Blurb: Mrs. Churchill of Donwell Abbey hopes that her nephew will marry neighbor Emma Woodhouse.

Chapter 1: An Imprudent Match

The Churchill family had lived at Donwell Abbey for centuries, tracing their residency almost as far back as the origin of the abbey itself. The first generations had been tremendously fruitful, but as time went on the family tree began to wither. Eventually the final generation of Churchills had been reached, and would have passed into obscurity but that Mr. Churchill’s sister had died young. Mrs. Weston left behind a beautiful son and a husband unable to care for him, so the Churchills took the boy in and made him their own. His name was Frank and he was the apple of their eye. He could do no wrong, or at least very little. And he grew up to be just the man that the couple could have hoped their son to be, with one exception.

Mrs. Churchill expected her adopted son to marry well, as befit a Churchill of Donwell. To that end, she had ceaselessly forwarded a match between Frank and a local beauty, Emma Woodhouse. The Woodhouses had resided at Hartfield, neighbors to the Churchills for generations, and were considered -- barring the Churchills -- to be the acme of the social order in the area. Her dowry was not inconsiderable, and her feminine and practical accomplishments were often praised. And she was indeed very lovely to behold.

Together, Frank and Emma made a very handsome couple. They opened every assembly. They were seated together, or near enough, at every dinner party. He often joined her at the piano forte. He frequently called at Hartfield for tea or was invited to stay for supper. In short, he singled her out for special attention, and she received it as her due. It aroused a good deal of expectation in Donwell and Highbury, by almost everyone, yet it only existed as an expectation.

The main impediment to the match, in Mrs. Churchill’s view, was Mr. Woodhouse, Emma’s father. Mr. Woodhouse fancied himself an invalid, rarely left Hartfield for larger society, and Mrs. Churchill knew he would oppose any change that would force his youngest daughter to leave him; never mind that Mrs. Churchill also frequently suffered from ill health, did not care to venture far from the Abbey, and could not imagine Frank living anywhere but with her. So she watched and listened for any news of Mr. Woodhouse’s health, having resigned herself to wait until the day when Mr. Woodhouse could no longer prevent his daughter from following her heart to Donwell.

Their little society continued thus until one major change set off a chain reaction that toppled all of Mrs. Churchill’s well-laid plans. Frank’s natural father, Mr. Weston, bought the nearby estate of Randalls with the intention of being closer to his son and finally forging the bonds that should have always existed. Mrs. Churchill was deeply offended that Mr. Churchill's dead sister’s husband should attempt to force frequent and sustained contact with the boy he had discarded, but Mr. Churchill was more sanguine. Frank was a Churchill in name and action, but it would not hurt him to repair relations with his original family. Indeed, Mr. Weston’s purchase of Randalls, something unimaginable two decades prior, spoke well for his ability to provide an additional inheritance to Frank and Donwell Abbey when the time came.

Mr. Weston was a hearty, jovial man and soon endeared himself to the local society. He was never truly welcomed at the Abbey, but he became a favorite at Hartfield. Emma was forever desiring his visits “for Papa,” she would say, although she cast a knowing glance at Miss Taylor, her governess and companion, when she said it.

Within six months of Mr. Weston settling at Randalls, he brought home a new wife, the former Miss Taylor. The reaction about the neighborhood was predominantly joyful. Miss Taylor made a very pretty bride, and her experience at Hartfield proved valuable in her new establishment. Mr. Weston was the happiest of men with his blushing bride by his side and his own son in the neighborhood. Miss Emma Woodhouse was very happy for the Westons, and happier still that she could take the credit of bringing the two of them repeatedly together until the inevitable occurred.

Mr. Woodhouse was not pleased with the marriage. In fact, he was mournful. To lose Miss Taylor! She, who had always been happy at Hartfield, who had never had to worry about being asked to leave. It felt like betrayal, and it cut as deeply as when his eldest, Isabella, had married a second son named John Knightley.

Mr. Churchill was also not pleased with the marriage. While Mr. Weston was no longer a man in the prime of his youth, his wife was young enough to produce the sons that would disinherit Frank. He frowned over it, but decided there was very little he could do about it.

Mrs. Churchill was most bitterly displeased with the marriage. After all her years in promoting the match between Frank and Emma, for Frank’s own father to replace Mr. Churchill’s dear sister with the girl’s governess! It was not to be supported. There was nothing wrong with the former Miss Taylor in the general way, and had the two met as strangers, Mrs. Churchill would certainly manage a nod in response to the younger woman’s curtsy, but this connection to her family was abhorrent. She resolved to increase her efforts to keep Frank away from the pernicious influence of his natural father.

One act to protect Frank had been to encourage him to leave Donwell for a while, to make some new friends in a seaside town. It would put some needed distance between him and the new Mrs. Weston.

In Weymouth, Frank's easy manners made him instantly welcome wherever he should go. For his part, he was attracted as like to like to other young people of good breeding and few cares. After making his promenade through the drawing rooms, musical halls and theatre lobbies, he fell in as thick as thieves with a Donald Dixon, who kept a tight orbit over the brightest stars in the social firmament.

One of those stars included a Miss Edith Campbell who, along with her parents Col. and Mrs. Campbell, and her close friend Miss Jane Fairfax, had come to be merry. Had the Churchills interviewed her banker, they would have found Miss Campbell a satisfactory match for their Frank. She also possessed the usual litany of accomplishments which they had deemed necessary for the next mistress of Donwell Abbey. Frank, however, accustomed to seeing the likes of Emma Woodhouse in his parlors and ballrooms, saw nothing special in her and could without qualm forward the attention of Mr. Dixon who was smitten.

While Frank could look upon the enticing Miss Campbell with merely academic admiration, her friend Miss Fairfax captivated him completely. As lovely as Miss Woodhouse, she was more talented or at least more diligent in applying herself. She could converse sensibly on any number of subjects, and listen intelligently on still more. When she sang, her voice pierced his soul. When she danced, he could not attend his own partner. When she laughed, he hung his heart on the sound. On top of every other ounce of feminine perfection, she also embodied a modesty and reserve that he had never really encountered before. Miss Woodhouse had always been forward, impertinent and teasing. She had always made a too-willing accomplice in whatever scheme Frank might dream up or, should Frank’s imagination ever fail, she was infinitely clever at suggesting a diverting strategy. But Miss Fairfax would not suggest anything for her own amusement; she would not put herself forward; she would not be the center of mirth and gaiety. Instead, she would toil and work to promote the happiness of others dear to her, and sit in the shade while they had their moment in the sun.

To Frank, who recognized in Miss Fairfax the same worth as Miss Woodhouse, this was unconscionable. Who would rescue this jewel from anonymity? Who would exalt her as she deserved? Who would provide her with the establishment that befit her? In asking himself these questions, Frank began to feel he knew the answers, but Miss Fairfax’s reticence began to become his own. He tried to single her out for his attention, yet was forced to draw back when the notice made her feel uncomfortable. He knew from the way she could not meet his eye, from the shy, nervous giggle that erupted from her whenever he attempted to be funny, from the flush on her cheeks that preceded his dances with her, that she favored him.

Whether she favored him enough to let him bear her burdens was still unknown. Despite being raised as a confident gentleman, secure of his position in the world, he wondered if it would be temptation enough for Miss Fairfax to accept the hand he offered. From witnessing Col. and Mrs. Campbell dote on her like a second daughter, he knew that she would not need to find another home should she wish it. And while watching his friend Dixon secure the affections and hand of Miss Campbell, he could guess that she would always be a welcome guest to the future Mrs. Dixon.

It was only when he began to discuss his own home in the hopes of rousing her interest that he finally caught her eye, for she had close relatives in Highbury, just a stone’s throw from the Abbey. Here, he was all astonishment. That such a creature should have been so close to him while he was unaware! That he might have gone his entire life without meeting her was a tragedy. As her story unfolded, it became clear to Frank how near a thing it was, how close fate had brought them while circumstance had kept them apart. Miss Fairfax’s mother had grown up in Highbury, and her grandmother and aunt lived there still. When her parents died -- a calamity with which Frank easily sympathized -- she had become the ward of the Campbells. She had kept up a weekly correspondence with her mother’s family, and visited when it was convenient for the Campbells to allow her to do so, but the Bateses were sinking at ever increasing speed into gentile poverty. The Churchills might treat such a family with pity and charity, but not so much as to exchange calls; that sort of kindness fell upon the shoulders of Miss Woodhouse.

He was sure, if he thought long and hard, that he would be able to recall some significant mention of Jane Fairfax, but at the moment, all he could recollect was that Mrs. Bates’ granddaughter was thought to be an elegant young woman who was being raised by the charity of her parents’ friends. He knew enough of Mrs. Bates to believe that the woman lacked the desire to impede her granddaughter's chances and also the ability to promote them. Miss Fairfax did not often travel to Highbury, but surely they should have crossed each other's path before now.

With that, Frank stumbled on the revelation in its entirety that Jane Fairfax was just the sort of girl that Mrs. Churchill would do all in her power to avoid throwing in Frank’s path for, lacking nothing of beauty, grace and manners, her dowry and connections were still too great obstacles to overcome. Mrs. Churchill would not allow Frank to be “taken in” or disappointed; but after meeting Jane Fairfax, how could he not be disappointed in any other girl?

From that day forward, he was able to engage her in conversation on the people and places they both knew, to slowly thaw her reserve while tempering his own excitability. And when he caught her eyes scanning the room for him, it was all the joy he needed.

Frank had begun by this point to read in the letters from home the request for him to name the date of his return. When those hints went unanswered, Mr. Churchill was not above directness, asking Frank to return by the month’s end as his aunt was feeling ill and nothing soothed her quite so well as her nephew. At any other time, among any other people, Frank would have been as careless as he had been friendly, and have returned home to Donwell with barely more than a parting bow. Now, however, his allegiance had shifted. To leave Miss Fairfax, even in the company of her friends, was not to be borne. At least, not until he could settle matters between them.

To that end, he determined to have a private conversation with her at the earliest opportunity. He was too nervous to approach her in front of others, so he planned on keeping his distance until he could find her alone, which was how he almost lost his chance forever.

Mr. Dixon suggested an expedition on the water with Miss Campbell and her family. Miss Fairfax of course was to be a part. Frank, too, received an invitation and declined, unwilling to expose himself and his obvious feelings to others without first obtaining Miss Fairfax's consent.

That very morning came a summons express from Donwell, dictated by his aunt and signed in such a way to imply she could not rise from her bed. Mrs. Churchill was ill -- very ill -- and needed Frank to return and be her sole comfort through this current trial. This was no request nor hint. Frank was to be on the road the next morning. His aunt loved and doted upon him, but she was a stern woman and did not tolerate defiance, even on her sickbed.

To beat this deadline, he would have to invent his opportunity with Jane Fairfax, and so he surprised Dixon’s party at the docks and joined them after all. Not realizing the close quarters of the boat, or the number of people in the party and in the crew, he thought he could find some private moment with Miss Fairfax in which to lay open his heart, but it was not to be. During that pleasure trip, Miss Fairfax spent much time by the side of her friend, Miss Campbell, who did not enjoy the rocking waves as much as Mr. Dixon had hoped. Frank looked on in increasing anxiety as his chances evaporated.

In a foolish move that could only be due to her own inexperience asea, Miss Fairfax leaned over the side to wet a handkerchief to provide some measure of relief for Miss Campbell. The craft was hit by a larger swell, jostling all aboard. Frank nearly fell over. Mrs. Campbell ended up in the Colonel’s arms. Miss Campbell turned ghastly green. Miss Fairfax practically bounced into the air, her center of gravity sailed over the edge of the railing as she gave a cry of panic.

Frank saw it all. He realized what had happened, and its natural consequence. Jane Fairfax was to be thrown into the sea. Then Donald Dixon proved his true worth: he turned from his fiancée and lunged for Miss Fairfax, grabbing her about the waist. It was an inelegant and improper hold. Had it been anyone other than Jane Fairfax in peril, Frank would have found it comical enough to laugh at. She was too far over the edge for Mr. Dixon to pull her back by himself, but he kept her there, half suspended over the teeming waves, until Frank was able to rush to the rail and bring her to safety.

