"
so take my hand, take my whole life too
for i can't help, falling in love
with you
"
Her waist still prickled from the sensation of Mr. Knightley's hand. The dance seemed to play on a continuous loop so much so that Emma had to excuse herself to regain her composure, every touch, every breath, every second of deafening silence that seemed to dance around the pair until the song finally ended. Emma's face was still warm from the blush that had climbed her collar bone when Mr. Knightley's hand lingered. It was an impossible, ridiculous thought, and yet not unwelcome. Every rational instinct clawed its way through her mind. Mr. Knightley is and always has been a friend. Just a member of the family. Just a neighbor who could not possibly be more of a nuisance. Always around to mock her; finding faults in her which no one else saw or dared to speak. And yet, when she allowed herself to fall into the dance, she saw the soul of a man in love. In love with her. His gaze throughout the whole dance remained unbroken as they performed the steps with ease. Only when Emma was determined to focus on the steps did she err. When she was apart from Mr. Knightley, her senses remained tuned in to his every step, every breath, every look that seemed to call her back to him. Her fingers were still trembling and as she found her alcove with its window overlooking the front of Hartfield, she pulled her legs to her chest. Several minutes passed as she worked on steadying her breath and several more were spent making sense of her feelings. Though her feelings towards Mr. Knightley continued to puzzle her, she was at least able to admit Frank Churchill's insignificance to her own heart. She knew whatever musings she had of him and herself were nothing more than fancies based upon her own inclinations towards his father and Mrs. Weston.
Whilst toiling over these revelations and the ones still unspoken she was taken by surprise by none other than Mr. Knightley himself. He had noticed her leave the ball and after careful deliberation with himself, followed her; even if he had not seen her leave he still would have found her. Emma, since she was a child, loved pulling herself up to observe the flow of people moving amongst the grounds, but also those traveling along the road. She had always loved imagining the places they had traversed and the goods the were bringing to her vastly small world. Emma, deep in thought, took quite a few seconds to realize the profile reflected in the glass was not of her own imagination but rather a true reflection of the man who sought her out.
"Mr. Knightley?" She gasped upon making the realization. She dropped her arms to her side and moved to turn her frame so she could face him properly. He was standing so near to her as to have made the situation uncomfortable had it not been for Emma kicking him with her legs in her hurried manner. There was a grunt and an assurance from Mr. Knightley that he would be fine and Emma, still reeling from the encounter, forced a chuckle.
"Did you come to point out a flaw with my dancing?" Emma teased, hoping to dispel the tension. Mr. Knightley, clutching his side, chuckled and moved to sit down next to her, looking as if he was going to comment but when his lips parted, nothing was said. Emma looked down the hall where he had come from, determined to regain control of herself. A beat of silence passed between the confused pairing before Emma dared to look at him again. He looked in pain, but she was certain it was not from the kick to his side. It appeared much deeper, it reached his eyes again. He met her gaze, staring back, unflinching, and refreshingly honest. Emma repeated her address, no louder than a whisper which seemed to cling to the silence around them.
"Emma, you must know." At that moment, clarity impressed upon her a burden which she could hardly withstand. With great pain, she tore her gaze away. She pushed herself off the ledge, her back to him. She could feel her own pulse quicken and though she wished to rejoice at the circumstances, she found herself caught. He could not feel any such way, no matter what he said or did not say. His own words repeated the sentiments of their being so much like brother and sister. While dancing was an innocent form of entertainment, nothing more could continue. She had never planned to lose her heart, and now, in the middle of a party, she would at least have enough self-control to hold on to her dearest friend, even if that meant living in solitude without attachment. Knightley, misunderstanding her silence, lost what little hope and confidence he had gained from their dance. His face fell, though Emma, still attempting to regain her composure did not catch the fall, she could hear the tonal shift nevertheless.
"I am going away. I have found I must attend to John and Isabella." Without turning around, a tear escaped, sliding down her cheek and falling onto the fabric of her gown before she could wipe it away.
Composing herself further, she wished him luck on his journey and hoped for him to find John and Isabella and their nieces and nephews improved since their short visit to Hartfield some months ago. Her voice cracked at these sentiments and Knightley found the news produced the reaction he hoped for.
