Emma (37 page)

Most cordially, when Miss Bates arrived, did she agree that it must. As a counsellor she was not wanted, but as an approver—a much safer character—she was truly welcome. Her approbation, at once general and minute, warm and incessant, could not but please, and for another half-hour they were all walking to and fro, between the different rooms, some suggesting, some attending, and all in happy enjoyment of the future. The party did not break up without Emma’s being positively secured for the two first dances by the hero of the evening, nor without her overhearing Mr Weston whisper to his wife, “He has asked her, my dear. That’s right. I knew he would!”

Chapter Twelve

One thing only was wanting to make the prospect of the ball completely satisfactory to Emma—its being fixed for a day within the granted term of Frank Churchill’s stay in Surrey. For, in spite of Mr Weston’s confidence, she could not think it so very impossible that the Churchills might not allow their nephew to remain a day beyond his fortnight. But this was not judged feasible. The preparations must take their time, nothing could be properly ready till the third week were entered on, and for a few days they must be planning, proceeding and hoping in uncertainty, at the risk—in her opinion, the great risk—of its being all in vain.

Enscombe, however, was gracious, gracious in fact, if not in word. His wish of staying longer evidently did not please, but it was not opposed. All was safe and prosperous, and as the removal of one solicitude generally makes way for another, Emma, being now certain of her ball, began to adopt as the next vexation Mr Knightley’s provoking indifference about it. Either because he did not dance himself, or because the plan had been formed without his being consulted, he seemed resolved that it should not interest him, determined against its exciting any present curiosity, or affording him any future amusement. To her voluntary communications Emma could get no more approving reply, than, “Shall I attend to watch you dance with Frank Churchill, Emma?”

She could no more believe he approved than the sky had gone orange at midday, though his tone said otherwise. And she replied, “If it pleases you to do so, I invite you to study each step with careful observation, Mr Knightley.”
Have that
, she thought!

Which only brought Knightley to catch her wrist and drag her to the library, away from all the house and into the one room Mr Woodhouse rarely took up occupancy. Once there he closed them in, not so much as opening the draperies to allow more light.

Emma’s heart beat a rapid pattern within her chest. Surely he felt her pulse where he grasped her wrist still.

“What is this, then?” she asked, knowing full well that the look in his eyes was both angry and lustful.

“I have missed you, just you, without your Churchill-shaped shadow. Am I wrong in feeling so? Do you think it badly played to interject myself between you and he? You’ve played me, Emma, and I care not for it.”

“Played?” she laughed. “How so, sir! I’ve done nothing more than go about my business and the business of this town to throw party after party. I am but a slave to the wishes of our friends. How could you think otherwise?”

“I have eyes that see all you do. I am no fool, nor is Frank Churchill who must see how loosely you carry your affections. Either to me or to him, it matters not to you, but it matters a great deal to me. If you dally with him, do not cry back to me, Emma. I’ll have done with it. With us.”

Emma considered him. “Frank Churchill will leave in a few days. What then?”

“Then he will be gone, and all your playthings will have left with him.”

“What of our arrangement?” she asked.

“It will have ended. I’ll not be made a fool, Emma.”

“I do not wish it to end,” she told him.

His fingers flexed upon her though the rest of him remained steady. “What would you have of me? Cuckolded without the benefit of marriage? You take me for a bigger fool than even I would have suspected.”

She thought that with what they had shared she at least had the benefit of being forward with him, so she placed her fingers upon his cheek. “Would you give me up to Frank Churchill without a fight then?”

Mr Knightley growled, swung her about so that she pressed the back of the settee. Then pushing her forward, he lifted the back of her skirts. Excitement coursed through her at the feeling of his blunt shaft pushed though the slim opening in her drawers and into her channel.

“Like this, Knightley? You would have me like this?”

“I would
have
you, Emma. That is all.”

