I have decided to throw away all present worries and just ... well, post this. I was saddened by the lack of Emma/Mr. Knightley stories out here, and since I am just so in love with the pair (obsessed, more like), I've decided to, er, add my stories to the mix, I guess. Please be gentle.

-Marilolo

- - -

'Do you believe you shall ever marry, Miss Taylor?'

Emma turned her head in inquisitiveness towards her companion, silently regarding the rippling surface of the lake, and only a faint blush showed her understanding and curiosity of the matter almost as much as Emma did; but Miss Taylor only smiled at the girl, which aroused such a suspicion that her eyes lit in excitement and she exclaimed passionately: 'Oh, do tell, Miss Taylor! Pray, for I am such a lonely creature here - my stories have all been duly read, you know they have! I have been so in want of a story, and I adore love stories - have you one to tell, Miss Taylor, perhaps of your own experiences?'

'A story! Emma, I have none of the sort! To be sure, if any man had regarded me with anything more than polite courtesy, I would have been head over ears in love by now. Nay, dear Emma, I am quite satisfied in being your governess, and assure you will be for many years to come.'

'Believing it so is difficult,' Emma responded slyly, 'as you blush violently. I dare say you are in satisfied denial, Miss Taylor! Or rather, too modest to share your history with such an unassuming friend as I?'

'I do not believe a girl any younger than five-and-ten should be questioning the state of my blush,' said she in light amusement, looking out across the lake. 'It is merely excercise that warms me.'

Emma bit back her words.

'Do you believe you shall ever marry, Emma?' said her governess as she straightened Emma's shawl with her expert hands. A light breeze scattered Emma's hair and she pushed it back absently.

'I suppose everybody expects as much,' said the girl dispairingly. She sighed and turned to Miss Taylor.

'Whom might "everybody" be?'

Emma sighed again, as if to elicit a sympathetic response from her friend, but finding no solace in the silence, continued, 'Definitely not Father. He dreads change. He mourned for a fortnight after hearing of that splendid new parlour being built in Highbury. Of course, it replaced the old one, but one had to expect it after so many decades of dereliction. And the abomidable stench! I was very much pleased to see its removal. So very pleased. I was surprised Father was not, as he's always so afraid to catch cold, and the old parlour was so very drafty. It was appalling.'

Miss Taylor smiled. 'I believe you are avoiding the subject at hand,' said she, and it was Emma's turn to blush and turn away. She twiddled her hands idly in her lap before responding in a stiff manner moments later:

'Mr. Knightley -'

'Is not everybody,' Miss Taylor finished, smiling. 'He teases you.'

'Teases me! He would not dare it! I was being perfectly serious, and I asked in a perfectly serious tone! Tease me!' Emma crossed her arms over her chest in angry recollection, gathered herself, and spoke seconds later as if to settle the matter: 'He has no reason to do such a thing. There is no reason for Mr. Knightley to tell me, in my seriousness, that I should marry and that everybody wishes it.'

Miss Taylor spoke softly and smilingly: 'He has all the motive in the world, for one would be in low spirits indeed to refuse the wish of seeing little Miss Woodhouse defensive and speechless. For speechless you seem, my dear - do you not believe me? Do not fret yet, my dear girl, 'tis a while until marriage. Here -' and she pulled off Emma's grass-stained stockings; 'dip your feet in the water. They are filthy.'

'He should apologise,' said Emma stubbornly.

'Perhaps,' said her governess noncommittedly, watching Emma slip into the water, disregarding all pretentions, 'but his actions were all in playfulness, I assure you. Mr. Knightley is the last man on earth to hurt anyone intentionally, or by any fault of his own. He is much too amiable and gentleman-like for that.'

Emma felt unwilling to disagree or agree at that point and merely lowered herself entirely into the water. She hitched up her sun-dress, threw her bonnet to shore, and waded through the shallows to a small tree, where she sat, and watched Miss Taylor. Tease me? What nonsense, she thought, feeling bitter. She supposed it was not the idea of his teasing that made her grossly disagreeable at the moment, but the way in which she had trusted him - had been gullible enough to believe him. Well, she thought triumphantly, now I shall never marry! What do you say to that, Mr. Knightley? I suppose you were wishing for the opposite effect! but no, I am going to stay at Hartfield and trouble you the rest of my lonely life! How unhappy and annoyed you shall be. She laughed to herself and dipped one foot into the murky water. Poor Mr. Knightley, even he does not deserve such punishment.

'Do not fall, Emma,' warned Miss Taylor. 'Tea will be ready soon. I'll send a maid to fetch you. And do try to keep your dress clean!' she added as Emma slipped precariously close to the water.

Emma assured her that she wouldn't, thank you very much, and she had no intention of doing so. When Miss Taylor had left, Emma sighed and was happy to be left alone in her thoughts.

