Section I, Next Section

Chapter One

Posted on Thursday, 17 November 2005

May 1867

Elizabeth Bennet tried not breath in the air around her too deeply. It was not an extremely pleasing substance for one to intake into their senses. A man sitting two rows down from her was puffing away furiously on his cigar. While Elizabeth had a disdain for the smell there was nothing to do but endure it.

Her ears rang with the constant clatter and rushing. The jolts of the train were causing the first pangs of a slight headache. She turned her mind away from fatigue and petulant thoughts and looked out the window at the scenery that flew past. The view was remarkable at best, with new leaves sprouting forth from their barely awakening trees, the valleys and forests of Pennsylvania were a luxuriant green.

A smile played upon her lips as she thought of the garden back home. What would the little sprouting stems of vegetables and flowers do without her diligent care and tending? Jane had her own household now, leaving little time to care for it while Lizzie was away. Kitty and Lydia wouldn't think of getting down on the ground and inflicting mud upon their soft white hands. Perhaps Mary? No, Mary would simply sit there and recite rules of philosophy to the buds, most likely causing them to wilt with boredom. She had hinted her concern slightly to her father before leaving, but he was busy enough with the finances, which were dwindling after the extravagant purchases of her younger sisters.

Her traveling partner stirred quietly beside her. Elizabeth watched him slowly force his eyes open, blink, and catch her look with his intriguing hazel eyes. A slow, measured grin greeted her before he shook his head of slumber. With a gentle, breathy sigh he patted her knee.

She, bemused that he had slept so long with the rattle and clanging of the steam engine, asked quietly, "Did you sleep well, George?"

"I think so. I believe I could use another hour or two later though, maybe when we get settled in Richmond."

Yes, Richmond. Elizabeth's concerns arose again, as they had nearly every day the past two weeks. Richmond was still rebuilding and healing from the great blow it had received over the past six years. She had questioned this visit into the heart of the Confederacy, her views being as strong as they were and the people's resentment still perhaps lingering in their hearts.

Being a staunch Yankee, she hoped that her presence in Richmond society would not cause trouble for her hosts. Again, in seconds these troublesome thoughts transformed into more happy ones. She grew excited as the train brought her closer and closer to her friend, for this was the visit she and Emma had long waited for.

Elizabeth and Emma were introduced to one another in the autumn of 1860 at a ladies' finishing school in Philadelphia. Emma was the spoiled daughter of a Virginian gentleman, and Elizabeth came from a Northern middle-class family from Pennsylvania. Perhaps from their backgrounds they were seen as peculiar companions, but they struck up a devoted friendship nonetheless.

In the beginning of their tedious cultural education, both girls sought and found solace in the other. They were sent to the school that they might learn lady-like attributes and refine their somewhat impish tendencies. They both commonly shared vivacious spirits, witty minds, and enthusiastic views on life. While neither one was a true troublemaker, they delighted in harmless jokes and pranks. Though sent to the institute to be cured of such tendencies, Emma and Elizabeth were a plague to their tutors and housing matrons. Playing little tricks on the other girls and upon their teachers was not wicked in their eyes, it was simply entertainment.

When they first met, that unhappy day when Elizabeth had to be nearly dragged from her beautiful country home, all loneliness ceased. Finding such wonderful pleasure in each other's company lessened the homesickness they would have felt. They were indeed kindred spirits.

Though the next summer they were forced to quit the school and return home, due to the strains of war, they continued their friendship in the form of letter-writing. Elizabeth always found comfort in the stimulating manner of Emma's communications. Grateful for the anchor of her friend's devotion, the correspondence kept Elizabeth's hopes from plunging during the hardships of war. They wrote that a visit would take place, always promising "after the War". Finally after nearly six long years, they're wish would be granted.

Now, Elizabeth was not the bright-eyed fifteen-year-old of her girlhood days, but a supposedly mature women of twenty-one. She had changed much since seeing her friend last and worried that she would not be recognized, but then Emma had not been stuck in time either. Elizabeth looked forward to beholding her face again.

She remembered the first time she saw Emma, standing by the bed in the room they were to share. Elizabeth's first thought was how delicate her features were, with her luscious blond hair and her crystal blue eyes. Lizzie had told her that she was sure to be the most coveted young lady in Richmond. Now she would see for herself.

Elizabeth took George's hand and withdrew from carriage which had conveyed them from the train station. On a quiet, handsome street on the East side of the city, stood the Woodhouse's home. Elizabeth admired the fine color scheme of the shudders and trim. Emma had written that the house needed some restoration after the war. It appeared that she had seen to it.

In a conventional Southern home, the head of the household would see to such matters, but the Woodhouses were an exception. Emma's father was her only surviving family member. He was a gentle, yet queer feeble-ish sort of man, Elizabeth had gathered from her friend's letters. She was eager to meet him personally, for Emma had related some very amusing phrases of his in her letters.

"Should I just go back to the hotel, or shall I go with you?" George asked in his clement voice.

With a smile, Elizabeth took his arm, "Yes, come. I am sure they won't mind meeting you. They will sooner or later, with you settling here for the next two years."

They ascended the steps and before Elizabeth could knock with the large door fixture, the door opened wide. A young women stepped out and embraced her friend with happy exclamations in her throat.

"Oh, Lizzie, you are here at last! I have been worried nearly to frenzy all day for your safe arrival. I know it is selfish of me, but I have longed to see you so."

Elizabeth pulled back slightly to see Emma's sapphire tinted eyes. "You could not have been so restless as I was, waiting for that train to arrive in Harrisburg. I would have surely made a fool of myself, pacing up and down the platform while waiting for it to arrive, had George's calming presence not been near."

Suddenly remembering him, Elizabeth turned to introduce her friends. A diverted gleam showed in her eye when she realized how uncomfortable he was in the presence of two emotional women. His tall, well-built frame shifted uneasily until she spoke,

"Emma, may I present my dear friend, Mr. George Knightley. George, this is Emma Woodhouse, as you may have well guessed already."

Emma looked over the young man with careful eyes and smiled with the charm came so easy to her. "Mr. Knightley," she drawled, "It is a great pleasure to meet any acquaintance of my dear friend's. Welcome to Richmond, sir." She dropped a pretty curtsy before he took her hand and bestowed a kiss.

"Thank you, Miss Woodhouse. I look forward to exploring the beauties of your city further, which I will have ample time for."

With her quizzical look, Elizabeth explained, "George is to take up an occupation here as a lawyer. He will reside here in Richmond for two years ."

An abnormal sense of pleasure passed through Emma's mind as she heard this. "Well, then also allow me to welcome you as our neighbor in Richmond society. I think you will find it a delightful place to live."

His intensely sincere eyes met hers, "Indeed, I believe I will, Miss Woodhouse."

She rushed on quickly, "Oh, here we all are, standing out here! I should gather my wits now and invite you both in." Emma turned, swishing her fair curls, and walked back into the house. Her shoes clicked gently against the wood floor of the entrance and her visitors meekly followed.

Chapter Two

Posted on Sunday, 20 November 2005

"Look Papa, our visitors have come " Emma exclaimed as she lead them into a darkened sitting room. The drapes were drawn closed and the only light came from a runt of a fire, it's bouncing flames spreading a little warmth throughout the room. On a chair near the fireplace sat a heap of fur robe, with what appeared to be a man nestled beneath its folds.

A timorous voice spoke, "But Emma, dear, I thought you were only inviting one friend. A young lady, as I recall."

Emma moved to her father to discreetly silence his discourteous remarks. "Now, Papa, I did invited Miss Bennet to stay for some time, but this fine young man is her friend, Mr. George Knightley. He is residing in the area and has just come to visit with us for a few hours."

Mr. Knightley shared an understanding look with her and stepped forward, bowing graciously before the old man. "Sir, I am excessively grateful to make your acquaintance. If you should ever need my services, I would be glad to assist you in any way."

Mr. Woodhouse's look was a mix of curiosity and also perhaps a touch of fear, for Mr. Knightley towered over him, "Do you know where you will live?"

"Not quite, sir. Would you suggest a good area? I know very little of your city, and would be extremely indebted if you would counsel me on the matter." His voice was soft as he talked with the frail man. Mr. Woodhouse seemed pleased with Mr. Knightley's unpretentious manner and joined in an easy discussion with him after George had pulled up a chair near him.

This thing astonished Emma, for her father was ill at ease with most newcomers. He had always been rather childlike in his fears, which encompassed a vast collection of things, from upsetting his stomach to how many pets his neighbors had. Emma had tried her best to protect Mr. Woodhouse from the hard truths of the war and the city that had nearly crumbled around them. It had taken every bit of her imagination to force lies about the city's welfare during the last treacherous months of the war. But now it was all over, no more worries of being hit with bombshells in the middle of night.

Elizabeth and Emma, seeing the men favorably occupied, seized the chance to speak. Catching up would not be too hard since they had corresponded with great diligence. Both young women were so comforted to be united at last that a quick, soft hum emanated from their side of the room.

For a good half-hour they all sat thus engaged until Emma stood up and inquired of Mr. Kinghtley whether or not he would accept an invitation to remain on for supper. He accepted after giving Elizabeth a searching look. Emma said that she must go tell the cook to make ready the meal. As she flitted out the door, she turned back slightly to say, "I do hope you care for Crawfish soup, Mr. Knightley, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth nodded readily while her companion was not quite so enthused. She watched with cruel delight as he turned slightly pale and gulped silently. His polite nature would never allow him to claim his impartiality to the critters. Just as she assumed, he nodded and managed a smile for Miss Woodhouse's benefit.

