel how soft and light it is," she said smiling up and him, as she pressed the fabric into his hand. "Isn't it delicious? I cannot wait until I am at liberty to wear it—but I am ever so pleased you did not choose it in a mourning colour for expedience sake," she added with a bigger smile.
"That fits in well with the second gift I have planned; I was hoping you would wear it tonight,"
"But this," she giggled lightly, "it is a ball gown," the wrinkles in her nose were almost enough to have him spoil the secret.
"Yes, but as it is just you and I here there is nothing preventing you from wearing the colour as you will not be in public, but put it on after supper if it is spilling that you are anxious about,"
"Oh, the mockery! I am not a child Mr. Knightley! I am not worried about pouring food all over myself. Even little Henry is old enough to feed himself without tossing it all asunder, heavens!" she reeled back, almost wanting to hit at him again. "I'll wear it! I swear, at times I wonder what do you make me for?" she muttered more to herself than to him.
"It was meant to be a logical assumption, not a personal insult," he told her.
"Alright, then the real question remains as to whether you are competent enough to dine in your finest suit or if you prefer to dress in it afterwards," she tossed back with a manufactured sweetness.
She waited a tick, "Now tell me you do not feel the slightest sting of insult," she asked with on arched raised brow.
"Not a'tall, in fact since fine suits are always considerably less comfortable as a general rule I see it sensible not to dress again until after supper,"
"See, not a spot," she boasted.
"Are you sure, I think that might be one just there," he motioned towards her right side.
"No! Where?" she asked lifting her arm and trying to look in the direction her pointed.
He chuckled. "That was my attempt at humour, you ought see your face, it is priceless really," he laughed again, his boyish sounding laugh. "And I should say, it is still early yet and I heard you requested cake. In fact, cook said you deliberately chose my favourite." He sighed lightly taking a bite of his cake, "I enjoy that you applied your capability and knowingness to picking my favourite dessert for I am certain I have never confided to you my preference. It was sweet of you Emma,"
"Says the man who picked the dress colour to closely match my favourite dress and who once entered six separate confection shops, undoubtedly scattered across London, to find a special variety of lollipop, and proceeded to buy eight imperial pounds,"
"Alright, well you have a valid point; I suppose we ought make a contest of it from this point on, " he reflected, "this cake is really very good, won't you try some?" He asked holding his fork towards her, and she sat in the stop she often picked, instead of at the far end of the dining room table, she sat directly at his right.
"It is so very sweet, mind you I have never had it but I think it would make me crave a cup of coffee," she offered, "Mr. Larkin's coffee had such a hearty aroma when I pass by the kitchen the other day and I thought to myself it might be a pleasant thing. I heard coffee is very bitter and it might mellow the sweetness—tone it down, if it works that way, do you think it does?"
"Coffee? Really Emma how pedestrian of you; next you'll want to work in textile factory or to become a miner at Hudson forge or some other earthly place,"
"I'll eat your raspberry, that is if you are keen to share it," she added ignoring his comment.
"Well, in that I aim to win the contest, I suppose I must—I'm sure a beautiful Donwell raspberry will allow me to just edge you out in the sweetness department," he said in a serious tone.
"Yes, the points are tallied and I am currently winning," he added, taking his fork back to take another bite of cake, "Delicious, Emma if you'll try the cake you'll bring it to a tie, for it would make me very happy to see you enjoying the thing you used to enjoy so immensely. Afterall, who is Emma without cake? Be it dreams of cake or schemes of how to convince the servant to serve her extra cake?"
She smiled at the memory; she had certainly been a crafty child. "I will try it; it is strange to say it but I think perhaps that I have grown up finally, well at least in this way, that somehow without my full notice my tastes have changed," she took a bite from his fork again, "it is very rich, I like the chocolate flavor but the sweetness overwhelms,"
"And here I didn't think I'd ever see the day that there would be an area where you had grown more mature than I was," he told her.
She swatted at him.
He chuckled, "It'll not be in the horseplay department for a good many year, if at all,"
She laughed.
"Another raspberry?"
AN: Thanks to those that reviewed, it honestly just makes my day. I am so glad some of you are enjoying this and that you are following along. I so love the feedback and suggestions.
To the reviewer that wants Knightley to express a change in his mind from what he said to his brother in the past (chapter 3). I think that we will see this in actions as time goes, but don't expect to hear him say it. I'm a pretty big fan of the line "If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.," –I see Knightley as being a man of action especially when words fail.
