In Doubt of A Return

by PrettyPet

"I have no idea that she has yet ever seen a man she cared for. It would not be a bad thing for her to be very much in love with a proper object. I should like to see Emma in love, and in some doubt of a return; it would do her good." - Mr. Knightley Emma, chapter 5

AU – What would happen if Mr. Knightley intended to stay in London until he got over Emma? Picking up after Mr. Knightley decides to go to London and after Emma learns there has been a massive miscommunication.

All characters belong to the beautiful mind of Jane Austen. Here is my imaginings of what might have happened if the ending was drawn out just a little. Just maybe would have his wish!

She had never been to the sea but Emma felt she could well imagine the feeling of being tossed around violently in the trashing waves.

It must have been chaos; it must have felt something like this.

She had lived so much of her life sailing on perfectly clear seas, and in an instant she was Robinson Crusoe amidst the shipwreck or perhaps a helpless pawn staring direct into the heart of Shakespeare's Tempest.

Her closets neighbour— no, more than that, her closest friend was leaving Highbury. And worse, even when she had pressed him on it, Mr. Knightley had given no indication of when he thought to return.

As sudden as the trip was, he said he had been considering it for some duration and was finally going. Evidently, he had not planned in greater detail than that.

The worst of it was she couldn't help but feel she had not yet regained her footing yet in his regard. They had yet to interact together in the jovial and pleasant way they were accustomed. Since Box Hill, things had not been the same. She felt that there was little she could do to repair the fissure; time would have to take its course. Yet it felt unfair at the same time; afterall, Miss Bates had re-ingratiated Emma into their good opinion after a few hours spent in her company. Mr. Knightley, though at best a second party in the original offense, was not so quick to forgive her. It was tangibly different, he had been stiffer, more formal and she felt less esteemed by her closest friend. The fall from grace was keenly felt and his departure meant the feeling was likely to last until he felt it prudent to return to Highbury—his timing almost felt cruel as it was going to undoubtedly prolong the miserable feeling of being punished.

Her friend had left for London; she was quite sure if not for her father, she would not have seen him beforehand. His reasoning was obvious to her, and it had nothing to do with the fact that Donwell was located nearer to London than Hartfield. In past month Emma was certain he would have backtracked solely to talk to her before leaving Highbury for just a day trip—it was obvious to her that she was not yet restored in his favour. Still, he came to sit for a very short duration before bidding them both well and leaving direct to London from their very door.

She knew it would be difficult, that her friend's absence would be profoundly noticed but she truly had no idea.

The next few weeks had scraped past and it felt as if each day had come and brought with it a renewed sense of what the highest point of frustration felt like.

Isabella had written twice, first to say that all was well, Mr. Knightley had arrived, and then to inform them that Mr. Knightley had spent the first few days with them at Brunswick Square and then he had let a house of his own near enough to theirs to please all.

Emma felt positively ill at the news. Mr. Knightley had always gone to London with the express intention of being near his brother and his nieces and nephews. His trips were never long enough to make one wish for more of one's own space. It was dreadful news and she could not rightly answer for the panicked feeling she felt pressing in her chest. She knew he would be in London longer than she could ever have expected.

Mr. Knightley's own letter arrive a few long days after Isabella's second letter –it was clearly written for her father, as he mentioned in detail the freshness of the air and the distinct lack of draughts, and she was not mentioned at all saved for the finale which requested his regards be given to her.

She felt annoyed. In his absence, who did he think would read the letter to her father and pen the reply? Was he still so cross with her that he could not enclose a simple note to her attention? It vexed her to no end that she was merely addressed in the closure of the letter.

How could he? He was her dearest friend. How could he have left to London before she had been given the chance to right things fully between them? Surly his absence would not have been so painful if he had left her on an amiable footing. Then he would have written the letter with mentions to her and special comments and anecdotes that were no doubt added solely for her interest. How things had been left between them and Mr. Knightley letter absorbed her thoughts and she could hardly focus on her way to Mrs. Weston's.

The violent sea continued to rail against her, passing the post office, Miss. Cole flagged her down and gave a quick testimony of what she had just heard from her father. Donwell Abbey was to have visitors; a Sir Thomas Browning and his wife—close friends of Mr. Knightley.

