It's my last day of holidays, and I thought if I didn't post the FINAL CHAPTER today there was a risk of this story falling back into hiatus. So I hope you enjoy it!

For the second time in three days, Knightley was woken by a hand on his shoulder. At first he resisted, burrowing back into the pillows. He didn't know why he was lying on top of the blankets, instead of under them, but frankly he didn't have the energy to investigate. Even his bones were tired.

"Mr Knightley, wake up. You can't stay here, man."

Reluctantly, he cracked open his eyes. In the early dawn light he saw that Mr Perry was leaning over him, his eyes full of sympathy.

"Who, what?" he mumbled, before memory came rushing back. Emma!

Frantically he rolled over and found her lying next to him. She was perfectly pale, perfectly still. Her hair had been brushed back from her face, the coverlet folded neatly over her bosom. Her arms were laid out straight on either side.

"No!" The single word was torn from him. She couldn't be … not after she had fought so hard to stay. She was so young.

He seized her arms. They were cold in the chill morning air, too cold. He started to shake her. She couldn't leave him alone like this. She had to come back.

"Get a grip on yourself, man. She's not dead, only sleeping. The fever has broken." Perry was almost shouting to make himself understood.

Knightley scrambled to feel the pulse in her neck, but his fingers were shaking uncontrollably and he couldn't find it. Desperate, he laid his cheek against her cool lips. The soft exhale of her breath was surely the most beautiful thing he had ever felt. He dropped his head onto her bosom and let go of his fear and relief in great, gulping heaves.

He was not in the habit of giving free rein to his emotions. It was some minutes before he could compose himself, but eventually he sat up and wiped his face with the back of his sleeve. Perry must have slipped from the room to give him some privacy, so he sat for a while, watching the gentle rise and fall of Emma's chest, giving thanks to God for her life.

There was a knock on the door and Perry re-entered. "Please, forgive me," said Mr Knightley, standing to greet him.

"There is nothing to forgive," said Perry, shaking his hand vigorously. "You saved her life, you and the servants."

"You're sure she will live?"

"Yes, quite sure. The infection is retreating, and her breathing much less laboured. The bruising will fade with time, and she should make a full recovery."

Knightley let out the breath he was holding. Suddenly, his legs could barely support his weight. Perry reached forward and grasped his elbow.

With one last glance back at Emma, Knightley allowed Perry to guide him from the room.

"Come now," said the older man. "They tell me you have barely slept in three nights. I'll drive you back to Donwell in my gig, and you must take something to eat and go straight to bed."

Knightley was loathe to leave Emma so soon, but he knew Perry had already allowed him far greater latitude than society dictated. He would do as he was told for now, and return to Hartfield rested and changed.

He was so exhausted that he slept that day and the next night entire. "Why on earth didn't you wake me sooner?" he questioned his man when he came in to open the drapes in his bedchamber the following morning.

"My apologies, sir. Mr Perry was explicit in his instructions that you not be disturbed, and to be honest we didn't have the heart to wake you, not with the state you were in when you arrived. I apprehend that Miss Woodhouse is out of danger?"

"Yes, she is." His heart lightened at the mention of her name. "I will ride over there directly I have shaved and broken my fast. Please lay out my pantaloons and blue coat."

"The Bath superfine, sir?" asked his man in surprise.

"What do I know of fabrics? My best coat. The one that matches Miss Woodhouse's eyes."

"Very good, sir," said his man, bowing low and withdrawing, but not before Knightley had seen the knowing smirk on his face. He chose to ignore it.

He had a little trouble with his cravat,unused to paying attention to such niceties, and it was almost eleven when he arrived at Hartfield. It was a stunning morning. The sky was a brilliant blue, with the promise of a warm day ahead.

Farthing answered the door, the wooden expression on his face not quite matching Knightley's exalted mood.

"Good morning, Mr Knightley."

"Good morning, Farthing. How does Miss Woodhouse go on?"

"A good deal better, sir," the butler replied, without his customary smile.

"Excellent!" replied Mr Knightley. "You need not show me up. I know my way well."

"Very good, sir, only…"

"Only, what?" asked Knightley, uneasily.

"Only Mr Churchill is already with her."

"Mr Churchill?" Knightley barked. "What is he doing here?" He had hardly given the man a thought since Emma's accident. He understood that Churchill had been called away to tend to his aunt, but surely he could at least have sent an express to see how the woman he favoured went on? And now, when all danger was past, when Emma's life had been fought for and won, to present himself at the house as though nothing had happened! Truly, the man was a bounder.

