Emma: The Wild and Wanton Edition (20 page)

Emma had never heard a man make that noise before, and it unsettled her. She was just opening her mouth to say — heaven knows what. That was when he moved.

He planted his mouth over her open lips quite hard. Emma was shocked at the pressure he exerted over her. His hands dropped hers, and she saw them fly to her upper arms out of the corners of her eyes. His grip there was also hard; rough. His thumbs started to rub her arms where his hands gripped, and he made that distressing noise again.

And then his harsh kiss changed. Emma felt something warm and wet sweep across her bottom lip, and she realised with a start that Mr. Elton’s
tongue
had touched her mouth. She gasped in horror.

He must have heard her shock, because he immediately misinterpreted it as pleasure, using his grip upon her arms to pull her forward, hauling her into his lap. She found herself seated against his thighs. Something hard and forgiving dug into her hip.

Emma did not know much about men’s bodies, but some ancient instinct set alarms blaring in Emma’s subconscious at the mysterious, persistent prodding to her flank.

She wiggled, trying to get away, but it only seemed to impassion him further. His hand suddenly grasped her breast, and he squeezed it
hard
.

That was when Emma’s panic found its voice. She jerked her head back. “Mr. Elton!” she screeched directly into his face, grabbing his hand and flinging it from her bosom.

He appeared not to have heard her. His lips were wet and swollen. His eye lids low and thick. He continued to stare at her lips with rapt attention, drawing his tongue across his own in a motion that had Emma’s stomach lurching.

She shoved him hard in the chest, accidentally pushing herself off of his lap — he was in no position to catch her — and planting abruptly in her original spot. She scrambled away, pressing her back into the carriage wall once again.

He reached for her.

“Do not lay a hand on me,” she whispered breathlessly.

His hands paused mid-way between them. He looked at her for a moment, and Emma cursed her breathlessness when his lips twisted into a smile that betrayed he thought her completely under his spell. “You wish for us to be officially promised first, then?” he said confidently. “Of course, sweetling.”

It was the second time he had called her by such a name, and she was still shocked speechless at his gall. The intimacy inherent in such a nick-name made her ill.

He leapt at her moment of shocked silence: availing himself of the precious opportunity, declaring sentiments which must be already well known, hoping — fearing — adoring — ready to die if she refused him; but flattering himself that his ardent attachment and unequalled love and unexampled passion could not fail of having some effect, and in short, very much resolved on being seriously accepted as soon as possible. It really was so. Without scruple — without apology — without much apparent diffidence, Mr. Elton, the lover of Harriet, was professing himself
her
lover. She tried to stop him; but vainly; he would go on, and say it all. Angry as she was, the thought of the moment made her resolve to restrain herself when she did speak. She felt that half this folly must be drunkenness, and therefore could hope that it might belong only to the passing hour. Accordingly, with a mixture of the serious and the playful, which she hoped would best suit his half and half state, she replied,

“I am very much astonished, Mr. Elton. This to
me
! you forget yourself — ” Maybe this situation was not beyond repair. He’d had way too much to drink. Could he be completely out of his senses? “You take me for my friend — any message to Miss Smith I shall be happy to deliver; but no more of this to
me
, if you please.”

He chuckled and leaned toward her again, his lips puckering once more, before he suddenly jerked upright. Her words permeated the edge of his drunken fog. “Miss Smith! message to Miss Smith! What could she possibly mean!” And he repeated her words with such assurance of accent, such boastful pretence of amazement, that she could not help replying with quickness,

“Mr. Elton, this is the most extraordinary conduct!” He had
kissed
her! Pressed his body against her. Grabbed her breast! Emma shuddered. “And I can account for it only in one way; you are not yourself, or you could not speak either to me, or of Harriet, in such a manner. Not to mention the unforgivable liberties you have taken with my person.” She only just refrained from calling down the wrath of heaven and hell upon him. “Command yourself enough to say — and
do
— no more, and I will endeavour to forget it.” Emma doubted she would ever be able to forget it.

