Emma: The Wild and Wanton Edition (10 page)

Emma took her seat on the chaise a safe distance away from Mr. Knightley’s adjacent settee. He began speaking of Harriet, and speaking of her with more voluntary praise than Emma had ever heard before, a development which would have pleased her mere moments ago. Now it only seemed to cause an emotion that felt very akin to jealousy.

“I cannot rate her beauty as you do,” said he, his eyes making another pass over Emma’s figure; “but she is a pretty little creature, and I am inclined to think very well of her disposition. Her character depends upon those she is with; but in good hands she will turn out a valuable woman.”

Emma struggled to follow the conversation. The latest perusal of her body seemed to imply Mr. Knightley thought that Harriet had nothing on Emma looks-wise. The realization was making it difficult to think on any thing else. “I am glad you think so;” she forced herself to say, “and the good hands, I hope, may not be wanting.”

Mr. Knightley smiled, and Emma noticed that his lips were distractingly full. It was the only thought she was capable of before he startled her by moving from the settee to the chaise to sit beside her. The movement was slight and one he had often made in the company of others, but Emma was of a sudden reminded that she and Mr. Knightley had not been alone together, as decorum and Miss Taylor had dictated, since Emma was perhaps fourteen. Perhaps decorum was in the right. The moment they were alone, Emma’s thoughts were running rampant.

Mr. Knightley leaned toward her slightly, and she unconsciously mirrored the movement. She could feel his breath on her cheek as he spoke. “Come,” said he a bit roughly, “you are anxious for a compliment, so I will tell you that you have improved her. You have cured her of her school-girl’s giggle; she really does you credit.”

His words momentarily penetrated her focus on the way his mouth moved as he talked. She realised he had complimented her. Emma could not have anticipated the warmth she felt in her cheeks any more than she could have anticipated his praise. He was not one to throw around flattery lightly. “Thank you. I should be mortified indeed if I did not believe I had been of some use; but it is not every body who will bestow praise where they may.
You
do not often overpower me with it.” The last had slipped from her lips unheeded, and Emma wished the words back again. She could not tell what had driven her to reveal that thought, and in such a tone as to betray an injury Emma did not want to admit feeling. Emma could only blame the odd state of her mind at present. If she were to ever have hope of keeping her composure for the rest of Mr. Knightley’s visit, she must keep a tight rein on her thoughts.

Mr. Knightley gazed at her intently. Those eyes that she now saw had flecks of green in them had heat swirling within. He was sitting extraordinarily close. The chaise was small and afforded no ample space. She could feel the heat of his skin through his breeches and her skirts. Her gaze dropped to her lap where her hands had fisted together quite on their own. Oh dear, she thought as she felt her thoughts slip her control.

The parlour fell away. She saw only Mr. Knightley, and yet, she knew it was not
actually
her Mr. Knightley but a figment of her imagination. His strong, tan hand crossed the distance between them to rest atop her own hands, his palm rough from the reins of his horse. It traveled from her hands, over her wrist, to trail up her arm. Goosebumps broke out on her skin as his phantom touch made its way up her neck to her jaw. He stopped to trace his thumb over her bottom lip. He met her eyes and whispered her name just before leaning in to close his lips over hers. Emma closed her eyes and sighed.

She heard Mr. Knightley, the
real
one, take an unsteady breath, and her eyes popped open again. Oh, heavens. What had just occurred? She met Mr. Knightley’s eyes hesitantly, trying to think how she could apologise for any untoward noises she may have made during her impromptu fantasy and noticed that the heat she had seen before in his expression had burst into an inferno. All thought of apology fled. He looked utterly
affected.
He opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it. With an obvious effort, he tried to steer them back into safe conversation. “You are expecting her again, you say, this morning?”

A pang of disappointment shot through Emma’s chest, which was disturbing itself. What exactly did she wish him to say if not this? She sighed. “Almost every moment. She has been gone longer already than she intended.”

“Something has happened to delay her; some visitors perhaps.”

“Highbury gossips! Tiresome wretches!” Emma said with too much passion. She blushed. She must get herself back under wraps!

Mr. Knightley raised one brow, but most graciously did not call attention to her outburst. “Harriet may not consider every body tiresome that you would.”

