Thanks for reading all, and thank you for the reviews. To the reviewer who asked about Ms. Bates vs. Miss. Bates –sorry! That was just pure laziness on my part, something overlooked. I will go back and do some edits shortly!

Also for those wondering why Knightley did not respond in chapter 19 to Emma saying I love you. She doesn't actually voice that thought it out loud. It was mixed in with a spiteful comment she holds back. I noticed I had a accidental single parentheses there which made it confusing, I went back and deleted the parentheses.

Thanks!


Chapter 21

Recover

I have used italics to denote unspoken thoughts in Emma's head. I hope that helps! Enjoy!


The weather had been beautiful; it had been the very same yesterday when she and Harriet brought baskets past the vicarage and then to the poor living in the surrounds. A pity Mr. Elton was not on the footpath, she would have encouraged him the take-up Harriet's basket, as it was rather full with fresh vegetables and Donwell apples, but alas he was not present and Harriet to her credit made no complaint about the arduousness of the task. It was so like Harriet to carry the burden without one spec of objection and to keep her joyful optimism throughout. The rare character trait as far as Emma was concerned, and one that most qualified her as a remarkable friend for Emma, but also recommended her to be a well-dispositioned wife to one such as the rector Mr. Elton.

It was such weather that prompted walking to the afternoon tea. The warm summer sun seemed as if it promised to last forever, in fact, she had not seen a single one of the wicked raindrops that had forced Jane to take the carriage a few weeks prior. There was scarcely a cloud in sight—which was not unusual, July was often the hottest month of the year, and altogether drier as a result. Emma almost wondered if it really had been such a downpour, Miss. Bates did have a tendency toward elaboration.

Everything was so green, it was almost sparkling, perhaps they had had rain, the freshness and vibrancy seem so much greater than she remembered before leaving to London.

These were her thoughts walking to Randalls—she wouldn't dwell on how far afield they were from her thoughts at night, tossing and restless, feeling as if her world was so far from where she'd wish it be, but overwhelmed with a dread that she would forever be powerless to change it. No, those thoughts stayed banished during the daylight hours and she, generally without much effort, cast her focus on lighter topics and more trivial things.

She must have looked her normal self as well, as her friend greeted her, boasting about how well she looked and how the London trip must have been a good one, the countenance of her face was said to be brighter and that she looked altogether healthier and more at ease.

Emma was glad that her dear friend did not speak on the reason for the past greyness, and the sorrow that had brought the lackluster to her spirit –for it went without saying and would undoubtedly have trudged up a swell of emotions. Yet, Emma was undeniably grateful to hear these things appeared improved by comparison.

The earlier hour of the day allowed them to sit comfortably at the patio set in the back garden. It was more of a luncheon than a proper afternoon tea, but it would have been much too warm to sit out later in the day, so Emma was well pleased with the timing that allowed her to stay outdoors and enjoy the freshness and vibrancy of the garden surrounding.

Mrs. Weston appreciated gardening, though few could claim to have Emma's robust sense of passion, purpose and innate gifting in the area of horticulture. Her garden was still rich with bright colours, effervescent greenery and Emma would make a note to ask her later for a cutting of her Passiflora Caerulea as it had a good deal more rich blue around the edges than any others she had seen.

They were well enjoying their time together.

"I have not seen near so many butterflies at Donwell, is it the lavender that draws them? Or what is the secret?" Emma asked

But she was not given an answer.

The answer was not given because she immediately distracted and Emma was greatly surprised by the source.

Few things had the ability to surprise Emma, since a young age she had been a confident predictor of many inconsequential things –such as whether Cook would serve Ham or Roast Duck at dinner. The clues were plain, it had rained and father kept asking for the fire to be made hotter. It was obvious! It would be Ham, for the bone and so that Mr. Woodhouse might be placated to have pea soup at dinner the next few nights, and it was always as she thought.

Frank Churchill standing next to their tea table in the garden part way through their tea had done just that.