It simply could not be. Afterall, who were the Coles to be relied upon for testimony on a subject such as this? Donwell would never be let to anyone, it just wasn't the way of things in Highbury. Owning more land than anyone else in Highbury, Mr. Knightley was well set up financially. And as such, there could be no motive for it. It was idle gossip, the kind which Emma would not be partial to. She told Miss. Cole, with as much tact as she could manage, that her father must be mistaken and continued towards the Weston's. Despite her confidence on the matter, her mind continued to race and she felt suddenly in doubt of everything. For the first time in her life wishing she had taken a carriage rather than walked the normally comfortable distance to Weston's.

Her mind made hast in seeking answers. Surely Mr. Knightley would have mentioned it in his letter; it was not the sort of shock he would wish to expose her father to. He would not want his closest friends to find out from someone other than himself. It was a silly thing to even consider worrying about.

It had no merit and it reinforced her belief that people in trade were where they found themselves in the eyes of society for all the right reasons.

Since the arms of a friend always are a comfort and because of her thoughts plagued her so, the arms of Mrs. Weston were a very welcome relief. Yet, on deeper inspection, it seemed her friend was holding in some type of news. From the pained expression and her tone as she asked Emma to sit first, it was sure to be bad news. Emma felt panic leap forward within her immediately. Already overwrought, her mind produced the wildest of conclusions. Father? Could something have happened during her short journey here? Surly that was impossible! Mr. Knightley? Isabella? One of the children? Had someone she loved come to some harm? What had happened? She demanded to be told quickly, feeling her heart in her throat and tears brimming.

It was nothing of the kind. It was to say that Frank Churchill had been secretly engaged to Jane Fairfax, all the time and longer than he had been known in Highbury. It was shocking news to be sure, but part of her did not feel the presence of mind or energy that would be required to take it up fully. It was absurd news, the most ludicrous news she had heard in all her life. In took her long minutes to realize what the news really meant in its entirety; suddenly she was struck with compassion for her friend. Harriet once more would be given crushing news, once more it fall to Emma to be the deliverer of such unfortunate news.

In the face of the tiredness she felt sweeping through her and the low buzzing angst within her mind, she had no choice but to continue straight away to Mrs. Goddard's. Her mind was restless and she felt as if at every turn she was taking on more water. Mrs. Weston had confided in her about Frank Churchill and the liaison with Jane Fairfax. Now, despite her tussled mental state, she needed to covey the news to her dear friend, with careful tact as to not hurt her more deeply. If nothing else, she had encouraged Harriet to hope, and for this reason she could not stand to allow her friend to learn of the news from another person.

The sea rolled violently once more in Harriet's small room in Mrs. Goddard's academy. News that should have disturbed and shaken brought no strong reaction.

Harriet's confession was the biggest shock of all. The deluge that accompanied that ocean swell overwhelmed every thought and sensation—Emma realized instinctively that she could not bear a single drop of water more. She removed herself from the situation as quickly as she was able; tact seeming to become less important as the furious sea waves crashed against her, roll after roll with no reprieve.

She rushed toward home with frantic foot falls.

He could not be in love with Harriet. No matter what Harriet believed to be true, it could not be.

The strong thought that had seized her mind while she listened to Harriet's confession was that Mr. Knightley should marry no one but herself. This thought was robust despite the tiredness and chaos that had been afflicting her. She knew at once that she had never known her own heart as well as she did at that moment. Her mind answered quickly that Mr. Knightley could not have loved her in return; one did not leave the side of one the cherished of their own volition.

Just the same, Mr. Knightley could not be in love with Harriet. Harriet was not in London; it was not realistic to think that he would depart—unless he was taking the time any prudent man would take in order to be very certain before making a decision that would change everything. Marrying Harriet would change everything; one such as Mr. Knightley would indubitably want to give such a decision a great deal of earnest thought. In this case, it might be practical to seek a reprieve in order to examine with thoughts that were not augmented or addled by the proximity of the loved one.

He was in love with Harriet.

Her heart tensed sharply in the throes of that capsizing wave.

The pain was too much. How did one bare pain such as this with brave fortitude? Perhaps one didn't; she had taken on too much water and the repercussion was that tears were streaming down her face. She would have to take the long way back as to be certain that she wasn't seen in this state.

She resolved she must do something. Afterall, how could she live with the thought that while there was still time, still a marginal chance to help her dear friend see reason, that she sat idle and allowed every moment to pass her by.

