Emma: The Wild and Wanton Edition (22 page)

Mr. Frank Churchill did not come. When the time proposed drew near, Mrs. Weston’s fears were justified in the arrival of a letter of excuse. For the present, he could not be spared, to his “very great mortification and regret; but still he looked forward with the hope of coming to Randalls at no distant period.”

Mrs. Weston was exceedingly disappointed — much more disappointed, in fact, than her husband, though her dependence on seeing the young man had been so much more sober: but a sanguine temper, though forever expecting more good than occurs, does not always pay for its hopes by any proportionate depression. It soon flies over the present failure, and begins to hope again. For half an hour Mr. Weston was surprized and sorry; but then he began to perceive that Frank’s coming two or three months later would be a much better plan; better time of year; better weather; and that he would be able, without any doubt, to stay considerably longer with them than if he had come sooner.

These feelings rapidly restored his comfort, while Mrs. Weston, of a more apprehensive disposition, foresaw nothing but a repetition of excuses and delays; and after all her concern for what her husband was to suffer, suffered a great deal more herself. In order to restore her own comfort, she went up to her husband and wrapped her arms around him from behind, resting her cheek against the broad expanse of his back. Taking in a deep breath, she allowed the scent and feel of him to act as a balm to her worry. And then, because she could never be this close to her husband without wanting him, she allowed her hands to trail down from his waist to grasp him fully — one hand wrapping around his length, the other cupping the heavy sac between his thighs.

She felt the same powerful feminine thrill she always felt as her husband sucked in a breath and hardened for her. She smiled against his back and began to stroke him in the steady rhythm she had learned he liked most. “My love, I am most sorry your son will not be visiting when promised.”

His hands covered hers, halting her ministrations, and he turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. “Oh, dearest, the sting is slight with you here to distract me so sweetly.”

They smiled at each other for a few more moments before his smile took on a look of heated determination Mrs. Weston had come to recognize and anticipate. Mr. Weston turned within her embrace and grasped her face with both hands, fingers weaving into her hair, thumbs stroking across her bottom lip and pulse point. “I am indeed the most fortunate of men,” he said barely above a whisper before leaning in to kiss her.

He was so gentle now, with their child growing within her belly. His kisses were soft sweeps that brought Mrs. Weston’s blood to a slow boil. She opened her lips for him eagerly, and he readily accepted her invitation, sliding his tongue within her mouth and stroking deeply.

His entirely masculine moan reverberated throughout Mrs. Weston’s body, and she trailed her hands down his back to grasp his rear end, urging him to thrust that magnificent length of his against her. He followed her direction for two exquisite rotations of his hips before grabbing her bottom with both hands, hoisting her up, and taking her to the settee where he sat and settled her upon him, her thighs straddling his hips, the epicenter of her body hovering over his arousal.

Their hands bumped into each other as they both reached to undo buttons and move voluminous skirts, breathless chuckles peppering their eagerness to join, and then, at last, he was sliding into her body. As Mrs. Weston’s head fell back; Mr. Weston’s groan echoed in the room. She closed her eyes and began to ride him, using the muscles of her thighs to rise and fall, sliding him in and out of her with the most delicious friction.

“So beautiful in your pleasure,” he whispered. The fingers of one of his hands came to her throat, stroking lightly, trailing down over her collarbone to grasp one of her breasts. She moaned and arched into his hold, picking up the speed of her rise and fall. He began to surge beneath her, meeting her descents with urgent thrusts. The base of him was hitting her in just the right spot, and she began to grind against him at the furthest depth of every thrust until she could no longer breathe for the spiral wound tightly through her entire body.

She looked down at her husband. His head was thrown back, resting against the back of the settee. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, and she could tell he was close to realizing his pleasure from the constant ticking of a muscle in his jaw. It took no more than this brief glimpse of her husband nearly overcome by passion to send Mrs. Weston over the edge.

With a gasp, she grasped his shoulders, her nails digging into the fabric of his coat, as the waves of ecstasy crashed over her.

“Oh …
yes
darling,” Mr. Weston groaned as he thrust up into her once more before his body was wracked with the same shudders, the warmth of his pleasure flooding her womb.