The next instant, the whole party was upon them, crowding uselessly now that the danger had passed. Miss Fairfax was guided to the small cabin to rest her nerves. Frank walked with her, noting how she clutched at his arm. Inside the cabin, the captain gave her a dram of sherry and Col. Campbell announced that they would return to shore immediately. The captain had no choice but to comply with the direct order. And so it was while Miss Fairfax’s heart was still beating wildly that Frank found his opportunity.

He began by expressing himself poorly, but Miss Fairfax could not attend. At last, in frustration he cried, “Miss Fairfax-- Jane!-- you must let me tell you how I love you!”

She did not move nor speak, but looked at him with eyes wide from shock.

Secure of her attention, he took a deep breath and started anew. “Miss Fairfax,” he said in a calmer voice but still full of feeling, “you must allow me to tell you how I love and admire you. Had Dixon not saved you when he did, I most assuredly would have leapt into the waters after you. I cannot bear to see you come to harm. Cannot you tell me that you had some idea of my regard? Cannot you tell me that I may hope one day for a return of your affections?”

She was uncertain and inarticulate. “I had thought,” she spoke haltingly, “that I had deceived myself on that subject, in supposing more than you had felt. Mr. Churchill, I do admire you. I do--”

Whatever else she might have confessed was lost as he crushed her to his chest in relief. “Ah, Jane, I love you so,” he whispered into her hair. “You must-- Will you.. will you marry me?”

She hiccupped a “yes” and he kissed her properly. Now that he could look upon her as his future wife, he felt positively giddy.

“We shall give everybody a shock, to be sure,” he laughed.

"You will announce it?" Jane asked in some alarm. "You will announce it now?"

"Of course," said Frank with a smile before seeing the look on her face. "You want to wait?"

Jane Fairfax fervently wanted to postpone any public declaration. Today was to be about Edith and Mr. Dixon, not Jane and Frank. Edith was miserable and needed to be tended to, while introducing Frank Churchill to the Campbells as her fiancé would fully divide their attention. Edith had shared so much with Jane over the years, willingly and unwillingly. Jane had already decided that attention during Edith’s engagement should focus on the bride. When Edith was happily settled as Mrs. Dixon, Jane could begin to think of herself.

She explained herself poorly to Frank but he understood and recognized her goodness. She had not refused his offer, and she was willing to secure the blessings of her adoptive family after their present disruption had ended.

He took her hand. He squeezed it, then kissed it. He declared himself satisfied in securing his future but in the same breath he had to tell her that this was his last day of holiday. He was called home to Donwell by his aunt. Jane was marvelously disappointed and let him steal another kiss before they returned outside for a more public and impersonal leavetaking.

Mrs. Campbell tutted briefly when she heard that Frank was returning to Surrey in the morning but she could not fault a young man doing his duty to his family. She begged him to carry their good wishes for a speedy recovery into the country, and uttered a hope that they might all see Frank Churchill again soon.

Nothing less would please Frank either, and he sought to extract from them a date by which he could expect to see them in Highbury. Here, however, he encountered difficulties. Preparations for Miss Campbell's wedding would require them to remain in London until the ceremony. And Mr. Dixon had invited the Campbells and Jane to Ireland to see Edith in her new home. Given the difficulties of this morning’s excursion, Mrs. Campbell could not allow her daughter to cross the Irish Sea without her family by her side -- and Jane was family by now. No, there was nothing for it. "It will be November before Jane can visit her grandmother and aunt in Highbury."

Frank tried to hide his disappointment. Jane offered shy encouragement with her eyes but she was not bold enough to find her voice. It would be months before he saw her again. He nodded and pasted a smile on his lips before agreeing, "November it shall be then. I shall plan on it and arrange diversions to suit you, Miss Fairfax."

He took Jane’s hand and bowed over it stiffly, then repeated the courtesy with Mrs. Campbell and her daughter, and bid farewell to the rest of the party. He returned to his rooms to supervise the rest of his packing and to settle his accounts at the lodging house and a few other places.

His thoughts were constantly shifting between a future with Jane and the interminable wait for that future to begin. How he looked forward to introducing her to the neighborhood around Donwell as Mrs. Frank Churchill, how wonderful that sounded!

One blemish in this rosy scene, however, was life in the abbey. He knew his uncle and aunt would react poorly to the news. There was a hidden blessing in the secrecy that Jane forced on him. It gave him time to soften his family to the news.

The next morning, Frank departed Weymouth for Donwell. He had paid dearly to slip a note to Miss Fairfax, begging her to come to Highbury where he might introduce her to his uncle and aunt. Until that time, Frank swore to bend all his efforts to softening his aunt’s disposition, or to strengthening his uncle’s authority.

Chapter 2: A Disdained Rival

The final alteration caused by the Westons’ wedding was that it brought the John Knightleys to Hartfield that summer. The original plan conceived the previous Christmas, as it had been every year, was for Emma and Miss Taylor to visit London for a week while the weather was exceptionally fine and a poorer relation of Mr. Woodhouse could visit Hartfield and keep him distracted. In every preceding year, the plan was abandoned due to illness or weather. This was probably the last year it would have been possible to depend upon Miss Lamb, whose health had been gradually declining with age. And as Emma could not depend upon Mrs. Weston as she had upon Miss Taylor, Emma fully expected her London schemes to be put on a permanent hiatus, perhaps never to be revived.

But Emma wasted no time pining for a change of scenery. During the summer visit she was able to extract from her sister's family the promise of a longer than usual visit at Christmas for her father’s sake. Mr. Knightley demurred at first, citing a previous claim to visit his brother at Enscombe for the winter holiday as they were spending so much of their summer in Surrey. Here Mrs. Knightley reminded her husband that Mr. George Knightley was without additional family to tie him there, and could easily travel to Highbury to join them at Hartfield if he were so inclined. Emma saw her opening and extended an invitation to Isabella’s brother-in-law with alacrity, and Isabella accepted on his behalf with equal speed. John merely shook his head and commented on the Woodhouse women arranging the world to suit their tastes.

“Oh, it is not my taste,” exclaimed Emma, “but my father’s, as you know. And do not complain, Brother, for little Bella may one day do the same for you.”

In December, two carriages brought the Knightleys from London for a long stay. They were just the sort of people of which Mrs. Churchill heartily approved. The elder brother, Mr. George Knightley, was a perfect gentleman, lacking only a title to make him an ideal companion. He had land, fortune, respectability, and leisure. Had she a daughter, Mrs. Churchill would have lost no time in securing him as a son-in-law. She extended numerous invitations for the Knightleys and Emma to join the small family party at the abbey.

Mr. Woodhouse was of course included in these invitations but only as a matter of form. Everyone involved knew that Mr. Woodhouse would not attend, until one day his daughters combined their efforts to persuade him to come to the abbey for the Christmas dinner. The two sisters had been visiting the abbey every day that se'nnight, helping Mrs. Churchill prepare for the event which included not just the group at Hartfield, but also the vicar Mr. Elton, and the Westons in an outward show of good cheer.

On the day of the party, while Mr. Woodhouse was preparing himself for the carriage ride with layers of flannel, and John and Isabella were making their excuses in the nursery, Mr. George Knightley drew his hostess aside for a small talk. They had spent so little time with each other that they should have been strangers, but he knew her so well from the letters she sent to London and the stories Isabella shared, that it was easy for him to believe they were better acquainted than anyone realized. And her quick replies and ready wit made him think she felt the same.

“You have grown so much since last I saw you,” he began, “at John and Isabella’s wedding, that I would scarcely recognize you now.”

Emma smiled. “Well, it has been five years. I am allowed to mature in that amount of time.”

“I just wonder when your own wedding will be,” he remarked casually.

She started, and turned to him aghast. “ My wedding? Why ever should I marry?”

Mr. Knightley was surprised that the idea was so foreign to her. “I should think it the goal of many young women to marry. Besides, half the county is already in love with you.”

She scoffed at his hyperbole. “I doubt half the county even knows who I am. Besides, where could I be so loved and cared for than by my own father at Hartfield?”

“Emma, your father will not live forever,” Mr. Knightley reminded her kindly. “It will do well for you to beware of such a future before it arrives. And I think, between Frank Churchill and Mr. Elton, you shall have your pick.”

“Frank Churchill?” she repeated with incredulity. “The same Frank Churchill I have grown up with? I dare say, I consider him more a brother than I consider you. And he views me likewise as a sister. You are as bad as Mrs. Churchill-- as dreadful and as mistaken.” She leaned forward and dropped her voice in confidence though they were the only two in the room. “You must never breathe a word of it, but unbeknownst to everyone, Frank’s heart is elsewhere engaged.”

Mr. Knightley straightened at this intelligence, trying to decide what to make of it. “And what of your heart?” he asked.

Emma blinked, having momentarily forgotten she had one to lose. “It belongs to my father, of course,” she said with a smile.

“Then I pity Mr. Elton.”

“Are you a match-maker, Mr. Knightley, that you must see us all paired off before you depart?” She was growing annoyed with him again, and it was beginning to tell in her voice. “Mr. Elton is the vicar of Highbury, and while I certainly count him as my friend, you have no business encouraging that man to seek a wife above and beyond his sphere.”

That told Mr. Knightley all he needed to know of the young woman’s feelings. All that remained was to put her on her guard. “Then allow me to warn you that I believe Mr. Elton has already made plans to do so, and with no prompting from me.”

John and Isabella joined them now, and Emma should have ended the conversation and picked a new topic for the four of them to await Mr. Woodhouse and their carriages. However, she was still warm from their tête à tête and meant to have the final word. “Mr. Knightley,” she said primly, “let me remind you, as you are an outsider and cannot be aware the true feelings of the people who live here, that as the vicar, Mr. Elton may be friends with a great many people without exciting expectations of marriage, and you would do well to put such thoughts out of your head.”

“Elton?” repeated John. “Is he giving you trouble, Emma? I caught him eyeing you during the service, and resolved to needle him about it, but when I came to confront him, he asked so baldly for a ride in our carriages to Donwell that I had to agree or cause a scene.”

“You what?” Her ire immediately transferred from one brother to the next, but upon observing a smug grin from the elder brother, it swung right back.

“Oh, John, I’m sure he means nothing by it,” said Isabella, slightly mollifying her sister. “I cannot see Emma married to a vicar, and I cannot image Mr. Elton supposes otherwise.” With that, Mrs. Knightly turned the conversation to innocuous topics, and they were able to welcome Mr. Elton when he arrived without feelings of awkwardness. Mr. Woodhouse at last made his appearance, and the six of them set out.

John and Isabella travelled with Mr. Woodhouse in the larger and more comfortable carriage. Emma found herself handed into the second one by Mr. Elton, who quickly followed and took the seat beside her. Mr. George Knightley sat across from them, a soft, superior glow in his eye as he observed the attentions and flattery Mr. Elton heaped upon his fair companion.

With Mr. Elton on her right and Mr. Knightley before her, Emma was forced to spend the carriage ride reconsidering her understanding of the vicar. Mr. Elton had always paid kind attentions to the family at Hartfield, kinder and more lavish than he had paid to other families in the parish. Emma had always thought that was due to the Woodhouses’ standing in the community. Their tithes paid a substantial portion of his living, and it was prudent of him to cultivate their friendship.

Now, however, his behavior took on a scheming aspect. Was he really trying to court her, under the nose of the entire community? She had a great respect for men of the Church but did he think she would stoop to marrying a vicar? Even were he a bishop, he would not do for her; his cloying compliments and fawning praise were no replacement to her father’s abstraction and general malaise.

Upon arriving at the abbey, Mr. Elton was the first one out of the carriage, and it was his hand that offered to guide Miss Woodhouse down. She was grateful to arrive at Donwell Abbey so that she could use Mrs. Churchill as a shield. That woman would most certainly put a stop to any nonsense between Elton and Emma, invested as she was in Emma’s future.

Mrs. Churchill, however, was too enchanted by Mr. George Knightley and her own cough, which had just begun this morning but had already settled in her chest, to do more than direct Mr. Elton to the servant distributing punch. She trusted her nephew to monopolize Miss Woodhouse’s time, but the young man was deeply engaged in conversation with the Westons and could not realize his fair friend was in distress. The John Knightleys, having arrived a quarter-hour earlier, were ensconced with Mr. Woodhouse by the fire.

