Chapter Twenty-Four #3
Jane glanced in his direction; he was still devoting himself to Emma’s amusement, but Mr. Bingley was endeavoring to disrupt them, and she silently cheered him on.
Her gaze drifted to Mr. Knightley, who was watching her speak with her sister.
He gave a nod of approbation, and she smiled at him before swiftly looking away.
The realization of his superiority to Frank in every way unsettled her, and she answered her sister in perfect honesty.
“It is such a muddle to me that I hardly know. I cannot bear to think of it and should rather distract myself with our schemes.”
“I ought to advise against that, but I believe your low spirits warrant every indulgence,” Elizabeth said. “Of course, I should call it prudent of you to never think of Mr. Churchill again, but that is the last I will say of him. Whatever you choose, I shall be your unwavering ally, always.”
Whatever she chose. Jane sighed and looked wistfully at Mr. Knightley. She was not entirely sure if she had a choice.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Emma arranged to spend another, quieter afternoon of painting with her three new friends; they would have to paint one another to complete their collection of portraits.
Elizabeth and Charlotte arrived in high spirits, for apparently Miss Bingley had over-imbibed the night before at dinner, and they conversed at a very excited volume for all of breakfast.
Jane arrived a few minutes later, and in a stark contrast to the others, her demeanor was uncommonly sullen; Emma even supposed she had been weeping.
There was still a certain hesitancy in Jane’s manners, which Emma did not wish to press.
She had little need to worry, for Elizabeth and Charlotte inquired at once.
“I am only upset because….” Jane’s voice quivered as she gazed warily at Emma.
“Well, I received a letter from our aunt, Lady Gresham. She just arrived in London and she wished to know of our progress in the scheme to unite our guardians. I suppose it is a fine thing that she is so near if we should need her, but I am very sorry that we have done so little this week to achieve our purpose.”
Emma watched as Elizabeth surveyed her sister skeptically before sitting down beside her.
She whispered something to Jane, who only nodded dismally before her face twisted into another burst of tears.
Emma suspected there was something else to Jane’s distress, and it chafed that her new friend would not confide.
Miss Taylor pinched Emma and shook her head, murmuring, “Let her come to you when she is ready.”
Eventually Jane calmed herself, and she turned an apologetic frown on Emma. “I am sure I must be acting like a ninny. I have only had a little headache this morning, which makes it all seem so dreary.”
“That will never do,” Emma cried. She could not like feeling so helpless, and she rang for tea and sweets to be served in the hope she could do something to cheer them.
Jane sniffled, squeezing her sister’s hand until her knuckles were white, causing Elizabeth to flinch – and then she froze.
Emma turned around to see Mr. Weston and his son in the front hall, and she hastily offered Jane a handkerchief.
“If you wish to collect yourself, perhaps Miss Taylor will stall them for a few moments before they join us?”
Miss Taylor obliged Emma, and Jane smiled gratefully as she dabbed her face, while Charlotte moved into such a position that might shield Jane from being seen by the gentlemen until she had recovered her equanimity.
When Jane seemed recovered, she returned the handkerchief and gave Emma’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Thank you.”
“Come and sit over here, both of you,” Charlotte said to the sisters. “I must have the honor of painting you together.”
“And so shall I,” Emma cried. “There are two of you, are there not? There must be two portraits, so that you might each have one. I cannot say how you shall decide who is to keep mine, for I cannot promise it will be a very faithful likeness, but for you I shall do my best.”
As Charlotte set about preparing the sisters to be painted, Miss Taylor led the gentlemen into the large parlor; the glass doors on either side of the room had been opened to the garden beyond, and all the open windows filled the room with sunlight, casting an ethereal aspect on Jane and Elizabeth.
Mr. Churchill stumbled a little at the fine sight of them before he approached Emma with a rueful smile.
“I have come to take my leave of you, Miss Woodhouse, and your friends. How fortunate they are here, for me to bid them farewell, as I do not have time to stop at the cottage.”
Across the room, Jane grimaced at this slight, and Emma felt herself similarly vexed at the news. “Must you leave already? You have only been amongst us for a week!”