"Frank!" She said out of turn, "Frank Churchill" she added, with a gentle grin to her friend Mrs. Weston, who she was certain had already forgiven the oversight.

"Sorry to interrupt, I came to let you know that my father is off to that estate out by Wickets and he really is too genteel to interrupt—it is perhaps apparent that I have not gotten my manners from him— but I knew he wished to say goodbye," he offered to Mrs. Weston, before offering Emma an apologetic smile.

"You would be alright here Emma if I were to be but a moment?" Mrs. Weston asked.

"Certainly, Frank will keep me company," she replied.

"I must apologize for missing your birthday party," he said outright, as his stepmother walked away and as he moved to take up the seat she had left vacant.

"That's alright, I understand you had other commitments and perchance a few other gatherings to attend in London," she offered, looking to take in his expression at her words about London.

"Ah well, I am sure as much as you missed me, it did not really detract from the enjoyment of the occasion, as I understand you were well celebrated. I heard that your husband gave you a rather impressive gift,"

"And who might have told you such a thing?" She asked.

"My stepmother, although it shouldn't signify. While we are on the subject, what would you say is the best way is to show one's affections? Is that the best way Emma, gifts?"

"I shouldn't say so." She said finally after pondering a long moment.

"No? Why not?"

"As anyone can pay money for anything—it isn't the most ardent from in my estimation, though a truly thoughtful gift will always convey far more than the monetary value, it is, in my opinion, the thought that counts," she confided.

"Really, and here I thought all ladies would think it was the most ardent form, what would you say then? Poetry?"

"Surely not!" she scoffed, "Although thinking of it now, I could certainly see my husband reeling off lines of poetry should he really be in love. Not his own poetry mind you, he isn't the type but perhaps something memorized and rehearsed that spoke to him upon initial reflection, since he enjoys reading, and has a keen memory for facts and such," she explained.

"Am I to guess that he has not been reeling off poetry," he stated.

She nodded to confirm what he said.

"Ah, well then that must not be his choice method," he laughed, "but in all seriousness now, if someone were to express true feelings—or rather they wanted you to know that their ardent feelings had not changed, what would be the best way?"

"Well, words naturally –just plain ones, not poetry. Simple, straightforward and clear." She told him.

"You are both boring and unromantic Emma Knightley," he told her flatly.

"It was you that asked me, Frank Churchill, you cannot both seek and spurn my advice! But if you're not satisfied perhaps spending time together—there is something about showing that you value her company that will do just that, although at times the opposite has a stronger effect," she admitted.

"Oh of course, how paradoxical! It would be that way," He scoffed, moving to stand from his chair.

"Where are you going?" She asked.

"My stepmother returns and I will leave you both to enjoy your tea," he told her with an exaggerated bow, taking a cookie from the tea tray as he stood.

"Good 'day" He offered.

"Good 'day to you as well," she repeated watching as he walked away, and then as he and Mrs. Weston crossed paths and he headed back towards the house and she toward the tea table.

Her friend gave her a sweet smile as she returned to the sitting area, it seemed both derived of gratitude and apology. "He really was pleased to say goodbye, though he is only to be gone the day, thank you for your forbearance," she said smoothly.

They talked about many things, Emma's recent trip to London, the news of Highbury proper, and of one of Emma's favorite topics gardening, Mrs. Weston asked if Emma had any tips for restoring her hyacinth to its former glory, she explained it seemed altogether more vibrant before she had taken over care of the gardens.

Emma relayed to her the tale behind the flower, she had read in a flower encyclopedia that it had a myth attached to its name, the flowers purportedly having grown up from the blood of a young hero Hyacinthus accidentally killed by the god Apollo. She also explained a tip she had heard and had abided by ever since. The former, former rectors' wife had said to clip the faded flowers but to be sure to let the leaves die back naturally to allow nutrition for the next year.

"I am planning to host a small gathering, dinner next week, just a few close friends, you and George, Bates and Jane Fairfax, Mr. Elton –though I have heard he may be away to London, and Harriet Smith and Mrs. Goddard if it pleases you," she added.

