A/N: Yes, it's finally over!

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I hope you guys feel the ending is satisfying – I certainly had a lot of fun writing it. I'd love to hear your thoughts as always, and if you have been reading but haven't reviewed thus far, no better time than the present to do so!

Epilogue

Emma had been trying, without success, to find out where they were to be going for the past week and a half. She approached the problem in various ways, with barefaced questions, ingenious suppositions and distant surmises, but thus far he had evaded her skill in them all. She had tried pouting and pleading, she had tried guilt trips, she had tried distraction tactics which were so pleasantly effective that soon even she had forgotten that she had been trying to get information out of him.

It was actually only on the day before their wedding that Mr. Knightley had given her any hint at all. He had walked up to Hartfield to find her in her room, packing for the trip, and he had smiled enigmatically before saying, 'I'd take some paintbrushes and an easel if I were you, Emma,' before immediately leaving the room.

She had rushed out after him, eyes shining. 'Paintbrushes?' He had nodded and although he had said no more, she was now sure she knew where they were going. It could only be Box Hill, or somewhere in its close vicinity, for hadn't she said on the day of the picnic that she wished to come back and paint the view from the summit?

She had wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. 'Thank you,' she had whispered.

He had hugged her back, but his eyes danced with amusement. 'Don't thank me yet,' he had smiled. 'Are you sure you know where we are going?'

Emma had rolled her eyes and smiled. 'Quite sure, Mr. Knightley,' she had said, 'but let us say no more about it.'

His lips had twitched. 'Very well, Emma,' he had said, 'as you wish.'

It was only later the next day that Emma realised that her darling, wonderful, infuriatingly clever Mr. Knightley had tricked her into thinking she knew where they were going so that she would stop trying to find out.

She had meant to watch every mile of the road to see if her conjecture about their location was correct, but the excitement of the day had caught up with her and soon the rhythmic rocking motion of the carriage had caused her eyelids to droop.

Some time later – she was not sure how long – she stirred and became aware of her surroundings once more. She lifted her head from Mr. Knightley's shoulder to observe the view from the carriage window once more, and she frowned slightly when she found she did not recognise the road they were travelling on. She was sure she should have recognised it, for she had been paying close attention to the scenery on their journey to Box Hill a little over a month ago.

When she looked at the position of the sun in the sky, she knew there was something wrong. It was high enough to indicate that she had been asleep at least two hours, so why had they not yet reached Box Hill? She glanced at Mr. Knightley, whose face held an expression of high amusement at her confusion. 'Are you sure we are going the right way?' she asked, rather worriedly.

He smiled, his eyes dancing. 'Quite sure, my dear Emma.'

She opened her mouth to ask how he was so confident of the fact when she was silenced by his directing her attention to the view currently becoming visible out the window.

She watched, wide-eyed, at first with little comprehension of what she was seeing, and then suddenly the realisation fell into place as she recollected paintings she had seen, descriptions she had heard and read.

However, nobody had ever told her and no painting had ever managed to show that the sun's rays would make of it a million tiny fragments of mirror; that it would be ceaselessly heaving and tossing as it was; that it would make that distinct distant roaring which she had read about but had never experienced for herself before now.

She turned to look at Mr. Knightley, the wonder still in her eyes. 'But how – why did we not go – what did you mean by asking me to take the paintbrushes?'

He gave her a small, amused smile. 'You did once say a beautiful view could make you long for your painting materials so you could capture it – and I thought you would find this view as inspiring as any.'

She said nothing for a moment, trying to readjust her mistaken assumptions with reference to reality, something which she had been required to do alarmingly often over the past year. However, now for the first time barring finding out that Mr. Knightley had been in love with herself and not Harriet, the outcome was actually pleasant.

She would have loved to have gone to Box Hill once more, to be sure. And yet... Mr. Knightley was right in saying the view of the seaside was just as beautiful as Box Hill could be (if not more!), and it had the added advantage of novelty, as she had never seen it for herself before. In fact, now that she found herself at the seaside, it seemed perfect – for had she not heard with envy of her nephews and nieces going there and longed to visit it herself? Had she not often asked Isabella, John and even on occasion Mr. Knightley himself what it was like?

She must have been silent longer than she realised, for when she turned to look at Mr. Knightley, he was watching her rather anxiously. 'You are not disappointed, Emma, that we did not go to Box Hill?'

She gave the most eloquent reply she could in simply taking his face in her hands and kissing him soundly, for though no words passed her lips it told him clearly enough that disappointment was far from what she was feeling.

But in his arms some moments later she thought she would say it aloud anyway, so as to leave no room for doubt. 'Oh George, I am not disappointed; in fact – if it is possible – this is even better than Box Hill,' she said, her voice somewhat muffled by the material of his shirt and waistcoat.

Perhaps he did not hear her words with immaculate clarity, but he understood the gist of them well enough. However, there was one part of her speech which he had to seek clarification for. 'Did you just call me "George"?'

'Did I?' Emma raised her head to look up at him in some surprise. She thought back over what she had said, and smiled as she realised he was right. 'I suppose I did – but I did not even realise.'

Mr. Knightley's smile was irrepressible and he hugged her closer. 'So I have finally hit upon the secret,' he declared. 'To get my wife to call me by my Christian name, I simply have to surprise her by taking her on holiday to beautiful places that she has never seen before.' He frowned slightly in mock-confusion. 'But how do you suppose I could get her to do so every day?'