She could not.

How could she give up her sole chance as convincing her dearest love that she was more than a petulant child, his closest friend and kindly neighbour?

She would not.

She came to the conclusion that she would have to go to London. There was no other option. She would need to have a skillful plan; thankfully she had spent her youth the mastermind of many plans and felt confident that she could carry out any plan she put her mind to.

The critical piece was that she could not abandon her father in order to go to London; and her father would never concede to go to London, dirty as it was imagined and with the air as poor as he believed—it would be impossible.

Someone looking inward may have thought his constant worry and nervous temperament was vexing but Emma never had. It as much revealed his personality as it reflected his deep care for all around him. And to his credit, her father was an understanding man, a deeply compassionate father and there was no denying that he only wanted the best for both his daughters. Yet, she knew before attempting out that she could not convince him to travel to London—at least not without an incredible risk.

She resolved she must tell her father what it was she felt for Mr. Knightley. She knew her father would never misuse or share the information with another; he was the most loyal of souls. There was no person she trusted equally; save for Mr. Knightley himself.

"Father, are you quite warm?" she asked siting his tea near him, and tucking the lap blanket tighter at his side.

He nodded his contentment; silence was normally as sign of such a state, as any worry or improving suggestion was always voiced immediately out of concern for the well-being of all.

"Father, I have something to confide in you—I" she paused drawing on bravery to continue, if she was not sure she loved Mr. Knightley so well, she never could have continued, "I am not sure how you will take what I say, but I know that you love me so well and I trust that you will understand."

"Dear me Emma, what is it? It sounds as if you are about to reveal something dreadful,"

"It isn't dreadful, well not entirely. Father, in the last few days I have been seeking my heart on the subject of my feelings and I have come to understand that I care very deeply for Mr. Knightley," she explained.

"Well of course, as do I, and as we all do," her father agreed wholeheartedly.

She found herself chuckling lightly contrary to the nervous energy that coursed through her body, "What I mean to say, Father, is that I think I have come to be very much in love with him. I do not exactly know when I began to feel this. I was not aware that I loved him until a few short days ago but since I discovered this feeling it has been impossible to ignore. I am very certain the love I feel has been stowed deep within my heart for a very long while because the roots are impossibly deep,"

"My dear," he breathed out in the truest shock. A feeling she could very much identify with.

"I know it is alarming to be exposed to the idea all at once, I can fully sympathize" Emma agreed with a compassionate smile, "I must stress that Mr. Knightley has done nothing to encourage this feeling and I have not told him of it. It was not the source of his departure," she offered with a dark humour.

Her Father made a grunting noise that told her he was listening but he gave her no advice and voiced no worry.

"The truth is that I am fearful that I am too late; has left to London and I am unsure of his return to Hartfield, this trip maybe the last he makes to London as a single man,"

"Surly not," her father disagreed unreservedly.

"Father, I have no claim to him, no more than any friend or neighbour—it is entirely possible that he could be entertaining the idea of marrying another. I could not blame him if he did not see me even as a prospect, afterall, I had no notion of him in such as light until short days ago."

"Darling Emma, no women lives that would challenge you! You are the loveliest and the very best, no one could hold a candle to your charm and goodness," her father encouraged petting her cheek.

"Father, as much as I would love to believe that is true, I have a feeling deep feeling of the contrary—an intuition you might say. The feeling is strong and it tells me that if I fail to act, life may force upon me a different path than I would choose myself,"

"Ah, fate, yes—" he sighed, clearly lost momentarily to some memory or other, probably of his own love story—cut short much too soon by the death of her mother.

"Yes, fate—it is strong when we have no means to stand against it; I, however, have a plan, and to carry it out, I must go to London and be near once more to Mr. Knightley,"

"Surly not Emma! Your plan will keep; you may be near to him here, when he visits at our hearth. Mr. Knightley will return sooner than you expect; afterall, he can never stay away from Highbury long,"

"Father, I have reason to disagree. First, I have must repent of writing a short note to Mr. Knightley without your knowledge; but it was only to the express purpose of ascertaining if there was truth to the rumor that he has let out Donwell Abbey,"

"He would not," he father echoed her own distain at the notion.