A few minutes later, they sat around a table with steaming food placed tantalizingly near them. With a nod from her father, Emma said grace and began the meal. Lizzie stared down at her dinnerware. It was of fine make, with intricate floral designs around the rim. Mr. Knightley was similarly absorbed in the bowl itself rather than it's contents.

Miss Woodhouse cast him an expectant look after he had dallied with his parsley for a time. Feeling pressured, he picked up the tail that garnished the top of the soup, peeled the outside shell off and took a small bite of the meat. Elizabeth nearly cheered and clapped in face of his bravado, for she alone knew what a challenge it was for him not to make a face. He then gave Emma a polite smile before she returned to her own plate.

The ladies struck up more conversation, which of course Mr. Knightley was grateful to involve himself in as well. They spoke of Elizabeth's family, Richmond's social functions, the loveliness of Pennsylvanian springs ... everything except the war. They were tired of talk of that nature. For five long years they had dealt with the tension and fearful events that took place in their country. Now they tried to heal by adding some normality back into their lives.

After the meal concluded and they were directed back into the sitting room, George fought with his desire to stay and his duty to make arrangements for establishing himself in Richmond. Elizabeth sensed his discomfort.

"George, don't you have a several things to take care of right now? We would not wish you to be without a bed tonight."

Grateful for her thoughtfulness, he stood, "Oh, yes. I am very sorry, Mr. Woodhouse, Miss Emma, but I need to go check my reservations at the hotel. I fear today leaves me little time for visiting."

"I am sorry if we have detained you too long, sir. Thank you for bringing Elizabeth here safely." Emma stood and moved to get his coat and hat.

"Not at all. It was a pleasure, both the visit and conveying her here. Thank you, Miss Woodhouse, for your excellent hospitality, and to you, Mr. Woodhouse, for the enlightening discussions. Perhaps, if it is convenient, I might call upon you, your father and Elizabeth on the morrow?"

Emma spoke graciously in return as she led him out to the hall, "Yes, that would be splendid."

A faint call was heard from Mr. Woodhouse, "Indeed, Mr. Knightley, do come often as you like."

She guided him to door and caught his coat with a light touch before he turned to leave. "Mr. Knightley, you should know that my father does not take to strangers quickly or as easily as he has you. I wish to express gratitude for your gentleness with him this afternoon. I believe it did him a great deal of good. He gets out so little."

A leisurely smile lightened his features. "Think nothing of it. It was a pleasure to speak with him. He reminds me of my father." A strange, almost wistful look crossed his eyes before he resumed his former disposition. " Miss Woodhouse, I am glad to leave Elizabeth in such capable hands. I will not be worried about her well-being here while she is with you and your father. I am grateful to you. Good night."

He made his way down to the carriage and went off down the road going west. Emma lingered at the door, wondering how Lizzie had ever caught herself such a pleasing young man. Something disturbed her though, how had they gotten on together? Lizzie didn't seem the type of person to fall in love with an ever-the-gentleman, calm sort of man. She knew her friend too well or at least she had thought so ... But then George Knightley was a handsome man. Why shouldn't Lizzie have such an affable beau?

Chapter Three

Posted on Tuesday, 13 December 2005

It was the most tastefully furnished bedroom she had ever seen. Elizabeth moved slowly around the bed, her feet padding softly on the luscious rug below. She longed to take her shoes and stockings off and just sink her toes into its velvety lengths. Her two valises were settled on the ground near a beautiful scroll-back rosewood chair. It was a fetching piece of workmanship. The delicate ornamentations of leaves and wild flowers were undoubtedly carved with care by a true master.

Alongside one wall stood a ivory-colored bureau with similar carvings. She traced a flower petal with the tip of her finger. The frosty color set off the soft green hues of the wallpaper. Elizabeth loved the shades of emerald that scrawled up and down the walls, contrasting with light and dark tones side by side.

Feeling quite at home, she began to unpack her clothes and toiletries. She pulled out her dwindling collection of dresses one by one and hung them up in the wardrobe near the bed. She had not had time to sew new ones before the journey, neither did she have the heart to ask for any extra allowance from her father.

She pictured him in her mind's eye. A tall, sparsely-haired man with a furrowed brow that she always longed to ease the worry out of. He was not always so anxious and distracted as he had become. The effects of war and providing for his family, especially his financially demanding daughters, had almost depleted all of his joviality and carefree sarcasm. Elizabeth had inherited the same traits, with an uncanny knack of replying with a well-placed joke when anything hit her as humorous. She herself did not know that she possessed so strong a talent, but somewhere in the back of her mind she suspected a small amount of cleverness which slipped out in her speech now and then.

Readying herself for a much needed sleep, she brushed out her hair, changed into her nightgown, and turned down the bedding. Once settled in between the crisp, chilly covers she reached over to the bedside table and turned down the lamp until its tiny flame gave way to darkness. She let her mind drift aimlessly as the bed warmed beneath her. As the first whisperings of sleep came on, Elizabeth still had the faint sensation of the quaking and shuttering of the train.

The morning brought its little pleasantries to the world as Emma gazed out the wide window of the dining room. Behind her in the kitchen doorway stood Mrs. Alice Worthen with a few dishes full of breakfast foods in one hand and a tray in the other. She was their hired cook. "Miz Emma, do you s'pose your father would like his meal in bed as usual? I mean, with your houseguest and all...." After she set down the plates, her agile honey-brown hands carefully readjusted the cup and saucer that had slid to the edge of the tray.

Emma smiled, seeing the routine bowl of gruel for her father's morning meal, "Yes, just carry on as usual. Nothing in Papa's routine must change ... even if we were to be visited by the President himself!"

As the woman bustled out of the room, Emma frowned sadly, remembering their former president. She may have been raised a Southern belle but she had always had a soft spot in her heart for Abraham Lincoln. She had never doubted President Lincoln's honor or abilities. Being supportive of the Republican leader had never been something to cast around the Confederacy, so Emma had kept mostly silent on that subject.

An encompassing distaste and, in some cases, all-out hatred for 'Old Abe' had hung in the air over the South ever since he had started running for office. Still, on April 15, 1965, the report of Lincoln's death shocked both Yankees and Rebels in its suddenness. She remembered the following day when the call of, "Lincoln is dead!" ran through the streets.

He had been assassinated while attending a play with his wife on a cool spring evening. His life was taken in cold blood, by a crazed, hardened actor. When word got out, many mourned for several weeks following his death while others directly cheered. He barely got to see the end of the War, a mission which he had so readily given his all to.

Emma felt annoyance in regards to their current president, because of his hasty, hot-headed temperament. It was true that Andrew Johnson had been working hard to graft the Confederacy back into the country the past two years because of his firm beliefs in the Constitution, but his conflicting cloaks of character bothered her. He seemed to switch into a different one all the time, first seeming to be a friend to the Reconstruction, and then fighting against it. Quite different from Lincoln who had fervently fought for eventual peace in the land, Johnson, in her opinion, only drove them farther apart still.

His particular wrath with all the stubborn Southerners had been understandable, but not helpful in assisting their country to mend. He thumped upon the pulpit that justice must be met, the Confederate leaders would received harsh punishments. Could he not see that the South was a beaten, weary set of people? Most were so very tired that they did not want to deal with any more conflicts, and those who did continue in their rebellion, she supposed, had not really seen the hardships that the War brought upon so many.

Back to her opinion of President Johnson, a man who has the fate of the nation in his hands should be a calm, decisive person. Had he been the kind of man resembling the one whom he had succeeded, he would have had more compassion and patience in the restoration of the South.

At times she wondered ... if she had been a man, would she have been persecuted for all her views on politics? What would it be like to be open to such harsh ridicule and harassment? How on earth could the menfolk stand such an aggressive pastime anyway was beyond her imaginings.

"Well, I will never have to worry about it." she reminded herself. For certain laws of man and nature protected her from such public discriminations, the boundaries of being a woman and the haven of having a recluse for a father. Both circumstances provided a cushion of security that kept her from getting into serious trouble.

Of course, she got into trouble plenty without adding politics into the mix. Her matchmaking habits were not always appreciated by those whom she helped along in their destined romances.

Emma, over the past few years, had unconsciously made a hobby out of finding matches for every single man or woman of her acquaintance. She believed herself to be simply helping along the inevitable hand of fate. But she admitted in the back of her mind, it brought her countless hours of pleasure and amusement to see a relationship blossom in leaps and bounds.

This element of her character was the only one which bothered her father. He had a great fear of matrimony in general, feeling that people would be much better off without having to worry about a partner and children. He made Emma laugh when he claimed this, because he was so very fond of his own offspring. She vaguely remembered, of her mother he had been equally proud while she had lived. Annabelle Darcy Woodhouse had died when Emma was only five years of age.

Emma's thoughts were shaken off as her friend entered the room. Elizabeth came in, her way of entrance showing all the becoming confidence that she possessed. She stepped up to a chair, pulled it back, and looked for a quick glance of permission from her hostess before seating herself firmly on it. She crossed her arms before her and sighed.

"I can't believe I am actually here." Her eyes closed in relaxation and then opened in a moment to twinkle back at her friend. "I wonder how the household back home is faring..."

Emma joined her, settling gently down into her chair and crossing her feet beneath her before speaking. "Oh, yes. I forgot to ask how you managed to shove off all your duties. From your letters I gather you carry the house on your shoulders practically."

