Alright, I meant to only write one new chapter, but after long deliberations of names and confusion. My wonderful beta who put up with somehow for all my craziness. Came up with the idea of an added scene for what will be chapter three to avoid name confusion. Because having two Mr. Knightley's who are called the same thing is confusing. So I came up with this, of why Emma calls Mr. Knightley, Mr. Knightley when my wonderful beta pointed out if his father was around, he would have been Master Knightley or Mr. George Knightley. Which we both agreed does not have the same affect.
So Thanks you Chocolate is my drug for you wonderful help and inspiration.
So without further ado.
How Mr. Knightley received his name.
It was a bright, clear sunny day when young George Knightley smiled to himself as the neighbouring family arrived Donwell Abbey for the midsummer picnic. He learned recently upon his trip home from his mother that Miss Emma Woodhouse had grown into a talkative and often opinionated child, who often shocked her own family and not just the neighbours. It had been over a year since George had last seen the child, missing last year's Christmas as he was visiting the Orient to the regret of his family. It had been a wonderful trip and he had gifts for all, but he was glad to be home.
Mr. George Knightley looked at his son out of the corner of his eye as they waited for the carriage to pull up. Then he looked at John who was already on the bottom steps waiting for Miss Woodhouse; the boy had no decorum, he thought to himself, but he could not help smiling all the same. And no sooner had the carriage stopped than Isabella seemed to flee the carriage before her father could even hand out her mother, and was off racing with John, despite the confines of manners and etiquette. George smiled and greeted the Woodhouses in proper fashion. They seemed delighted to be here, though George swore he heard Mr. Woodhouse grumble something about the heat and insects.
"It's good to see you well, Master George," Mrs. Woodhouse told him. "I hope you trip back went smoothly."
"It was as well as it could be, Mrs. Woodhouse," George told her and looked around for the last addition of their party. "Now we seem to be missing someone, don't we?"
"I'm not missing – I am here!" Emma exclaimed as she bounced out of the carriage. "Who are you?"
"Emma!" Mr. Woodhouse chided his daughter, who in return went red and played with the sash on her dress.
"It's alright, it has been a while – I doubt she would have remembered me," George told the elder gentleman. "Though Mother was right; she is very straightforward. I am Mr. George Knightley, Miss Emma," he told the child with a flourish. "And I haven't seen you since you were only just under two years of age – why, now you must be at least three!"
Emma giggled and nodded her head, bouncing her golden curls. "I am three and a half," she announced proudly, and he nodded solemnly.
As they made their way to the picnic area that the servants had prepared earlier. Isabella and John were running about playing tag, and the adults were conversing with each other. George had no companion other than Emma.
"Mr. Knightley?" Emma spoke up as George was watching the sky, and didn't seem to realize that that the child was speaking to him. "Mr. Knightley!"
"What is it, dear child?" George heard his father ask.
"No! I want him to answer!" Emma cried, stomping her foot and George looked over at her as he sat up and saw her pointing at him.
"Emma, darling." Mrs. Woodhouse stopped her conversation with Mrs. Knightley to deliver a gentle rebuke to her daughter. "Polite words please."
"Sorry, Mama," Emma said, looking down with what George thought to be a tear.
"Now, Emma," George said gently, "there is no need to cry. I am simply not used to being called Mr. Knightley, for that is my father's name. If you wish to get my attention, you may address me as Mr. George, or even George if you wish, my dear little friend," George explained to her.
"Mr. George?" Emma said, testing it out for a moment; but then she wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "No, I will call you Mr. Knightley."
"Will you, Miss Emma?" George asked, with a chuckle. "Do you not like my name, George?"
Emma shrugged her tiny shoulders. "I wish to call you Mr. Knightley though," she said as she looked up at him, adding a pout for extra effect.
"Very well, if you insist," George smiled, and then he rose. "Do you want to go look for butterflies?"
"I do!" Emma said as she let herself be picked up by him. "Do you know lots about butterflies, Mr. Knightley?" she asked him as they walked away, and she waved at her parents who sat smiling as the two of them left on their adventure.