Emma knew this was too true for contradiction, and therefore said nothing. He presently added, with a smile that spread heat through her belly,

“I do not pretend to fix on times or places, but I must tell you that I have good reason to believe your little friend will soon hear of something to her advantage.”

The fog in Emma’s mind began to dissipate as the topic of Harriet switched to something of particular high interest. “Indeed! How so? of what sort?”

“A very serious sort, I assure you;” still smiling.

“Very serious! I can think of but one thing — Who is in love with her? Who makes you their confidant?”

Emma was more than half in hopes of Mr. Elton’s having dropt a hint. Mr. Knightley was a sort of general friend and adviser, and she knew Mr. Elton looked up to him. She felt the thrill of assured success combined with the relief of returning to herself. Perhaps she was not well. That might explain why she was behaving so unlike herself. Her relief tripled as she settled on this explanation for her odd mental slip.

“I have reason to think,” he replied, “that Harriet Smith will soon have an offer of marriage, and from a most unexceptionable quarter: Robert Martin is the man. Her visit to Abbey-Mill, this summer, seems to have done his business. He is desperately in love and means to marry her.”

Emma straightened, aghast. All of the earlier beginnings of passion she had felt became but a distant memory at the realization that Mr. Knightley had had a hand in the one challenge that had been admitted to Emma’s design. “He is very obliging,” said Emma, carefully reining in her temper; “but is he sure that Harriet means to marry him?”

“Well, well, means to make her an offer then. Will that do? He came to the Abbey two evenings ago, on purpose to consult me about it. He knows I have a thorough regard for him and all his family, and, I believe, considers me as one of his best friends. He came to ask me whether I thought it would be imprudent in him to settle so early; whether I thought her too young: in short, whether I approved his choice altogether; having some apprehension perhaps of her being considered (especially since
your
making so much of her) as in a line of society above him. I was very much pleased with all that he said. I never hear better sense from any one than Robert Martin. He always speaks to the purpose; open, straightforward, and very well judging. He told me every thing; his circumstances and plans, and what they all proposed doing in the event of his marriage. He is an excellent young man, both as son and brother. I had no hesitation in advising him to marry. He proved to me that he could afford it; and that being the case, I was convinced he could not do better. I praised the fair lady too, and altogether sent him away very happy. If he had never esteemed my opinion before, he would have thought highly of me then; and, I dare say, left the house thinking me the best friend and counsellor man ever had. This happened the night before last. Now, as we may fairly suppose, he would not allow much time to pass before he spoke to the lady, and as he does not appear to have spoken yesterday, it is not unlikely that he should be at Mrs. Goddard’s to-day; and she may be detained by a visitor, without thinking him at all a tiresome wretch.”

“Pray, Mr. Knightley,” said Emma, who had been smiling to herself through a great part of this speech, “how do you know that Mr. Martin did not speak yesterday?”

“Certainly,” replied he, surprized, “I do not absolutely know it; but it may be inferred. Was not she the whole day with you?”

“Come,” said she, “I will tell you something, in return for what you have told me. He did speak yesterday — that is, he wrote, and was refused.”

This was obliged to be repeated before it could be believed; and Mr. Knightley actually looked red with surprize and displeasure, as he stood up, in tall indignation, and said, “Then she is a greater simpleton than I ever believed her. What is the foolish girl about?”

“Oh! to be sure,” cried Emma springing to her feet as well, “it is always incomprehensible to a man that a woman should ever refuse an offer of marriage. A man always imagines a woman to be ready for any body who asks her.”

Mr. Knightley took one great step toward Emma. “Nonsense! a man does not imagine any such thing. But what is the meaning of this? Harriet Smith refuse Robert Martin? madness, if it is so; but I hope you are mistaken.”

Emma took one great step toward Mr. Knightley. “I saw her answer! nothing could be clearer.”

Mr. Knightley’s eyes narrowed and flashed dangerously. “You saw her answer! you wrote her answer too. Emma, this is your doing. You persuaded her to refuse him.”

Emma crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “And if I did, (which, however, I am far from allowing) I should not feel that I had done wrong. Mr. Martin is a very respectable young man, but I cannot admit him to be Harriet’s equal; and am rather surprized indeed that he should have ventured to address her. By your account, he does seem to have had some scruples. It is a pity that they were ever got over.”