John and Isabella were expected that night at supper, and Emma, though not quite as fond as the match as her sister herself, was always pleased to see them and was delighted they were coming and bringing their son, Henry. Mr. Woodhouse had been thrilled they named the boy after himself, talked of him most happily as the heir of Donwell Abbey, but in secret, spoke to Emma that he rather would have Isabella stayed at home, single and childless, then have had to deal with the pangs of departure. Emma did not mind, not drastically anyways; she and her sister did not speak much; and she had Miss Taylor as a confidant, and Mr. Knightley as a source of most affectionate chagrin and annoyance, which he felt - and told her endlessly - was good for her.

He was so old a friend to the Woodhouses that Emma couldn't remember a single memory without him. It had been most delightful when Isabella and Mr. John Knightley were to be married; it had anticipated Mr. Knightley's even more frequent visits, his dropping by on the hour to comment on the weather, or play cards with Mr. Woodhouse, or critisise Emma's faults; but very discreetly and rather playfully, Emma came to know, for it distressed her father so that someone could think Emma less than perfect in every way. Mr. Knightley knew this; and in his own clever way, constantly teased her on it.

Emma turned around, aware of another presence, and saw Mr. Knightley's tall frame strolling towards her. She looked away as he approached, pretending not to appreciate his coming, and swirled her feet in patterns through the water.

'Emma,' he greeted as he walked through the tall grasses surrounding the lakeside.

'Good morning, Mr. Knightley,' said she, looking upwards from her feet. 'You are coming to supper tonight with John and Isabella, surely? You could not possibly pass up the opportunity to lecture me!' But inwardly, she was very much wishing that he would come; it would be exceedingly droll without his company.

'You flatter yourself with my frequent visits,' he replied, smiling. 'But -'

'Shall I see you tonight?' she interrupted hopefully.

'I'm afraid you will not have the pleasure of my graces this evening, Miss Woodhouse,' said Mr. Knightley, teasing slightly. 'I have business that will not be scheduled according to my pleasure; but perhaps I can see you tomorrow night, if you wish it.'

'Of course!' responded Emma, feeling disappointed, 'but Mr. Knightley, what sort of business?'

'Come down from the tree and I shall tell you.'

Emma stretched from one branch to the other, holding onto the trunk with a tight grip; but suddenly, the branch beneath her gave way; and screaming, Emma fell into the murky waters. For a moment she was dazed from the fall, but then arose, coughing and sputtering and moaning inwardly about the state of her sun-dress. She looked up at Mr. Knightley, who had obviously been rather anxious but slightly amused, and took the hand he offered to help her up the bank. Emma, dripping wet and waterlogged, walked to where she had laid her bonnet and shoes and tucked them under her arm furiously. Her cheeks were burning in embarassment.

'Oh, come now, Emma,' said Mr. Knightley, seeing the expression on Emma's face. 'It is only me; and besides, from this circumstance, I am obliged to carry you home, am I not? Is it not a gentlemen's duty to escort a girl in distress?'

'A lady,' corrected Emma, sending him a swiftly angry look that told him, quite plainly, not to tease in such a manner. 'I can walk quite well myself. One does not lose the feeling in one's legs after swimming, Mr. Knightley.'

'Swimming!' he repeated laughingly, but did not persue the subject.

'Now what of this business?' asked Emma impatiently, wringing out the water in her sun-dress. 'Where do you have to go tonight?'

'Bath,' said Mr. Knightley. 'That is why I came. To say good-bye, you know. I have to leave quite soon - in fact, I may already be late.'

'But why?'

The second shock of her day reached her by his countenance. Looking very embarassed and awkward (quite out of character), he said, 'There is a lady living in Bath with her mother whom I had known in my youth - school friends and such. I am going to visit her, on her request.'

'Tonight, of all nights?' asked Emma, looking at him in dissatisfaction. 'I find it hard to believe that a lady would tear you away from seeing your brother, when you don't often have the priviledge.'

'It has been an engagement for a long time - I assure you, Emma, it has been arranged for quite a while now; and in her defense, she could not possibly know that she was disallowing me from seeing you.'

The way he said it made Emma instantly flare up inside. 'See me? No, no, Mr. Knightley, I am speaking on behalf of your brother, whom I know will be utterly disappointed if you do not attend tonight's meeting. Certainly not me! I understand that you may have other prior arrangements not regarding my presence - but John, he may not be so forgiving.'

Mr. Knightley smiled slightly at her, which enraged Emma so much she turned away and stared across the lake. 'My brother already knows. He was quite delighted about it.'

This took Emma quite by surprise, and feeling mutinous towards Mr. John Knightley, said in a resentful tone, 'Then I suppose it's fine.'

Mr. Knightley sighed. 'Emma -'

'It's fine,' she repeated shortly; 'you have an enjoyable time with your friend.'

They both turned as a maid from the house announced Miss Woodhouse's tea ready, and they both stood in silence, regarding the statement as the maid turned and rushed back through the front doors. Emma turned to Mr. Knightley, who was staring at her intently, and blushed under his scrutinizing gaze; it made her suddenly feel so very ashamed of her selfish behaviour. 'Emma,' said he, 'if there is any good reason why I shan't go, just say the word, and I will persuade her to re-schedule. But,' lifting up her chin gently with his hands, 'I cannot please everybody. You will learn this someday.'