Mrs. Weston fell forward, burying her face in Mr. Weston’s neck. His warm arms enfolded her and settled her more fully against him as they held each other until their heartbeats resumed a normal rhythm.

His hearty chuckle stirred the hair at her temple, and Mrs. Weston pulled back to look at him incredulously.

He gifted her with a vivid smile and pressed another soft kiss to her lips. “My dear, if you insist on comforting me thus, my son has my hearty permission to repeatedly delay his visit until the end of time.” He kissed her once more as she smiled, and then squeezed her gently, holding her until she slipped into a light slumber.

Emma, herself, was not at this time in a state of spirits to care really about Mr. Frank Churchill’s not coming, except as a disappointment at Randalls. The acquaintance at present had no charm for her. She wanted, rather, to be quiet, and out of temptation; but still, as it was desirable that she should appear, in general, like her usual self, she took care to express as much interest in the circumstance, and enter as warmly into Mr. and Mrs. Weston’s disappointment, as might naturally belong to their friendship.

She was the first to announce it to Mr. Knightley; and exclaimed quite as much as was necessary, (or, being acting a part, perhaps rather more,) at the conduct of the Churchills, in keeping him away. She then proceeded to say a good deal more than she felt, of the advantage of such an addition to their confined society in Surry; the pleasure of looking at somebody new; the gala-day to Highbury entire, which the sight of him would have made; and ending with reflections on the Churchills again, found herself directly involved in a disagreement with Mr. Knightley; and, to her great amusement, perceived that she was taking the other side of the question from her real opinion, and making use of Mrs. Weston’s arguments against herself, simply for the thrill of arguing with Mr. Knightley. She had assumed her days of arguing with and then fantasizing about Mr. Knightley were over after the horrid experience of kissing Mr. Elton in the carriage. And yet, here she was: her temper flaring, her breath coming quickly, their proximity closing.

“The Churchills are very likely in fault,” said Mr. Knightley, coolly; “but I dare say he might come if he would.”

“I do not know why you should say so. He wishes exceedingly to come; but his uncle and aunt will not spare him.”

“I cannot believe that he has not the power of coming, if he made a point of it. It is too unlikely, for me to believe it without proof.”

“How odd you are! What has Mr. Frank Churchill done, to make you suppose him such an unnatural creature?”

To Emma’s delight, he leaned into her, settling fully into their argument. “I am not supposing him at all an unnatural creature, in suspecting that he may have learnt to be above his connexions, and to care very little for any thing but his own pleasure, from living with those who have always set him the example of it. It is a great deal more natural than one could wish, that a young man, brought up by those who are proud, luxurious, and selfish, should be proud, luxurious, and selfish too. If Frank Churchill had wanted to see his father, he would have contrived it between September and January. A man at his age — what is he? three or four-and-twenty — cannot be without the means of doing as much as that. It is impossible.”

“That’s easily said, and easily felt by you, who have always been your own master. You are the worst judge in the world, Mr. Knightley, of the difficulties of dependence. You do not know what it is to have tempers to manage.”

“It is not to be conceived that a man of three or four-and-twenty should not have liberty of mind or limb to that amount. He cannot want money — he cannot want leisure. We know, on the contrary, that he has so much of both, that he is glad to get rid of them at the idlest haunts in the kingdom. We hear of him forever at some watering-place or other. A little while ago, he was at Weymouth. This proves that he can leave the Churchills.”

“Yes, sometimes he can.”

“And those times are whenever he thinks it worth his while; whenever there is any temptation of pleasure.”

“It is very unfair to judge of any body’s conduct, without an intimate knowledge of their situation. Nobody, who has not been in the interior of a family, can say what the difficulties of any individual of that family may be. We ought to be acquainted with Enscombe, and with Mrs. Churchill’s temper, before we pretend to decide upon what her nephew can do. He may, at times, be able to do a great deal more than he can at others.”

He shook his head vehemently, his eyes flaring and causing an echoing flare in Emma’s stomach. “There is one thing, Emma, which a man can always do, if he chuses, and that is, his duty; not by manoeuvring and finessing, but by vigour and resolution. It is Frank Churchill’s duty to pay this attention to his father. He knows it to be so, by his promises and messages; but if he wished to do it, it might be done. A man who felt rightly would say at once, simply and resolutely, to Mrs. Churchill — ‘Every sacrifice of mere pleasure you will always find me ready to make to your convenience; but I must go and see my father immediately. I know he would be hurt by my failing in such a mark of respect to him on the present occasion. I shall, therefore, set off to-morrow.’ — If he would say so to her at once, in the tone of decision becoming a man, there would be no opposition made to his going.” The passion in his voice rang out long after the words had faded.

