Thanks for the lovely reviews, I love the sweetness too. But how could these two get along with each other without hopelessly misunderstanding each other? :D
And doing this part is so disgusting, which, I believe, is why it took me so long to update. :D
...
"Good morning, Miss Woodhouse."
"Morning Riley, is Mr. Knightley awake?"
"Yes, and he has asked about you just now, Miss Woodhouse." Riley made a bow and withdrew directly to the stairway, clearly having not the habit of ushering Emma to his master. What an incompetent servant, ha!
Emma knocked at the door gently and pushed it open without waiting for an answer, but turned instantly round and hurried out, deeply blushed, "I'm sorry."
"Wait, Emma, what's wrong?"
Emma halted at the doorway and laughed at herself helplessly.
It's true that being up and standing by the window was hardly more wrong than lying in bed. Likewise, it wasn't wrong for Mr. Knightley to get out of bed in merely a loose dressing gown and front Emma without a velvet quilt covering over him. It's inhuman to require him to get dressed and undressed each time he got up when following Dr. Perry's suggestion of some proper exercises.
But it's wrong for him to pick out that low-key yet exquisite gray plaid morning gown which becoming him so well, recommending him in every respect of his feature and figure. And it's more wrong for him to be even more fetching in gowns than when he was properly, formally attired.
So it was after all his fault that Emma failed to keep her pulse beating in its common rhythm and face him as easily as usual or at least as she had behaved in the last week.
Emma turned tardily back with eyes firmly down, "I'm glad you are well enough to get out of bed."
"If not for Dr. Perry who said this is what I must do unless I want to stay in bed forever, I'd much rather lie in there. I'm too worn now to be on my feet." Leaning against the window frame, Mr. Knightley complained ruefully.
"How long have you been standing there?" Emma stepped hastily over to him on hearing his complaint, putting all the agitations and awkwardness behind and having not at all a suspicion on his evident exaggeration.
"Half an hour, I guess."
"Maybe you should try it step by step, do not commit yourself. Come." Emma took his left arm, employing all her thoughtfulness and tenderness, settled him back in the bed.
After having his breakfast - with Emma's assistance, taking his medicine - under Emma's coaxing and forcing, browsing the daily news - by Emma's sharing, Mr. Knightley grew quite tired and sleepy, yet he resisted the natural demand and kept chatting with Emma.
"Emma, I'm sorry for occupying so much of your time to attend to me."
"Why do you say that? It's my fa… You are confined to bed now only because of… All right, I don't mind it, actually quite my pleasure."
"But you haven't left home since the day I stayed here, maybe the longest you haven't seen Mrs. Weston?"
"Maybe, but Mr. Weston called every day, and I knew from him that Mrs. Weston is very well. There're still a few weeks ahead, I will go to see her when you're better."
"And you didn't visit your little friend either. Has she come as frequently as usual? Your little friend, yes, I mean Harriet…"
Emma stiffened at the resounding of the very name which she had managed so hard to avoid its coming into their conversations or even into her mind, though she knew well that she was only deceiving herself.
Mr. Knightley hadn't mentioned her until now in these days, and he had appeared to be happy and content with almost only Emma's company and society (if those of Mr. Woodhouse didn't count). But it's comprehensible that he would think less beyond his health condition when suffering great pain and discomfort. Also it's natural for him to feel easy and unrestrained under the care of Emma, his oldest family friend, or to some extent his younger sister.
But when he was gradually mended, when life got back to its usual orbit, and when the fairyland Emma had built for herself was to be demolished, it's time for her to face the cruellest truth.
And as it was, Harriet did have called, twice. The first time was in the second day, she hurried over with undisguised shock and worry. And Emma was extremely sorry for her not only that she didn't even try to arrange their meeting, but also because she had always counted herself as the cause of the accident, in which the one who was injured, somehow she considered, no matter how reluctantly she was willing to admit, belonged to Harriet.
The second time was two days ago, Harriet paid a shot visit before dinner time and was received by Emma with open arms. In this visit Harriet seemed to have something she wanted to consult, or perhaps confessed to Emma. She asked after Mr. Knightley in a manner that he was likely involved in whatever she was vacillating about. And Emma had intentionally ignored the implications which she had actually sensitively detected and shifted their conversations to other topics. She walked Harriet to the garden gate with great relief when she took sudden leave.
But now Emma was deeply regretting what she had done, she hated herself to be such a selfish, despicable woman. She was utterly depressed and ashamed of herself to be so much inferior to Harriet who was oppositely unaffected and artless, the exact qualities that Mr. Knightley appreciated. And Mr. Knightley deserved undoubtedly the better woman, Emma, who loved him so much, would secure his felicity at whatever cost, even that of her own.
All these thoughts ran through her mind in just a few seconds, she soon resolved and pulled herself together so as to speak with tolerable composure, but then found that he had fallen asleep, with a beautiful curve adorning his lips. He was sleeping with Harriet's name hanging over his tongue, was he talking to her delightfully in his dreams as he had always done recently?
Emma was genuinely grateful for the God's mercy so generally granted on her. The last week was the happiest one she had ever possessed, and would be her dearest reminiscence when Mr. Knightley was ineluctably fading away from her life. But even she had accepted the truth, how could she bear it without tears and a broken heart?
Mr. Knightley did have a delightful dream. He was still smiling when he woke up, and instantly looked round for Emma out of habit which was newly formed in this last week. He was delighted when he saw Emma sitting just there, eyeing out of the window; was confused and worried when he detected her tears and low spirits, and was astounded when he pondered a moment and then realized what he had done to his beloved Emma.
What an abominable scoundrel you were, George Knightley! Had you forgotten why were you so eagerly coming back from London? How could you be so thoughtless and selfish to let Emma smile at you all the time when her heart was broken and she desperately wanted consolations herself? In addition, you had known so well that she would take all the blame and do anything to make you happy, how could you behave like a flirtatious macaroni all these days and take advantage of her?