Emma didn't meet his eyes when she urged him to go, and as he bade her farewell and strode back to where he had come, she so wished she had invited him to tea at the very least.

- - -

Emma was in such low spirits by the time suppertime came that nearly all her appetite had disappeared; and having nothing much to look forward to but the company of her nephew Henry, carefully stayed up in her bedroom pinning up her hair until she heard the sounds of company arriving and the 'how d'ye dos?' of John and her father. She was then obliged, against her will, to blow out her candle, turn from the mirror, and make her way downstairs. Emma found John and Isabella in the study conversing with her father before a large brick fireplace, and upon entering the room, a boy no more than three untwined himself from Isabella's arms and ran to Emma. She picked him up and smiled. Mr. Woodhouse beamed.

'What a loving aunt our Emma makes,' said he proudly.

His daughter and husband agreed, making Emma blush modestly. 'Oh, father, you give me more credit than is due.'

'Not at all, my dear girl!' said Mr. Woodhouse, sounding alarmed. 'I give you less! Who could ask for a more perfect daughter?' He turned to Isabella. 'And you, of course, Isabella. You look lovely tonight.'

'Thank you, Father,' she said. 'And you are well, I hope?'

Emma absently played with Henry's smalls fingers as they talked, and watched her sister exchange smiles with John every so often when the subject of children arose. Emma grew quite suspicious, and until she noticed the delicate swell of Isabella's abdomen did she understand what had transpired. It was clear that her father, oblivious in his own endearing way, had not realised what Emma had. It was all she could do to keep herself from laughing in delight. How she wished Mr. Knightley were here to celebrate the news with her! Sighing, she sat down next to Isabella and slowly sank into a stupor.

They were just starting on the topic of colds ('terrible things! Monstrously atrocious! Emma came home today soaked from head to toe, and I have not stopped worrying since!') when Miss Taylor announced supper ready and they went in to eat.

Emma did not take much of the food for her plate, despite it looking delicious, and settled on staring blankly at a flickering candle until an interesting conversation stole away her absentmindedness. Mr. Woodhouse was speaking:

'John, where is your brother? I was expecting him to drop by.'

Emma spared a look at John Knightley, who smiled and responded, 'Did you not hear? George has traveled to Bath; he told us he was meeting an old school friend, but Isabella and I have our suspicions. He is meeting a lady there, by the name of Lauren Purkey, and she is very wealthy - an entire estate was left to her after her father's death, despite her having two brothers and a very eligible cousin.'

'Really? Most extrordinary!' exclaimed Mr. Woodhouse. 'Is she a nice girl?'

'I believe I met her once,' said Mr. John Knightley. 'Though I cannot recall where ... In any case, George speaks very highly of her; praises her most sufficiently. And for good reason. She is one of the handsomest and delightful girls I have ever had the fortune to meet. A very good match, if I dare say so myself!'

Emma froze and blanched. Miss Taylor, from the seat adjoining hers, spotted her pale face.

'My dear, are you well?'

She felt the concerned eyes of the company boring into her face and she felt it would be unwise to contradict Miss Taylor's words; however incorrect, they presented a very convienient escape route and Emma seized it thankfully.

'I'm afraid not, Miss Taylor,' said Emma, coughing into her handkerchief and catching her father's eye; 'ever since my swim in the lake ...' She trailed off and watched in satisfaction the reaction her words had on her father.

'Go to bed at once, my dear! Miss Taylor, pray accompany her! Oh, Emma, what did I tell you about watching your health? I must insist upon it ... oh, but don't let me keep you waiting! Sleep does wonders for the shivers! Are you shivering, Emma? Miss Taylor, do keep her warm!'

Miss Taylor smiled at him and escorted Emma upstairs, where she helped the girl slide into her nightgown and tuck in to bed. The sounds of talking downstairs resumed, and Miss Taylor made no hesitation in saying slyly, 'Emma, you don't think that you can fool your governess, do you?'

Emma shook her head and smiled. 'I'm afraid you can see through my facade, Miss Taylor.'

Miss Taylor patted Emma's knee underneath the blankets. 'Don't expect me to come to your rescue every time.' She looked in concern at Emma's partly concealed face. 'But, my dear, what was really the matter?'

'I don't quite know myself,' she answered truthfully; 'just the stew disagreeing with me, I suppose.'

'Well, whatever it is, I hope you're feeling well by the morning. Good-night, Emma.'

Emma bade her friend good-night and laid in bed, solemnly staring up at the ceiling. What was really the matter? She frowned to herself and rolled over on her side. She wasn't being entirely truthful with regards to the question. She supposed it had something to do with Mr. Knightley, this writhing, biting feeling in the pit of her stomach. Emma felt resentful towards him as her feelings summersaulted wildly out of control; why hadn't he told her of this Lauren Purkey? Why had he kept such a thing from her? It was this, more than the actual event, that made her so cross as she blew out her bedside candle. He was hiding something from her, and this was so utterly out of character Emma could hardly bear it. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to think of other things, but as she drifted off to sleep, her mind restlessly stumbled onto the truth:

Mr. Knightley was to marry.