"I believe he only heard of Miss Emma's accident when he returned to Highbury this morning, and rode over immediately to see how she did. He seemed most concerned."

"He did, did he? Well, I am also most concerned, so I will go up now and see how Miss Emma does."

He stalked up the stairs, pausing outside Emma's door to smooth down his coat and gather his wits. He could hardly start a brawl with Frank Churchill in a lady's bedroom, much as he might like to, but he was not at all sure he could meet the man with even the appearance of civility.

As he raised his hand to knock, he heard Frank's voice from within.

"Truly, Emma, I know I should not impose on you so soon after your illness, but you know how impulsive I am. Allow me to tell you that you have made me the happiest of men."

Emma's reply was a delighted laugh.

Sickened, Knightley turned away. It was too late. He had scolded Emma, berated her like a child, never told her of his love for her, and now she was to wed Frank Churchill. Of course, he himself had not come here to propose this morning, best coat or no. He had come in concern to see how she did, but also to try whether he could start their friendship in a new direction, one of mutual affection and regard. But it was all dust and ashes now.

He had no idea how he got himself out of the house and onto his horse. He was amazed to find that he could still ride, as his whole body was numb. Like a wounded animal making for its den, he pressed his horse on towards Donwell. William Larkin was waiting for him in the courtyard.

"God in heaven, has Miss Woodhouse taken another turn?" asked William as he seized the horse's bridle.

"No, she is quite well," answered Knightley shortly, dismounting.

"Well, something must have happened to put that thunderous look on your face, and if it's not Miss Emma I don't see what else it could be."

"I'll have none of your insolence, now, Will. Have the brandy sent to the library, and no one is to disturb me, unless I ring. Is that clear?"

"But, sir…?"

"No one" he shouted, desperate to be alone.

"Very good sir, if that is your wish." William Larkin let him go.

The staff took him at his word and left him alone until the next morning. Predictably, it was William Larkin who eventually took it on himself to disobey his master.

"Go away," growled Knightley, slouched in his oldest Chesterfield, the half-empty brandy decanter on a table at his side.

"I suppose you've heard the news, then?"

"Dammit, William, my head is pounding and I've no time for your games. What news?"

"The news of Frank Churchill's engagement, of course. It's all over Highbury."

Knightley dropped his head into his hands. It was true, then. His last, vain hope had been that he had misunderstood somehow, that it was not yet certain.

"Of course, we all of us thought Miss Emma was the object of his affections, if ye'll beg my pardon for sayin' so. We none of us thought of Miss Fairfax."

"Miss Fairfax?" Knightley's head came up like a shot, causing him to groan as his skull objected to the sudden movement. "What on earth has she to say in the matter?"

"Why, she's the one that's engaged to Mr Churchill, of course."

It took the concerted efforts of his household, and two strong cups of black coffee, but he was back at Hartfield within the hour, sober and presentable.

Emma was reclining on the sofa in her bedroom. Her maid, now returned from her sister's lying in, had arranged her hair in a soft plait and helped her to dress in a loose morning gown, as her ribs were still giving her a deal of trouble. The maid had also, at Mr Woodhouse's urging, wrapped Emma in a shawl and built up the fire in spite of the fine summer day. Now, however, Emma was finally, blessedly alone.

Her spirits were very low. Mr Perry said it was only to be expected when recovering from an inflammation of the lungs. Emma sighed. Mr Knightley had not visited yesterday or today. She wondered what was keeping him away.

She had only vague memories of her accident and illness. She remembered a crushing weight lifting off her, strong, callused, hands holding her, and a beloved voice encouraging her not to give in. Surely that was Mr Knightley? If so, why did he not call now to see how she did?

Perhaps he had already heard the news of Mr Churchill's engagement? He had always been forthright in his disapproval of Frank, and of her matchmaking schemes, so it was bound to make him even angrier with her than the events of Box Hill. Emma wiped at her eyes. If he was to be constantly displeased with her, perhaps he should end their friendship. Only, she would be so lonely without him.

There was a knock on the door, and Mr Knightley entered without waiting to be called. He looked very well in his second-best coat, his strong frame showing to advantage. His face, however, was grim. He knelt by her side and took her hands in his. He was not wearing gloves, and the feel of his bare skin on hers sent a small thrill through her.

"Emma, I came as soon as I heard," he began gravely.

"And are you very displeased?" she interrupted, wishing to know the worst at once.