Elizabeth straightened and placed her chin in her hands. "Not quite, Mary and Kitty try to help a little but Lydia is perfectly useless. I asked a neighbor, Mrs. Hill, to come over and fix breakfast and suppers and check on things, when she can. She claimed she was happy to do it, the dear soul! She has the patience of Job, I declare." When Emma raised a questioning brow, Elizabeth nodded and grinned, "Yes, she knows what she has got herself into, because she lives just next door. "

"Mmm," Emma nodded in understanding.

Alice came back downstairs and brushed her hands on her apron. "I'll be getting breakfast on the table, just as soon as I get the sausages fried, Miz Emma."

"That will be fine, Alice. Thank you."

Elizabeth gave her a searching look as the woman passed by them and entered the kitchen. Emma smiled, "Alice has been with us for nearly three years now. She was freed before the war and I pay her a good wage, Lizzie She has two children to care for. I had a hard time finding anyone during the war," she looked down, nearly blushing as she folded her hands on the tablecloth, "sometimes, in between cooks, I had to scrounge up the meals all by myself. Miserable attempts, all of them. We needed the help of better trained chefs but they were always either getting married or going to help in the war."

Elizabeth laughed, "Don't look so guilty! Fine ladies cooking their own food, nothing wrong with that as far as I'm concerned. I have hope that your Mrs. Worthen might allow me to have a little spree in her kitchen once in awhile. I shall miss making my jam cakes each week. I am simply addicted to them. Ever since Mama started asking for them, after the war of course, I have grown much too fond of them myself. I probably gained a good deal of weight just in these two years!"

"No, you still have a lovely figure. Alice will not oppress your creative cooking whims, not likely. She is a sweet woman and I love having her about. She is simply indispensable. I believe we would be completely lost without her. "

As Emma said this, Alice herself came in, set down plates and platters and crooned, "I like working for you too. Now, here's that corn pone, and the johnny cakes with the strawberry syrup over there, and everything else. Need anything, just holler." She turned back towards them before returning to her empire of a kitchen, giving Elizabeth a sly look, "Tomorrow mornin', you'll have free reign of the kitchen to bake to your heart's content. That is, after I whip up Mr. Woodhouse's gruel. I don't believe he'd take it too kindly if you added too much salt." She went through the swinging door quickly.

The girls shook their heads and laughed softly. Emma called back teasingly, "Do you always eavesdrop so well in there?" The only reply they received was Alice's rich alto voice rushing into the humbling tones of a hymn. The friends smiled at each other and ate their meal.

Later that morning they were graced with the presence of two sets of visitors. The first to come was Mrs. Abigail Weston, who was a dear friend of the Woodhouses. She had been Emma's governess for many years before uniting herself in marriage to a Mr. Weston the year previous. How her marriage came about was an uncommon tale. She was not a very young women, perhaps in her late thirties, yet she had the full appearance of youth in the light in her eyes and the cherry of her cheeks. She had not married in her younger years but had been a spinster for some time, until Mr. Weston moved into their neighborhood.

Hearing only praise of him and his situation, Emma immediately sought out an event where she might allow them to meet. Seeing her fixed idea of the man to be exactly as she had estimated gave Emma full hope of bringing about the wedding of the two. They were completely compatible, he a widower in need of a sweet, kind companion and she in need of protection and a comfortable home. Through several little parties and gatherings, Emma created an environment where they could meet and get to know each other better. When an engagement was announced soon after Mr. Weston's second month in Richmond, Emma cheered and smiled with complacent satisfaction.

Now the Westons lived just a block down the street and visited as often as good neighbors could possibly call. In Mrs. Weston's arms, however, was a new little Weston family member. Emma Gail Weston slept soundly, intermittently gurgling in her sleep. Emma, the elder, transferred her namesake from Mrs. Weston's arms into her own. Her eyes lit upon the darling little mouth that puckered now and then and Emma could not stop a smile that spread across her face from ear to ear.

Tucking the babe's quilt closer around her, she sighed, "She is getting much too big, much too quickly."

Mrs. Weston laughed softly, "I know, seems only a few days ago that she was a newborn."

"How old is she now?" Elizabeth asked, wanting to be included.

"Three months, tomorrow morning. She is brilliant, you know. Mr. Weston told me she rolled over the floor all day yesterday!"

Abigail's eyes twinkled, "Yes, my husband thinks that every little thing she does is the most important event in the world's history. But I do not blame him for his confining beliefs that his daughter is the most perfect thing on earth. I am very pleased that he feels just as happy as I do. Is it such a magnificent blessing to have found him and have everything turn out so favorably." Casting Elizabeth a shrewd look, she added, "And Emma takes pleasure in having made the match herself, single-handedly."

Emma attempted a well practiced pout, "She always tries to make me look like a conceited wretch," The pout was replaced with a smug smile, "only because she knows it's true."

Merriment shone in Mrs. Weston countenance as she plucked at the yarn in the jacket that she held on her lap, "I do not blame her in her fulfillment, but who do you think taught her the art?"

This witty display of banter caused Elizabeth to laugh right out. Here in the quiet parlor of a Virginian home there was more entertaining and engaging conversation then she had witnessed in months back home. They were all still laughing when the front door sounded with a reporting knock.

Hugging the baby close to her and trying to stifle her laughs as not to wake her, Emma called into the other room, "Alice, would you please take care of that?"

The chuckling continued as Mr. Knightley's tall figure stood in the doorframe. His eyes swept the scene and rested on the baby for a moment before he moved in upon invitation.

Elizabeth called out, "Come in, George, if you have mind to join us. I don't know that we can promise intellectual discourse today though."

"I would hope not. Laughter is the best language." He moved to the couch where Elizabeth sat and began to seat himself before standing straight up again, giving Emma an expectant look. She looked confused and then rounded her lips in recognition. "Forgive me, Mr. Knightley. Mrs. Weston, this is Mr. George Knightley, Elizabeth's....friend." Emma almost put in the title "fiancée'" but stopped herself, remembering that Lizzie had not claimed it so yet, "Mr. Knightley, this is my dear friend, Mrs. Weston. She was my governess in my younger years."

As Mr. Knightley and Mrs. Weston exchanged pleasantries, Mr. Woodhouse came into the room and sat at his chair near the fire. "Look Papa, Mrs. Weston and Mr. Knightley have come to call this morning." He looked worried for a moment but quickly brightened when Mr. Knightley moved to join him as he had the day previous. "Good morning to you, sir." George struck out a hand, which Mr. Woodhouse took. His smile was the widest Emma had seen her father present in weeks.

Chapter Four

Posted on Tuesday, 13 December 2005

Mr. Knightley spoke quietly with Mr. Woodhouse for a few minutes before returning to the ladies. Again seating himself next to Elizabeth, he settled back to listen to their chatter. He looked quite out of place with his masculine hands and long legs, but none of them seemed to notice except Emma. She watched him from beneath her lashes, her head bent over the baby who had awakened on hearing a different, deeper voice. Emma watched Elizabeth talk animatedly to Mrs. Weston. Unconsciously, Lizzie placed a hand on George's knee while she chatted about gardening and he did not seem to mind in the least. Both ladies soon involved him in the conversation easily after a moment or two.

They did not look so much like a couple as Emma had imagined yesterday. Both had the same chocolatey-brown curls, and hazel eyes. Though one evident difference appeared in their physical forms. Elizabeth was made of sturdy, almost blocky build, while he stood tall and thin with strong limbs. She did not see that they made a well-looking match at all, but from their unreservedness towards each other, she knew they must be engaged or would soon be.

Pity she'd not known George Knightley sooner. She thought she might have felt inclined to desire his affections. He seemed to be the very essence of gentlemanly character. Realizing that she was thinking so, she turned her thoughts in disgust and disbelief. Thinking such things about her friend's fiancée'! How indecent!

Her cheeks warmed as she darted a quick glance in Mr. Knightley's direction, and finding that he was not paying her any mind, she breathed a soft breath of relief. Baby Emma cooed up at her, content in the arms of her young godmother. She rubbed the baby's fuzzy cheek with her forefinger, glad to have her attention averted. Little Emma gave her a rare smile which enticed one out of her promptly.

Sensing a lull in the conversation a few minutes later, Emma looked up to find them all staring at her and the baby. Mrs. Weston smiled and gestured, "You look well thus situated, dear Emma. I can remember a time when I held you so once. You were such a feisty wee thing!"

Elizabeth's laugh tingled in the air, "I can just imagine her staring up at you defiantly as you tell her to eat her peas." Whispering in a hush-hush tone, she informed George, "She always has hated peas."

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, "I find it hard to believe that Miss Woodhouse was capable of fierce defiance even at such an age."

"Looks can be deceiving, my friend. Did I ever tell you what she persuaded me to do when we were at our first year in school? Miss Gould, remember Emma, our deportment teacher? Oh, she was a prune, a stuffy, nasty prune. Well, once in class, Emma was having a difficult time making out a word in our book. She needed spectacles for reading back then but she had left hers back in our room on accident. She leaned over to ask me to make it out for her. I was just about to enlighten her when Miss Gould whisked up to my side and drew out my first and last name in a particularly odious way. "Miss Elizabeth Bennet, am I correct in my assumption that you are actually talking while an authority is giving classroom instruction?" "

Here, Lizzie looked down her nose, over invisible spectacles. The look on her face was strict and deadly. Emma suddenly burst out in laughter, "That is an exact reproduction of her features! The picture is so vivid when you repaint it, Lizzie!"