But Mr. Elton had only drunk wine enough to elevate his spirits and do away with inhibition, not at all to confuse his intellects. He perfectly knew his own meaning; and having warmly protested against her suspicion as most injurious, and slightly touched upon his respect for Miss Smith as her friend — but acknowledging his wonder that Miss Smith should be mentioned at all — he resumed the subject of his own passion, and was very urgent for a favourable answer. Much to Emma’s annoyance, he grasped her hands again and tried to pull her into their former embrace.

As she thought less of his inebriety, she thought more of his inconstancy and presumption; and with fewer struggles for politeness, replied with one more mighty shove to his chest,

“It is impossible for me to doubt any longer. You have made yourself too clear. Mr. Elton, my astonishment is much beyond any thing I can express. After such behaviour, as I have witnessed during the last month, to Miss Smith — such attentions as I have been in the daily habit of observing — to be addressing and touching me in this manner — this is an unsteadiness of character, indeed, which I had not supposed possible! Believe me, sir, I am far, very far, from gratified in being the object of such professions.” She shuddered again, and for the first time, Mr. Elton seemed to notice her revulsion at his physical proximity.

A thunder-cloud crossed his face. “Good Heaven!” cried Mr. Elton, “what can be the meaning of this? Miss Smith! I never thought of Miss Smith in the whole course of my existence — never paid her any attentions, but as your friend: never cared whether she were dead or alive, but as your friend. If she has fancied otherwise, her own wishes have misled her, and I am very sorry — extremely sorry — But, Miss Smith, indeed! Oh! Miss Woodhouse! who can think of Miss Smith, when Miss Woodhouse is near! No, upon my honour, there is no unsteadiness of character. I have thought only of you. I protest against having paid the smallest attention to any one else. Every thing that I have said or done, for many weeks past, has been with the sole view of marking my adoration of yourself. You cannot really, seriously, doubt it. No! (in an accent meant to be insinuating) — I am sure you have seen and understood me.”

It would be impossible to say what Emma felt, on hearing this — which of all her unpleasant sensations was uppermost. She was too completely overpowered to be immediately able to reply: and two moments of silence being ample encouragement for Mr. Elton’s sanguine state of mind, he tried to take her hand again, as he joyously exclaimed —

“Charming Miss Woodhouse! allow me to interpret this interesting silence. It confesses that you have long understood me.”

“No, sir,” cried Emma, swiping her hand between them violently, “it confesses no such thing. So far from having long understood you, I have been in a most complete error with respect to your views, till this moment. As to myself, I am very sorry that you should have been giving way to any feelings — Nothing could be farther from my wishes — your attachment to my friend Harriet — your pursuit of her, (pursuit, it appeared,) gave me great pleasure, and I have been very earnestly wishing you success: but had I supposed that she were not your attraction to Hartfield, I should certainly have thought you judged ill in making your visits so frequent. Am I to believe that you have never sought to recommend yourself particularly to Miss Smith? that you have never thought seriously of her?”

“Never, madam,” cried he, affronted in his turn and finally appearing to lose hope: “never, I assure you.
I
think seriously of Miss Smith! Miss Smith is a very good sort of girl; and I should be happy to see her respectably settled. I wish her extremely well: and, no doubt, there are men who might not object to — Every body has their level: but as for myself, I am not, I think, quite so much at a loss. I need not so totally despair of an equal alliance, as to be addressing myself to Miss Smith! No, madam, my visits to Hartfield have been for yourself only; and the encouragement I received — ” He blatantly ogled her, sweeping his eyes up and down her form. He was clearly implying that she had thrown herself at him physically just moments ago. She barely refrained from slapping him across the face.

“Encouragement! I give you encouragement! You forced your kiss upon me! Sir, you have been entirely mistaken in supposing it. You have been quite mistaken in every thing. I have seen you only as the admirer of my friend. In no other light could you have been more to me than a common acquaintance. I am exceedingly sorry: but it is well that the mistake ends where it does. Had the same behaviour continued, Miss Smith might have been led into a misconception of your views; not being aware, probably, any more than myself, of the very great inequality which you are so sensible of. But, as it is, the disappointment is single, and, I trust, will not be lasting. I have no thoughts of matrimony at present.” Especially not now, after having been forced to taste a bit of what a man expected of a woman.