Oh, my, thought Emma. He is too noble. She battled the desire to lean in closer, to breathe him in. To have that passion directed at her. Her body was burning so hot — she broke that train of thought off abruptly. “No,” said Emma, laughing with force; “but perhaps there might be some made to his coming back again. Such language for a young man entirely dependent, to use! Nobody but you, Mr. Knightley, would imagine it possible. But you have not an idea of what is requisite in situations directly opposite to your own. Mr. Frank Churchill to be making such a speech as that to the uncle and aunt, who have brought him up, and are to provide for him! Standing up in the middle of the room, I suppose, and speaking as loud as he could! How can you imagine such conduct practicable?”

His jaw firmed before her eyes, the muscle ticking in his cheek. “Depend upon it, Emma, a sensible man would find no difficulty in it. He would feel himself in the right; and the declaration — made, of course, as a man of sense would make it, in a proper manner — would do him more good, raise him higher, fix his interest stronger with the people he depended on, than all that a line of shifts and expedients can ever do. Respect would be added to affection. They would feel that they could trust him; that the nephew who had done rightly by his father, would do rightly by them; for they know, as well as he does, as well as all the world must know, that he ought to pay this visit to his father; and while meanly exerting their power to delay it, are in their hearts not thinking the better of him for submitting to their whims. Respect for right conduct is felt by every body. If he would act in this sort of manner, on principle, consistently, regularly, their little minds would bend to his.”

“I rather doubt that. You are very fond of bending little minds; but where little minds belong to rich people in authority, I think they have a knack of swelling out, till they are quite as unmanageable as great ones. I can imagine, that if you, as you are, Mr. Knightley, were to be transported and placed all at once in Mr. Frank Churchill’s situation, you would be able to say and do just what you have been recommending for him; and it might have a very good effect.” For who could refuse Mr. Knightley while he was infused with this passion? Certainly not her. She imagined she would do any thing he asked if he couched the request in such a manner. She forced her mind back to the current argument. “The Churchills might not have a word to say in return; but then, you would have no habits of early obedience and long observance to break through. To him who has, it might not be so easy to burst forth at once into perfect independence, and set all their claims on his gratitude and regard at nought. He may have as strong a sense of what would be right, as you can have, without being so equal, under particular circumstances, to act up to it.”

“Then it would not be so strong a sense. If it failed to produce equal exertion, it could not be an equal conviction.”

“Oh, the difference of situation and habit! I wish you would try to understand what an amiable young man may be likely to feel in directly opposing those, whom as child and boy he has been looking up to all his life.”

“Our amiable young man is a very weak young man, if this be the first occasion of his carrying through a resolution to do right against the will of others. It ought to have been a habit with him by this time, of following his duty, instead of consulting expediency. I can allow for the fears of the child, but not of the man. As he became rational, he ought to have roused himself and shaken off all that was unworthy in their authority. He ought to have opposed the first attempt on their side to make him slight his father. Had he begun as he ought, there would have been no difficulty now.”

He was right. Emma could not have voiced her opinion better. And worse, Emma found this conviction of Mr. Knightley’s made him more attractive in her eyes than ever he had been. She had been having fantasies about him over much less. What was she to do now? She had experienced the vileness that was an actual kiss, had been friends with the man before her for her entire life, was currently discussing the person whom everyone assumed she would marry, and
still
she was feeling desperate feelings for Mr. Knightley’s touch. What was to ever become of her? She was completely losing her senses. “We shall never agree about him,” cried Emma with much more drama than the argument merited; “but that is nothing extraordinary. I have not the least idea of his being a weak young man: I feel sure that he is not. Mr. Weston would not be blind to folly, though in his own son; but he is very likely to have a more yielding, complying, mild disposition than would suit your notions of man’s perfection. I dare say he has; and though it may cut him off from some advantages, it will secure him many others.”