So it continued until they sat down to supper, and it threatened to resume again when the sexes rejoined after the meal, but finally Mrs. Churchill took events in hand and directed Emma to the piano forte with Frank to accompany her.

Emma had never been as devoted to her music as she should have been, having enough natural taste and talent to blunder charmingly through her lessons, but tonight she focused so assiduously on it as made up for all previous neglect, and would not leave the instrument, nor let Frank leave her side, until her voice began to grow hoarse.

Mr. Churchill begged her to leave off, that they were not worthy of her sacrifice, with Mr. Weston and Mr. Elton joining in, and Mr. Woodhouse beginning to fret about sore throats, so Emma was forced to step away. She had hoped, being visibly fatigued, to sit quietly with her father by the hearth until their carriages were called, but peace was not within her grasp. Mr. Elton joined them, declaring how cozy a trio they made, and pouring forth flatteries at Emma’s performance that did not stop short of proprietary hints that perhaps she needed someone to look after her when she failed to do so herself.

She wished to speak out, to set him down firmly but gently before Mr. Elton could get carried away now that she knew the direction in which he bent his thoughts, but her voice was too weak and she feared he would misconstrue the tone to be something with longing and wistfulness which she did not want to convey. Instead, she croaked for a tea, Mr. Elton leapt up to do her bidding, and she settled in front of the fire.

John came up to them, not to tease her on her conquest or to comment on her singing, but to announce that snow had fallen thick and fast while all the company had been engaged with listening to Emma and Frank. So much snow had fallen, in fact, that “Isabella has begun to fear for the horses on these country roads, and is making our excuses to the Churchills as we speak.”

This was welcome news, for it allowed Emma to leave the party and Mr. Elton’s company early, and she was able to soothe her father’s exaggerated worries with a distracted smile on her face.

The first carriage arrived to return the party to Hartfield, and John and Isabella escorted Mr. Woodhouse out of the drawing room after making their extended goodbyes to the entire company.

Emma sat in eager anticipation of the second carriage being announced. As she glanced about the room, she saw Mr. Elton bearing down on her with a cup and saucer in hand, and fought the urge to grimace. A second glance of the room wrinkled her forehead, for she saw no George Knightley preparing to take his leave.

Mr. Elton presented her the tea with pompous ceremony that would have made her laugh the day before. His hand lingered on the saucer and he tried to catch her eye, but Emma was intently oblivious, and weaker than the tea in her thanks.

“And where is Mr. Knightley?” she asked after wetting her throat.

“Oh, I saw him leaving in the first carriage, with your father.”

Emma felt a moment of panic, but chalked it up to a misunderstanding. “No, no, I do not mean John,” she corrected him. “I was referring to Mr. George Knightley.”

“John Knightley, George Knightley, just the same,” Mr. Elton spoke in a light manner. “I saw them both go to the carriage. It shall just be you and I together on the ride back.”

Emma couldn’t stop herself. Her eyes flew up and she stared at him. His eyes were fixed on hers and he attempted to convey a romantic air that Emma found repugnant.

Just then, a servant entered carrying furs and wraps to announce the second carriage for Hartfield. The Westons and Churchills were all good humor and trust in releasing Miss Woodhouse to the exclusive care of Mr. Elton and bidding her good night. Mrs. Churchill would have seen her guests off at the front door, but her cough prevented her, and Mr. Churchill and Frank momentarily forgot their duties to their departing guests. This suited Mr. Elton perfectly, who lost no time in threading Miss Woodhouse’s gloved hand around his arm, and beginning to speak in a low, conspiratorial whisper that boded ill.

Emma sought to impose a distance between them through hauteur, but he ignored it. He grabbed her hand in his and brought it to his lips, professing in urgent tones his eternal love and adoration, offering her the world at his disposal if she would consent to make him the happiest of men.

She glanced about the hall her for salvation, and saw it dimly in the butler standing ready to open the front door for them. She wrenched her hand free and raced to the door without uttering her answer. Mr. Elton followed closely, nearly tripping her in his haste. The butler, however, was first rate, and had the door opened in time without giving anyone the impression of unseemly speed.

Outside, the air was biting cold and the ground was covered in white that began to seep immediately into her slippers. Mr. Elton took her hand again, heedless of the driver and the footman at the carriage, and repeated his plea for happiness at Emma’s hands.

She told him no with as much force as she could muster, considerably less than she felt. He took this only for encouragement and leaned his face close to hers, presumably to kiss her and settle the subject to his satisfaction.

She slapped him, weakly, but that she would slap him at all left him dazed. “I said No , Mr. Elton. Please do not importune me further on a subject that can only bring pain to both of us.”

With that, she turned and walked unsteadily to the carriage. How was she to endure the entire length of the journey home with that man? She nearly spun around and fled back to the safety of the abbey when the carriage door opened and George Knightley came down.

“There you are,” he said in a careless tone that implied he had not noticed their little scene on the steps. “I was beginning to think we would have to go back in search of you.”

Emma flew to him, not knowing if she should slap him or hug him for his share in her predicament when she reached him. As it was, good manners prevailed and she accepted his hand and ascended into the carriage with a polite nod of thanks. Inside, she took her original seat and waited.

Mr. Knightley came in next and sat on the bench opposite her. Horrible man! She glared daggers at him but he was unaffected. Mr. Elton then entered the carriage and pulled a face at his choices, before settling once again next to Miss Woodhouse.

With a slap on the door to test the lock, the footman jumped into his seat and the driver set the horses to a walk. Emma was determined not to speak, for she knew there was nothing she could say with the appearance of easy spirits, and certainly did not want to confuse Mr. Elton further. Mr. Elton sat stonily fuming at his rejection, glaring from time to time at Mr. Knightley and wondering if that man had witnessed his humiliation.

For his part, Mr. Knightley passed the ride in contented silence, gazing out the windows as the winter scene sped by.

When the carriage rolled to a stop, Emma glanced about, startled to discover they had come to the vicarage first. Mr. Elton gave a stiff farewell, and was gone in a flash, leaving the footman to secure the door before they were on their way again.

Emma should have felt relief now that Mr. Elton was gone, but she could sense the smugness radiating from Mr. Knightly. It did not take long for him to find his voice.

“Pardon me, Miss Woodhouse, but as an outsider--”

“Insufferable!” she croaked. Her gloved hands balled into fists. Had he been closer, she might have… she would have struck him somehow.

He leaned forward in his seat, contrite. “Emma, I am sorry, but at least there is no ambiguity between you now. Each of you knows exactly how things stand. It will make things difficult at first, but you will put it behind you eventually.”

“He tried to kiss me,” she grit out.

“And you put a stop to it,” he said. “Quite eloquently, I might add. And I don’t doubt that this was the first or last time that someone tries to kiss you.”

This insinuation was even more insulting than Mr. Elton’s botched proposal. “I beg your pardon!”

“It’s just that you and Frank --”

“We have never -- never! -- kissed, Mr. Knightley. I told you earlier today that Frank and I view each other as brother and sister. Why do you doubt me?”

“Because earlier today, you assured me that I could not fathom the nature of your relationship with Mr. Elton either. And I managed to understand it far better than you, yourself. Mrs. Churchill was transparent in her praise of you and her hopes for Frank, even to an outsider,” he added.

If he was a little closer, she would have kicked him, and probably bruised her toe in the exercise.

“Then I suppose you must wait and see,” she seethed. “For I cannot convince you now. You will not take my avowals seriously.”

“I am prepared to be patient,” he assured her.

“Are you prepared to be disappointed?” she shot back.

He did not answer but smiled into his hand.

---

A few days after Christmas found Frank Churchill at Hartfield ahead of his uncle and aunt who were due to arrive for supper. He and Emma made their way immediately by mutual accord to the music room where they could converse in relative privacy, free from the many Knightleys and Mr. Woodhouse.

Emma’s fingers wound their way through a familiar favorite as she arched her brow and whispered, “I have news.”

Frank sat next to her on the bench. “And what is this? I am all ears.”

“I have heard it from Miss Bates, herself, if you believe me.”

Frank turned to her and rested his hand on hers, stilling her fingers. He looked so expectant, on the threshold between agony and bliss, that she determined to keep her sport quick and not to torment him over long.

“I hope that we are to expect a change in our little society,” she began.

Just then, young Henry came barging in, chased by his uncle George. Frank and Emma turned as one to regard the intruders. Henry, young and bold as brass, saw and felt nothing untoward, but Mr. Knightley looked at them sitting so close together, Frank’s hand resting upon Emma’s, and blushed for all of them. Not looking at anything in particular, he shooed his nephew from the room with an incoherent claim that Isabella needed them elsewhere.

Alone again, Emma viewed the situation and saw at once how it must have appeared to Mr. Knightley. She fretted, and wondered if he would be so foolish as to speak to someone else of what he mistakenly believed he had seen. Resolving to keep this from spiraling quickly out of control, she got up and began to leave the room in search of her guest from Enscombe.

Frank stopped her with a word, and with equal terseness, she responded, “February,” before continuing on her way.

It was no difficulty to track down Henry; he was loud and full of youthful energy that made rainy days and cold weather a burden for his parents and nurse. Mr. Knightley, however, proved a more elusive quarry. She finally found him engaged in close conversation with his brother, with such an severe expression on his face that she feared she had come too late.

“Ah, Emma,” said John upon seeing her enter the room. “You have come just in time. You will never guess what George has told me.”

“I wouldn’t believe it either,” she warned flatly.

John laughed at her teasing. “Nothing like that, I’m sure. He is trying to persuade me to let him take Henry ice skating tomorrow. Can you imagine Isabella’s reaction?”

“The boys need to get out of doors and spend their energy if we are to have any peace inside,” Mr. Knightley offered as his explanation. “They will be forever making a ruckus and bursting in on us if you keep them cooped up. Honestly, John, how do you stand it in London?”

“I have found that children expand to fill the space you give them,” John offered. “We have smaller rooms in London, so they take up less space. We give them free reign at Hartfield, and they are everywhere at once.”

“I am sure Emma and her father would wish them to show better behavior.”

“Oh, as for myself,” Emma put in, intending to code her message, “it matters not to me where they go for I do not mind their noise in the slightest, and I will dearly miss them when they are gone. In fact, it cheers me to hear them. But for my father’s sake, perhaps it would be better for you to take the older ones out tomorrow although no ice skating, if you please. The thought of that would be worse on my father’s nerves than anything.”

Frank Churchill now joined them and their conversation. Emma mentioned Mr. Knightley’s plan for the morrow, and Frank goodnaturedly offered to lend a hand, which forced John to take a more active role in parenting his own children.

Satisfied that Mr. Knightley would not make trouble for now, she made her excuses and left the men to find her sister.

The Sunday after Christmas saw Mr. Elton’s curate perform the service. The vicar had departed for Bath, for a visit of some weeks’ duration. It had been unexpected, but to Mr. Cole Mr. Elton had confessed an interest in a certain family of accomplished young ladies that had captured his interest during his last visit.

Emma bore the news with equanimity and Mr. Knightley did not press her on it. He stayed until the new year, then returned to Enscombe. A gentleman of leisure, he still had responsibilities that needed his attention. His brother and sister-in-law wished him well, and his nephews and niece clung to him. Mr. Woodhouse lamented that Mr. Knightley should leave, travel being so unpleasant and dangerous at that -- or any -- time of year.

Emma was sorry to see him go, although she was not inclined to give him the satisfaction of seeing her despondent. Instead, she wished him well and claimed, “I hope we might lure you back to Highbury one day. Perhaps Isabella shall invite you to join us again after Easter.”

“And what should lure me hither?” He was wary.

“I hope to disappoint you,” was her cryptic reply.

Chapter 3: A Denigrating Alliance

In consequence of using Emma Woodhouse as a confidante for all his thoughts on Jane Fairfax, Frank Churchill had to listen to her lectures on different strategies to achieve his happiness.

Often in her lectures she hit upon the importance of telling his family. Jane had insisted on secrecy in Weymouth as a courtesy to Edith Campbell, but surely Frank was allowed to speak of her to his uncle and aunt. In fact, it was paramount that the Churchills be informed as soon as possible for, while Mrs. Churchill was bound to be opposed to the match, she would be doubly disinclined should she find out that Frank had hid the engagement from her.

