Emma: The Wild and Wanton Edition (64 page)

Mr. Elton made his appearance. His lady greeted him with some of her sparkling vivacity.

“Very pretty, sir, upon my word; to send me on here, to be an encumbrance to my friends, so long before you vouchsafe to come! But you knew what a dutiful creature you had to deal with. You knew I should not stir till my lord and master appeared. Here have I been sitting this hour, giving these young ladies a sample of true conjugal obedience — for who can say, you know, how soon it may be wanted?”

Mr. Elton was so hot and tired, that all this wit seemed thrown away. His civilities to the other ladies must be paid; but his subsequent object was to lament over himself for the heat he was suffering, and the walk he had had for nothing.

“When I got to Donwell,” said he, “Knightley could not be found. Very odd! very unaccountable! after the note I sent him this morning, and the message he returned, that he should certainly be at home till one.”

“Donwell!” cried his wife. “My dear Mr. E., you have not been to Donwell! You mean the Crown; you come from the meeting at the Crown.”

“No, no, that’s to-morrow; and I particularly wanted to see Knightley to-day on that very account. Such a dreadful broiling morning! I went over the fields too — (speaking in a tone of great ill-usage,) which made it so much the worse. And then not to find him at home! I assure you I am not at all pleased. And no apology left, no message for me. The housekeeper declared she knew nothing of my being expected. Very extraordinary! And nobody knew at all which way he was gone. Perhaps to Hartfield, perhaps to the Abbey Mill, perhaps into his woods. Miss Woodhouse, this is not like our friend Knightley! Can you explain it?”

Emma amused herself by protesting that it was very extraordinary, indeed, and that she had not a syllable to say for him.

“I cannot imagine,” said Mrs. Elton, (feeling the indignity as a wife ought to do,) “I cannot imagine how he could do such a thing by you, of all people in the world! The very last person whom one should expect to be forgotten! My dear Mr. E., he must have left a message for you, I am sure he must. Not even Knightley could be so very eccentric; and his servants forgot it. Depend upon it, that was the case: and very likely to happen with the Donwell servants, who are all, I have often observed, extremely awkward and remiss. I am sure I would not have such a creature as his Harry stand at our sideboard for any consideration. And as for Mrs. Hodges, Wright holds her very cheap indeed. She promised Wright a receipt, and never sent it.”

“I met William Larkins,” continued Mr. Elton, “as I got near the house, and he told me I should not find his master at home, but I did not believe him. William seemed rather out of humour. He did not know what was come to his master lately, he said, but he could hardly ever get the speech of him. I have nothing to do with William’s wants, but it really is of very great importance that
I
should see Knightley to-day; and it becomes a matter, therefore, of very serious inconvenience that I should have had this hot walk to no purpose.”

Emma felt that she could not do better than go home directly. In all probability she was at this very time waited for there; and Mr. Knightley might be preserved from sinking deeper in aggression towards Mr. Elton, if not towards William Larkins.

She was pleased, on taking leave, to find Miss Fairfax determined to attend her out of the room, to go with her even downstairs; it gave her an opportunity which she immediately made use of, to say,

“It is as well, perhaps, that I have not had the possibility. Had you not been surrounded by other friends, I might have been tempted to introduce a subject, to ask questions, to speak more openly than might have been strictly correct. I feel that I should certainly have been impertinent.”

“Oh!” cried Jane, with a blush and an hesitation which Emma thought infinitely more becoming to her than all the elegance of all her usual composure — “there would have been no danger. The danger would have been of my wearying you. You could not have gratified me more than by expressing an interest — . Indeed, Miss Woodhouse, (speaking more collectedly,) with the consciousness which I have of misconduct, very great misconduct, it is particularly consoling to me to know that those of my friends, whose good opinion is most worth preserving, are not disgusted to such a degree as to — I have not time for half that I could wish to say. I long to make apologies, excuses, to urge something for myself. I feel it so very due. But, unfortunately — in short, if your compassion does not stand my friend — ”

“Oh! you are too scrupulous, indeed you are,” cried Emma warmly, and taking her hand. “You owe me no apologies; and every body to whom you might be supposed to owe them, is so perfectly satisfied, so delighted even — ”

“You are very kind, but I know what my manners were to you. So cold and artificial! I had always a part to act. It was a life of deceit! I know that I must have disgusted you.”