"Yes, that would please me, I am so very excited, and Frank Churchill? Will he be here then?"

"I plan to have it early enough in the week that he will still be with us, he is slated to return to Yorkshire next Thursday," she confirmed.

"It is all very exciting, my dearest friend throwing a dinner party, I did not think I would see it –for you and Mr. Weston have seemed to enjoy your solitude and tranquility at Randalls," she beamed, proud of her friend and maybe the smidgen of Emma Woodhouse that had rubbed off on her over the years of living at Hartfield.

"We are dear friends aren't we," Anne Weston smiled at Emma.

"Yes, the dearest of!" Emma confirmed her smiled so big it was breaking creases across her cheekbones. She really was blessed to have such a wonderful friend.

"And would you say, Emma, that we are like sisters?" she asked.

"Yes, I would say we are even as close as sisters—for my part, although we have made some progress of late, my sister and I have not been overly close through the years and thus friends always sounded almost a higher calling," Emma admitted. "All that to say I would think you closer than a sister for I have known you all my life and truly felt kindness and companionship throughout it,"

Anne smiled at her with big watery eyes, Emma felt pressed to ask her, "Why do you ask?"

"Well we are as close as sisters, or else what I tell you next would not be seen as proper. As we are likened to sisters, and because I haven't a sister in the way of blood, I shall tell you. I had not thought it possible after the first little while but I am pleased to say that we are finally with child," she said, and her smile was so bright Emma thought it might break into a million pieces of starlight.

"You—you are expecting?" Emma repeated, her own eyes filling with tears but not the same kind that rimmed her friends' eyes.

Her friend nodded happily, "No one knows, but for you, my husband and myself," she repeated looking at Emma with big bright eyes.

"It's—it's—it is wonderful news," Emma told her and at first her friend thought the tears were just the same tears of joy that were brought on by excitement and comradery.

Then her friend sniffled and whisked an errant tear away before another fell and took its place.

"Emma, are you sure you are quite well?" her friend asked her tone rich with concern, she was clearly coming to the realization that all was not well with the petite blonde who sat before her.

His words to her that night were hitting her full force. "I will not in good conscience bring children into this" he had said, his point emphasized by the way he motioned wildly between them with his hands.

Emma shook her head to rid herself of the thought, "Truly! It is the most joyous of news," Emma nodded, her face breaking in the pain of what was reeling in her mind.

It wasn't even jealousy, no never.

Never that! She'd never stoop so low as to feel jealous over a friend's happy situation.

"Are you alright?"

Tears burst out freely then and she brought her hands to cover her face. "I'm sorry, I swear that I am most happy for you—I don't even begin to have the right words—" she hiccupped out a sob, talking was making it worse, "to—to properly congratulate you,"

"Darling, something is the matter and I don't know fully what it is but I do know that it is something," she told her softly, moving closer to her to gently rub circles on her back. It used to calm her down when she was little, a scraped knee or bruised elbow – Anne felt almost if she had been a mother all her adult life thanks to Emma, and yet she was only now expecting her first child.

The way his voice had cracked slightly as he spoke the words that night, belaying his emotion and the truth of what he was saying would have undone her then had it fully sunk it—and it came flooding back violently now, "this arrangement—you are right when you liken it to a business transaction or an act of parliament –for this it is not a real marriage and I'll not continue the charade by adding children to it."

"I thought of our daughters playing happily together—I don't know—it must have been a thought that snuck in when I least expected it for I surely had never thought about such a thing before I was married and now that I am –I – I am sorry, see I'm ruining it—I am ruining everything—it is your happy news and I am ruining it with crying so—" Emma acknowledged but it only served in causing her to cry harder.

"Shh—" Anne soothed.

"What you must think of me! I – I am wrenched – I'm so sorry—but I promise it isn't anything you'll think, I swear to you I'm not jealous or seeping with envy," she promised "anyone hearing this and thinking about it would be likely to think that I am and I would not blame them for I know exactly how it looks! But you dear friend must believe me; it isn't that. " She explained in quick panicking breaths.