Frank was forced to concede the point until he could think of a counter. Luckily he had taken no action before then.

"But think," he told Miss Woodhouse of his inspiration, "how natural it will be for me to fall in love with her when she comes to Highbury in November! I will meet her in front of Mrs. and Miss Bates in their little parlor and simply be struck by her beauty."

Emma smiled primly. It was a good idea but she was not accustomed to being the less clever of the two. "That may do away with your family's having to find out about your secret engagement, but they will still not approve of Miss Fairfax."

"If they will not approve of her, what does it matter when I tell them?" Frank asked petulantly. "What I need to figure out is how to tell them so that they will accept her."

Emma frowned in agreement. "We shall have to identify all the reasons your family will oppose the match and then refute them. Now, what are Miss Fairfax’s disadvantages?" Emma began making a mental list.

Frank first declared that his beloved was perfect in every way. Emma did not roll her eyes but only barely. It was all well and good, she told him, that he should think Miss Fairfax as the height of female perfection, but if she was truly without flaw then he should not fear to mention her to his aunt.

Frank was forced to catalog Jane's failings. Of her accomplishments he would not budge from his earlier declaration, but he did admit that she was probably too poor and too quiet for his uncle and aunt.

"The relative poverty cannot be adjusted," Emma sighed, "but we may convince them that a quiet girl is just what you need so long as she can speak clearly and firmly when the situation demands. I do not imagine your aunt realizes what conflict she would be inviting into her home if you should marry a woman with opinions as decided and public as her own."

Frank had to laugh at that. In one respect, Jane was exactly the sort of niece-in-law his aunt needed.

But the poverty, they agreed, was impossible to get around. Emma inquired minutely into Jane's finances, but Frank could answer nothing. One could safely assume that Jane could expect nothing from Mrs. or Miss Bates, but Frank had no idea whether Jane's parents had set aside any funds for her before they died, or if the Campbells were willing to do anything for her. Miss Campbell had recently married but Frank had no idea what settlement the Campbells had made on their daughter or whether that meant they might do more or less for Jane as a result. But regardless of all the unknowns, her dowry must be less than £1,000, and that value when compared with Emma's fortune made her poor.

"How much do you suppose a girl would need to have to satisfy your uncle and aunt?" wondered Emma.

"You have 30,000, so let us assume that is the minimum," reasoned Frank.

"That works out to £1,500 per annum," Emma noted, "compared to the 25 to 50 that we expect Miss Fairfax to have. While I wish you would have paused long enough in your lovemaking to investigate, I do not see how the difference of £25 matters all that much when there is still well over a thousand unaccounted for."

The two conspirators lapsed into contemplative silence. How was this fiscal chasm to be crossed? Miss Woodhouse was the first two speak.

“I shall discretely sound out Miss Bates during my next call to see if she knows anything of her niece's dowry. Perhaps there is a legacy. After all, I have heard of no other Fairfaxes, so Miss Fairfax may be the only one left to inherit the family fortune.”

“Do you really think so?” Frank asked. He had never considered it before.

“I highly doubt it,” said Emma. “It would be too lucky by half, but if we do not ask, we cannot learn. You, on the other hand, have the unfortunate task of finding a way to make up the difference.”

“Me?” Frank protested. “Why me?”

“Because it is you who wishes to marry her,” she snapped.

“And where will I find that kind of fortune?” questioned Frank. “Would you have me ransack the attics?”

“If that was all it took, would you refuse?” Emma asked. “Frank Churchill, are you a man in love with Miss Fairfax or with your own convenience? You have had the good luck to find a wonderful girl, but you shall not deserve her if you are not willing to struggle for her. If you would much prefer the easy way, I am sure there are enough girls with £30,000 that at least one of them would be persuaded to accept you and mold you into her own notion of a proper husband.”

Frank sulked silently for a moment. Miss Woodhouse had the right of it. If he did not want to work for Jane, he did not deserve her.

“And where do you think I can find a fortune of that size?” he asked. “Should I speculate on the market? Do you think your brother Knightley might help me?”

It was a sensible counter, and Emma accepted it with good grace. “I was not under the impression you had any money to invest. As they say, charity begins at home. You had better start there.”

“You really do intend for me to open every dusty trunk in the attics, do you?”

“I intend for you to speak with Mr. Endicott,” she clarified. “He will know how much money Donwell really needs, and how much of it may be reclaimed by more attentive management.”

---

Frank thought he had received the more difficult task, but he could not fault Emma’s logic that he was more invested in the outcome than she was, and so he interrupted his uncle’s weekly session with the steward. He had come on some trumped up errand, intending to feign surprise and then interest, and thus inveigle himself into the meeting.

"Oh dear, Mr. Endicott,” said Mr. Churchill when he saw Frank at his door, "It appears that family business has a superior claim to my attentions. Let us postpone until next week.”

“Next week!” exclaimed the stewart in disappointment. “Surely Mr. Frank can wait an hour.”

Mr. Churchill began to decry such an idea but Frank was prepared and leapt at it. “I could not begrudge you that trifle, Uncle. Indeed, now that I am here, let me sit down and listen. I am sure I will learn something new."

Endicott was now pleasantly surprised. His employer was never very attentive and the heir was worse. To have them both in the same room was an opportunity that he would be a fool to squander. He began to speak at a gallop, not knowing how long this moment would last. He got as far as the drainage problems in the south fields when Frank interrupted him.

“But why is the drainage still a problem?” he asked. “We knew about it last year. Do we have no legal recourse against the tradesmen we hired to repair it?”

“We have not hired anyone as yet,” Endicott admitted uncomfortably.

“How is that possible? Have we not found anyone to fix it yet?”

“We have received several bids but for ludicrous fees,” Mr. Churchill answered. “Honestly, these people must think we are made of money. I have decided to wait until next year before considering any new bids.”

“Is that wise?” Frank spoke too quickly. “I am sorry, sir, but if we have a wet winter, which is far more likely than a dry one, the problem will only be worse in the spring.” He looked first at his uncle and then to Mr. Endicott for understanding.

“That is definitely one hypothesis,” agreed Mr. Endicott. It was his own hypothesis, but Mr. and Mrs. Churchill did not believe the problem was so critical that action was required before another year was passed, or possibly even longer than that. It was a strategy the steward found to be penny wise and pound foolish, but he could not act counter to a direct order from his employer.

"Now, Frank!" interrupted Mr. Churchill, raising from his seat. He could see where this was headed. "I refuse to listen to you when you are in this temper." With that he walked out of the room.

Mr. Endicott and Frank watched him go, unable to believe what was happening or that it was in their power to alter the event.

After a few moments of silence, Frank apologized to Mr. Endicott for causing his uncle to end the meeting so abruptly. "Had I any idea I would upset him so, I would not have interrupted you."

Endicott smiled sadly. His employer was not an easy man from whom to get direction. Mr. Churchill was willing to defer any and all decisions to others. In that respect, he had chosen his wife extremely well although Mrs. Churchill was too ladylike to speak with the steward directly. And as Endicott had always insisted on a token approval of all his suggested decisions since an unfortunate and costly incident early in his career, it meant that any questions had to be presented by Mr. Endicott to Mr. Churchill, who would announce that he needed to a day to two to consider the questions and then carry them to his wife, who might have questions of her own. Usually Endicott and Churchill together could foresee any issue the woman might have, but she occasionally surprised them both which necessitated another round and dragged the process down. He much preferred the situation at Hartfield where, if rumor was to be believed, Miss Woodhouse had dispensed with the nonsense of using her father as an intermediary and met with Mr. Avery, the steward, directly.

Still, Mr. Frank was the heir to Donwell Abbey and had heretofore shown no interest in how it was run. Seeing him in this office during a meeting of estate business was unheard of. If only the steward could make use of this opportunity and steer his future employer into good habits!

"Your uncle has a lot on his mind," Mr. Endicott said diplomatically. "But perhaps between the two of us we can ease his burden. There is still more business to discuss. If you can listen to it and provide a recommendation, I will note it for your uncle. Obviously he will have the final say in all matters of importance but there may be much we can do."

Frank was not excessively interested. He preferred to leave this tedium to his uncle or, more honestly, to Mr. Endicott. And if his mission was to find a hidden fortune, he had failed spectacularly for he had not only failed to uncover a secret source of funds but he had identified a project that clearly deserved money he did not have. “Mr. Endicott, I am afraid of what we shall uncover if everything costs so much.”

“Have you never heard that you must sometimes spend money to save money?” the steward replied. “In this case, I firmly believe that the cost of fixing the drainage this year will result in an overall savings compared to what it will cost us next year. And there is not just the cost to the Abbey but to our tenants as well, which translates to lower morale and rents.”

“Truly?” Frank had not considered it in these terms. There might be a hidden bounty here after all! He kept his seat and, with a nod, directed Mr. Endicott to continue.

The steward, for his part, did not waste this second opportunity. He began with the most interesting cases, hoping to hook Frank's attention. It worked surprisingly well, and Mr. Endicott was forced to recognize a latent similarity between Frank and his aunt.

When Mr. Endicott finally declared an end, saying that he needed to rewrite his notes for Mr. Churchill but that he hoped the two men had managed to clear the June backlog.

"June!" exclaimed Frank. "But it is nearly November."

"As I said, your uncle has a lot on his mind," repeated Mr. Endicott, refusing to say what could only be construed as criticism. "If you have the time, perhaps we can go through the July backlog in a few days?" That was the real test: whether Frank would want to continue learning about how Donwell was run.

Frank, for his part, was not convinced this was a success although it held more attraction for him than he had originally thought. The thought of growing old in this room, sitting at his uncle's desk, and listening to the petty cares of the tenants left him feeling weighed down. But the thought that he would have Jane's company as a reward each evening offset it.

"Mr. Endicott, I apologize for any vulgarity, and I mean no offense, but how much money is being wasted at Donwell?" Frank asked bluntly.

Endicott was too loyal to his own standards of proper behavior to answer with equal candor, but he might say something. “It is easy to recognize waste in hindsight. Do not judge too harshly.”

“I am merely being curious,” he said hastily. “I know my uncle and aunt expect me to make a good match, but how good of a match do you think I need?”

Mr. Endicott tried to remain calm. “But I thought… Miss Woodhouse…”

“If you can keep a secret, Mr. Endicott --” Frank paused just long enough for the steward to nod encouragingly -- “I am in love with someone, and she is not Miss Woodhouse.”

Mr. Endicott’s eyebrows rose as high as they could go. “Oh my,” was all he could say.

"But I believe my family will decide that she is too poor for me to marry," Frank continued to confide. "As if Donwell will get any dowry if I remain a bachelor."

Endicott shifted uncomfortably. "True," he said, trying to thread the needle, "but a bride will come with some expenses just like any other body to feed and clothe. And then there is the cost of children, if you have them. Children cost an amazing amount."

Frank sighed heavily. "But I want Jane and children and the pleasures of economizing." He did not see it in terms of loss.

A laugh escaped before Endicott could stop it. "Yes, lad, I suppose you do: one bedroom instead of two; but if economy were pleasant, everyone would do it. But what housemaid will you let go so that there is money for your wife to have a lady's maid? What groom will you send home when your children have greater need of a nurse? The gig you bought last summer will hold two quite snuggly, but the carriage is better for a family, and you'll get more of your money back if you sell the gig as soon as possible. And what will you do when tenant cottages need repairs? What will you do when the stables need a new roof, or the windows need reglazing, the the southern fields need a new drainage system? A young man who chooses love over money may live to regret his choice."

"If I chose to marry for money instead of love, I would regret it instantly," averred Frank. "How rich must an heiress be so that you can guarantee me that I will never want for money? No, if that is the price of Donwell Abbey, let someone else pay it. I shall sell it, give away the proceeds, and live as a hermit!"

Frank had obviously given the subject some thought recently, and he spoke as a young man of great emotion and vigor, but Mr. Endicott doubted he had considered the comforts available to a hermit in winter. Still, if Frank had not been able to share the secret with his uncle, he may be ignorant as to what counted as a suitable dowry. No doubt Frank Churchill had greatly inflated the sum expected of the next mistress of Donwell.