Elizabeth proceeded in her tale, "I, feeling the cruelty of false accusation, replied fervently that I had not been discussing anything outside of our class studies. She took this as impertinence and sentenced me to an entire week of kitchen and privy duty. Emma stood up right there and told Miss Gould she was not being fair to me.

"Very well, then Miss Woodhouse, you shall join her in the penalization. Emma luckily had the sense to sit down after that, but she did not plan on taking her sentence without a little satisfaction."

At this, Emma begged, holding the baby close to suppress the great laughter that was bubbling up again, "Please Lizzie, stop! No one need know of my heinous past!"

Elizabeth grinned wickedly before moving on. "Two weeks after we had served our time in seeming humility, Emma talked me into getting Cayenne Pepper powder and sneaking into Miss Gould's room. Here, she devised to apply the pepper to our teacher's throat spray, which she kept handy near her bedside since she supposed she was an excellent singer, and also to her dentifrice and toothbrush. The next morning, we heard the best singing we had ever heard from Miss Gould's room!"

A great burst of laughter rang out all around and even Mr. Woodhouse chuckled before stopping himself abruptly. He looked anxiously at his daughter. But was the young lady hurt very badly, Emma? Such a dosage could be dangerous, don't you think?"

Elizabeth hid a giggle behind her hand while Emma tried to keep a straight, reassuring look on her face. "Oh, no, Papa. She was quite recovered by the next morning. If fact, she was even a little grateful for it. She had been battling a horrid cold all week and when she partook of our joke it knocked out the ailment immediately."

Still sighing after a bout of laughter, Mrs. Weston stood and announced that Mr. Weston awaited her at home. Emma looked at the clock on the wall, "Noon time already?"

"Time does fly when you are having fun." She reached down to remove the baby from Emma's arms and placed her in the baby carriage on the opposite side of the room. Emma walked her back to the door. When she returned to the sitting room doorway, she surveyed the scene. Mr. Woodhouse had moved his chair closer to capture the heat of the fire, and had picked up a book. Elizabeth sat closer to Mr. Knightley and was speaking in hushed tones to him. They were both smiling softly between words, so she decided to occupy herself for a few moments to allow them some time alone. With a disappointed twinge in her heart, she went to talk to Alice about the mid-day meal.

Fifteen minutes later, Elizabeth came into the kitchen looking for Emma. "Is everything alright?" she questioned, seeing her friend standing there against the counter, apparently doing nothing of use.

"Of course, just seeing that there is food ready for us. Alice was well ahead of me as usual."

Alice raised a facetious brow before brushing past them to set a plate on the table. Both girls returned to the sitting room.

Emma changed her mood to a pleasant one, "How did you like Mrs. Weston, Lizzie? Please tell me you liked her."

Elizabeth smiled. "I do like her very much, very much indeed. She seems such a cheerful, gracious sort of woman. I don't know that anyone could help but like her. I hope we shall see her often while I'm here."

"I daresay you will, because not two days go by without one of us visiting the other. It was a promise we made when she married. She has always been a mother and friend to me since my own mother passed on. I could not bare it if we were unable to visit so often."

Mr. Knightley stood as they reentered the room and cleared his throat, "I believe I must go now, Mr. Woodhouse, Miss Emma."

Emma stopped a few feet away from him and peered upwards into his face, "Mr. Knightley, are you sure there is no way we could persuade you to stay on for lunch? I understand that settling in requires much application and hustle, but it would be much easier on a full stomach. Wouldn't you agree, sir?"

He studied her for a moment before answering, a slight grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, a trait which she was finding to his common characteristic. "I do. And I can't turn down such an invitation. Thank you."

His eyes moved from her to Elizabeth, who stood slightly off to the side. They shared a glance that said he was defeated. Now this scene occurred every day for the remainder of Elizabeth's visit. Mr. Knightley would pass an hour or two in their company and join them for lunch each day. He became such a frequent sight at the Woddhouse's home, that all of them began to feel at ease with one another in an agreeable sort of way.

Elizabeth truly liked visiting with her friend. It was so nice to be alone by herself when she wanted to be or have pleasant companionship when she desired it. At home she had neither of these for the better portion of the day. Her youngest sisters, Lydia and Kitty spent their days visiting or parading around with their friends. Mary worked at the nearby hospital as a nurse for most of the daytime hours. Her mother, Mrs. Bennet, spent many days doing nothing but ordering Lizzie to and fro to entertain her until the girls got home. And then there was her father who spent the greater part of his day in his study, frowning over ledgers or reading a book.

She did enjoy her visits to Jane's though. Her older sister had married in recent years and Elizabeth could easily walk the two miles to her house in good weather. What good times she had in that beautiful happy home! Jane, ever the optimistic, loving sister, always cheered her when she felt low and always pointed out the blessings in her life instead of the hardships. She loved Jane dearly. And her husband, Charles, was exactly everything a husband and brother-in-law should be.

Mr. Charles Bingley, a prominent business man, had come into the neighborhood four years before. Everyone could see what a perfect couple he and Jane made, both possessing such sweet, gentle temperaments and friendly natures. When he and Jane began to become steadfast friends, Lizzie had cheered and urged her sister to realize her deeper feelings for Mr. Bingley. They were soon married and now lived happily in a large home on the outskirts of town.

A week into Elizabeth's visit, Emma announced that her cousin would be paying them a visit on the morrow.

Elizabeth looked up from her steamy porridge, "Your cousin? I didn't suppose you had any other family near."

Toying with her napkin, Emma replied. "Oh, yes I do. Don't you remember my mentioning my cousin William? He lives six or seven miles out in the country."

Elizabeth looked thoughtful and stirred her the oats. Searching back into her mind, she remembered vaguely, "Yes, I do. You didn't talk about him much though. What was his last name again, Garty, or Dearty?"

"Darcy. From my mother's side."

"That's it! I thought it was something like that. And does he have any siblings or parents?"

Emma frowned gently, "With the exception of his younger sister, Georgiana, no. His parents have both died in the last ten years."

"How sad." Elizabeth truly felt sorry for it. "And, when do you expect him?"

"Tomorrow afternoon sometime, that is if he can pull himself away."

"Away from what?"

Emma was stirring her porridge as well now and seemed not to hear her. "I'm interested in seeing you two meet."

Puzzled, Elizabeth asked why. She saw the same familiar gleam in her friend's eyes that Emma had when she was matching up a couple. The same look that came whenever they had attended a social function together, anytime single young men and women were present. Lizzie protested, holding up her hands as if to ward off Emma's thoughts, "Oh no, you aren't going to match me up with any Southerner! I will not allow it." She smiled widely despite her friend's wounded look.

Emma intertwined her fingers together and rested her chin on her hands, pouting. "I wasn't."

Remembering George Knightley, Emma stopped the conversation, not wanting to cause Lizzie any fatigue. She didn't seem ready to share with her about George yet, so she would just be patient.

Chapter Five

Posted on Monday, 2 January 2006

Emma brushed her skirt with a quick pat before standing to answer the door the next afternoon. She swung the front door open wide to receive her cousin, Mr. Darcy. Instead of a man she found a short dark boy of twelve.

"Hello, Zeb. Is everything alright at Pemberley?" Little Zeb was the son of one of Darcy's sharecroppers. He looked up at her and nodded his head.

"Yes'm, Miz Emma. It's just that Mas' Darcy found he can't visit you today, somethin's come up. He says to give you his 'grets and he'll call some other time."

Emma sighed softly before nodding, "Tell him that I understand. Now before you go, why don't you go 'round back and get a fresh tart from Alice?"

His eyes grew brighter with the promise of a treat and a broad grin broke forth, "Yes'm, Miz Emma. Thanks."

She turned away from the door and tried to wipe the disappointment from her countenance as Elizabeth came down the hall towards her.

"He couldn't come after all."

"Nothing serious, I hope?"

"Oh, no. Just some little matter, I'm sure."

George Knightley, who had been sitting in the stuffy parlor for over two hours, stood in the doorway to the parlor. He had been waiting to be present for Mr. Darcy's visit out of a sense of obligation to the Woodhouses. He began to shake his head and ran his fingers through his hair restlessly. His mouth crumpled into a frown. "A little matter? What could keep a man from postponing an overdue visit to his relations?"

Elizabeth pressed a hand upon his forearm gently, "Perhaps it was something he could not help, George."

George shook his head firmly, looked into her eyes and then away again in agitation, "No, Lizzie. There is one thing, one constant thing that a man can help. And that is that he can fulfill his duties. 'A little matter' is no good reason to postpone a man's duty to his kin."

He swept up his hat and coat off the chair that stood by the entrance and bowed hastily, "I apologize, Emma, Elizabeth, but I must leave. I have given a good part of my day to waiting for this man, who had not the courtesy to show up, and I have many pressing matters which I put off to meet him. Good day."

His words were so quickly and passionately uttered that he left Emma and Elizabeth speechless as he fairly stomped down the steps and walked down the sidewalk. Elizabeth closed the door deliberately before a fit of giggles erupted from her throat. She placed a hand over her mouth as she shook with glee.

Emma stood hugging herself with a look of pure bewilderment on her face. Her brows bowed deep together as she stared at the place where Mr. Knightley had stood just three seconds before.

"What just happened?" she asked, unable to keep the anxiety out of her tone.