"It's all right; I wasn't thinking any such thing. You are hurting and that is all a good friend cares about,"

"It is such a happy moment and I've spoiled it, and I'm sorry—forgive me? I am so sorry I can—cannot find my composure," Emma told her and then the sobs got more pronounced instead of better.

"It's all right," Anne soothed once more, "I think I understand something of your situation, and I'll encourage you to say that you are still very young and in many cases I have heard that these things take a little time to get right—you'll be in my situation soon enough, I do not doubt it,"

She would not be for he had said it so adamantly and so convincingly, "They"—their children he meant—deserved so much more than she could ever give them, so much more than their façade of a marriage he had meant—and then he went on to say that it would not be fair to anyone.

Emma shook her head miserably, sobbing more, into her hands for she still had the sensibility to be fully mortified by her emotions.

"It won't be" she said urgently.

He had offered her a puppy, in lieu of a family. She wasn't fully sure she would ever be able to forgive him for that.

She told her again with more detail, "It won't be alright, I don't know how it could be—everything is wrong—nothing has been right since my father died! How could he leave me here?" Emma seemed frantic.

Anne Weston took up her friend's arm and began moving her towards the house. The girl was not herself; she was completely overwrought and what had started out as a barren woman's sadness over a barren womb had spiraled into a far darker territory.

"How could he die? He had been well, nothing out of the ordinary; he had not even called on Mr. Perry in weeks. He was perfectly well and in near perfect health and then he died. He died leaving me here and this isn't anything like I had planned –I had thought to care for him into his old age and he just left me here! How could he do such a thing?"

"Emma, I need you to calm down now," she said with a gentle tone but a stern command to it as well, similarly to how one might address an out of control child.

"Frank!" She called, up the stairs from the entryway of the estate parlor. "Frank, I need your help with something promptly," she added, appearing calm despite the chaos.

"Maybe I should have listened to Isabella. Do you think I should have listened to Isabella?" Emma blew her nose loudly on a kerchief offered to her by a wide-eyed maidservant; pausing only long enough to do so before continuing her monolog. "Were you upset that I didn't inquire of your advice? What would you have said if I had asked you for advice before I had agreed to be married? Would you have recommended London instead? I have been a deplorable friend! I am so sorry—I see now that I should have asked you," she planted her face into her hands and sobbed fully, her lungs burning for lack of air between the sobs that wracked her body and the questions she churned out in rapid succession. "I should have asked you, but it had been so many months and you were married and I thought of your life as not having need of interference from—"

"Hush now, Frank is coming down the stairs, you'll not share my secret and you will begin finding your composure," her friend said softly but directly, giving Emma's shoulders a sharp squeeze.

"She is not well; can you take her home on your horse? I feel the fastest way would be best and then inquire of the head of staff if there is some laudanum on hand, I know Mr. Woodhouse always kept a few doses on hand at Hartfield, I do hope that Donwell has the same reputation for preparedness. I don't have any here or I would send it with you," she instructed.

"Does she need a doctor? Should they fetch one? We could send a rider the opposite direction to town to fetch—" Frank Churchill began and then started to suggest a solution.

"No, she is not that type of sick—simply overtaxed and overexerted, I haven't seen her like it since childhood but I think a night's rest will put her in better spirits," She told him confidently.

"Very well, keep her calm and I'll return as promptly as I can with Perseus," he promised.


Well, thoughts? I need some reviews! I just got over the most hideous cold- I was so zapped for energy, even writing seemed impossibly draining. Here you are! I have the next few chapters written in my head which isn't quite the same as having them on paper!

As always, review with things you like, fixes you see that are needed, questions you have, things you want to see more or less of, guesses of what you think will happen next- honestly anything! I love hearing from you all.

Cheers!

PS. I am entertaining the idea of writing an Emma/Jane Eyre crossover next (I just watched the Toby Stephens BBC one on Sunday). Thoughts? Yay? Nay?