"And just how poor is this girl of yours?" he asked with gentle curiosity.

"Matters have not progressed that far, but she is an orphan without property,” Frank confided.

"Oh!" was all he said in return, then, "Oh my, that certainly puts a different spin on it.”

The response only made Frank feel more dejected. To have Mr. Endicott balk at the idea drove home the impossibility of his happiness.

He slumped in his chair in defeat. "It is hopeless then," he declared. "Let us pray then that my father has another son that I may claim as my heir for, without Jane Fairfax, I shall never marry."

This was an astonishing piece of news and Mr. Endicott started in his seat for more than one reason. Firstly, he was positive that Mrs. Churchill would rather let her nephew wed an impoverished gentlewoman than accept the second Mrs. Weston’s son as the future owner of Donwell. Secondly, the name Fairfax was one he knew well by reputation. It was in many ways an abysmal match if one might measure it financially or compared to connections with families flying in the highest circles, but for his part Mr. Endicott knew no ill of Miss Fairfax or her family that money wouldn't cure, and marrying the granddaughter of a highly respected former vicar would go a long way to repairing the snobbish impression the current generation of Churchills had spent their lives creating.

Mrs. Churchill would oppose the match vehemently, but she would be against any match her nephew made that she did not initially sanction. Mr. Churchill would seek to preserve his own domestic peace however he may whether through silencing Frank's heartfelt inclinations to prevent disturbing his wife, or casting him out of Donwell in shame to please her fit of rage, or in recognizing him again after Mrs. Churchill grew resigned to the marriage.

Of course -- and Endicott would never breathe a word of this -- what Donwell Abbey needed far more than any infusion of funds was an infusion of time from the man willing to run it. How much had been lost due to inattention and delay? How much lost to being penny-wise and pound-foolish? Endicott had never calculated the amount, it had seemed too foolish and petty to do so, and what was the point so long as Mr and Mrs. Bartholomew Churchill had no intention of changing their ways? But if Mr. Endicott could get Frank to exert himself for Donwell and the tenants, to make timely and long term decisions, to care less for fashion and the trappings of prestige, then with a bit of luck the young man might not need an heiress.

"Mr. Frank," began the steward tentatively,"what would you be willing to do to be able to marry Miss Fairfax?"

Frank shook his head. "What do you have in mind?”

Endicott tapped Frank's wrist to catch his attention. "Sir, what if you were to manage Donwell in such a way that no additional funds were needed?"

Frank could not attend. It sounded too close to Miss Woodhouse’s direction to be real. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, what if you were to manage Donwell in such a way that you didn't need an heiress but could marry whoever you choose?"

Frank stared gravely at the man before him, trying to gauge his sincerity. "Is this a trick?"

"No," assured Endicott, "not a trick."

"How is that possible?" Frank wondered. "How can I find an additional 1,500 or 1,000 or even £600 each year?” There was an alarming rise in his voice, an unspoken accusation.

"It is nothing dishonest, I assure you," Endicott said calmly, choosing his words with precision. "Nothing but honest work, I'm afraid. While it will earn you considerably less than £1,500 per annum, it may still be enough. You see, your uncle has an unfortunate habit of delay, and many decisions that he postpones cost more when he eventually pays them than if he had acted more quickly. By taking a more proactive interest in the running of Donwell, you will save money."

"How much?" Frank asked bluntly. Had he not already asked this question?

"That all depends on the vagaries of chance," Endicott said. He then expanded upon the story of the drainage system that was slated to be replaced next year, how the tenants had begun reporting problems years ago. The first complaint was so easily dismissed that the second one fell to the same fate. An investigation was suggested but delayed, and in the end it became unnecessary when the problem became obvious. It was an expense avoided but Donwell could have saved even more had they dealt with the problem immediately.

"With each successive year, it has cost us more to ignore it until now, when we simply must act," concluded Endicott. “Even waiting until next year will cost us significantly more than if we had acted this autumn.”

Frank brooded silently. At last he spoke: "And you think I could find enough savings to marry Jane if I applied myself?"

Endicott nodded slowly. "If you are able to continue to apply yourself to the management of Donwell, and if you are able to constrain your desires not to exceed your means, then yes, I do believe you could."

Frank barely heard the warning in the steward’s words, so eager as he was for hope. He could afford to marry Jane!

"It is possible," hedged Endicott, "that it might not cover all the expenses, that economy and vigilance will always be needed. You may not be able to entertain on a grand scale, or buy any horse or whatever new carriage that catches your eye. You will have to continually commit to a thousand small sacrifices your whole life long.”

Frank looked almost swayed. Endicott realized a light touch was needed. "There is no need to decide immediately," he said. "Give this resolution a week’s trial before we consider anything more of it. I am sure your path will be clearer then."

With that, the steward stood up and excused himself. He had plenty of work to do, and Mr. Frank needed time to do his thinking.

Chapter 4: An Unscrupulous Ruse

All Knightleys departed Hartfield for their respective homes shortly after the new year. Mrs. Churchill was certainly sad to see them go as they were quite superior to her usual society. For lack of more stimulating companionship at home, however, Emma Woodhouse was frequently with Frank again, so she was able to bear the loss with heroic equanimity.

Mr. Churchill was also affected by the loss. He had found in both brothers -- the eldest especially -- a sympathetic ear to the tales of his labours for Donwell, and occasionally, when he was listening for it, he could hear sound advice for whatever might be plaguing his estate. It was enough that Mr. Churchill even asked if he might write to Enscombe on one or two topics should matters not respond to the recommended treatment, but although the offer was accepted with grace and tolerance, Mr. Churchill realized later that he would not bother to pick up the pen.

Frank, of all the Churchills, professed to be the least saddened by the Knightleys' departure. By their age and by their status, they were ill-formed to be close friends with Frank. John Knightley, with his wife and children, his house and office, had both responsibility and independence. It was in some ways an ideal to Frank, for he could daydream of being so agreeably settled with his own Jane, but then John would spoil it by letting slip the amount of work he actually did when he was not on holiday. George was far worse, for although he had even greater portions of responsibility and independence, he chose to embrace the responsibility, spending hours every day closeted with correspondence from Enscombe.

Before Frank had taken an active interest in the abbey to scrounge up the money to afford Jane, he would have been appalled by the amount of attention lavished by George Knightley on his estate. It was a sign of the unending drudgery of Frank’s future life. He had dedicated himself to Donwell for over three months now.

Mr. Endicott had given him encouragement, his uncle had complimented him, and even Frank could see he was making a difference in the management of Donwell, but his motivation was starting to flag. Jane had been expected in November, but that month had come and gone, as well as December, and it would be longer still until he could see her. Time with Jane was meant to be the reward he earned for his hard work, but there was no reward if she never came to Highbury. What was the point to all his labors if he never saw her again?

---

While Frank had been silently pining for Miss Fairfax, George Knightley had advised Mr. Churchill on the Abbey, and attempted to take an active part at Hartfield. The advice to the Woodhouses was most kindly meant, but it was not received with equal kindness. Miss Woodhouse took special care that she and Mr. Avery, the steward at Hartfield, quickly and quietly settled all the business that might disturb her father. Every suggestion from Mr. Knightley had evoked a new worry from his host, and annoyance from his hostess. Here at least Frank had some amusement, for in the instances when he was visiting he had ample opportunity to observe the furrowing of her brow as George Knightley unintentionally implied that Mr. Avery was doing something wrong. Then, for the cream, her brow would smooth and she would get a soft glow in her eyes, and she would make the most innocent-sounding reply. George Knightley’s face would register the surface meaning of her words, and a few seconds later his face would cloud as a second meaning would occur to him. It was all Frank could do not to burst out laughing.

As amusing as it was, he did not despond when the Knightleys left Hartfield. He could not visit with Emma as often when she had guests, and he desperately needed to talk to Emma about Jane Fairfax. With Emma at last free to resume her regular morning calls, Frank once again joined her -- a move which thrilled his uncle and aunt who would be forced to own their disappointment that another year had come and gone without settling matters between their nephew and his intended.

Every Wednesday -- indeed even before the winter holidays -- found Frank and Emma both sitting with the Bateses, listening to Miss Bates rattle on about her niece Jane Fairfax as she read aloud excerpts from Jane’s newest letter and fed them stale lemon cake.

“And as Jane said in her letter -- where did I put it? I had it in my hand by the window. I was re-reading it to Mother just half an hour ago, because I was worried about Jane’s sore throat, and --”

“Miss Fairfax still has a sore throat?”

"Oh, yes, poor thing," breathed Miss Bates. "She picked it up in Ireland with the Dixons, and it will not let go of her. This is the most persistently ill she has ever been. I remember she always caught a cold every year in the winter, didn’t she, Mother? We’d get a letter by Christmas of some sniffles or something from her playing too long in the snow, or going on a sleigh ride with the Campbells. There was one year she actually went ice skating, can you believe it? Mother and I had a shock over that! Can you imagine skating? I cannot imagine what possessed the Campbells to let her go, but they always loved her so, and let her do whatever she wished. I suppose they do it still, and we have that in common. I know I would not have been able to say no to her if she had wanted to tour some drafty old castle. And that’s where she caught it this time. She caught it the day they went to that castle with all those ruins... Or was it runes? It was very damp that day, but Ireland is always very damp. It was certainly kind of the Dixons to invite her to stay with them, and of the Campbells to travel with her, but Ireland! I am sure Jane did not realize the danger in going. But she would have come for Christmas had not the Campbells pressed her to stay with them, it being their first without Miss Campbell -- I mean Mrs. Dixon -- and Mother and I so accustomed to it being just the two of us. And speaking of weddings, can you believe that Mr. Elton is getting married? I heard it from Mrs. Cole three days ago."

"I believe you were talking about Miss Fairfax?" reminded Emma kindly.

“Ah, so I was,” their hostess agreed absentmindedly. “Yes, she will not be coming this month as planned. The Campbells are so concerned for her that they would not hear of her travelling. In case she takes another turn for the bad, they wish her to remain with them where their apothecary Mr. Higgs can tend to her. Personally, I do not know this Mr. Higgs, but for Jane’s sake I hope he is as good as our Mr. Perry. Has Mr. Perry been to Hartfield recently? He called on Mother last Friday and said your father was worried about a cold.”

Miss Woodhouse smiled. “My father is perfectly fine. Should he not worry, he would never be ill at all.”

“And so when are you expecting your niece?” asked Frank.

Miss Bates fretted over that question, then wandered about the parlor until she found Jane’s letter and read aloud all the irrelevant passages. “I’m afraid she doesn’t say,” she concluded too late. “I will be sure to ask her when I write. Perhaps the Campbells will be willing to part with her for Easter.”

"Oh, I do hope we see her at Easter! Don't you, Frank? Isabella will most certainly take the children to Enscombe in the spring and I won't see them again until midsummer."

Frank was too morose over the news of Jane to contribute much else to the conversation, not that it was needed or noticed by the loquacious Miss Bates. It was left to Emma to find a natural exit and shepherd him down to the street when Miss Bates could at last allow them to depart.

As he escorted her back to Hartfield, he exclaimed, "This is hopeless! She will never come to Highbury."

"Give up, by all means, if it suits you," chided Emma, "but faint heart never won fair maiden. She could not come to Highbury when she was in Ireland visiting the Dixons, and she could not cross the sea unescorted at the drop of a hat. While she is with the Campbells or unwell, you must not expect her to be at liberty. You forget that no young lady may tear about the countryside on a whim. That sort of behavior is…” Her steps slowed to a stop. “That sort of behavior is the provenance of a young man of leisure.”

Frank started as the idea took form. “You want me to go to her?” All this time, he had waited for her to come to Highbury. Could it have been within his grasp to see her all along?

“And do you not?” Emma asked, the idea gaining momentum. “It would show her that you are still committed to this engagement. As much as she has been reading of your visits from her aunt, it would mean nothing compared to actually seeing you again. You could make some excuse to Miss Bates to get the Campbells’ address. Perhaps you can convince Miss Bates that Jane will recover faster with a little something from Mr. Perry, and that since you are already travelling there for your own personal errand, it would be no inconvenience for you to deliver it to Jane. Think of it, Frank!”