He was too angry to say another word; her manner too decided to invite supplication; and in this state of swelling resentment, and mutually deep mortification, they had to continue together a few minutes longer, for the fears of Mr. Woodhouse had confined them to a foot-pace. If there had not been so much anger, there would have been desperate awkwardness; but their straightforward emotions left no room for the little zigzags of embarrassment. Without knowing when the carriage turned into Vicarage Lane, or when it stopped, they found themselves, all at once, at the door of his house; and he was out before another syllable passed. Emma then felt it indispensable to wish him a good night. The compliment was just returned, coldly and proudly; and, under indescribable irritation of spirits, she was then conveyed to Hartfield. The entire remainder of the trip, she had but one thought: that had been nothing like Harriet had described. She would be quite happy if, for the rest of her life, she never experienced another kiss. What a vile, disgusting enterprise.

There she was welcomed, with the utmost delight, by her father, who had been trembling for the dangers of a solitary drive from Vicarage Lane — turning a corner which he could never bear to think of — and in strange hands — a mere common coachman — no James; and there it seemed as if her return only were wanted to make every thing go well: for Mr. John Knightley, ashamed of his ill-humour, was now all kindness and attention; and so particularly solicitous for the comfort of her father, as to seem — if not quite ready to join him in a basin of gruel — perfectly sensible of its being exceedingly wholesome; and the day was concluding in peace and comfort to all their little party, except herself. But her mind had never been in such perturbation; and it needed a very strong effort to appear attentive and cheerful till the usual hour of separating allowed her the relief of quiet reflection. She made her leave quickly, hoping no one had an inkling of what had passed between her and Mr. Elton just minutes ago. She would never be able to abide the knowledge becoming public, even if just to her father and brother. She hurriedly prepared for bed and promised herself she would strive to forget the horrible experience as soon as possible.

The hair was curled, and the maid sent away, and Emma sat down to think and be miserable. It was a wretched business indeed! Such an overthrow of every thing she had been wishing for! Such a development of every thing most unwelcome! Such a blow for Harriet! that was the worst of all. Every part of it brought pain and humiliation, of some sort or other; but, compared with the evil to Harriet, all was light; and she would gladly have submitted to feel yet more mistaken — more in error — more disgraced by mis-judgment, than she actually was, could the effects of her blunders have been confined to herself.

“If I had not persuaded Harriet into liking the man, I could have borne any thing. He might have doubled his presumption to me — but poor Harriet!”

How she could have been so deceived! He protested that he had never thought seriously of Harriet — never! She looked back as well as she could; but it was all confusion. She had taken up the idea, she supposed, and made every thing bend to it. His manners, however, must have been unmarked, wavering, dubious, or she could not have been so misled.

The picture! How eager he had been about the picture! and the charade! and an hundred other circumstances; how clearly they had seemed to point at Harriet. To be sure, the charade, with its “ready wit” but then the “soft eyes” in fact it suited neither; it was a jumble without taste or truth. Who could have seen through such thick-headed nonsense?

Certainly she had often, especially of late, thought his manners to herself unnecessarily gallant; but it had passed as his way, as a mere error of judgment, of knowledge, of taste, as one proof among others that he had not always lived in the best society, that with all the gentleness of his address, true elegance was sometimes wanting; but, till this very day, she had never, for an instant, suspected it to mean any thing but grateful respect to her as Harriet’s friend.

To Mr. John Knightley was she indebted for her first idea on the subject, for the first start of its possibility. There was no denying that those brothers had penetration. She remembered what Mr. Knightley had once said to her about Mr. Elton, the caution he had given, the conviction he had professed that Mr. Elton would never marry indiscreetly; and blushed to think how much truer a knowledge of his character had been there shewn than any she had reached herself. It was dreadfully mortifying; but Mr. Elton was proving himself, in many respects, the very reverse of what she had meant and believed him; proud, assuming, conceited, perverse; very full of his own claims, and little concerned about the feelings of others.