You thought Frank Churchill was a villain because he had imposed on Emma and hurt her, and wanted to beat him to the end of the world if not for Miss Fairfax's sake. But after all he was just a new acquaintance; and what had you, the oldest, dearest friend of Emma who had bestowed so much faith and respect on you, done to her. You were one thousand times worse than Frank Churchill indeed.
Mr. Knightley was shocked at his realization, was too remorseful and ashamed to even look at Emma anymore. He must rectify the terrible errors he had made at once and do his duty to soothe and console her as her friend.
"You awake." Emma had wiped away her tears and managed a brilliant smile at him, which made him only more pity her and hate himself. "You must be thirsty, want some water?" Emma got up to fetch water on a table standing by the fireplace, and was a little surprised to see that Mr. Knightley had managed to sit up by himself when she turned round. She sat on the bed, hesitating if she should let him drink by her hand as she had done all through these days.
The hesitation didn't last long since Mr. Knightley reached out his left hand and took the glass. Emma sat back in the chair, a little farther than she used to, cracked a wry smile but said nothing. She comprehended his feelings.
Mr. Knightley looked at her with a mixed feeling of compassion and remorse, got a lot to say but barely knew where to start. He paused and contemplated, distracted by the awkward silence that shouldn't exist between Emma and him.
"I'm sorry, Emma." Finally he stammered.
"Why?"
"I apologize for my demeanour all these days. I...I shouldn't have behaved like that and troubled you so..."
Emma tried to give a playful smile, but not quite managed, "That's alright, you are a patient now. I can understand that."
Mr. Knightley was extremely distressed. He knew what he ought to say and what he ought to do, but he knew as well that's the last thing he wanted to say and do. How desperately would he miss Emma's care for him? He could hardly keep up with their wretched conversation dwelling on this frustration.
"Mr. Knightley..."
"Emma..."
"Pray continue."
Emma paused and resumed. She saw Mr. Knightley's suffering and could not bear it, even the topic she was bringing up would exhaust her. "Mr. Knightley, Harriet may call tomorrow, do you wish to see her?"
Mr. Knightley was at first a little surprised at the sudden change of topic, but a thought came to him which made him smile. "Yes, I'm glad to see her."
Emma sank further at Mr. Knightley's evident joy on hearing Harriet's name. She blinked back tears and simply replied, "I'll arrange it."
"Emma." After an interlude Mr. Knightley finally got his sense back to speak what he intended to.
"Yes?"
"You haven't asked me why I hurried back."
"Then why?" Emma failed to be enthusiastic when it probably related to Harriet.
"I heard some news."
"What news?" Emma lifted her eyes, a little confused.
"Miss Fairfax and Frank Churchill, of course."
"Oh yes, they were engaged to be married." Emma was suddenly enlightened. She had planned a visit to Miss Fairfax which was delayed by Mr. Knightley's injury.
It's Mr. Knightley's turn to be confused now. He did not quite understand Emma's reaction. "Are you...Don't you feel depressed, after his using you so abominablely ill?"
"Depressed?" Emma widened her eyes but soon turned red. "Oh, I know what you mean. You are very kind. But, I'm ashamed to admit… given all my improper conducts, but I must say that I have never been truly attached to him."
"Emma! Really? Not even a little?" Mr. Knightley looked eagerly at her, requesting a further confirmation. It's too great a knowledge to convince him easily.
"No, not at all. Maybe some imagination at the very beginning, but somehow I never thought him that way anymore. He's simply not the sort of man I will fall for."
"But I saw you crying." Mr. Knightley suppressed his rekindled hope. He needed to know what was upsetting her if it's not Frank Churchill.
"You saw me?" She colored again, giving him a nervous smile, "It's nothing, just some young girl's trifling pursuits."
Mr. Knightley pondered her words, young girl's pursuits. He knew perfectly well that Emma had never had the luck of possessing any suitable friends. Either Mrs. Weston or himself was too many years her senior. Miss Fairfax and Frank Churchill's coming had enlivened her dull life, as well as inevitably broaden her vision. And these two were so favored by fate to be able to find true love so early in life. Even if Frank Churchill didn't hurt her himself, his engagement to Miss Fairfax might prompt her to expect a suitable wooer of her own, the sort of man she would fall for.
Emma's loneliness pained Mr. Knightley profoundly, his compassion for her overcame his own sentiment, "Emma, I have always felt sorry for you that the confined society never afforded you adequate company you deserved, maybe I should persuade your father to let you go now and then, I'm sure you will meet enough suitable...friends."
Emma was moved and obliged to his thoughtfulness, he knew she would be left absolutely alone once he got married, and had rendered her such tender consideration. She wouldn't allow herself to become a obstacle when he pursued his happiness. "Thank you Mr. Knightley, pray do not worry on my account. I'm sure I can find more friends, I'll be perfectly well." She smiled at him, as lively as she could.
...
It's a long, gloomy day, Mr. Knightley could not sleep even he was exhausted. Emma's indifference to Frank Churchill relieved him to some extent, but she was obviously unhappy either. And what frustrated him most was that he couldn't compensate or console her in the way she wanted. Their age gap, Emma's expect of suitable suitors held him back. And Emma's exceptional quality of sacrificing herself for the ones she loved and her thoughts of making amends to him for his injury even prevented him from trying.
He had an odd feeling that she probably would say yes if he asked her even she never thought him that way, and imposing on her against her will was exactly the last thing he would ever do.
He curled up in bed, holding the covers tightly to relieve his pain caused by this despair. Emma, on the other side of that wall, only an arm's length away from him, was the love of his life, and he could not even try for her.