“Unfortunately, my aunt has had a relapse in her health. She requires my immediate presence at Enscombe; I must depart even now. I have enjoyed my time here very well indeed, even if it has been cut short by my aunt, whose power over me has at times prevented me from truly enjoying Highbury’s delights as I have longed to. ”
“You must be very sorry to leave before we have unveiled all our paintings,” Emma said with a little pout. “And the ball at the Crown Inn – I daresay that must be cancelled.”
"Only postponed, and not for long, I hope. I fully intend to return at the earliest opportunity – I am sure my aunt will recover once I am with her – it cannot be long,” Mr. Churchill said with vehemence that startled Emma.
He cast a longing glance about the room and ran his fingers through his hair as he looked back at her, utterly wretched.
Emma felt something twist in her stomach.
Good Lord, she had made Frank Churchill in love with her!
Perhaps it was for the best that he should go away.
“I may be wed by the time you return,” she sighed.
There was nobody else she could flirt with to vex Mr. Bingley, for she was certain that Mr. Darcy admired Elizabeth, and Emma would not spoil such a fine prospect for her friend.
Mr. Churchill paced for a moment, looking terribly agitated, and then declared he must go at once. His father would accompany him, but he was waved off. “No – stay, stay – you are at liberty to be just where you wish to be, merry as anything!”
Emma gave Miss Taylor a subtle nudge. “You and Mr. Weston might take Mr. Churchill down the path through the garden – the walk to Randalls is shorter from that direction.”
Mr. Weston was ready to oblige, and offered Miss Taylor his arm as they walked his son out through the garden. Emma did not expect the pair to return to the house any time soon, which was just as she wished.
Emma set up her easel near the window so that she might spy on Miss Taylor and Mr. Weston together, but she soon grew lost in her endeavor, for she was resolved to do justice to the extraordinary tableau the beautiful twins presented.
As they painted, Charlotte returned to the topic of Miss Bingley, and their scheme to unite the sisters’ guardians.
“It occurs to me that whatever mischief we work upon Miss Bingley shall only be half the task. We must also kindle the spark of romance between Miss Bates and Mr. Bennet, which may prove difficult; you have come by your obstinacy quite naturally, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth laughed. “My guardian has certainly taught me to be as headstrong as he is – and like our aunt, Jane has learned something of how a lady might talk herself out of any romantic felicity.”
Jane looked sharply at her sister, and Emma’s interest was piqued, but she chanced to meet Charlotte's eye, and Emma was met with a subtle shake of her head.
Perhaps she ought not inquire – yet. For want of anything else to say, Emma asked, “What is their history? How well were they acquainted when you were born?”
“My guardian was the dearest friend of Miss Bates’s brother by marriage,” Elizabeth said.
“Mr. Bennet was a second son then, and his regiment of the militia was quartered here for many months before we were born. I am sure that given their close mutual acquaintance, he and Miss Bates must have been often in company together. Our housekeeper Mrs. Hill also resided in Highbury at the time, and she has hinted that there may have been some partiality. When Mr. Bennet’s elder brother died, however, his father forced him to marry the heiress his brother had been promised to. ”
Emma nodded as she considered this. “That is enough to grow something more, surely.”
“Absolutely,” Charlotte agreed.
“I wonder about Miss Bingley’s history,” Elizabeth mused. “I have heard something – I wish to be discreet, but I believe she has an unsavory connection. Jane, I wonder if we could not ask our aunt to find out what she can, since she is in London.”
Emma grinned at the intrigue. “Lizzy, what do you know?”
Elizabeth chewed her lip for a moment. “I can tell you little else, but we have another conspirator who gave me just enough information to make me wonder if there is anything that can be discovered – but it may come to naught.”
“Another conspirator? It must be Mr. Darcy, for he is utterly in your thrall!”
There was laughter behind her – masculine laughter – and Emma turned about so abruptly she nearly toppled off her stool.
Mr. Bingley hastened to her aid and helped her right herself.
“I am sorry to frighten you, Miss Woodhouse,” he said with a sheepish grin as he braced her arm with his hand for a little longer than necessary.
He was standing near enough that she was struck by a pleasant fragrance, and she shifted uncomfortably on her stool.
“You smell like strawberries,” she blurted out.
“Knightley sent us a basket from his strawberry patch. I am easily won over by tasty little treats, though Darcy was cross that I devoured them all so greedily.”