Lizzie put an arm across her friend's shoulders, still heaving with laughter. "Don't worry. George is always like that. 'Duty' is practically his middle name. He is such a firm believer in the idea that "what needs to be done, had best be done immediately" that he is sometimes quite hard on those who fail to live up to it. I'm sure he'll cool off in a few minutes."

Emma looked worriedly at her friend, "He left so quickly... I thought he was upset with me for keeping him."

"Oh, no, dearest," Lizzie clucked reassuringly, "It's just your cousin he's upset with. And that will blow over soon enough."

"My one regret is that you will not meet Mr. Darcy today."

"Complicates things for you, does it, Emma?" Elizabeth glanced sideways at her matchmaking friend, knowing all too well the clockwork in her mind.

Emma protested, "No, it does not, Lizzie. You will meet him next week at the Anderson's anniversary celebration. That is ... if you'd like to come with me. I must attend out of cordiality. Since our families go far back together it is an absolute sin to miss special events. The Woodhouses and Andersons came over from England on the same ship, grew prosperous alongside each other, and have moved in the same society circles for ages. So you see I must go, not to make it sound like a chore. I know I will enjoy it."

"Oh, undoubtedly..." Elizabeth raised one knowing brow. "Of course. I'll be pleased to join you. Tell me, will there be dancing?" Her eyes danced with mischief.

Emma smiled triumphantly, "Yes, and William will surely have to ask you. So, there is no getting out it, Elizabeth Jean Bennet!"

Elizabeth feigned penitence, "Whatever your ladyship wishes."

But she then took a determined stance with her arms folded across her chest, "But I will not be induced to fall in love with him. I defy any one who tries to make me marry a man without a proper length of acquaintance first!"

"Oh, I rather think you would not have that problem with William. You two are very much alike in that respect."

"I should hope there is not another person like me. It could be a disastrous world, if it were true."

One evening that week, Elizabeth sat with Mr. Woodhouse by the fireplace, as Emma had gone to visit a friend. The chance for her friend to get out was so rare that Elizabeth was happy to stay and give her a few hours of relief. The house settled in comfortable quiet, the only prominent sound being the fire's crackles. Elizabeth held a few sheets of neat, fastidiously folded stationary between her fingers. Each line of words was scrawled with exact strokes, showing a fine hand.

Mr. Woodhouse looked over at her through his thick spectacles. "Is that a letter, Miss Bennet?"

She looked up, startled as she had been deep in thought, "Yes, sir. It is from my eldest sister, Jane. She likes to write me while I am away."

Mr. Woodhouse sighed, obviously attempting conversation of a sort, "That is very thoughtful of her."

Finding his odd way of address endearing, Elizabeth smiled faintly, "Yes, it is."

"Is she well?"

"She writes that she is doing fine." She looked down the page, having not finished reading it before. Her eyes stopped on a phrase. It seemed to stand out from the rest. As she focused her eyes more on it she exclaimed in surprise.

Mr. Woodhouse's little eyes grew large with instant concern. "What is it, Miss Bennet, something wrong?"

Elizabeth's face broke into a glowing smile. "No, no. Everything is quite well. It's just that Jane writes that she is to have her first child in the summer." Her cheerfulness had a calming effect on his nerves and he settled back in the chair; though a frown stole over his wrinkled face soon after the news sank in.

"I don't know why that should be a particularly joyful announcement, Miss Bennet. Babies are bothersome things. You never know what sort of diseases they are carrying or what they'll catch, infections and all that sort. Horrible bother." he muttered, returning to book in his hands.

Elizabeth chuckled softly, unable to resist laughing, "Mr. Woodhouse," she gently chided, just as Emma had, "you don't truly think so ill of babies? Why, they are delightful wee things! I plan to have a few myself someday."

His face scrunched up, "Oh, dear."

She turned back to the letter and hid her grin behind the sheets of paper. The sound of the front door opening brought their attention to the side of the room. Emma came inside. Her eyes danced about as she entered the room and took off her wraps. She walked to the fire and joined them.

"Ah, Emma, dear. You were gone such a long time. Were you alright? This cold night air can be quite detrimental to one's throat. What if you should have caught a cold! Have you already?" Mr. Woodhouse's voice squeaked, in increasing alarm.

She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead before sitting down. "No, Papa, it is perfectly warm this evening. I met Mr. Knightley on my walk home and he escorted me as far as the corner of the street. I was quite alright."

He nodded, assuaged by the knowledge that someone responsible had taken care of her. "He is a fine young man!"

Mr. Woodhouse's proclamation was not disputed. Emma murmured her similar praise while she watched Lizzie circumspectly. Her friend nodded and smiled in a particular way, then turned towards the fire; the smile lingered for many moments. Emma felt shame wash over her again as she saw what she thought as confirmation of Lizzie's attachment to Mr. Knightley. We, the readers, can devise that Elizabeth was only thinking on Jane's good fortune.

Later when Mr. Woodhouse had gone up to bed, Emma and Elizabeth sat by the fire, engaged in stitchery. Needlework had a soothing effect on one of them, while the other was having a harder time of it. Emma threw down her needle for the forth time in the past forty-five minutes. She muttered a gentle-womanly curse, held her thumb and grimaced as the little spot of blood surfaced above the skin. Elizabeth watched her in concern.

She moved her chair closer and took Emma's uninjured hand in her own. "Emma, what's wrong with you? You aren't usually like this. Is something on your mind? You have seemed distant ever since you walked in the door. Tell me, what is making you fret?"

Emma sighed, it must be said, "Lizzie, we are friends, aren't we?"

Taken aback by this odd question, she peered at Emma and tilted her head at an angle, "Yes, of course. You are my best friend, next to Jane."

Emma shook her head, "Then why haven't you...." She stopped, now afraid to ask the intrusive question.

"Why haven't I what? Spill it out, Emma"

"Why have you not told me about Mr. Knightley?"

"George? Whatever do you mean?"

Emma looked away, her heart aching. Why didn't Lizzie feel comfortable telling her? "Are you... are the two of you engaged?" There, she had said the dreaded words. She watched for Elizabeth's reaction. What she saw only gave her cause for disappointment, for her friend's cheeks slowly flushed crimson. Elizabeth took up her needlework and studied it deliberately.

Feeling a slight wave of betrayal, Emma spoke quickly, "Well, if you do not wish to discuss it, you don't have to. I do not mean to pry."

Elizabeth shook her head, "No, I owe you an explanation. I never told you, because it was a time of my life that I'd rather not dwell on. I met him, not for the first time mind you, at a charity rally to raise money for the soldiers, two years after you and I were dismissed from the school. Remember, the war was growing worse and more soldiers were signing up each day. I had known George when we were perhaps seven or eight. His father was my father's boss at one time, but I was not prepared for the new experiences this later meeting would bring."

Elizabeth's eyes turned thoughtful and the hint of a smile came, "I was helping set up the banners, carrying them from tables and tacking them to the doorframes. Silly me, I tried to climb a ladder, in a full skirt, with a large bundle of fabric and silk florets in my arms. I ascended the rungs. The first two were accomplished just fine. I completely missed the step of the third one and started to fall, sliding backwards towards the floor. Before I knew what was happening, arms grasped my waist and I found myself suspended in the air.

"After the gentleman set me down I turned to find the boy who I'd played 'Indians' with around our barnyard as children. You can well imagine my surprise, because the Knightleys moved away shortly after I turned nine. Here eight, nearly nine years later, was the same boy. Then, I noticed right off that he was not the same boy. He had filled out, grown excellently taller, and had.... Well, never mind the details." she blushed again before continuing.

"He began to call at our house whenever he could. I went on outings with his family as well. They lived several miles away, but he came each week, faithfully. I found myself liking his presence more and more each day. I was surprised when he asked me to marry him, for we had barely courted. I asked him to wait a few months for us to get reacquainted with one another and he agreed. Oh, he was dear, Emma. No girl could have asked for a more agreeable beau. Except Jane." she added with a twinkle in her eye.

"He finally asked me again month later, for he was anxious to set a date. I began to think that with the war stealing our young men left and right, I'd better take the chance even though I was not sure of my own heart yet. After all, a friend of mine always said, "True love in a marriage is a matter of pure chance and you should secure a husband as quickly as possible if you are keen on him in the least." So I agreed. We decided not to tell anyone for awhile, because his father was gone away serving the Union. Plus, I did not want an immediate flooding of Mama's joyous flutterings just yet. You see why I could not write you, with my mother and sisters around me all the time. I'm sorry that I did not tell you."

At this point in the story, Emma got up in a rush and moved to the window to stare out into the bleak darkness. Elizabeth felt a bit hurt, "Do you blame me, Emma? You remember how my mother is."

Emma shook her head, "Go on."

She had only moved to conceal her agitation and upset at the news. Emma realized that even though she had suspected their engagement, a small glimmer of hope had hung on, that perhaps they were not engaged. But they were, and she might as well get used to the idea. She could not allow her selfish feelings to outweigh Lizzie's need to reveal her tale. She listened quietly and forced the tears to stay pooled in the corners of her eyes rather than slide down her cheeks where she would have to brush at them.