"In that respect you are correct; he does not receive any payment for the service but has given it up for a friend in kindness—to much the same effect. He has agreed to allow his very dear friends to spend until the fall residing at Donwell. It is part of the prescription to help the wife recover from a long and taxing illness; our climate, gentle solitude and the fresh air of the Highbury countryside are recommended for her well-being,"

"I would never have believed it but from you Emma," he father offered with disquiet.

"Nor I, but to hear it from Mr. Knightley himself! Yet as it is confirmed—it makes it very clear that I must go to London. I must take a risk to save my heart from a lifetime of misery. As I could never leave you Father, although I know it goes against your every grain, your very inclination for safety and your every fear, I must entreat with you to join me."

"What do you mean do in London, quarrel with fate?" he asked softly, he knew well the vibrancy of her spirit and strength of her mind once applied to any task.

"I mean to do what I have always done for others; I mean to set my mind to make a match with Mr. Knightley,"

"Very well my dear, I will abide with your plans, but you must agree to every precaution—shawls, veils, lap blankets for the carriage, emulsions, the most competent of coachmen, scarfs, smelling salts, laudanum, cold compresses, clean sheets, long wool socks, cod liver oil—"

Emma sat staring at her father in shock, his list continued into the night and she couldn't fully comprehend that he had agreed, with so little real effort. She had set her mind to spending many nights of pleading, convincing and explaining, and here in one short evening he was drawing up a list of supplies and precautions.

The drawing room at Brunswick Square was warm and relatively subdued. The intermittent turning of pages as George Knightley read the paper, the occasional grunt from John Knightley as he burrow himself in his ledger, solving remaining work left over from the day.

Isabella joined them as soon as the children were in bed, "Oh, George, you've arrived!" she exclaimed cheerfully—expression an emotion he was not able to relate to in the recent weeks—and almost vexing him in the process. He willed himself to be at ease, to see her cheerfulness without envy; without thinking of the fact her eyes took on the exact same glint that Emma's did under the same conditions.

"You both will not believe it!" She exclaimed, pulling the letter from her pocket—and opening it with a dramatic flourish. "You will never guess what news I have from Hartfield," she added with glee.

Indeed, he felt he could guess.

He'd heard it just before receiving the note from Emma asking if he had let out Donwell. He'd heard it from the Coles; even those in trade had beaten poor Isabella to the punch—but at least Isabella was accustom to coming in second. She'd known no other occupation since her sister's first coos transfixed every audience since her birth.

Frank Churchill was secretly engaged to Jane Fairfax, poor thing. Yes, he'd heard it days ago and yes, it was admittedly shocking,

He knew the instant he heard it that he had been a fool. The shocking news about the Churchill/Fairfax union reinforced the fact that he had acted rashly. He'd agreed weeks ago that his good friends the Browning's would stay at Donwell Abbey. They would enjoy Donwell in all of its solitude and splendor, while the Lady recovered from her illness and in turn he would spend his time it London recovering from his own brand of weakness. If one could recover from such a feeling that is. He had no choice but to try it.

It had seemed the perfect solution at the time. He was keen not to sit and watch as Emma flirted and giggled with Frank Churchill—while they fell in love. He would not force himself to smile while his dearest love acted out her interest for another in obnoxious display before his eyes. He was no glutton for punishment, he would not bring that upon himself. He would do what any wise man might do in a situation of love unrequited. He would not pretend at bravery, he would stay away from the source of its sting.

He had decided firmly with himself that he would leave to London and would not return until things were settled on account of Emma. Yet, he was not so strong or self-confident to imagine he could resist returning; Emma called to him at all hours, it was a siren's song indeed.

It seemed almost providential that his friends were looking to let a house in the country. It was the perfect solution; to give up use of his house would mean that he would not have a place to return until Fall. He could not be tempted back to Highbury no matter his emotions and surly he could convince his heart to feel differently by then. Or until Emma settled the matter by agreeing to marry Churchill.

Now he felt his blunder, his friend would be alone to sooth her heartache; the aged wisdom in him thought maybe she would learn better without him there to pick up the pieces. Mostly he felt that attitude of his softer side, the part of him that had always sought to console Emma and clear the path ahead of her of anything that might hurt or hinder her.

Regardless of the situation, he was not a man known to be fickle. He was a man of his word and he would stand by his agreement with the Browning's, despite the change in events. As sorry as he was to leave his friend in a place of heartbreak, what else could be done about it?