He thought much of it. To meet her again, and soon, was a dear wish. To see for his own eyes how she fared-- her letters only ever lightly mentioned any illness, but Miss Bates portended much from little-- would answer the riddle of why she did not come.

He grabbed Emma and whirled her about gaily. “Miss Woodhouse, you are a genius!” he laughed.

Emma was caught up in his enthusiasm and danced about with him until a passing cart recalled her manners to her.

"And of course your aunt will not be able to begrudge this trip, not until you come back spouting a glowing report of Miss Fairfax."

"Oh, must I tell her?"

"Frank Churchill! Yes, you must," ordered Emma. "That you have not told her already is a romantic crime."

"You know what she is like," Frank began. "She will be difficult."

Emma scoffed. "And how do you believe she shall be when you bring Miss Fairfax home to live with you at the abbey? She was unkind to my friend Mrs. Martin during the period of her engagement, and she has not improved since the wedding. If you cannot bring your aunt 'round to the idea now, do you honestly believe that Mrs. Bartholomew Churchill would welcome Mrs. Frank Churchill into her home?"

"But after we are married, there is nothing she can do to prevent it," he explained cowardly.

Emma laughed at his naivété. "Nothing? She may make your wife feel unwanted and beneath you. Your aunt is a dear, but there are many times I am grateful at the end of a visit that I am going home to Hartfield. Your wife will not have that option. Donwell Abbey shall be her home; she will have no other refuge."

Frank knew this although he had avoided dwelling upon it. He had avoided conflict with his uncle and aunt so far, planning on Jane's inherent goodness to carry the day. If he could fall in love with her after a short acquaintance, surely his uncle and aunt would do the same.

But from the first moment of his return from Weymouth, his aunt had seemed to anticipate and thwart him. She had greeted him amid the cushions on her bed, nervously chattering how good it was to see him again, how she had had nightmares of him being taken in by some impoverished orphan, "for you do not know how scheming people can be, Frank. You are too loving, too kind to recognise the base nature of a woman's wiles. It is my greatest fear that one day you shall come home with a ruthless fortune hunter with only a cheap veneer of class to hide her low connections, and announce her as the next mistress of Donwell. It would break my heart; it would be the death of me to see you lower your family for generations."

As a young man to whom life had always been easy, he knew not how to proceed through this difficulty. He had smiled, laughed, declared that impossible, and inwardly panicked. He did not fear that Miss Fairfax had deceived him but that he could not convince his aunt of that through his testimony alone. For that, he needed Jane Fairfax herself to stand witness to her own character. For that, he needed Jane to come to Highbury, where he could make a suitable pantomime of falling in love with her and give the Churchills of Donwell Abbey a chance to do the same.

Satisfied by her nephew’s avowals for the present, Mrs. Churchill began to list all the various ailments she had experienced in his absence, as well as others she had suffered before he left where she felt he had not given them a proper hearing.

Frank had stayed by his aunt’s bedside, or near enough, for over a week. By then, she was tolerably unconcerned about her indispositions, and had heard so little from him of his stay in Weymouth, that she felt herself at ease to leave him to his own reduced amusements. He was a changed man in company, nervous and listless. Miss Woodhouse noticed his mood but was unable to draw any explanation from him for another week or more. By the time she had found out Frank was in love and secretly engaged, it was nearly too late for her to offer any succor as she was already involved in thwarting Mrs. Churchill’s marital machinations for another couple. When she was at last able to devote her attention to Frank, he was despairing so she took him to Miss Bates. Not only was Miss Bates a wonderful example of a burden cheerfully borne, but as Jane Fairfax’s aunt, she was Frank’s best hope to hear news of his beloved.

And so he had for months endured Miss Bates' stale lemon cake in the hopes of hearing crumbs of news from Jane. And he had for months asked patient questions of the widow and spinster in the hopes of some word of his interest being included in letters from Highbury to Jane. But it was January already and still Jane did not come.

Likewise, he had attempted at home to bring the subject 'round again with his aunt, but each time she had been prescient in turning the conversation or in bringing up some morality tale of a young man who had married beneath him, to his great and bitter regret. In some stories, the new husband discovered his wife to be a murderess or an adulteress. In others, the wife heaped shame upon her husband's family due to her uncultured habits. In others still, the young man had not yet gained his independence, and his family, seeking to stem the spread of corruption and vice, had disowned him, forcing him to spend the rest of his days in diminished circumstances with a vicious harpy as his companion and helpmeet. It was a gruesome tableau, and Mrs. Churchill described it with relish.

Miss Fairfax had travelled with the Campbells and the newly married Dixons to Ireland in the Fall, and had travelled back to England with the Campbells to stay with them for Christmas. She had written of coming in December, then January, then February. Between the excessive attachment of the Campbells -- who had no qualms about abandoning their daughter in Ireland -- and a weak constitution made weaker still on Irish soil, she had to continually delay her much deferred visit to her family. All this time, Frank pined for her and held her up above all women of his acquaintance as a paragon, but kept his feelings secret from his uncle and aunt, for as much as he might love Jane Fairfax, he did not know how to love as a disinherited pauper.

Talking with Miss Woodhouse was his only relief. With her he could be open with his appreciation of Miss Fairfax, with his aunt’s unfounded but well-documented concerns, and with his own worries that Miss Fairfax would not return to Highbury at all.

As much as it was Frank's role to list his troubles, it was Emma's to describe their remedy. He took her suggestion to heart and planned his next move well.

Nearly a week later, he sat down to a quiet evening meal at the abbey and announced that he had decided to ride to town the next day for a haircut.

Mr. and Mrs. Churchill's eyes met over the fish course. This was the first return of impetuousness since Mrs. Churchill's recovery, and they were unsure how they felt about it. Bartholomew Churchill decided to speak.

"Can you not have Barton cut your hair? He has always done a fine job of it."

"Begging pardon to Barton and yourself, Uncle, but I am in the mood for something younger and more à la mode than usual," said Frank in a carefree way that could give no offense. "I will ride to town in the morning, find a respectable looking barber, and ask for a chop. And afterward, perhaps I can find a jeweler to fix my silver cufflinks." He turned to his aunt. "And, if time permits, maybe I will find a bonbonnerie before I return home. I should be back not many hours after nightfall."

His uncle and aunt reacted as designed. Frank could not be allowed to go, not at the drop of a hat! They were expecting guests for dinner the next day: four families, including Miss Woodhouse. And was that not the day Frank accompanied Miss Woodhouse on her calls? Frank simply must be home for that. It would be much better for him to go the next day.

And now that he was going to London, he could run a few errands, and deliver a few letters that his uncle had been delaying. And Mrs. Churchill would give him the direction of the very best sweet shop she had ever known, along with an order for toffee and other favorites. It was simply too much to achieve in one day given winter's hours, or two days when one added in Frank's haircut. At that rate, wouldn’t it be better to wait until Monday, and go with his uncle in the carriage?

But to this delay, Frank was adamantly opposed. One day would be fine, but nearly a week would be inexcusable. He only wanted a haircut. Let his uncle go on Monday, but he would go tomorrow. Again Mrs. Churchill suggested a small delay: just one day. That would be enough time for Mr. Churchill to send an express in the morning to their townhouse to have it ready for Frank to spend a few days there and be home again by Sunday. Surely that would be much better than racing to town and back on Wednesday, and he would still be able to run a few errands.

Frank smiled affably and could not but acquiesce. When he imagined how Emma would react upon hearing it had happened exactly as she had predicted, he was grateful he would be in town during the height of her gloating.

The next day, he accompanied Emma as usual to Highbury where he sprung upon them all that he was to town the next day, and that if Mrs. Bates or her daughter had any letter or package to deliver to Miss Fairfax, he would be pleased to be of service. Miss Bates was overcome with this condescension, that the Churchills would even think of them! She spent the next quarter hour exclaiming how wonderful everyone was to them, how they wanted for nothing. Then she recollected that it would take time to write the letter, and to have Sally bake the scones that Jane had so loved on her last visit, and to find Mr. Perry and see if he could prepare a tincture, and then to deliver the entire package to Donwell for Mr. Frank to take with him to town.

Here Frank was forced to step in, for if the Churchills knew he was including the Campbells in his errands, that would change the whole tone of his visit. No. Instead, he would visit the Bateses on his way to town as it was on the way, and no real delay if the package was ready for him.

Chapter 5: A Clandestine Encounter

It was no difficulty for Frank to find the Campbells’ home with Miss Bates’ clearly written address, and by luck Mrs. Campbell and Jane were both at home when he rang.

He had not really hoped to see her, expecting her to be too ill to sit with company. To see her, and to see her looking well, was at first too overwhelming for him to feel that she might have been avoiding him. He stuttered a greeting to them both, and listened to her croak a response which satisfactorily explained why Miss Fairfax still wrote of her sore throat in letters to Highbury.

Frank repeated the story that had gotten him away from Donwell, that he had come to town for a haircut and some other errands, and that when he had mentioned this to some friends in Highbury, he had been pressed to carry something to Miss Fairfax. Here he presented the tincture from Mr. Perry, and the scones and letter from her aunt. Had he been daring, he would have tried to slip a letter of his own to her, but uncertainty had made him a coward. Had Miss Fairfax been truly unwell, and had Mrs. Campbell offered to read the letter to her, he would have exposed both of them to scandal.

He was nervous, but good natured as always. Mrs. Campbell extended an invitation to dinner the next night since he would still be in town, and he leapt at it. Concluding his visit, he had only to count down the hours until he could see her again.

The details of his errands and his haircut were lost on Frank. How could he focus on anything else when he would see her again in thirty hours? Instead, his thoughts were all focused on Miss Fairfax, the look in her eyes, the blush on her cheeks, the fluttering of her hands. Did it mean that she was excited or embarrassed to see him again? There were only twenty-eight hours more until he would know more.

When he arrived the next evening at the Campbells’, he tried hard not to be the first one to arrive. As a result, there were two other couples gathered already. These others were contemporaries of the Campbells, so he could naturally pair off with Jane and escort her to the table. The conversation over dinner ranged over a collection of topics, and Frank shone at table as he always did.

Being the novelty, Frank was always involved in one conversation or another. Everyone wanted to know about his hair although their reaction was uniformly to comment on young people and how fashions change.

Mrs. Campbell sat near him, and inquired after Donwell and his family. She had seen enough interest in him, and enough of what passed for encouragement in her ward, to have a more than passing interest in this young man's prospects the day before. That he was raised by his uncle and aunt upon the death of his mother, Mrs. Campbell remembered from Weymouth, but she now felt obliged to know when he would reach his independence, and what he could expect from the Churchills. As an accomplished London hostess, she mixed these questions in throughout the meal, dwelling on the topic just long enough to satisfy her current point before mentioning the Dixons and their estate in Ireland, or loosening the reins of the conversation for some other topic to take the lead.

The separation after dinner was interminable. All the other men were long married and could part with their wives for as long as it took to linger of port and a fine cigar.

Finally rejoining the ladies, Frank saw that Jane sat near Mrs. Campbell; the distance was not so small as to leave him completely discouraged, and she gave him a flicker of a smile when he walked in the room. Determined to augur some insight, he asked her in a voice loud enough to be general conversation if she would play for them tonight. "I would not dream of hearing you sing, given your throat, but I cannot forget your impromptu performances in Weymouth."

There was a general agreement at Miss Fairfax's skill and taste. No one would press her to sing, but she might play without any inconvenience. She blushed and bowed her head, but gave in with a nod.

Here the colonel proved useful. Miss Fairfax had performed admirably on holiday, but Frank Churchill had also sung to acclaim. Perhaps Mr. Churchill could be persuaded to sing while Miss Fairfax sat at the instrument? Nothing could please Frank more. He could not have planned it better if he had tried. He offered his arm to her and glowed with warmth when she took it.

As they walked across the room, he felt at ease to speak low to her, almost conspiratorially. What should they play? Duets were out of the question, but surely there was something she wished to play or hear. She did not respond or, rather, she did not speak but she blushed and did not draw her hand away.

He regarded her as intently as possible without attracting attention and what he saw must pass as encouragement from Miss Fairfax. She had not forgotten about him, or fallen out of love with him. She had merely been away from him, slightly ill and unable to initiate any contact with him. When they reached the instrument, they flipped through the music, looking for something that would suit the evening and their combined talents.

