Emma: The Wild and Wanton Edition (11 page)

It was most convenient to Emma not to make a direct reply to this assertion; a kiss would definitely count as “encouragement.” She chose rather to drum her fingers upon his chest and take up her own line of the subject again.

“You are a very warm friend to Mr. Martin; but, as I said before, are unjust to Harriet. Harriet’s claims to marry well are not so contemptible as you represent them. She is not a clever girl, but she has better sense than you are aware of, and does not deserve to have her understanding spoken of so slightingly. Waiving that point, however, and supposing her to be, as you describe her, only pretty and good-natured, let me tell you, that in the degree she possesses them, they are not trivial recommendations to the world in general, for she is, in fact, a beautiful girl, and must be thought so by ninety-nine people out of an hundred; and till it appears that men are much more philosophic on the subject of beauty than they are generally supposed; till they do fall in love with well-informed minds instead of handsome faces, a girl, with such loveliness as Harriet, has a certainty of being admired and sought after, of having the power of chusing from among many, consequently a claim to be nice. Her good-nature, too, is not so very slight a claim, comprehending, as it does, real, thorough sweetness of temper and manner, a very humble opinion of herself, and a great readiness to be pleased with other people. I am very much mistaken if your sex in general would not think such beauty, and such temper, the highest claims a woman could possess.”

Mr. Knightley tossed his head back and groaned to the ceiling, squeezing her arms in obvious frustration. “Upon my word, Emma,” he choked out, “to hear you abusing the reason you have, is almost enough to make me think so too. Better be without sense, than misapply it as you do.”

“To be sure!” cried she playfully, raising her other hand to his chest also and patting him with both hands. “I know
that
is the feeling of you all. I know that such a girl as Harriet is exactly what every man delights in — what at once bewitches his senses and satisfies his judgment. Oh! Harriet may pick and chuse. Were you, yourself, ever to marry, she is the very woman for you. And is she, at seventeen, just entering into life, just beginning to be known, to be wondered at because she does not accept the first offer she receives? No — pray let her have time to look about her.”

“I have always thought it a very foolish intimacy,” said Mr. Knightley presently, his eyes raking over Emma’s features, “though I have kept my thoughts to myself; but I now perceive that it will be a very unfortunate one for Harriet. You will puff her up with such ideas of her own beauty, and of what she has a claim to, that, in a little while, nobody within her reach will be good enough for her. Vanity working on a weak head, produces every sort of mischief. Nothing so easy as for a young lady to raise her expectations too high. Miss Harriet Smith may not find offers of marriage flow in so fast, though she is a very pretty girl. Men of sense, whatever you may chuse to say, do not want silly wives. Men of family would not be very fond of connecting themselves with a girl of such obscurity — and most prudent men would be afraid of the inconvenience and disgrace they might be involved in, when the mystery of her parentage came to be revealed. Let her marry Robert Martin, and she is safe, respectable, and happy forever; but if you encourage her to expect to marry greatly, and teach her to be satisfied with nothing less than a man of consequence and large fortune, she may be a parlour-boarder at Mrs. Goddard’s all the rest of her life — or, at least, (for Harriet Smith is a girl who will marry somebody or other,) till she grow desperate, and is glad to catch at the old writing-master’s son.”

She tapped her fingers on his chest again. “We think so very differently on this point, Mr. Knightley, that there can be no use in canvassing it. We shall only be making each other more angry. But as to my
letting
her marry Robert Martin, it is impossible; she has refused him, and so decidedly, I think, as must prevent any second application. She must abide by the evil of having refused him, whatever it may be; and as to the refusal itself, I will not pretend to say that I might not influence her a little; but I assure you there was very little for me or for any body to do. His appearance is so much against him, and his manner so bad, that if she ever were disposed to favour him, she is not now. I can imagine, that before she had seen any body superior, she might tolerate him. He was the brother of her friends, and he took pains to please her; and altogether, having seen nobody better (that must have been his great assistant) she might not, while she was at Abbey-Mill, find him disagreeable. But the case is altered now. She knows now what gentlemen are; and nothing but a gentleman in education and manner has any chance with Harriet.”