“Pray say no more. I feel that all the apologies should be on my side. Let us forgive each other at once. We must do whatever is to be done quickest, and I think our feelings will lose no time there. I hope you have pleasant accounts from Windsor?”

“Very.”

“And the next news, I suppose, will be, that we are to lose you — just as I begin to know you.”

“Oh! as to all that, of course nothing can be thought of yet. I am here till claimed by Colonel and Mrs. Campbell.”

“Nothing can be actually settled yet, perhaps,” replied Emma, smiling — “but, excuse me, it must be thought of.”

The smile was returned as Jane answered,

“You are very right; it has been thought of. And I will own to you, (I am sure it will be safe), that so far as our living with Mr. Churchill at Enscombe, it is settled. There must be three months, at least, of deep mourning; but when they are over, I imagine there will be nothing more to wait for.”

“Thank you, thank you. This is just what I wanted to be assured of. Oh! if you knew how much I love every thing that is decided and open! Good-bye, good-bye.”

Mrs. Weston’s friends were all made happy by her safety; and if the satisfaction of her well-doing could be increased to Emma, it was by knowing her to be the mother of a little girl. She had been decided in wishing for a Miss Weston. She would not acknowledge that it was with any view of making a match for her, hereafter, with either of Isabella’s sons; but she was convinced that a daughter would suit both father and mother best. It would be a great comfort to Mr. Weston, as he grew older — and even Mr. Weston might be growing older ten years hence — to have his fireside enlivened by the sports and the nonsense, the freaks and the fancies of a child never banished from home; and Mrs. Weston — no one could doubt that a daughter would be most to her; and it would be quite a pity that any one who so well knew how to teach, should not have their powers in exercise again.

Mr. Knightley and Emma were sitting by the fire in the parlour one evening, discussing the new Weston. “She has had the advantage, you know, of practising on me,” she continued — “like La Baronne d’Almane on La Comtesse d’Ostalis, in Madame de Genlis’ Adelaide and Theodore, and we shall now see her own little Adelaide educated on a more perfect plan.”

Mr. Knightley checked over his shoulder to be sure that the parlour door was closed, and then he reached across the chaise to wrap one of Emma’s curls around his finger. “That is,” replied Mr. Knightley giving the curl a soft tug that set Emma’s stomach to fluttering, “she will indulge her even more than she did you, and believe that she does not indulge her at all. It will be the only difference.”

“Poor child!” cried Emma, closing the distance between them by leaning in close to Mr. Knightley; “at that rate, what will become of her?” Emma had the great reward of watching Mr. Knightley’s Adam’s apple bob up and down at her close proximity.

“Nothing very bad. The fate of thousands. She will be disagreeable in infancy, and correct herself as she grows older. I am losing all my bitterness against spoilt children, my dearest Emma. I, who am owing all my happiness to
you
, would not it be horrible ingratitude in me to be severe on them?” He gifted her with one of his warm smiles.

Emma laughed in pure joy, and replied: “But I had the assistance of all your endeavours to counteract the indulgence of other people. I doubt whether my own sense would have corrected me without it.”

“Do you? I have no doubt. Nature gave you understanding: Miss Taylor gave you principles. You must have done well. My interference was quite as likely to do harm as good. It was very natural for you to say, what right has he to lecture me? and I am afraid very natural for you to feel that it was done in a disagreeable manner. I do not believe I did you any good. The good was all to myself, by making you an object of the tenderest affection to me. I could not think about you so much without doating on you, faults and all; and by dint of fancying so many errors, have been in love with you ever since you were thirteen at least.” He leaned in closer, and now his fingers moved from her hair to stroke down her cheek.

“I am sure you were of use to me,” cried Emma to cover the sigh that was perched at her lips. His touch was proving to do odd things to her concentration. “I was very often influenced rightly by you — oftener than I would own at the time. I am very sure you did me good. And if poor little Anna Weston is to be spoiled, it will be the greatest humanity in you to do as much for her as you have done for me, except falling in love with her when she is thirteen.” Emma turned her face into Mr. Knightley’s palm and brushed a brief kiss in its centre.

