"What can I do for you, Sir?" Staring greedily at the one hundred pound laying before him, a shrewd slender man asked cap in hand.

"I need words from these two people. The stories, names, when, where, how... everything they can tell." A gentleman in a greyish-green tail pulled another one hundred out of his pocket, "You can have one more once getting what I want."

"Thank you Sir, you'll have everything you need before sunset."

"Good."

"Emma my dear, are your crying? What's the matter?"

"No Papa, I'm not crying. I just yawned, a little tired, don't worry." Emma forced a smile at her father, as bright as she could make it.

"Oh, that's very well. But how long haven't we seen Mr. Knightley?"

"Two weeks and one day, Papa."

"And no one knows where he is. It's very odd, very unusual. Didn't he tell you where he went, my dear?"

"No Papa, he didn't."

Isabella had told her he left John a note in his study, only saying he got matters to deal with and would be back once done, nothing else. And she had been fighting back the urge of presuming where he was and what he was doing, as the conclusion seemed obvious and disagreeable to her. But though it's as preposterous as it could be, she couldn't help fearing that he might never come back.

She got a lump in her throat with that thought and turned immediately to the door lest her father see and worry.

"Ma'am," A housemaid ran into her at the doorway, "Mrs. Weston sent a note just now."

Emma wiped her eyes quickly with the back of her hand and, with a little surprise, as she just left a little while ago, took a piece of folded paper which read:

"My dear Emma,

Be not alarmed, nothing bad happened. But I'll be very happy if you could come to Randalls tomorrow at 11 am.

Yours ever

A.W."

Usually they spent afternoons and sometimes evenings together like today, but anything which could distract her from her thoughts was welcome.

"Good morning Miss Woodhouse, this way please." Hannah led Emma to a small cosy chamber adjacent to the drawing room, where tea and refreshments and a few netting patterns were available. "Mrs. Weston begged you to pardon her, and said these could entertain you for a moment. She should be here very soon."

"Thank you Hannah, it's fine."

When Hannah withdrew, Emma opened one pattern book, picked up a half-done purse and resumed netting it following the techniques the book showed, making herself too absorbed to even notice how much time had passed.

"Mr. Knightley? I didn't expect to see you here. How do you do."

"Mr. Wickham, please be seated." Glancing at him, Mr. Knightley gestured to the sofa opposite himself.

"Is Mr. Weston home?" Mr. Wickham looked around when taking his seat.

"No, he went to Kingston early this morning."

"I suppose he is waiting for me at this moment." Said Mr. Wickham, puzzled.

"No, he isn't." Enjoying his confusion for a second, Mr. Knightley continued, "I wrote the letter. Is it a new trick to you, Mr. Wickham?"

"I don't understand, Mr. Knightley."

"Well then, let's talk about something you understand. How is your progress in courting Miss Woodhouse?"

"I believe, Mr. Knightley, there're some misunderstandings here."

"Really? To my knowledge, you used to linger around Derbyshire and Ramsgate where another young lady with thirty thousand pounds resides, not London and Highbury. And unfortunately for you, of course, that young lady has a very capable elder brother."

Mr. Wickham's typical taking smile died away. Narrowing his eyes, he stated, "It seems you have some power and resources, Mr. Knightley."

"You are correct, I do have some. And I also have some knowledge that you don't know and I'd like to share with you."

"I'm all ears."

"These two young ladies do have some things in common. They are both beautiful, lovely, amiable and rich of course, the crucial quality to you. But Miss Woodhouse is a few years older which inevitably presents her with a much better sense. To be honest, Mr. Wickham, and I believe you have sensed it more or less yourself, a man like you isn't someone who could ever gain her affections."

"It seems you were, Mr. Knightley." He sneered.

Pausing with an invisible bitterness, "You are correct again, Mr. Wickham, I was."

"Oh, what a pity."

"Actually you know that, my existence leaves you no chance of succeeding, or you needn't frame me. And I must confess, Mr. Wickham, I never liked you, but I did have underestimated you. You are a very able man, resourceful, patient and precise."

"I feel a sense of obligation to express my gratitude, Mr. Knightley, though I cannot agree with you on my accusal."

"Mr. Wickham, your scheme at Highbury has soundly come to an end given the exposure of your last try. You know what is following if you keep harassing Miss Woodhouse. So why don't we just speak man to man? My intention of this conversation is not only to warn you to stay away from Miss Woodhouse, but to some extent for my own sake- there're some specifics I can't figure out and I believe you would like to enlighten me at this point."