He pushed further into her. Emma cringed, biting back a pleasured sob when her body burned and yearned in the same instant. Knightley took her, unapologetically, roughly. Tears stung her eyes but she parted her feet to grant him better entrance as her body eased and she leant back against him in full and equal measure.

“Yes! Please!” she heard herself beg.

Knightley grabbed her bared backside then slapped her there several times. The sting brought more pleasure and when he reached around her to press his finger upon the nubbin, Emma covered her mouth with a silk pillow to stem her satisfied cries.

Knightley pulled her to face him before pushing her shoulders so that she was forced to her knees. His engorged member caused her to tremble as she feared—no! Awaited—his next demand of her.

“Take it in your mouth, darling,” he instructed.

His cock glistened with her juices and she shook her head. Knightley dragged the hot tip along her bottom lip and heavens, but she could not resist him. Emma opened to him and he put his cock inside.

Tentatively she suckled his shaft as a babe would a breast, but little satisfied with that, she gripped him around the base of his measure. He shuddered through a groan so devastating that she felt it to her very core. Emma, desperate to please him, watched his face to determine if she did what he needed done.

He took a kind eye to her, a soft smile. “Almost, Emma. I will show you what I like.” With little more than a hand to the back of her head, he pushed deep causing her to gag. Oh the wonder of a full mouth! She had never conceived such a delight before. Her pussy trembled to take him.

Knightley moved against her lips, speeding his progress the more she learned his texture and girth with sucking lips and eager tongue. Knightley appeared little able to withhold himself from her ministrations until he threw his head back and with one last groan, spilled in her throat. She hurried to swallow down what she was given. Then murmuring gratitude, she cleaned him off, marvelling at the beauty and mystery of men’s bodies and Knightley’s in particular. What a fine organ he had. What soft globes beneath.

Glancing up at him as he regained himself to look back at her, she said, “There will be a time I see you fully unclothed, will there not?”

“Will you allow Frank Churchill the same liberties you allow me?” he asked, his smile fading and his voice catching with some unknown emotion.

She had no words of comfort to offer him. Mr Knightley exceeded everything she could have wished for and yet she had her curiosities too. She had made him no promises of faithfulness. On the contrary, it spoke against everything she had hoped to discover and Knightley had agreed to the terms. Had that changed?

“We have no agreement between us,” she reminded him.

“No, we have not.” His face turned stony and he tucked himself away from sight, then helped her to rise. “Agreements change,” he said.

“When both parties are in favour.”

His mouth screwed into a tight frown. “I understand your meaning, but be sure you know what you wish for because I will not be Frank Churchill’s
second
.”

“It is but a few more days. Then he is gone and no more a burden to you regardless of what occurs between us.”

“Like dancing, Emma? You would have me watch you dance with him, all the while imagining a similar movement between you and he that until now only we have shared? Would you have me imagine his cock buried within you as mine has been? Tell me, Emma, for I am at a loss.”

“Carry on as we have been. Continue as you are expected to continue. Support the endeavours of this community towards the business of celebration and when it is over, we will determine what
our
truth is,” she pleaded with him.

“The party.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Because it is all I can manage to think of just now.” She preceded him from the library.

And so it was with a grain of bitterness that next she heard him speak of the coming festivities among their acquaintances.

“Very well. If the Westons think it worthwhile to be at all this trouble for a few hours of noisy entertainment, I have nothing to say against it, but that they shall not choose pleasures for me. Oh! Yes, I must be there, I could not refuse, and I will keep as much awake as I can, but I would rather be at home, looking over William Larkins’ week’s account, much rather, I confess. Pleasure in seeing dancing! Not I, indeed—I never look at it—I do not know who does. Fine dancing, I believe, like virtue,” he added pointedly at Emma, “must be its own reward. Those who are standing by are usually thinking of something very different.”

This Emma knew was aimed at her pride, and it made her quite angry. He might pretend to speak of the dance, but the evidence was there to be noted.

