EMMA

She'd never been taken by surprise by something she already saw coming. The entire exchange was like torture. All she wanted was for her George to hold her and yet, and yet...he was the one thing she could not have. There were chitchatting and Emma thought she might die. She hated pretending that nothing had changed between them. She told him about Frank and Jane but he knew...he'd always known and that they got happiness, while she didn't, vexed her. It broke her a bit more with each passing second. His voice changed and he spoke to her gently.

"Time, my dearest Emma, time will heal the wound.-"

Then he rambled and tried to console her for all the wrong reasons. It made her smile to see that he cared so for her. He must've been very worried if he rode from London for her.

"You are very kind but you are mistaken and I must set you right..." She used all her manners to both correct him and show her remorse that he would think the way he did about Frank and herself. How could she have been so immature? Her own thoughts threatened to dissolve into yet another pity party but something in his eyes and manners held her back. Something more was occurring. Something she didn't understand.

She could barely muster a whisper when it occurred to her. "You speak as if you envied him."

"And I do envy him, Emma. In one respect he is the object of my envy." His words cut into her. Of course, he envied that Frank was with the woman he loved when Mr Knightley, George, himself was not. And it was all her fault. How could he declare that he loved Harriet when he knew that would mean taking her only friend from her? He was too good to do such a grievance. They would speak of her nephews instead or so she thought until his finger jabbed the wound she was trying to heal.

"You will not ask me what is the point of envy. You are determined, I see, to have no curiosity. You are wise but I cannot be wise. Emma, I must tell you what you will not ask, though I may wish it unsaid the next moment."

She stopped walking and covered her mouth. "Don't speak it…" A half sob "Don't speak it…" Could he not see? Did he not know? It would destroy her to lose him in this manner. She'd been so silly flirting with Frank Churchill that she may have lost what meant most to her. She caught another sob before continuing. "Take time to think on it before you commit yourself."

She wanted to listen but hearing him speak of his desire to be with the woman he loved, a woman who was not her, broke her heart a little more each time she thought of it.

GEORGE

The amount of emotion coursing through him made George Knightley want to sleep for days. He'd been worried sick, suddenly elated and now, now...throw into a sadness he wasn't sure he could escape. Was that thought of him speaking his affection to her so loathsome? How could he have misjudged so grossly? Young Churchill was no longer a concern and yet she would not let him speak. Not that it was easy to speak of such matters. He thought he would never have her, now he was almost certain and it broke him with each breath.

"I stopped you ungraciously just now." Her voice was timid and he could hear her remorse slipping through. She asked him to speak as a friend. Friend. What a vile word when he wanted to be so much more than just her friend. Was there no hope of persuading her that he could, should be so much more than a friend to her? Looking at her bright eyes and small pink lip caught between her teeth George found he could not hold back. He had to tell her everything.

"My dearest Emma, for dearest you will always be, whatever the event of this hour's conversation, my dearest, most beloved Emma tell me at once. Say 'No,' if it is to be said." He watched her face. It changed so much while he spoke. It was like watching her mix the paints on a canvas and yet he could not see the full picture yet. What was she thinking? Why would she not speak? Though silence was much preferred to any dialogue that might dissuade him from bearing his heart. For now it was enough. Gently, he took her elbow and leaning his forehead against the top of her head he spoke, tone gentle, convincing, persuasive. His heart was running a marathon. "I cannot make speeches, Emma. If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am. You hear nothing but truth from me. I have blamed you, and lectured you, and you have borne it as no other woman in England would have borne it. Bear with the truths I would tell you now, dearest Emma, as well as you have borne with them. The manner, perhaps, may have as little to recommend them. God knows, I have been a very indifferent lover. But you understand me. Yes, you see, you understand my feelings and will return them if you can. At present, I ask only to hear, once to hear your voice."

The speech drained him. It was more words and phrases than he'd spoken since his last lecture. It had been wholly unexpected. He's ridden from London and walked through the garden with the sole intention of making certain she was alright. But fate has a funny way of making things happen. Her lack of tears for Frank and the way she'd been to adamant to not hear his advances only to encourage him had heightened his anxiety. So he'd spoken his mind with her as he had often. It would be worth the strain. Emma, his love, this sweetest and best of all creatures, faultless in spite of all her faults, knew how to handle him better than any other. They'd stopped walking and stood facing one another. She was his. And he was hers as ever. Gently, and with the utmost care George leaned close to press his lips to hers, first one corner, then the other until finally he kissed her fully. Emma's breath caught and when he pulled back her eyes glimmered.

"I have not offended, my beloved Emma?" He whispered, hand finding her waist.

"I hardly think that's possible after such a declaration." She replied, head finding his shoulder. "I only hope that's not the last we'll share. I think I shall marry you."

He laughed. "I agree. I think I shall marry you as well."