“Nonsense, errant nonsense, as ever was talked!” cried Mr. Knightley. “Robert Martin’s manners have sense, sincerity, and good-humour to recommend them; and his mind has more true gentility than Harriet Smith could understand.”

Emma took a deep breath to launch a new argument, and was startled when her breasts brushed against Mr. Knightley’s chest, right below the slabs of muscle Emma’s hands were currently resting upon.

Her eyes widened and she gasped. They were standing toe-to-toe in the parlour, his hands gripping her arms, her hands on his chest, their torsos brushing. Both of them were breathing heavily, and their noses were inches apart. Mr. Knightley’s angry gaze trailed from her eyes to her lips, and Emma’s stomach shot down to her toes.

“Oh,” she gasped.

Mr. Knightley’s eyes flared, and in a second, they returned to her eyes and cleared. He dropped his hands from her skin as though burnt and hastily backed up, putting an entire parlour’s distance between them. Emma felt oddly bereft. She crossed her arms across her stomach again and stared in confusion at his back wondering what had just happened.

It was several seconds before he turned back to her, his eyes unsure and questioning.

Emma made no answer for she had none, and tried to look cheerfully unconcerned, but was really feeling uncomfortable and wanting him very much to be gone. She did not repent what she had done; she still thought herself a better judge of such a point of female right and refinement than he could be; but yet she had a sort of habitual respect for his judgment in general, which made her dislike having it so loudly against her; and to have him standing just opposite to her in angry state, was very disagreeable. And her body was thrumming in a peculiar manner. Her earlier imagining of him kissing her, and then their close encounter just now, had certainly upset her. She needed time to become composed, and she would not find it while he was glowering at her from across the parlour. Some minutes passed in this unpleasant silence, with only one attempt on Emma’s side to talk of the weather, but he made no answer. He was thinking. The result of his thoughts appeared at last in these words.

“Robert Martin has no great loss — if he can but think so; and I hope it will not be long before he does. Your views for Harriet are best known to yourself; but as you make no secret of your love of match-making, it is fair to suppose that views, and plans, and projects you have; and as a friend I shall just hint to you that if Elton is the man, I think it will be all labour in vain.”

Emma laughed and disclaimed.

He continued, “Depend upon it, Elton will not do. Elton is a very good sort of man, and a very respectable vicar of Highbury, but not at all likely to make an imprudent match. He knows the value of a good income as well as any body. Elton may talk sentimentally, but he will act rationally. He is as well acquainted with his own claims, as you can be with Harriet’s. He knows that he is a very handsome young man, and a great favourite wherever he goes; and from his general way of talking in unreserved moments, when there are only men present, I am convinced that he does not mean to throw himself away. I have heard him speak with great animation of a large family of young ladies that his sisters are intimate with, who have all twenty thousand pounds apiece.”

“I am very much obliged to you,” said Emma, laughing uncomfortably again. “If I had set my heart on Mr. Elton’s marrying Harriet, it would have been very kind to open my eyes; but at present I only want to keep Harriet to myself. I have done with match-making indeed. I could never hope to equal my own doings at Randalls. I shall leave off while I am well.”

“Good morning to you,” said he, rising and walking off abruptly. He was very much vexed. He felt the disappointment of the young man, and was mortified to have been the means of promoting it, by the sanction he had given; and the part which he was persuaded Emma had taken in the affair, was provoking him exceedingly. But that was not the only reason he was vexed. He cursed and raked a hand through his hair. That Emma was completely ignorant of her effect on men was becoming more and more obvious.
She
may not have been aware of their closing proximity during the argument.
She
may not have noticed when he had gripped her arms and she had placed her palms — her small, warm, soft palms — on his chest. However,
Mr. Knightley
had certainly noticed these things. She had also not noticed how having her hands upon him had affected his body. His swift and violent arousal had stunned him. He had needed all of his willpower to keep him from pulling her even closer to his body so he could touch her — any part of her — with that aching length of flesh that had craved her more than Mr. Knightley had been prepared to anticipate. He wanted to crash his lips down upon hers — to silence her argument in a brutal and primal way. Filling her mouth with his tongue would have accomplished the matter in no time at all. Dragging her down to the chaise and covering her with his body would have distracted her from her incessant need to meddle, and his fingers upon her skin — anywhere she would let him touch — would distract
him
from her meddling. Not to mention such actions would meet a need that was becoming nigh impossible to ignore.