"A mere two weeks before his father was to be released from his position, we received the most shocking news. Mr. George Knightley, Sr., had been shot badly during the Siege of Vicksburg, in May. He was part of a company that had attempted attacks on the city. They failed twice before finally gaining victory, you remember. While the fighting was hot just before the siege, George's father was sent home in bad condition. His bullet wounds, in the arm and chest were fatal. He did not live but one week after returning to his family. It was the first and only time that I've seen George lose control of his grasp on reality. He sank into depression for a solid fortnight. I spoke with him, tried to rally his spirits as often as I could. Oh, I was frightened to see him in that way! he hardly responded to any of us, neither his family, nor to me. I was desperate to help him snap out of his distraught daze.

"He was listless until I talked to him of our marriage. I didn't know whether or not he would want to go on with it. When he realized how much others depended on him, he did begin to reason better. He still wished to be married, but we again had to postpone it to give the family proper mourning. During this time, we began a blessing to one another. I helped him deal with his grief, lending a constant ear of sympathy to his pain. Meanwhile, he helped me to find out the precious nature of love.

Here again, she paused to gather her thoughts. Emma kept her face adverted for she now was all the more ashamed for her disloyalty in desiring Mr. Knightley for her own. Still, tears slid down her cheeks.

"I learned through him what real love is, or at least I caught an idea of it. Through his grief and pain, he still went out of his way to assure me that he still loved me. He showed me in every way what my parents have never exemplified in my life. True concern and admiration for one another is an emotion that has lacked very much in my family. No, perhaps I am being too harsh a judge on my family." Elizabeth pondered, "I suppose we do love each other in our queer little ways, but not to the extent that he showed in his consideration of me."

"I felt so confused at this time. It felt as if I was caught between a gray haze of indecision and a white, sparkling world of bliss and future." Lizzie's sigh was heavy as she revealed the truth, "Nevertheless, I concluded, after talking with Jane about her feelings during her own engagement, that even though George loved me, I could not return ... had not returned his affections as he deserved. I knew then after considering every feeling of my heart that I could not go on misleading him."

Emma raised her head with a surprised snap. "Surely, you did not call it off?" Could Lizzie have been that crazy?

She forgot her appearance and turned quickly on her heels to study her friend, but now Elizabeth's head was bent as she stared down at her lap, picking blindly at a half-sewn thread in the embroidery.

"I knew then that I could not offer him what he rightly deserved in a wife, Emma. I told him as gently as I could. And oh, Emma, how it pained me to do it! Although I did not love him enough to be his wife, I still cared for him more than I had for any man aside from my own father. He was not angry or bitter towards me. He simply took it and understood. He promised that no matter what happened he would remain my friend always.

"In time, I believe, George also saw that I was not suited to be his bride after all. He and I have remained friends in this way for many years, but neither one of us has ever renewed those sentiments which we both had before. I feel honored to call him my friend and I hope fervently that he will find the kind of woman that I could not be for him."

Emma gasped, causing Elizabeth to look up at her tear-stained face. "Lizzie, you mean you are not in love with him? You are not engaged?" Her eyes searched the floor as the impact of it all seeped into her conscious mind.

Elizabeth sensed the meaning of the tears and her eyes grew wide, in surprise and a flicker of delight. "What is it? Are you in love with him?"

Emma's own cheeks burned that she had been so careless as to expose herself. She shook her head but her eyes must have betrayed the secret. This was not at all what she had imagined her first confession to be like. When she was younger she had always thought that the young man in question would be the first to know of her attachment. How very vulnerable she was! Tonight certainly was a night for revelations!

Emma supposed Lizzie would laugh at her goose-headedness. Instead, she was caught up into a warm embrace. Elizabeth cheered. "This is wonderful!"

Emma drew back, panic evident in her eyes, "Lizzie, he must not know. You must not tell him! If he did, I don't know how I could bare to face him! Our acquaintance has been so short, he has hardly had time to settle in..." she ran on calling out all the reasons not to be in love with Mr. Knightley, as if stating such things would convert her heart. It was now most apparent that was in love with him!.

Elizabeth wanted to tap on Emma's forehead, to examine her pupils like a doctor to see if she was right in the brain. "I won't say a thing to him. This makes me so happy though. I had hoped that you would..."

Emma interrupted, quickly glancing at Elizabeth and then away again, "I ... a headache is coming on and I must go to bed. Goodnight, Lizzie." She retreated to her bedroom with haste. Her abruptness baffled Elizabeth for a moment before she shrugged it off. She suspected that Emma needed time to sort out her feelings.

Remembering that no one else was up and about, she let the fire dwindle before she smothered it down with ashes. As she climbed into bed later, she murmured out loud, "Mrs. Emma Knightley, it sounds so elegant!"

Chapter Six

Posted on Monday, 2 January 2006

Emma rose from her bed the following morning with dry, weary eyes. She had not slept much the previous night. She had tossed back in forth throughout the midnight hours with too many thoughts plaguing her mind. Time to get up, enough if she felt like staying abed.

Her feet touched the floor with a soft thump and she searched for her slippers and robe. Emma moved over to open the draperies that covered her window. She grasped the fabric roughly and pulled it away from the center of the glass. Light spilled into the room in bright shafts as she allowed more to enter in with each tug. She did the same with the other side until the light settled in her room, cheering the darkened space with promising sunlight.

A perfect setting for a walk, Emma concluded as she squinted out towards the large backyard of their property. Emma remembered their old home in the hills of eastern Virginia, the one they had lived in when she was a child. The humble spreading of trees and plants that now grew in the yard, suddenly changed into spacious woods of oak and wild flowers. In between the great trees there where little valleys that held hidden clusterings of elderberry and blackberry bushes. She remembered picking the plump segments of fruit with her gloved hands. Her mother walked beside her, with a basket in arm just like her small one, except Mother's was larger.

Tempted, little Emma ran to a fully loaded bush and gathered several tiny balls of the fruit and plopped them in her mouth. Her mother's gentle laughter carried across the vale, as if to call all the creations in it to a sense of joy. Her mother joined her, picking the berries with childlike pleasure. Soon she had rubbed her stomach and said they must save room for lunch.

Then in one cruel flicker, Emma was brought back to the present. Her eyes gradually filled with tears, "Mother, why could you not have lived to help me grow up?" Her eyes flooded fully as her last memory faded into the far-reaching parts of her mind. She reconciled herself to her duties and got dressed.

Smells greeted her as she walked into the dining room. The breakfast was already sizzling on the table and Elizabeth sat amongst the toast and eggs. She had not waited for Emma because she supposed the night had been rough. Emma murmured a "Good morning." and slid into her chair. Elizabeth's assessment was correct. She saw in a second the crescents of sleepless fatigue under her friend's eyes.

"I'm sorry I was not here when you started." Emma began.

Elizabeth chewed on a slice of bread before replying, "That is alright. I figured that you had a rough night."

Emma set down her cup of steaming herbal tea, something her father charged her to partake of each morning, she looked up and held Elizabeth's eyes with her own, "Lizzie, I would rather not talk about everything, if you don't mind. I need to think on other things."

Elizabeth nodded her understanding and returned to her bread.

So a week passed with neither lady uttering a word of their previous discussion. Emma tried to go on as usual, hardly varying in her attentions to Mr. Knightley. In fact, because she was so worried about him discovering her feelings, she carefully distanced herself from acting too familiar with him. After awhile her apprehension wore off and she felt again comfortable in his presence.

Elizabeth faithfully kept quiet, but her eyes sparkled in delight whenever George and Emma had a close, personal experience or conversation. The tongue may be held but the eyes are 'the window to the soul'; they could not lie very easily.

The girls made plans for attending the Anderson's anniversary ball. Mr. Knightley was entreated zealously to join them, because it was an open event which required no exclusive invitation. He gave in after a time.

Emma flounced around as excited as she had been as a young girl. Social engagements were the cream of her life. She enjoyed moving among people and talking with them, seeing their different ways and distinctive tendencies. She enjoyed large events because at gatherings it was much easier to bring people into circles which they would not have entered into without her aid. Emma had always been happy to introduce the worthy middle-classes to a new horizon of society, to people of her own status It always brought her such fulfillment to see individuals enjoy one another, especially if they were of opposite genders. She knew the party would be the perfect setting to make matches.

The afternoon on the day of the party, Emma chose her dress and accessories with care and hummed all the while. Meanwhile, in her own room Elizabeth stood frowning over her dresses. They were displayed on the bed, scarcely covering the expanse of it. Most all of them were too drab for a party. There were only a few dresses, one practical plaid, a light blue cotton, one grey calico, and a few others.

The only one that was acceptable in the least was her light yellow sprigged cotton with lovely pink floral print. She disliked the dress not because of it's color and design but because the yellow did not look well on her. It washed out her face in a horrible way. It was her only suitable choice though. So she applied her crinoline, petticoats and other underclothing, then finally slipped the dress over her dark head. She turned to the mirror to examine herself. Discontent was all she discovered in her appearance.

She went to Emma's room and knocked on the door. It opened, she slipped in and closed the door quickly, seeing that Emma was still in petticoats.

Elizabeth sighed, "Are you having difficulties too?" Emma nodded as she stood before the wardrobe, examining each gown as if it were a piece of fruit in the grocer's market.

"I hate this dress, but I didn't think to pack anything better." Elizabeth complained. Emma looked over her friend's outfit quickly.

"You look fine."

Elizabeth sank down onto the bed. "I know but..." Catching herself whining, she realized she sounded like her younger sister, Lydia. Elizabeth Bennet was not one to whine. She usually kept a stiff upper lip about such trivial matters.