Still she had not said a word to him. Instead, she plucked a song from the stack and handed it to him. His first thought was to reject it. “Oh no, Miss Fairfax,” he said. “It is written for a soprano.” He started to set it aside, but she tightened her hold on the paper, and he gave it a second look. It was a lover’s lament, the song of a woman whose true love had disappeared yet still she remained loyal to him.

When he finally understood what Jane was tried to tell him, he nearly embraced her right there in front of the Campbells and their guests. He recollected himself, and looked around a little shaken. How could he respond to such a mute declaration? He turned to the stack with renewed vigor and found another song of a man who had fallen in love at first sight with such a superior woman that even the roses blushed to realize how lovely she was. The Campbells were quite fond of such songs, and Frank could have played this game all night, but the Colonel chose that moment to ask if they had decided upon something. All the goodwill Frank had accorded the older gentleman for his earlier act of bringing them together evaporated.

Miss Fairfax sat at the instrument, and Frank sat beside her to turn the pages. He sang and she played. It was not her best performance. Something about the proximity of her admirer distracted her. She kept forgetting the key, and while no one would complain, Jane could only berate herself silently and rejoice when Mrs. Campbell suggested that Mrs. Jarvis succeed her.

Frank walked her back to her seat and, finding Mrs. Jarvis needed no accompaniment, took a seat near Jane. He said but a few words to her at first, between her sore throat and the attention that must be paid to the woman at the instrument, but he soon felt obligated to make an observation on the music and received such a warm, glowing look in response as rendered him unable to continue the conversation. He sat quite stupidly for the next ten minutes until he recalled that he could not stay mutely by her side all night long. He was, after all, a man on a mission, and he needed to get on with it.

Having rehearsed the following bit, he knew just what he wanted to say. "Have you noticed any improvements attributable to Perry's tincture?" he began. "I know it will make your family happy to hear you say so. Indeed, all who care must be anxious for your recovery."

She quietly replied that while it was too soon to speak with confidence, she had every expectation of a quick amendment.

"Then let me hope..." He stopped. No, that was not how it was supposed to go. "May I give word to your aunt that you will be able to visit her soon?"

Jane looked about, finally settling her gaze on her guardians. "I believe the Campbells will be ready to part with me soon. I have written a letter that I would like to give to you, to take home to Highbury. Allow me to get it now." There was a pause, a hesitancy. “You may want to check the envelope before handing it to my aunt.”

Oh, clever, deceitful girl! He watched her get up and quietly steal from the room. She returned 10 minutes later and spoke briefly to Mrs. Campbell who, having nothing of her own to add to Jane’s letter to Highbury, personally handed the missive to Frank.

Jane did not sit near enough to him for any more private conversations, but he could find no fault with the evening, and spent the rest of the night reading and rereading a letter that Jane had hidden for him.

---

Col. and Mrs. Campbell had been justifiably preoccupied in Weymouth with Edith and Mr. Dixon. They did not notice Jane’s growing attachment to Frank Churchill. If they had thought about it, they would have recalled how their ward, who had never been outgoing, had played and sang with Mr. Churchill. She had also danced with him whenever the young people insisted on rolling back the carpets. And she was completely unsettled after the young man returned to his home.

To be fair, Mrs. Campbell had noticed these signs and had assumed that Jane was on the way to falling in love but had run out of time before losing her beau to familial obligations. Jane was much more reserved than Edith, and Mrs. Campbell expected that to translate into a much longer period of budding attachment before Jane’s heart could be won. Besides, who expected to marry two daughters in such rapid succession when one could barely cope with losing just one?

Thus Jane consoled herself into thinking that this secret was for the best. While Edith blossomed under the banner of a her engagement before the strangers of Weymouth, Jane knew that she herself would wilt under it. The Campbells, too, did not need the burden of a second wedding so soon after the first.

Frank had secretly sent her a letter before he left Weymouth. In it, he was much more articulate than he had been on the cruise, or perhaps she was much more attentive. He was in love with her, he wanted to marry her. He would keep their secret and wait for her to join him in Surrey where he could court her properly. She read it and reread it, committing it to memory, dwelling upon it during moments of solitude and even moments requiring more activity, but there was enough bustle and activity over the Campbell-Dixon nuptials that nobody wondered why Jane was distracted. Her best friend -- practically her sister -- was marrying and moving away: let that be her excuse.

It was significantly more than a wedding and breakfast. Following the service, the newly minted Dixons boarded a ship for Ireland, and the Campbells and Jane came with them. Edith bore the journey better than the disastrous cruise in Weymouth, but only barely. She really was not cut out to be a sailor. On land, however, she quickly recovered her ease and was eager to take on the responsibilities that came with the name Mrs. Dixon.

Edith leaned heavily on her mother and her housekeeper for the first few weeks. Between her father's connections to military men and her home in London, Edith had not expected to receive the role of landed gentry and, while her education had not been lacking, she had not spent the time devoted to those lessons wisely.

It was only in Ireland when a calm quotidian rhythm was established and Jane seemed eager to return home that one could wonder what drew her back to England. The girl was unaffected by any of the local men that Mr. Dixon introduced to her notice despite the fact that they were all unexceptionable landowners. Of course, it had not helped matters that she caught a chill at one of the ruined castles that seemed to litter the Irish countryside, and the chill blossomed into a cold which always made her miserable.

As a rule, Mrs. Campbell refused to let Jane travel when she was unwell. The trip back from Ireland was the exception that proved the soundness of her usual judgment. Jane’s recovery converted into a relapse that dragged on for weeks, putting a damper on Christmas.

Yet even as Jane pined openly for her grandmother Bates, she had stopped handing the letters from Highbury to Mrs. Campbell to read, preferring instead to recite the more interesting and unique passages aloud. Mrs. Campbell considered this an act of charity for while Mrs. Bates was a dear woman, Jane’s aunt would often pen a coda longer than the body of the letter and full of repetition.

When Frank Churchill turned up on her doorstep unannounced, Mrs. Campbell began to wonder if she had missed something important in Weymouth. His excuse of carrying a gift for Jane from her relatives in Highbury was unimpeachable, and Mrs. Campbell vaguely remembered that Frank lived somewhere in Surrey, but she had never heard of him mentioned in any of Mrs. Bates’s letters. Then she recalled that Jane had taken up the habit of not reading the letters in their entirety.

Jane’s reaction to Frank was subdued as always, but Mrs. Campbell thought that the interest she had detected in Weymouth had not waned.

She invited Mr. Churchill to dine with them on the next day and the happiness on his face when he accepted told her more than enough of his interest, and gave her leave to wonder about his prospects for, while she remembered he had an uncle with some property, it did not guarantee that Frank Churchill had any claim to it.

Mrs. Campbell made no overt interrogation of her ward. Jane’s confidence was too fragile to handle a direct assault. Instead, Mrs. Campbell voiced her opinion of Mr. Churchill and watched for signs from Jane. Jane forwarded no new opinion of the young man, but she gently agreed with any good thing Mrs. Campbell had noticed, and she stubbornly refused to second any unflattering idea of him. And when Mrs. Campbell compared him to the young men living in Edith’s new neighborhood, Jane would not admit that Frank had any deficiency. She did so with a mildness that would be unremarkable to a stranger, but to Mrs. Campbell’s ears, it was a bold declaration.

That night when she was alone with the colonel, she told him of her suspicions.

"You must be friendly with Mr. Churchill tomorrow, but not too friendly," she warned him. "I do not want to scare him off. And besides, Jane will not want us to know until she is ready to tell us."

"I can be subtle," Col. Campbell reminded her.

"Since when is the army subtle?" asked his wife.

"One cannot be blatant about being subtle. It ruins the effect!" he told her, but he was willing to listen to her strategies for sounding out Frank Churchill's interest in Jane and his ability to support her. They consisted mostly of letting her ask the questions while the colonel appeared innocent and encouraged Mr. Churchill to let his guard down. It was dull work but it allowed him to become more familiar with the young man who might one day take his Jane away from him.

At the dinner party the next night, Frank Churchill was closely observed. Mrs. Campbell used all of her skills as a London hostess to find out his prospects.

He was heir to his uncle's considerable property, but his uncle showed no sign of leaving it in Frank’s hands any time soon. Frank was on very good terms with his uncle, and with his father too although one expected him to inherit only from Mr. Churchill.

There was a Mrs. Churchill -- his aunt -- and while he confirmed she was now much recovered from the illness that had forced Frank to leave Weymouth so precipitously, he did not volunteer any additional information about her. Eventually, Mrs. Campbell was forced to conclude that the poor woman was either a recluse or an invalid, and she resolved not to pry out more details for fear that Frank would catch on.

Toward the end of the evening, Jane handed her a letter for her grandmother and aunt so that the dear girl might be spared the impropriety of handing the letter directly to Mr. Churchill in front of the other guests. Mrs. Campbell was only to happy to comply and, if the envelope seemed thicker than what one might have expected Jane to write to her relations, Mrs. Campbell saw no point in prying.

The next day, Jane was quite knocked up from her exertions. Mrs. Campbell planned a quiet day of calls and left Jane behind to recover in solitude. Frank Churchill was interested, that much Mrs. Campbell knew. And Jane was interested in him. But it would not do any good to tease or flatter her into thinking that her guardians knew of and approved that interest. The Campbells tiptoed around the subject of their young dinner guest. Mrs. Campbell sorely wanted to hear Jane’s opinion of him, but Miss Fairfax did not have a disposition that lent itself to being teased. The colonel was limited to stating that he thought Frank Churchill was “a very good sort of fellow” and wondering when he would call again.

---

After the first jaunt to London, Frank was able to return with ease. The barber -- or barbarian -- responsible for his haircut had asked so plaintively when Frank would return for a trim, "that I hadn't the heart to refuse him. And so I hope you don't mind, but I shall race back to town again in a month to see that fellow." There was no point mentioning that the Campbells had already invited him to dine while he was in town again.

His uncle merely frowned, saving the bulk of the arguing for Mrs. Churchill who found, despite the fact that Frank had received a wretched cut, that all her arguments were unable to dissuade him from doing it again.

Later, in a private moment between husband and wife, she brought up that it might be time for Frank to get his own valet, one younger than Barton and thus more suitable to their nephew and his modern ways, yet still able to curb certain excesses. And besides, this, along with his recent interest in the day-to-day running of Donwell, was another symbol of maturity that might remind him of other adult milestones he had yet to achieve. Miss Woodhouse was as firmly entrenched at Hartfield as ever -- her father had not so much as a cold this winter -- but a formal declaration could still be announced.

Mr. Churchill sighed quietly. He knew this moment had been coming with its added expense, and there seemed no avoiding it, but he would delay it a little longer through inaction if he could.

A few days later, he dutifully mentioned the topic to Frank. The young man, much to his uncle's relief, dismissed the idea.

"What would poor Barton think?" asked Frank. "How would he bear the defection? No, I couldn't do that to him."

Inwardly relieved, Mr. Churchill still followed the proper forms so as to make a satisfactory report later. "But would you not like your own man, if Barton raised no objection?" he asked. "You are no longer a child, Frank, and perhaps it is past time we treat you like an adult."

Frank's initial reaction was to deny anything that might inconvenience his uncle. But something stopped him. Perhaps it was as if he had internalized Emma's voice and could hear her coaching him. "How else do you mean, Uncle?"

Here Mr. Churchill sputtered. He and Frank had enjoyed such an easy, open relationship prior, that he knew Frank would have refused. Something was changed, and it was more important than a haircut.

Eventually he choked out that he and his wife looked forward to seeing Frank comfortably settled one day. It need not be immediate, but a public understanding would go far to ease their minds. After all, one could not expect Miss Woodhouse to --

Here Frank had to interrupt. "Uncle, please stop. I have told you before: Emma and I are friends and no more. I think of her as a sister. I could never marry her."

"Marriage is not all poetry and romance," said Mr. Churchill from experience. "To marry a good friend -- someone you trust -- is the surest guarantee of a happy life. Holding hands and passing love letters makes for a very good story, but it ignores the dull bits which make the majority of our time. Besides, that sort of thing doesn't go on indefinitely. Do you imagine passing love letters at my age?"