He needed a woman
badly
. In the past, when such a need had made itself known, Mr. Knightley had had ways of making sure that need was met. Perhaps he should —

At the thought of seeking release inside anyone’s body but Emma’s, Mr. Knightley’s stomach lurched dangerously and any remnants of arousal quickly fled his system. “Oh, for the love of — ” He broke off and kicked a pebble out of the path violently. This would not do. This would not do at all.

He straightened his shoulders and began the brisk walk home. If his body wanted no one but Emma, his body would just have to get by with nothing. In time, it would fall in line and begin obeying him again. In the interrum, Mr. Knightley would simply ignore it.

Emma remained in a state of vexation too; but there was more indistinctness in the causes of her’s, than in his. Her stomach ached. She did not always feel so absolutely satisfied with herself, so entirely convinced that her opinions were right and her adversary’s wrong, as Mr. Knightley. He walked off in more complete self-approbation than he left for her. She was not so materially cast down, however, but that a little time and the return of Harriet were very adequate restoratives. Harriet’s staying away so long was beginning to make her uneasy. The possibility of the young man’s coming to Mrs. Goddard’s that morning, and meeting with Harriet and pleading his own cause with his powerful kisses, gave alarming ideas — ideas that manifested themselves in odd fantasies concerning her dear friend. The dread of such a failure after all became the prominent uneasiness; and when Harriet appeared, and in very good spirits, and without having any such reason to give for her long absence, she felt a satisfaction which settled her with her own mind, and convinced her, that let Mr. Knightley think or say what he would, she had done nothing which woman’s friendship and woman’s feelings would not justify.

He had frightened her a little about Mr. Elton; but when she considered that Mr. Knightley could not have observed him as she had done, neither with the interest, nor (she must be allowed to tell herself, in spite of Mr. Knightley’s pretensions) with the skill of such an observer on such a question as herself, that he had spoken it hastily and in anger, she was able to believe, that he had rather said what he wished resentfully to be true, than what he knew any thing about. He certainly might have heard Mr. Elton speak with more unreserve than she had ever done, and Mr. Elton might not be of an imprudent, inconsiderate disposition as to money matters; he might naturally be rather attentive than otherwise to them; but then, Mr. Knightley did not make due allowance for the influence of a strong passion at war with all interested motives. Mr. Knightley saw no such passion, and of course thought nothing of its effects; but she saw too much of it to feel a doubt of its overcoming any hesitations that a reasonable prudence might originally suggest; and more than a reasonable, becoming degree of prudence, she was very sure did not belong to Mr. Elton.

Harriet’s cheerful look and manner established hers: she came back, not to think of Mr. Martin, but to talk of Mr. Elton. Miss Nash had been telling her something, which she repeated immediately with great delight. Mr. Perry had been to Mrs. Goddard’s to attend a sick child, and Miss Nash had seen him, and he had told Miss Nash, that as he was coming back yesterday from Clayton Park, he had met Mr. Elton, and found to his great surprize, that Mr. Elton was actually on his road to London, and not meaning to return till the morrow, though it was the whist-club night, which he had been never known to miss before; and Mr. Perry had remonstrated with him about it, and told him how shabby it was in him, their best player, to absent himself, and tried very much to persuade him to put off his journey only one day; but it would not do; Mr. Elton had been determined to go on, and had said in a
very particular
way indeed, that he was going on business which he would not put off for any inducement in the world; and something about a very enviable commission, and being the bearer of something exceedingly precious. Mr. Perry could not quite understand him, but he was very sure there must be a
lady
in the case, and he told him so; and Mr. Elton only looked very conscious and smiling, and rode off in great spirits. Miss Nash had told her all this, and had talked a great deal more about Mr. Elton; and said, looking so very significantly at her, “that she did not pretend to understand what his business might be, but she only knew that any woman whom Mr. Elton could prefer, she should think the luckiest woman in the world; for, beyond a doubt, Mr. Elton had not his equal for beauty or agreeableness.”