Emma made a inattentive sound of sympathy before turning back to her own dilemma. The green silk, maybe. Or the pink one? She did not notice Lizzy breathe a huff of agitation. Emma was obviously too distracted to console her, so she turned to leave. She was halfway down the hall before Emma cracked open the door and called after her. "I'm sorry, Lizzie. What did you say?"

Elizabeth reentered the room and laughed, "Nothing of consequence, just complaining about my dress."

Emma's mouth formed a soft 'O' as she eyed Elizabeth's dress and turned to her collection of dresses. She picked one up, judging it's compatibility. "Here this will do, perhaps. As long as it fits we'll be in fine form."

Elizabeth tried not to covet as the raspberry fabric swished before her. Emma motioned her to come closer to examine the gown. It was made out of moiré taffeta, much finer quality than Lizzie's own dresses. It had the three tiers of fabric on the skirt that she had always admired. Each section was trimmed with ruffles. The short sleeves, slightly off-shoulder, draped just so. The bodice was plain except for a narrow belt of mauve fabric at the waist. She loved it immediately.

Emma exclaimed, "This will look lovely, don't you think?"

"I'm sure you will be a vision.." Elizabeth said, covering up her envy with a cheerful smile.

Emma frowned in false frustration, "You goose, I meant it would look lovely on you!"

"But, Emma I didn't mean to..." Elizabeth backed up a step, now ashamed of her grumbling.

Emma gave her an unquestionable look that told her not to argue, "You just put it on. I can't wear more than one dress at a time, so you had might as well wear it. Now shoo, before I put you into it myself!"

Elizabeth beamed in gratitude and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you. Emma, you are a true friend." She retreated back to her own room to carry out the orders.

When Elizabeth returned, Emma had slipped on the dress of turquoise that she knew complemented her eyes best. She surveyed Lizzie. "Now, that is more like it."

Elizabeth spun around in it, listening to the fabric rustle. "Thank you."

Emma tried to fasten on her matching blue necklace. Her fingers fumbled about and Elizabeth moved to help her. Sensing an unease in her, Elizabeth whispered, "Worrying about George?"

Emma nodded ever so slightly before walking forward to retrieve her ear bobs from the bureau. She fastened them quickly and looked into the mirror. "Thank you for keeping my secret, Lizzie. It means a lot to me."

"You are welcome, but don't worry. Any man would be foolish not to fall in love with you. You are perfect, you know. "

Emma laughed, reached towards a group of tiny colored bottles, picked one and added a drop of scent to her fan. "Here, smell this." Elizabeth leaned over to sniff. Her nose wrinkled in pleasure.

"It does smell good. May I?"

Emma gestured for her to go ahead and Elizabeth dabbed the slightest bit behind her ears. "Oops, I forgot my brooch. Better go get it."

Elizabeth, back in her room again, searched through her bag for the box. Beneath her extra petticoats she felt its bulk, smooth and round. She pulled it out, its wood gleamed in the light due to many years of wear. She always got a slight feeling of wonder and reverence when she opened it. Three generations of Bennet women had held the box in their possession. It was simple perhaps when compared to the current day's jewelry cases, but for its time it had been a cherished possession from their native home, Ireland. Elizabeth opened it and took out a small gold-rimmed brooch. She fingered the silhouetted woman for a minute before securing it at her throat.

Emma looked in, "Ready?"

Elizabeth grabbed her gloves, lacy shawl and shoes. Mr. Woodhouse greeted them at the bottom of the stair. He studied them, with hands in pockets, nodding with satisfaction. "Ah, you look lovely, Emma. You too, Miss Bennet. You will be a credit to Richmond society tonight."

Emma hugged him and gave him a tender kiss on the cheek, "Are Mrs. And Miss Bates here yet?"

"No, no. I do hope they have not come to any obstacles. You do not suppose they are late because of Mrs. Bates' asthma, do you? Oh, Emma! What if the night air is too cold for her? What if she has had an attack?"

He was hushed by the entrance of the two neighbors in question. Mr. Woodhouse's old and dear widowed friend, Mrs. Bates, shuffled into the hallway and greeted them in her quiet, barely audible voice. Her daughter, Miss Emily Bates, chattered on gaily about the drive over, the milkman who had been so obliging to her that morning, the beauty of the Woodhouses' decor, and on through several topics before being settled comfortably in the parlor.

Miss Emily was a spinster in her mid-forties. Though always good-natured as could be, her tongue was never still. She and her mother had asked to spend the earlier part of the evening with Mr. Woodhouse while the girls attended the ball. This arrangement was suitable for everyone and not many minutes later, Mr. Knightley's carriage was heard out on the street.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Bates, Miss Bates, Father. Do not wait up for us. The party may last 'til sunup." Emma called after gathering her cloak and Elizabeth's. They paid her little mind, being occupied on a discussion on the newest revolutions in cough syrups. Emma opened the door and she and Elizabeth stepped out to greet George on the steps.

"I apologize that I do not invite you in, Mr. Knightley I fear if we stay longer my father will find some excuse to keep us in."

George smiled, again in keen understanding. "Let's be off then. Miss Woodhouse, Miss Bennet." He offered a bow and an arm to each girl and they strolled down to the cab. The ride was not long. The building rented out for the affair was only a neighborhood or two away. As they stepped out, down a ways from the entrance due to many other carriages along the street, Elizabeth drew her cloak up to keep the mud from its hem.

George swung Emma up to the sidewalk and then her. They walked along the path to the crowded entrance of the building. People in their best array were everywhere, near the doorway, against the walls of the rooms, by the grand fire that blazed on the East wall, by a table of refreshments. Elizabeth felt lost in a blur of silks and fine suits. All the ladies had lovely gowns on. She looked down gratefully at her own dress and thanked Emma silently for her thoughtfulness.

Emma stepped up on tiptoes and whispered something in George's ear, pointing with a finger to a large group of people. He nodded and moved them through the sea of people in that direction. Elizabeth felt a hoopskirt brush hers as they fought through mass. With a feeling of relief, Elizabeth felt George stop on Emma's urging. There was a couple, presumably the Andersons, surrounded in a half circle of saluting guests.

Elizabeth noticed the man, Mr. Anderson, speaking with a strikingly well-looking younger man. His hair was black and wavy, his clothes neat and fashionable, and his features were strong. She felt a twinge of admiration as she studied him. Her attention was directed towards the hostess, who had taken Emma in a fleeting embrace. Mrs. Anderson's silky voice welcomed her to Richmond as she gave her a hug as well. Elizabeth smiled.

Chapter Seven

Posted on Sunday, 5 February 2006

The music wove through the air, exciting the guests to a rousing spirit. The tune, though unfamiliar to her, made Elizabeth's heart beat faster in eager thumps. She found herself tapping a foot in light rhythm. The fiddle eked out the melody. It rang loud at points, then would softly fade to blend with the other instruments. It was delightful. This was only the second set of the evening. Elizabeth was asked to dance the first by George, as it was customary to dance with your escort. Emma was taken by another acquaintance since Mr. Knightley could not separate himself to accommodate both ladies.

Lizzie watched the groups of ladies and gentleman take turns in the round dance. The men wove in and out, in front and in back of their ladies. They grabbed hands with the other gentleman.

The ladies stood facing away from the men with hands clasped behind their backs. The whole group then turned with light-footed hops to make a circle of motion. There were actually three large circles, as the number of people, when put in a circular formation, could not fit within the confines of the room. She estimated a good eighty to one hundred guests, a proper ball.

She was surprised that the illustrious Mr. Darcy had not shown his face yet. She saw Emma look towards the door in anxiety many times. If the man had decided to skip the affair then all the better in Elizabeth's opinion. She did not feel up to the challenge of dealing with Emma's matchmaking tonight. But she did wonder what sort of man he was. Emma would hardly give her a concrete description of him without particular encouragement, which Lizzie was not inclined to give her.

Her thoughts were scattered as a pair of polished shoes stood before her. The music had stopped. Elizabeth raised her eyes to study the man she had noticed earlier. He bowed, his sable shock of hair gleamed in the candlelight. His eyes searched hers captivatingly, "Excuse me, I don't believe we have been introduced. You will not think me ill-mannered if I ask for the next dance?"

Elizabeth smiled slowly. She readily accepted the offer. He bowed generously and cited his name. She didn't quite hear it over the din. Or perhaps it was because she was occupied in admiring his handsome features. He talked to her in a lulling, pleasing tone. "And may I venture to ask the name of such a lovely young lady?"

It was a slip of a second before she remembered her own manners and offered her name. He motioned for her to forego a proper curtsey since she was already sitting. He begged permission to sit by her while they waited for the musicians to finish their break. Elizabeth suddenly felt oddly warm all over as he sat beside her. Her better judgement and cool head were lost for a brief moment.

"Well, I suppose we could say something about the dance? Or perhaps you like to talk about the latest fashions?" He shook his head, "No, no. That won't do, because you do not seem that type. No, more intellectual than that, I collect ... I hope that does not offend you?"

She shook her head. "Not at all. I rather take it as a compliment."

"Tell me, Miss Bennet, tell me all about yourself." Something about his forward way made Elizabeth feel at ease.

She laughed pleasantly, "There is not much to tell."

He argued, "That can not be true. Well, let's see ... to start off, have you lived in Richmond long, how many beaus have you had, do you have one now, and what is your favorite pastime?" His eyes sparkled playfully.

Laughing even more, Elizabeth answered his questions as rapidly as he had asked them. "No, I never have. A few. No. And I like most anything that promotes enlightenment of the mind and spirit, except long-winded sermons."