Mr. Knightley’s eyes skimmed over her flesh quickly to where Emma’s crossed arms had raised her breasts. He swallowed violently and flashed his eyes back to hers. “Not Harriet’s equal!” exclaimed Mr. Knightley loudly and warmly; and with calmer asperity, added, a few moments afterwards, “No, he is not her equal indeed, for he is as much her superior in sense as in situation. Emma, your infatuation about that girl blinds you. What are Harriet Smith’s claims, either of birth, nature or education, to any connexion higher than Robert Martin? She is the natural daughter of nobody knows whom, with probably no settled provision at all, and certainly no respectable relations. She is known only as parlour-boarder at a common school. She is not a sensible girl, nor a girl of any information. She has been taught nothing useful, and is too young and too simple to have acquired any thing herself. At her age she can have no experience, and with her little wit, is not very likely ever to have any that can avail her. She is pretty, and she is good tempered, and that is all. My only scruple in advising the match was on his account, as being beneath his deserts, and a bad connexion for him. I felt that, as to fortune, in all probability he might do much better; and that as to a rational companion or useful helpmate, he could not do worse. But I could not reason so to a man in love, and was willing to trust to there being no harm in her, to her having that sort of disposition, which, in good hands, like his, might be easily led aright and turn out very well. The advantage of the match I felt to be all on her side; and had not the smallest doubt (nor have I now) that there would be a general cry-out upon her extreme good luck. Even
your
satisfaction I made sure of.” His hands flew to her upper arms where he gripped her lightly and gave her a small shake. “It crossed my mind immediately that you would not regret your friend’s leaving Highbury, for the sake of her being settled so well. I remember saying to myself, ‘Even Emma, with all her partiality for Harriet, will think this a good match.’”

Emma poked Mr. Knightley in the chest. “I cannot help wondering at your knowing so little of Emma as to say any such thing. What! think a farmer, (and with all his sense and all his merit Mr. Martin is nothing more,) a good match for my intimate friend! Not regret her leaving Highbury for the sake of marrying a man whom I could never admit as an acquaintance of my own! I wonder you should think it possible for me to have such feelings. I assure you mine are very different. I must think your statement by no means fair. You are not just to Harriet’s claims. They would be estimated very differently by others as well as myself; Mr. Martin may be the richest of the two, but he is undoubtedly her inferior as to rank in society. The sphere in which she moves is much above his. It would be a degradation.”

“A degradation to illegitimacy and ignorance, to be married to a respectable, intelligent gentleman-farmer!” His fingers flexed on her skin.

Instead of a poke this time, Emma laid her hand flat on his chest and pushed. Not very hard, evidently, for the amount he moved, which was none at all. “As to the circumstances of her birth, though in a legal sense she may be called Nobody, it will not hold in common sense. She is not to pay for the offence of others, by being held below the level of those with whom she is brought up. There can scarcely be a doubt that her father is a gentleman — and a gentleman of fortune. Her allowance is very liberal; nothing has ever been grudged for her improvement or comfort. That she is a gentleman’s daughter, is indubitable to me; that she associates with gentlemen’s daughters, no one, I apprehend, will deny. She is superior to Mr. Robert Martin.”

“Whoever might be her parents,” said Mr. Knightley pulling her slightly closer with a tug of the hands still grasping her upper arms, “whoever may have had the charge of her, it does not appear to have been any part of their plan to introduce her into what you would call good society. After receiving a very indifferent education she is left in Mrs. Goddard’s hands to shift as she can; to move, in short, in Mrs. Goddard’s line, to have Mrs. Goddard’s acquaintance. Her friends evidently thought this good enough for her; and it
was
good enough. She desired nothing better herself. Till you chose to turn her into a friend, her mind had no distaste for her own set, nor any ambition beyond it. She was as happy as possible with the Martins in the summer. She had no sense of superiority then. If she has it now, you have given it. You have been no friend to Harriet Smith, Emma. Robert Martin would never have proceeded so far, if he had not felt persuaded of her not being disinclined to him. I know him well. He has too much real feeling to address any woman on the haphazard of selfish passion. And as to conceit, he is the farthest from it of any man I know. Depend upon it he had encouragement.”