A/N: Probably shouldn't start another new story while Of Necessity and Partial Old Friend are still unfinished, but it's only going to be a few chapters, so I figured I might as well. Please review and tell me what you think!

Secrets and Strawberries

Chapter One – Revelations

Mr. Knightley glanced around to make sure all of his guests were occupied, either by conversation or by enjoying his strawberry beds: the Westons were picking strawberries with Harriet Smith, Miss Bates was alternating between good-naturedly listening to Mrs. Elton's descriptions of Maple Grove's superior strawberry beds and having Mrs. Elton not-so-good-naturedly suffer through her own ramblings, Elton seemed quite occupied in downing gallon after gallon of lemonade...

Emma, he knew, was inside with her father, preparing the best of the strawberries she had gathered for him; who else was missing? Frank Churchill – quite fortunately, to his mind – had not arrived yet, and Jane Fairfax...

He looked around, but could not see her anywhere. Frowning slightly, he decided to head back inside to check if she was with Emma and Mr. Woodhouse.

It was on his way that he caught a glimpse of a skirt rounding the hedge that lined Donwell Lane and disappearing. A momentary glance determined it to be indeed Miss Fairfax, and he hurried back to the house to call for the carriage. It would not do to have Miss Fairfax, who by her aunt's account had not yet completely recovered from illness, walking all the way home in such heat. He suspected that she would refuse a carriage for the reason that it would cause needless trouble, so he would pre-empt her and call for it anyway so that it would be more trouble to refuse it than to accept it.

That done, he began to walk in the direction she had left, hoping to catch up with her and persuade her to wait the very little while it would take the carriage to reach them. As he walked he wondered if Miss Fairfax had been inside talking with Emma. For some little time now he thought he had observed a softening in Emma's reserved manner towards Miss Fairfax, as if her pity for the latter's situation had finally overtaken her envy of her talents. He had always hoped that they would become friends – two such good, intelligent, accomplished young women could learn much from one another.

It was when he had reached the bend, skirted by the tall hedge that bordered the outskirts of the Abbey's grounds, where Donwell Lane turned into Highbury Road that he heard voices: one belonging to the person he had been hoping to overtake and another, this one a male voice.

A male voice he instantly recognised. The voice that never failed to cause that familiar sinking feeling in his stomach these days, because he knew that this voice heralded the destruction of his familiar intimacy with Emma, his visits to Hartfield, the brightest part of his life.

For a moment he viciously wished that Mrs. Weston's fears of Churchill being thrown off by his horse in some field had come true.

He was startled out of his thoughts by Miss Fairfax's voice which was now earnest enough that he could clearly hear what she was saying, even though she seemed to be trying to keep her voice lowered. She sounded agitated. 'Frank, no! You cannot walk back with me. After all the trouble we've gone to, if we were seen now–'

The young man seemed to have no such fears, and indeed, didn't even bother to lower his voice. 'Nobody will see us,' he said, and his tone of voice was soothing. 'And even if they do, what is so remarkable about Mr. Churchill perceiving that Miss Fairfax is unwell and offering to see her home safely?' His voice became beseeching. 'I haven't seen you for an age.'

Mr. Knightley's mind was whirring, putting together all the signs and circumstances he had observed previously, and he knew with a jolt that his foreboding had proved correct. That villain Frank Churchill had been dallying with Jane Fairfax even as he had pretended to fawn over Emma. The scoundrel had been wooing her and stealing her heart to no purpose, had been merely using her as a blind to conceal this, this secret liaison with Miss Fairfax. His fists clenched involuntarily.

He returned his attention to their argument in time to hear Churchill giving in with a very bad grace. 'I suppose if you will make such a fuss about it, I'll leave you alone,' he snapped, sounding extremely frustrated. Then suddenly his tone became softer. 'I suppose you couldn't at least give me a kiss goodbye?'

Miss Fairfax's voice was cold, and she sounded exhausted. 'You suppose correctly, sir. To agree to a secret engagement was foolish enough; I will not be even more foolish and expose it to the world through my own carelessness.' Then suddenly her voice became agitated. 'Frank, I said no – what if someone–'

For a second he heard nothing, but then he heard the sound of a resounding slap followed by a set of footsteps hurrying away.

The remaining set of footsteps began coming closer, accompanied by muttered grumblings. 'Can't even get a kiss from my own fiancée without a fuss... being overcautious... not like anyone would have seen us...'

Just then he rounded the corner and stopped dead as he came face-to-face with Mr. Knightley, whose expression was dark as thunder. 'I believe you spoke too soon, sir,' he ground out through gritted teeth, and had the very great satisfaction of seeing the blood drain out of Churchill's face.

As Mrs. Weston had come to sit inside with her father, Emma decided she would take advantage of the opportunity for a stroll outside in the Abbey's gardens. It had been a long time since she had last been to the Abbey, and it might perhaps be a long time until she next came, so she might as well make the most of it.

She had a willing walking companion in Harriet, who had accosted her as soon as she had seen Emma entering the pretty avenue shaded by lime trees. The flush on her little friend's face and the light in her eyes were noted by Emma with some amusement, and as Harriet opened her mouth to tell her something, she guessed that she was about to hear that Mr. Churchill had finally arrived to the party.

'Oh Miss Woodhouse,' began Harriet with a sigh, 'you will never believe what happened just a short while ago.' She linked her arm through Emma's. 'I was looking for you, but I didn't think of coming into the house.'

Emma smiled indulgently. 'Well, go on, Harriet,' she said, 'tell me what happened.' It was best to let Harriet think Emma had not comprehended the whole situation; she wouldn't want her friend to think she was interfering once more, as she had resolved not to do.

'I was talking with him about half an hour ago, and he was so attentive and pleasant – though he always is – and then he asked me – I do not think I could have mistaken his meaning – he seemed to be asking me if my affections were engaged!' She gave another happy sigh. This effusion and others similar in nature occupied the best part of Harriet's conversation for the next five minutes.

Really, thought Emma, she was glad that she had never been as much in love with Frank Churchill as Harriet seemed to be: to be always sighing and languishing after him and unable to talk of anything else would have been endlessly tiresome to her (and, she imagined, to those around her).

They had been walking now toward the strawberry beds where most of the rest of the party were assembled. 'I wonder,' said Emma, as she surveyed the party and found him missing, 'that Mr. Churchill did not wait here so that he might continue his most interesting conversation with you.'

Harriet stopped walking at that moment, her expression puzzled. 'Mr. Churchill? But whatever do you mean, Miss Woodhouse? I don't believe he's even arrived yet.'

Emma was now completely confused. 'But you just said – you two spoke – he asked about your affections–'

To Emma's astonishment, Harriet began to laugh. 'Oh Miss Woodhouse, that was not Mr. Churchill! I was speaking to Mr. Knightley.'

Suddenly Emma felt sick to her stomach.