He looked at her admiringly. "That's a beginning, isn't it? You say you have never lived in Richmond?"

Elizabeth looked around for Emma, hoping to point her out, but she was lost in the crowd. "Yes. I'm here visiting an old friend. I am actually from Pennsylvania. "

"How fortunate for you." He looked off towards the dance floor. She studied him, curious about the bitterness in his voice. Strange, he sounded slightly Southern, but had all the jaunty air of the boys back home.

"You do not like it here?"

He returned his attention to her. "Oh, I suppose it is alright, the city and all. But I can't abide the extreme communal pride of many here. They know only how to command those they think to be their inferiors."

Elizabeth looked at him, feeling a sympathetic pang, "You sound bitter..."

He looked so mournful. His features hardened a little, "I have good reason. Miss Bennet, I have been abused by the pride and self-absorption of several men in my day, but one in particular I shall never forget. His inflictions upon me have likely wounded my prospects for life. I have dealt many years with the injustices he issued. I've tried to make the best of it. I do try not to complain, I have much to be grateful for. "

Elizabeth frowned and gave him an empathetic look. "What happened?"

The young man sighed, studied his gloved hands before looking up at her. He looked just as if he would tell her when instead he smiled and patted her hand. "Nothing that a pretty thing like you should have to worry about. Come, the musicians look ready to start up again." He stood and offered his right hand. She placed her left one on top and they joined the group forming for a waltz.

When the dance had ended, he escorted her back to her seat. Elizabeth sat down, laughing. He told marvelous jokes. He sat again at her side and they talked for a few minutes more. He finally stood, "Well, Miss Bennet, this has been a rare pleasure. I fear propriety commands that I dance with several ladies. Though, I would rather spend the entire evening speaking with you." he offered a kiss on her hand and walked away.

Elizabeth sat back, still stunned, with her hand in the air. Quickly she drew it back and set it on her lap. A blush crept over her cheeks as she thought how ridiculous she had been acting. She brushed her skirt, brushed an arrant curl from her eyes and played with the small plain gold band on her finger.

A few minutes later, Emma came up in excitement. Her eyes held an animated spirit as she grabbed Lizzie, pulling her to her feet. She leaned over and whispered, "Are you busy for this next dance?" Elizabeth shook her head.

Emma nodded, "Good. Come with me." She guided her friend to the entrance of the room. Elizabeth knew right off. Mr. Darcy had come at last.

Swarms of people lounged about the door. Elizabeth knew that Emma was fighting the urge to grin from ear to ear as she placed her in front of two men. One was of stocky build, with longish blond hair and green eyes. He smiled at her good-humoredly and nodded. The other was quite tall and had a distinct air about him. He seemed different from his companion perhaps distant, disgruntled, aloof? Lizzie could not decide how to assess his character.

She hoped that the jollier one was Mr. Darcy but he was not. Announced as Colonel Fitzwilliam, the stocky man bowed and his grin broadened. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Bennet."

She returned with a curtsey, smiling softly, "As am I, Colonel." He was not in uniform, so she supposed he had quitted the army. Whether he had been a Rebel soldier or a Union one, she couldn't help but like his cheery demeanor. His companion, obviously Mr. Darcy, had been staring alternately from the floor to his cup of punch. He was solemn and silent, hardly regarding her with the same curiosity she had for him.

Emma touch his arm lightly, "Mr. Darcy, may I present my dear friend, Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

Mr. Darcy's eyes scarcely swept over her before he bowed curtly and muttered a half-hearted greeting. He stared at his cup as if it were the most curious thing in the world. Elizabeth was amused ... a Southern gentleman who lacked in manners. She had only been in that part of the country for a few weeks, but she already knew that such men naturally carried an air of the utmost gentility. She was taken aback by this show of detached behavior. Her interest was peaked, "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, sir." He only nodded and grunted something impassively.

Emma frowned and took his arm, trying to direct his attention more to the situation at hand. "Will, Elizabeth is my friend from Pennsylvania, you remember?" She leaned over to direct a statement toward Colonel Fitzwilliam. "You see, Colonel, Lizzie and I went to school together as girls. Now that the war is over, I thought it high time to see her again."

The Colonel chatted perfectly with them both as Darcy shifted his feet and stared unseeingly at the dancing couples. Emma, seeing Lizzie occupied with the Colonel, took the opportunity to whisper in her cousin's ear. "Come on now, Will, do be a bit more sociable!"

He sighed and gave her a contemptuous look. His face turned slightly red before he left their group with a clipped, "Excuse me." Emma watched his backside travel the length of the room before he melted into the crowd. She hid a frustrated huff inside her own colored cheeks.

Elizabeth observed Mr. Darcy's hasty retreat. She turned to the Colonel, raising her brows in amusement. He smiled roguishly at the question in her features. "My cousin is ill at ease at such an assembly as this."

Elizabeth gazed at the spot were they had last seen his tall withdrawing figure and gave a playful, "Indeed?"

Elizabeth's feet ached. She longed to take off her slippers and rub at the sore spots that very minute. Across the room, near a very large clustering of houseplants, there was one unoccupied chair. She moved to it with relief, sat down and rested her glass of water on the wide rim of a pot. The plants nicely shielded her from eyes of others as she sat and quickly removed a shoe. She methodically rubbed the arch of her foot which smarted from all the hopping she had just done in the last dance.

She replaced the shoe and proceeded with the other one when a shadow fell over her hiding place. A person's back blocked her view of the dance floor. She fell quiet as she noticed it to be the intrusive figure of Emma's cousin. Her view through the leaves and stems allowed her to see only a little of the interaction, but she recognized Emma's voice through the greenery.

"Why do you stand here like a lump of coal? Why aren't you dancing?" Emma's tone was slightly accusative as she spoke. He sighed and stretched his arm impatiently, gesturing towards the mass.

"Emma, I've told you how much I dislike parties such as this. I cannot find a suitable partner among all these silly girls. Watch them all simpering for the attentions of their besotted men. Foolishness. No, it would be a folly for me to stand up with anyone but you."

"Oh, poppycock! There are several girls who are equal to us in social standing. You didn't show up the last two balls and I'm holding you to make up for it."

Rigid silence hung over them for a few seconds before Emma looked up, forcing herself to be calm against his stubbornness. "Why don't you ask my friend, Miss Bennet, to dance? She knows no one here except myself. It would be a great service to me, to yourself, perhaps even to her. I haven't seen her out among the dancers much."

He grunted and replied gruffly, "Emma, I know what you are trying to do. It won't work. Besides, if young ladies are slighted by other men, don't look to me to patch up their mistakes. It isn't fair for me to extend myself simply because others fail to do their duty."

Emma wrung her hands in mounting anger, "Duty! It is your duty, Will! Don't group together those "others who fail to do their duty" unless you include yourself in it. Elizabeth is a worthy partner for anyone and she is pretty too. You are the one who will regret this night."

"She seemed tolerable, I suppose. Hardly pretty enough to tempt me though. Go on, Emma, dance with your young men. Enjoy their smiles, enjoy your time with them instead of wasting it on me."

Emma clutched her fingers tight against her palms and walked away in quiet rage. He was so bullheaded! She was just glad that Lizzie hadn't heard the insults. She did not see her friend step out from her place of concealment and move quietly along the wall, away from Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth's cheeks were warm, and her heart thumped loudly with knowledge of what had just been said. She would find some way to pay the so-called gentleman back for his indifference. She really did not care about his not dancing with her, but his remarks about her person were inexcusable. She leaned back and thought very hard. A wicked smile played on her lips, she smacked them noiselessly as she always did when she had a grand idea.

About a half hour later, after she had gotten a cup of warm cider, she walked up to the offending person. He stared stonily ahead until she coughed to get his attention. He looked at her briefly before looking away. He acknowledged her presence with a jaded sigh, "Miss Bennet."

She cradled the cup in her hands and copied his stance, staring towards the whirl of dresses and coats. "Mr. Darcy. Are you enjoying yourself this evening?"

He grunted, and sipped his own beverage silently. Elizabeth continued, "I wondered, do you think Emma is handsome tonight?"

"She is not unpleasant in any way."

"Do you like her dress? I think it becomes your cousin very well."

Mr. Darcy rolled his eyes as if to say, "Why don't you leave me alone, little girl!"

"Yes, blue always looks well on her."

"Ah, but you are wrong, sir. It is a pure shade of turquoise, not blue." She started to move around him in front. "Well, I must go see the Colonel. Excuse me..."

She sneezed violently at that very moment, losing grip of her cup. It fell a few inches, spilling the searing liquid out the edges before she caught it with an expert hand. Mr. Darcy gasped as the cider doused his wrist. His eyes widened as he stared down at his hand which would soon be sticky. Elizabeth withdrew a handkerchief from her pocket and mopped up the spill from his cuff. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

Her voice was raised to a touch of mockery, though she tried to refrain. He looked, still very wide-eyed at her as if seeing her for the first time. She then waltzed away like the incident had never happened.

Elizabeth cast a glance backwards to see him still staring after her, his mouth agape. Though she prevented the laughter that bubbled up, a smile of impish delight spread across her face. She kept walking until she blended into the crowd.

As for poor Mr. Darcy, he stared, amazed, at the spot where she had stood. He closed his mouth and looked at the floor. Perhaps it was an accident. But that puckish smile, that saucy look in her eyes. Was that Emma's friend? He looked at her handkerchief, which he still held dumbly in his hand.

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