"Might you... accompany me on my trip?" Mr. Knightley's voice took on a quieter, unsteadied air. It was a rarity to hear such unease in his voice and had Emma not been so tuned in to his words, she might have questioned if they had been spoken at all or if she had merely imagined them. At this, Emma turned to him, her eyes and nose appeared to be tinted with red but no tears were evident.
"Mr. Knightley, I am flattered by your hope of my presence but I do not believe it would be proper for us to take such a long trip, plus I could not venture to leave my poor father for such an extended period of time." These reasons Emma realized were her excuses not only for such a trip, but against Mr. Knightley generally. They needed to be spoken as a reminder as much to herself as to him and now that they were, she found it easier to swallow with resolution. Finally, her eyes latched on to his own, a flicker of pain crossed them and Emma felt her own heart fall. She had not thought that would cause him pain, in fact, she had thought he might be glad not to have her around, it would save him his daily lecturing.
"I shall take my leave then, goodbye, dearest Emma." He started off down the opposite hall from whence he came, his head down. Dearest Emma she repeated quietly, she loved the sound of her voice spoken by him in such a delicate manner and found her soul calling out for her Dearest Knightly. It was at this moment, Emma, realized it was not just a goodbye for now, for she felt that if they were to meet again, nothing would be the same as it had always been and Emma, eyes cleared, saw for perhaps the first time the only man who could ever induce her into matrimony rejected and walking away from the life she was convinced he could not have wanted. He opened the door at the end of the hall and before she could allow logic to regain control of her mind, called after him.
He stilled but did not turn to look back. After a second, he crossed into the other room and closed the door behind him, not willing to let himself hope. Emma quickly marched after him, intent on knowing once and for all the fullest meaning of his words and willing to lose everything for him to know her own. When she reached the door, her hand stilled at the doorknob. Her breath had quickened and though she had made the decision to set everything out before him, the part of herself that needed to be in control fought to instill in her the ridiculousness of her feelings that she has allowed to run wild these last few months. Pushing these feelings aside, she pulled open the door to reveal Mr. Knightley standing, waiting, in the room, closer to the door. His face was still concealed by shadows of doubt, but it was clear he had stopped and was waiting for her. Emma hesitated before stepping into the room. She took his hands, which seemed to fit perfectly into her own, and inhaled deeply, wondering where to begin with her confession. She stared intently at them, feeling the same energy that had coursed through her during the dance. He starred back, admiring the way her eyes sparkled in the dim light and the softness of her hands, and believing this would be the last time he could ever be this close to her, put to memory every detail about the way she smelled of roses and the curls framing her face.
"Mr. Knightley, I do not wish to play games any longer." He remained silent, confused but preparing himself for her speech about their relationship as almost-brother and nearly- sister. It was when Emma continued that Knightley's face perked up. "You have been the means of torment for the whole of my life, every look was done in critique and every move I made seemed to be of little consequence to you other than to amuse you with the faults you have been so determined to find. And yet, never have I been able to admit your words have been the sole occupation of my thoughts," Emma paused, briefly seeking Mr. Knightley's approval to continue. He looked on with amazement at her frankness, never before had he seen her both unsure and yet so straightforward. "Your opinion is the only one that mattered and now I find even the thought of your absence from myself for even the shortest while brings pain beyond any of which I have felt before."
Mr. Knightley could focus on nothing but the words spoken and overcome with emotions, his focus shifted to the feel of Emma's hands, which were so delicate, in his own. He found his words caught, unable to speak anything. He squeezed Emma's hand three times, hoping to impress his own, overflowing passion into the soft palms which he wished to hold on to forevermore. "Emma, never before have I been so sure of my own affections, and yet I find there are no words to express the sentiments which I hope to offer you in return of your own."
It was at this short phrase that Emma was assured that all the imaginative longing stares and attempts to prove himself a worthy companion were made solid and real. She could not restrain herself any longer. She moved his hands to her waist and raised her own to his neck, pulling him closed and effectively dissolving the gap between the two. She placed her own lips on his, lingering longer than was proper to be sure but at that moment, her only thoughts revolved around the grand beauty of the moment. Seconds later she pulled away, resting her forehead against his own with a grin spreading wide in the glow of candlelight. Emma stared into his dazzling blue eyes and could feel her heart flutter. She supposed she would have to think of a new name to call him, for he would very soon be her husband.
"My wonderful, darling friend," Mr. Knightley whispered.