Emma laughed. 'I am afraid if we are always to be holidaying to new places – lovely as that would be – Donwell would rather suffer for it.'

Mr. Knightley sighed in exaggerated defeat. 'I am afraid you are right, Emma. What solution do you suggest?'

She could not help giggling at his gloomy expression, and it wavered for a moment as he almost gave in to his amusement. 'I do not see why a solution is required,' she said. 'I like "Mr. Knightley" – and I do not want to lose him entirely.' She took his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers together. 'But,' she continued, 'I became acquainted with "George" today, and I find I quite like him too. Let us keep him for special occasions.'

Mr. Knightley acquiesced, happy with the compromise. On reflection he thought her plan would suit him best really, for if she stopped calling him "Mr. Knightley" altogether, he knew he would miss it. After years of her usage, it had not so very formal a sound, and nobody else could say it quite like she could: saucy or serious, teasing or friendly, but always with that underlying affection which denoted the long years of their friendship.

'Very well, Emma,' he smiled. 'Special occasions it is.'

'Mr. Knightley?' She raised her head slightly to get a fuller view of his face and her hair tickled his neck.

'Hmmm?' he said sleepily.

'Can we go for a walk along the shore tomorrow morning?'

He smiled. 'Of course, Emma – whatever you wish. We are here to enjoy ourselves, after all.' Then his smile widened into a grin. 'But what is this "Mr. Knightley" business? Not so very long ago, I remember you called me–'

She buried her blushing face in the crook of his neck and hit his arm. 'That was different,' she protested.

He remembered her words from earlier that day. 'A special occasion?'

She sighed happily. 'Yes, special.' She seemed to hesitate for a moment before continuing to speak, her voice soft, almost shy. 'Special, but not rare, I hope.'

From the warmth against his collarbone he knew she was blushing more hotly than ever, and he hugged her closer. He was aware of the sort of ideas women had put into their heads about this, and the fact that she could be honest despite that meant a lot to him. 'Mmm, yes,' he said softly in reply, before pressing a kiss to the top of her head. 'Not rare at all, I should think.'

'Did you know,' said Emma as they strolled arm-in-arm along the shore, 'that I once told myself I didn't want you to marry because then little Henry would lose Donwell?' She could not help laughing at her own stupidity. 'That was months and months ago – how could I have been so blind?'

Mr. Knightley laughed, and pressed her arm. 'Well, I was little better, Emma. I told myself I didn't want you to marry because it would upset your father so if you were to leave Hartfield.'

She smiled, but then sighed. 'Well, I am not leaving Hartfield, and I am sure he will come to think it the best thing for all of us in time. And he does write tolerably cheerful replies to my letters, even if he was a little alarmed to find we'd gone to the dreaded seaside, and not even Cromer at that!'

Mr. Knightley raised an eyebrow, and his lips twitched. 'Ah yes, Cromer. It was remarkably reprehensible of us to come here instead when Perry specifically recommended Cromer, was it not?'

Emma could not help smiling at that, and her momentary gloom was dispelled. 'Well, Cromer can keep its pure air – I don't think any place could be more beautiful than this,' she declared.

'Speaking of which, do you feel inspired to take up your brushes yet?'

She laughed as she realised the thought had not crossed her mind once in the past week. 'Surprisingly, no. I find I'd rather spend my time here exploring and enjoying the seaside and your company. I don't feel like spending hours trying to recreate the sea for posterity.' She smiled up at him, eyes dancing. 'I suppose if I want to remember what it looks like, you'll just have to bring me here again.'

'And let Donwell suffer?'

'Of course. It would be a special occasion, after all, George.'

'Then how can I refuse?'

Emma sighed as they sat on the beach watching the sun set. 'Only one more day – can you believe it? I feel like we've been here two hours, not two weeks.'

Mr. Knightley squeezed the hand which was in his. 'It has been a pleasant two weeks though, has it not, Emma?'

She rested her head on his shoulder. 'Oh yes,' she said softly. 'I don't think I've ever been happier. But I just wish we could stay a little longer.'

So did he, but admitting that was not the way to cheer Emma up. 'But I know you want to see your father and Isabella and everyone else again. And you would not wish to miss Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax's wedding, would you now?'

Emma's face lit up. 'Oh, of course – I forgot about that. I am looking forward to seeing that – Miss Fairfax deserves some happiness.'

He could not resist. 'And Mr. Churchill?'

Emma pretended to glare at him. 'I wish both Miss Fairfax and Mr. Churchill the very best, Mr. Knightley.'

'"Mr. Knightley" again?'

She nodded decisively. 'You shall be "Mr. Knightley" every day, "Mr. Knightley" when I am teasing you, "Mr. Knightley" when I want something from you, "Mr. Knightley" when I am trying to hint to Mrs. Elton how you should be addressed–' There she had to break off, for her giggles got the better of her, and her husband was no less amused.

Some moments later, when they had managed to regain control, she gasped, 'And you shall be "George" when I am happiest.'

He hugged her close. 'Then I shall make it the business of my life to make you that happy every day.'

She sighed happily as she looked up at him, eyes bright in the fading glow of the sun. 'That sounds like a plan, George,' she said.

He smiled, a full, heartfelt smile; and then he began its execution, lowering his head to bring his lips to hers.

END