Mr. Knightley sucked in a ragged breath and moved closer, pulling her against him. “How often, when you were a girl, have you said to me, with one of your saucy looks — ‘Mr. Knightley, I am going to do so-and-so; papa says I may, or I have Miss Taylor’s leave’ — something which, you knew, I did not approve. In such cases my interference was giving you two bad feelings instead of one.”

Emma’s hands flew to Mr. Knightley’s chest as he gave her another tug toward him. She could feel his heart pounding beneath her fingers. It was the first time he had touched her in such a way since kissing her senseless in the garden. Anticipation coursed through her as she continued their flirtation. “What an amiable creature I was! No wonder you should hold my speeches in such affectionate remembrance.” Her hands roved across the wide expanse of his chest, rediscovering the muscle that rippled with her movements.

Mr. Knightley groaned. “’Mr. Knightley.’ — You always called me, ‘Mr. Knightley;’ and, from habit, it has not so very formal a sound. And yet it is formal.” Mr. Knightley leaned forward until their lips nearly brushed. Emma felt her heart stutter to a stop. She nearly missed his next words for focusing on his mouth. “I want you to call me something else, but I do not know what.”

“I remember once calling you ‘George,’ in one of my amiable fits, about ten years ago. I did it because I thought it would offend you; but, as you made no objection, I never did it again,” she whispered.

Mr. Knightley closed even more distance. His lips brushed across hers as he spoke. “And cannot you call me ‘George’ now?” He swept his lips back and forth across hers, and Emma nearly forgot how to breathe.

She forced herself to return a bit of wit, though she wanted to agree to any thing that would get him to kiss her again. “Impossible! I never can call you any thing but ‘Mr. Knightley.’ I will not promise even to equal the elegant terseness of Mrs. Elton, by calling you Mr. K. But I will promise,” she added presently, laughing softly and blushing — “I will promise to call you once by your Christian name. I do not say when, but perhaps you may guess where; in the building in which N. takes M. for better, for worse.”

Mr. Knightley growled, and his fingers, which had been trailing up and down her arm in a distracting manner, moved suddenly to grip Emma’s chin. He traced his thumb over the bottom lip he had made moist with his light kisses. “That simply will not do,” he whispered. “I am afraid I have grown quite fond of the idea of you calling me George in the last few seconds, dearest.” He moved to kiss her again, but stopped just shy of touching her lips. Emma moaned in protest, and he responded with a tilted, rakish grin. “Let’s hear it, shall we?” he asked softly. It was several seconds as Emma tried to form a coherent thought. Mr. Knightley’s thumb brushed her lip again, and he clarified with a chuckle, “Let me hear you call me George, Emma.” His request was so soft and filled with a good degree of self-doubt, as though he thought he were making a request too grand.

Emma suddenly wanted to give him this and so much more. To erase that doubt. To ensure him that she was his. She wanted to give some great declaration, but her thoughts were so muddled by his measured breathing as it passed across her damp lip, that all she could muster was a breathless “George.”

The look on his face was as though Emma had given him the greatest gift imaginable, and his lips descended on hers in a brief, crushing kiss that left her quite beside herself. When he met her eyes again, his were crackling with heat. “Again,” he requested roughly.

“George,” she repeated, this time gathering herself enough to place a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. He sucked in a breath, and Emma felt a flare of power. She pressed another kiss right beside it and could tell that he was holding his breath to see what her next move would be. She continued to trail light kisses across his cheek until she reached his ear, and then, in a move so bold she would have never thought herself capable of it, she breathed into his ear, “I love you. George.”

A rough sound broke out of his chest, and in the next second, Emma found herself draped across his lap, his arms pressed ardently around her, his lips planted firmly on hers, his tongue plundering her mouth. It swept every corner, filling her in a physical and emotional sense. It lit a fire in her soul, and her arms flew around his neck as she hugged him even closer, her fingers weaving into his soft, luxurious hair.

“Oh, Emma.” He pulled his lips away a scant breath. “You taste amazing. My Emma.” He resumed his kiss, and she returned it with every fiber of her being, learning what he liked with the noises he made as she began to explore his mouth with her tongue.