He scowled. "I always believed him to be a man of easy manners and easier morals, but even I did not think he could stoop so low as this."

Emma gasped. "Surely it is not so bad? I know Frank and Jane were wrong to conceal their engagement, but I believe them to be very sincerely attached to each other."

He searched her face, pity in his eyes. "Emma, how can you say that? You, who have been his chief victim."

Emma flushed and looked down at their joined hands. "I cannot pretend to misunderstand you, Mr Knightley, though it may sink me further in your regard to admit it. I never thought his attentions to me to be at all serious. I was flattered by them, I allowed them, but my heart was not engaged."

"Emma, is this true?"

She nodded sadly.

"But I heard him proposing to you yesterday. He distinctly said you had made him the happiest of men!"

"You heard that?" she asked, astonished.

It was his turn to look down. "I was waiting outside the door," he mumbled.

Emma thought back over her conversation with Frank. "If he said that, it was only because I had given my blessing to the match. His aunt has died, you see, and he wanted to announce his engagement to Miss Fairfax immediately, but he did not want it to come as a surprise to me. I wished him every joy in his marriage."

"But you were crying when I came in, Emma. Do not seek to deny it."

Emma clasped his hands tighter. It might be her last opportunity to touch him like this. "If I was, Mr Knightley, it was only because I was contemplating the end of our friendship."

"The end of our friendship? Emma, why would you say such a thing? I know it was not proper for me to care for you as I did, but truly, there was no one else, and your life hung in the balance."

Greatly daring, Emma reached out and touched his face, which had paled alarmingly.

"Mr Knightley, I am more grateful to you than I can express. Truly, I believe your concern for me was the only thing holding me to this earth at times. I would never chastise you for it."

"Then tell me what I have done wrong, Emma, so that I may make amends," he begged.

"Why do you speak like that when I am the one in the wrong? You were so angry with me on Box Hill, you must have thought of severing the acquaintance."

"Emma, no!" He took her hand from his cheek, and bringing it to his lips, kissed it. "It was unforgivable of me to speak to you so. My only excuse is that I was half mad with jealously of Frank Churchill."

"But why should you be jealous of Frank Churchill?" Emma asked, though she feared the answer. Did Mr Knightley admire Jane Fairfax, despite his denials? That would account for the violence of his reaction to the news of their engagement.

"Emma, can't you guess? If I have ever thought of ending our friendship, it is only because my dearest wish is that one day you might consent to be my wife."

She looked into his eyes then, and received such a glowing look of admiration and love in return that her eyes filled once more. She could not speak, but only nod and smile.

Mr Knightley's astonishment appeared equal to her own. He froze for a moment, as though unable to believe the evidence of his eyes, and then sat beside her on the sofa and drew her tenderly into his arms, raining kisses over her hair and face.

Emma found this occupation so pleasant that she was forced to retaliate in kind. She even had the temerity to press her lips to his. The effect on Mr Knightley was immediate. He groaned and crushed her tightly to his chest, until her bruises protested and she could not suppress a small squeak.

He released her immediately. "Emma, my Emma, what am I thinking, to be making love to you when you are only just arisen from your sick bed." He settled her gently back against the sofa. "Forgive me, my darling."

Emma giggled. "Would it shock you to know that I find your embraces so delightful that I have not a care for my poor ribs?"

The expression of heartfelt delight which then suffused his face became him extremely well. "Emma, it does not shock me at all, you teasing minx, but it does please me excessively. Too excessively, I fear." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Emma did not perfectly understand his meaning, but reflected that she would probably enjoy finding out once she was a married woman.

He regarded her ruefully. "Emma, it is now my turn to shock you. I have berated you so often for the slightest of transgressions, and if only you could have beheld my behaviour this last week, you would be appalled."

"Why, Mr Knightley," said Emma saucily. "Whatever have you been doing?"

"Well, Emma, I have spoken disparagingly of your poor father, and your dear sister, picked a fight with a nurse and contemplated another with Frank Churchill, spent days and nights unchaperoned in your bedchamber, and if only you had heard how rudely I spoke to Miss Bates…"

"You were rude to Miss Bates?" asked Emma with a naughty smile. She brought one hand to her chest. "My darling, I am shocked indeed." Much to her delight, he flushed slightly at the endearment.

She tried to school her features into a severe look, with indifferent success. "Come, my love, you must tell me exactly what you said so that I may scold you for it."

Mr Knightley threw back his head and laughed. Emma thought it the most delightful sound she had ever heard.