"Isabella, surly you talk of the expected union between Jane Fairfax and Frank Churchill," he replied dryly not belaying any of his feelings, "friends from Highbury have talked of nothing else for the last two days," he offered sounding almost bored; if only to assure her that she wasn't as up on the gossip as she may have thought.

Besides, if her letter from Emma looked anything like his own, it was curt and to the point. Hardly the source of tantalizing gossip-it was hardly worth the effort of the messenger.

Mr. Knightley,

I have heard a rumour that you have let out Donwell Abbey. I'm sure my gasp of distain could be heard even in London. I told the person that they were unfortunately mistaken. I feel foolish to even ask such an asinine question but please reply with your word on the matter.

Emma

Isabella laughed at his remark, "Goodness no, that is old news!" she agreed. "No, what I speak of now is something you will truly never guess," she assured him, looking every bit the cat that got the canary.

He kept his silence, part of him wanted to ask her nothing about it just to see her stir with impatience, she would likely suffer more trying to keep it in than he would suffer from not being told.

He shook his head, "Go on," he offered smoothly, keeping his uninterested tone.

"My sister—"she cut her herself off with a happy squeal.

Emma what? His mind reeled frantically trying to land on what might bring such elation to Isabella.

He could think of only one thing that ladies generally squealed about: engagements. Emma could not be engaged, she was certainly not— not with Frank Churchill having spoken in favour of Jane.

He felt a sense of dread washing over him. Maybe it was not Frank Churchill that had Emma's attention, some other figure, some other man? But who? Who else in Highbury? No, strike that! Who else in the entire world, was a fit for Emma?

No one. His mind answered sternly. He was certainly not vain enough to think it was him. He'd enjoyed the privilege of calling her friend; though socially of the same status, Emma was the height of the stars above any other person in his acquaintance—she graced them all with her presence.

"Emma what?" He asked quickly, unable to stand not knowing a second longer. It was entirely unbearable.

She beamed at her ability to capture his interest.

"You positively won't believe it! Emma and my father are coming to London to stay at Brunswick Square!" she announced with excited zeal.

"Surly not!" remark John, raising his head from his ledger for the first time all evening. "How did she manage it?"

"I'm—I am not quite sure," Isabella hummed back. "Maybe she played upon his heart of compassion. His only wish has always been that we would be healthful and happy. There were rumors that Frank had his eye set on Emma. Maybe Emma asked Father for a reprieve from the whole thing, surly the gossips are enough to drive even the most steadfast mad. And afterall, Father must know that she would not be happy to stay in Highbury while Jane and Frank remained there," Isabella speculated.

"But I heard they were to go to Yorkshire shortly, mere days from now," John entered in once again.

"I'll admit, I do not know Father's intentions or how she bent his mind to it, but if anyone could convince anyone, of anything, it would be Emma!" Isabella laughed merrily. Isabella was right, the perfect creature could wrap anyone around her finger in a heartbeat if her applied herself to it.

He felt the deepest sense of contentment, Emma was coming to London. And that in its own way settled things, helped solve for his blunders.

His friend would be near again.

His friend was not attached to Frank Churchill. She was, so far as he knew, not attached to anyone.

Despite his blunders, despite his errors, she would be in London.

Perhaps her whole purpose in the trip was to be near him. Not for the reason his heart would enjoy but for the sake of friendship.

Would one travel so far for a friend? Yes, yes one would—especially one such as Emma—one who invested heavily in order to form deep relationships with only the select few.

Who else did she have? Mrs. Weston was not the best to help one heal after the pain inflicted by Frank Churchill—despite all her good qualities, she could never be bipartisan, not even with the best of intentions. Harriet Smith? He'd just heard from Robert Martin that he intended to make a second offer to the pretty but foolish Miss. Smith (his words not Mr. Martin's)—if the girl had any sense whatsoever Emma would find herself short of yet another friend.

Regardless of her reasons, she would be in London and he would need to carefully decide his course.

I haven't written a fan fiction in eons! This is my first Emma (and historical piece). Please offer insights, critique and any ideas or suggestions! Do you even like the idea? Should this fiction continue? Also, I found a few places where proper names were eaten -Mrs. Weston for example was taken out of a sentence during the upload. If you spot any of these that I missed, can you be total dears and let me know?

Thanks,

Pretty Pet