It was not in compliment to Jane Fairfax, however, that he was so indifferent, or so indignant. He was not guided by
her
feelings in reprobating the ball, for
she
enjoyed the thought of it to an extraordinary degree. And it was at the second meeting at the Crown where it made her animated—open-hearted—she voluntarily said, “Oh! Miss Woodhouse, I hope nothing may happen to prevent the ball. What a disappointment it would be! I do look forward to it, I own, with
very
great pleasure.”

It was not to oblige Jane Fairfax therefore that he would have preferred the society of William Larkins. No! She was more and more convinced that Mrs Weston was quite mistaken in that surmise. There was a great deal of friendly and of compassionate attachment on his side—but no love.

Alas! There was soon no leisure for quarrelling with Mr Knightley. Two days of joyful security were immediately followed by the overthrow of everything. A letter arrived from Mr Churchill to urge his nephew’s instant return. Mrs Churchill was unwell—far too unwell to do without him, she had been in a very suffering state, so said her husband, when writing to her nephew two days before, though from her usual unwillingness to give pain, and constant habit of never thinking of herself, she had not mentioned it, but now she was too ill to trifle, and must entreat him to set off for Enscombe without delay.

The substance of this letter was forwarded to Emma, in a note from Mrs Weston, instantly. As to his going, it was inevitable. He must be gone within a few hours, though without feeling any real alarm for his aunt, to lessen his repugnance. He knew her illnesses, they never occurred but for her own convenience.

Mrs Weston added that he could only allow himself time to hurry to Highbury, after breakfast, and take leave of the few friends there whom he could suppose to feel any interest in him, and that he might be expected at Hartfield very soon.

This wretched note was the finale of Emma’s breakfast. When once it had been read, there was no doing anything, but lament and exclaim. The loss of the ball—the loss of the young man—and all that the young man might be feeling! It was too wretched! Such a delightful evening as it would have been! Everybody so happy! And she and her partner the happiest! ”I said it would be so,” was the only consolation.

Her father’s feelings were quite distinct. He thought principally of Mrs Churchill’s illness, and wanted to know how she was treated, and as for the ball, it was shocking to have dear Emma disappointed, but they would all be safer at home.

Emma was ready for her visitor some time before he appeared, but if this reflected at all upon his impatience, his sorrowful look and total want of spirits when he did come might redeem him. He felt the going away almost too much to speak of it. His dejection was most evident. He sat really lost in thought for the first few minutes, and when rousing himself, it was only to say, “Of all horrid things, leave-taking is the worst.”

“But you will come again,” said Emma. “This will not be your only visit to Randalls.”

“Ah!”—shaking his head—“The uncertainty of when I may be able to return! I shall try for it with a zeal! It will be the object of all my thoughts and cares! And if my uncle and aunt go to town this spring—but I am afraid—they did not stir last spring—I am afraid it is a custom gone forever.”

“Our poor ball must be quite given up.”

“Ah! That ball! Why did we wait for anything? Why not seize the pleasure at once? How often is happiness destroyed by preparation, foolish preparation! You told us it would be so. Oh! Miss Woodhouse, why are you always so right?”

“Indeed, I am very sorry to be right in this instance. I would much rather have been merry than wise.”

“If I can come again, we are still to have our ball. My father depends on it. Do not forget your engagement.”

Emma looked graciously.

“Such a fortnight as it has been!” he continued. “Every day more precious and more delightful than the day before! Every day making me less fit to bear any other place. Happy those, who can remain at Highbury!”

“As you do us such ample justice now,” said Emma, laughing, “I will venture to ask, whether you did not come a little doubtfully at first? Do not we rather surpass your expectations? I am sure we do. I am sure you did not much expect to like us. You would not have been so long in coming, if you had had a pleasant idea of Highbury.”

He laughed rather consciously, and though denying the sentiment, Emma was convinced that it had been so.

“And you must be off this very morning?”

“Yes, my father is to join me here, we shall walk back together, and I must be off immediately. I am almost afraid that every moment will bring him.”