"Why wouldn't you accept the established fact, Mr. Knightley? Hapless things happen, you know. Maybe you were just unlucky, falling on tough days."

"I used to think it that way, but some trifles came up and raised my suspicion."

"What trifles?"

"Back then when I arrived Mr. Sinnott's, he greeted me with 'How kind you are to even think of me!'. It's not something someone who invites will normally say, isn't it? So I called on him again and it turned out that he didn't write me a letter, but received one from me. It's very seasoned of you to pick out someone I know but not well so I couldn't recognize his handwriting."

"Anyone could have written the letters you just mentioned."

"Of course, but I have two more witnesses, a woman who bumped against my horse and a coachman who took advantage of Miss Woodhouse's compassion. I don't know how much you paid them, but obviously I paid more, so they have identified you among a few young men's portraits."

Mr. Wickham shifted in his seat.

"There's one thing I particularly desire to know, Mr. Wickham. How did you arrange the timing so that I walked out of that building the exact moment Miss Woodhouse passed by?"

Mr. Wickham was holding back.

"I can find it out anyway, asking the witness again for instance. But I suppose you may like to tell me yourself. You certainly have lost the opportunity to move into the neighborhood as Mr. Woodhouse once expected, but you lose nothing either. And to me...everything. So still you win. Then don't you want to celebrate your triumph by beating your opponent to his face?"

"I know you well." Finally Mr. Wickham decided to talk, disdainfully. "A true gentleman, as you people think you are, will never abandon an injured woman, especially when he might be the cause, whatever she is, wherever she lives. But he will go off as fast as he can when she tries to seduce him by throwing herself into his arms. So the only thing needed to be done was pulling back a curtain across the street when Miss Woodhouse's carriage came into sight."

With a loud bang bursting out, a door of an adjacent room was cracked open. The two gentlemen rose to their feet instinctively at the sight of a lady appeared behind it.

"Miss Woodhouse!" Mr. Wickham alternated his eyes incredulously between her and Mr. Knightley, turning deadly pale.

Emma glared at him with a burning fire in her eyes when striding towards him, but Mr. Knightley stepped up and blocked her way. He wrapped one arm around her back to keep her half in his arms, but spoke to Mr. Wickham firmly with his back to him,

"Mr. Wickham, I, the master of this district, should like to announce that you are not allowed to come to Donwell and Highbury ever again, nor to stand on or pass through any inch of my land, or you will be sorry. Now, you can get out!"

"You still have nothing to say to me."

"...Why did you stop me just now?"

"What would you do if I didn't?"

"Surely I would smack him in his face, how dare he set you..."

"No, surely you shouldn't."

"Why not?"

"How could he deserve the same treatment as I did."

"... Did it hurt?"

"Yes, it did."

"... You deserved it."

"I didn't say I didn't."

"... I'm sorry. I shouldn't mistrust you."

"No, you shouldn't."

"... Will you forgive me?"

"... I will not."

"... I shouldn't complain, you have good reason to be resentful."

"That's not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean?"

"You will forgive me in return if I forgive you."

"So you don't want me to forgive you?"

"No, I don't."

"Alright then, let's hate each other forever..."

"No, that's not possible, we shall never be enemies."

"Then what's your point?"

"I have a perfect solution. Uh...You see, if you consent to marry me, I'll be too grateful to you to hold any grudge. And if you marry me, what I did will not be considered a horrible offence any more. Then, all problems solved."

...

"Of course, if you think it's a terrible idea, just take it as a bunch of nonsense. Certainly I will forgive you, anything. As to my misdemeanor, I promise it's only between you and me. And I swear it will never happen again..."

...

"What, why are you smiling like that?"

"I have imagined dozens of different ways how you may ask me, but none of them is like this."

"You... imagined my proposal? Since when?"

...

"Tell me, Emma!"

"... Since the day I played with wedding dolls under the table maybe, but I never took it seriously. We are oldest friends you know, it's too strange to even think about it."

"Isabella is John's oldest friend, older than we are."

"Hmm, you have a point. I cannot argue with that."

"So you will not slap me again, will you?"

"Of course not."

"Then I can safely kiss you now?"

"Certainly not!"

"... What if I do?"

...

Thanks for reading! :D