"I do," admitted Frank, thinking not of the present master and mistress of the Abbey but of himself and Jane. He could easily envision hiding notes under her napkin at breakfast, or holding her hand as they rode to church, or even caressing her cheek as he sat next to her at the piano-forte on chilly winter evenings.

Then he saw the look of shock on his uncle's face. "I mean, I do see what you mean," he amended, silently congratulating his own quick thinking. "But as I understand you, I ask that you understand me. I will not marry Emma Woodhouse. I will not ask, and she will not have me."

Mr. Churchill shook his head. His wife was not ready to hear this news.

Chapter 6: Noxious Connections

As the largest landowners in the area, holding the lease on almost all the farmland for miles in all directions, the Churchills of Donwell were accustomed to being viewed as fonts of wisdom on all manner of topics.

Mr. Churchill was frequently solicited for his opinion by tenants, other farmers and landowners, shopkeepers, and even the local vicar. Being more gentleman than farmer by choice, he certainly was better informed and able to orate on some topics more than others. In matters agricultural, he usually attempted to delay the petitioner until he could speak with his steward, Mr. Endicott. When the question required an immediate answer, however, he tended to turn the question around by asking the inquirer what they thought. If their reasoning seemed sound, he would agree with them at once, mentioning it later to Mr. Endicott and Mrs. Churchill in case he had erred and needed to issue a correction.

Mrs. Churchill preferred to take the bull by the horns, as it were, by giving her opinion where she suspected it was needed. It saved time, she found, to be open, and greatly reduced her disappointments as people around her better knew what was expected of them. She had even, gradually, convinced her husband to consult with her to provide the best advice to their neighbors and dependents.

So it was that Mr. Churchill brought before his wife the case of Robert Martin of Abbey-Mill Farm. The Martin family had been living in Abbey-Mill for ages; the last two generations had proven to be more than typically competent and Mr. Robert, rushed too soon into his majority by the death of his father, showed that he had not spent his earliest years in ignorance or idleness. Young enough to have a mother and two sisters still at home, he still had the funds to provide the girls with a little schooling. Mrs. Churchill had always impressed everyone with her own intelligence, and Robert Martin thought nothing wrong with having sisters who knew a few French phrases or who could help with the accounts. While attending a local school, the Miss Martins had befriended a Harriet Smith, and their intimacy grew to the point where they invited Miss Smith to stay with them at the farm for a visit of some weeks. It was there that Mr. Martin made her acquaintance, and by degrees fell in love with her.

Here was the crux of his problem, the reason he sought a private audience with his landlord: he thought he wanted to marry Miss Smith. She was sweet and kind, close with both his sisters, and a favorite of his mother's. Miss Smith had no wealth, no known family, but she was a friend to all. She was a boarder at the school and, having completed her education, she had nowhere else to go. The headmistress, Mrs. Goddard, was happy to let her stay, but even Mr. Martin knew she could not remain there indefinitely. That had led to the thought of bringing her to stay at Abbey-Mill Farm.

He had set aside enough money for taking a wife, yet he was not sure if he was ready. He felt young to be taking this step yet he could not endure it if she married someone else. He didn't want to ask his mother for advice on this subject. And so he sought out Mr. Churchill, hoping to hear a cheerful prescription.

Mr. Churchill, however, could not be quick to judge this affair. Matrimony was his wife's jurisdiction, and he would not deny her standing in this case. Instead, he inquired minutely into the particulars, storing away the details to share with his wife later.

Mrs. Churchill, upon hearing her husband's version, reached the following conclusions: Miss Smith was a nameless foundling, conceived in sin and cast off at an early age by her disgraced family; Miss Smith, having reached the natural end of her lodging at the school, was now desperate for a new situation; and as the head of Abbey-Mill Farm, Mr. Martin occupied a respected position around Donwell and, as such, was an attractive catch for any grasping girl. Mr. Martin's mother, Mrs. Joshua Martin, had been a frequent guest to tea at the abbey, coming two or three times every summer, and accompanying her husband to the annual harvest dinner and Christmas open house. No one could doubt that Mrs. Robert Martin would expect the same access, although one could doubt her motives for venturing to the Churchills' exalted home. Having recently learned that Frank's natural father had chosen for a second wife a woman better suited to being recognized at Donwell as a servant than a guest, how could the Churchills allow a respectable tenant to marry a woman so devoid of virtue? No, Robert Martin must not marry such a low woman as Harriet Smith! Let his sisters keep the acquaintance if they must, but let the man remain untainted by that noxious connection.

That was the pronouncement Mrs. Churchill gave her husband, who had to find a way to soften and reshape the arguments before presenting them to Robert Martin. He prepared by reviewing some of the points he had drawn up to present to his nephew on the impending remarriage of Mr. Weston lest Frank get similar low ideas, namely that as a young man with a comfortable establishment, he would be the target of many young women. It would take wisdom and discipline not to let a pretty girl turn his head and embroil him in a mistake which would cost him all his domestic happiness. In summary, Robert Martin should not marry Miss Smith; it was, in many ways, an aspiration beneath him, and while he was certain to doubt this advice now, when sufficient time had passed and he had met a woman worthy of Abbey-Mill, he would look back on this moment and feel overwhelming gratitude.

These words were not what the farmer was expecting to hear. Indeed, they were a blow to all his hopes. He had recently seen his lady fair attain the notice of Miss Woodhouse of Hartfield, and he could observe small alterations in her dress and manner and the way she styled her hair, barely noticeable to the casual observer, that told Martin her star was rising, and that if he did not make his offer now, he might never get the chance.

But Mr. Churchill's words put her out of reach. He could not offer for her now without giving direct offense to his landlord. He bore it like a man, but still it brought him low. He could no longer meet with Miss Smith, it was too painful. He hinted at his sisters to break off the connection and when his mother wondered at how such an action was to be suggested much less perceived, he mumbled quietly to himself and went to the barn.

Miss Smith was no longer invited to Abbey-Mill without warning Mr. Martin well in advance. He could not avoid her entirely -- Donwell and Highbury were near neighbors -- but he did not approach or speak with her, however much he might stare. These changes were noted by Miss Smith, canvassed with her new friend, and so whenever she thought of Robert Martin, she became sad and wistful.

Miss Emma Woodhouse was in her friend's confidence and knew well her heartbreak. Her initial thought was one of good riddance, because she was unable to imagine her young friend saddled to such a weary existence. But she one day heard Mrs. Churchill's version and it filled her with indignation on her friend's behalf. That Harriet should be viewed as inferior to a farmer! From there, she made it her point to learn more about Robert Martin and everything she heard convinced her that he was Harriet's true love.

She began to scheme for ways to bring the two crossed lovers together, to achieve an understanding between them. It was hard work, for the Martins of Abbey-Mill were in different social orbits than the Woodhouses of Hartfield, but after the first "impromptu" meeting, Emma found she had to struggle less for future encounters.

Finally Harriet Smith received a letter that, had Miss Woodhouse not worked so diligently in leading Mr. Martin to writing it, she would have discouraged her friend's acceptance of. Securing Harriet's future happiness, however, was only the first milestone. Breaking the news to Donwell Abbey was the next daunting challenge. Mr. Churchill was, as expected, surprised and disappointed. That Robert Martin should seek his opinion and then spurn it, especially after all the pertinent warnings, was a disappointment. But Mrs. Churchill took the announcement as a dagger to her heart. She took immediately to her bed and ordered her nephew home from Weymouth in such tones as could not be gainsaid.

Grievously insulted, Mrs. Churchill nurtured the defection in her bosom. It colored all her conversations with her nephew in the weeks that followed, and led her to seek ways to delay or deny the inevitable. She had been too sure of the girl's origins previously, but she now sent a letter to Mrs. Goddard's school asking for confirmation of the details only assumed. She invited Mrs. Joshua Martin to tea to quiz her on the sort of girl her son was intent on marrying. She spoke to her husband, and Emma Woodhouse, and the vicar, and her maid, and anyone else who she ran into, of this dreadful situation. She spoke, indeed, to nearly everyone who could have an interest in the case except the two principles although it must be assumed that they heard of it.

Miss Smith was heartily mortified, and more than once begged with Mr. Martin that they should break off the engagement lest it drag the Martin family down in scandal. Robert Martin, on the other hand, strengthened in resolve. Having made up his mind and declared his intention, he was in no position to reverse his decision. On a number of topics he must defer to his landlord, but when it came to who and when he should marry, that was no business of the Churchills.

From that point on, Abbey-Mill Farm was at odds with Donwell Abbey. The girls were often upset about it, but the arrival of Harriet eased their worries. Mrs. Joshua was proud of her son's independence and trusted that the whole affair would blow over in another twelve-month, although perhaps it was naïve to hope that they would eventually continue much as they always had.

Peace was not to be. In the spring, Mr. Martin found out that his lease was not to be renewed. He and his family had until midsummer to vacate. The Martins were stunned, Mrs. Robert Martin most of all. When she was finally able to dry her eyes, she made haste to Hartfield where she renewed her weeping. Miss Woodhouse received the news with quiet fury on her friend's behalf. It was quite clear who was the author -- or rather the authoress -- of the Martins' predicament.

There was no time to devote to tantrums, however. A suitable situation must be found. The area surrounding Donwell was completely off limits. Even Highbury was too close for comfort. Miss Woodhouse would have offered Mr. Martin land surrounding Hartfield except there was no such land; the acreage had been sold before her father was a boy. Those, however, were the bounds of Miss Woodhouse's acquaintance. Confined by choice at Hartfield, she had no large circle of friends to write to, not like Isabella must have in London.

Oh, but that gave Emma an idea!

She sent Mrs. Martin home with a seed of hope, and instructions to write to anyone she remembered from school who might be in a position to help, while Emma would do the same. Then alone, she read through Isabella's last letter from London. There was the news that George and John Knightley had decided that the family would spend Easter at Enscombe. The news was softened by the fact that George Knightley had extended the invitation to include the residents of Hartfield. Isabella had declined on her family's behalf, expecting to find time in summer for Emma to join her sister in London. It was perhaps more important to the elder sister than to the younger for Emma to have some opportunity to travel beyond her small society, but it seemed impossible at Easter, for who could imagine Mr. Woodhouse traveling that far on muddy spring roads?

The mention of the holiday was all the opening Emma needed. She pulled out a clean sheet of paper and began to pen her reply. She wrote

To my dear sister and all her family,

We shall miss you terribly for Easter, as you well know. For Papa’s sake, I shall not dwell on the fact that John chose Enscombe over Highbury, but will gently stress to him that it is only fair of you to divide your time equally between both your families. We will find ways to make ourselves merry at Easter without you. I have tremendous hopes that we will have a new addition to the neighborhood by then: Jane Fairfax. You no doubt remember hearing of her from Miss Bates. The Campbells appear finally ready to give her up and allow her to return to her family. Everything I hear about her tells me that she is exactly the sort of person we need. However, I will save the rest of my praises until I actually see her again.

Unfortunately, I have also heard that we will experience a loss at Donwell. The Churchills have decided not to renew the lease on Abbey-Mill Farm to Mr. Martin and his family. The Martins have been living at Abbey-Mill for ages and it breaks my heart that they must leave. I had befriended his wife last year when she was still only a Miss Smith, and a sweeter girl you simply will not find in town or country. Not only does Mr. Martin have his wife, but also his mother and two sisters at home. Mr. Martin married Miss Smith against the recommendation of his landlord, and the plain fact is that Mrs. Churchill disapproves of the match and wishes to punish them all. The Churchills are being petty and cruel, and I cannot bear to think of this without being spurred to action. As you are aware, Hartfield has no tenant farms to offer them, and I do not know where they will go, only that they must be gone by midsummer. I hope you will bring this case to your brother and see if he has room at Enscombe for such a man and such a family. He will not be disappointed. Or if he does not, which strikes me as more likely, see if anyone else you know might be able to aid them.

Give my love to John and the children, and Papa’s too. Enjoy your time at Enscombe, but not so much that you won’t come to Hartfield in a few month’s time. Until then, I am, etc.

Miss Woodhouse sealed the letter and sighed. She had done all she could think of for now. Mrs. Knightley would mention the problem to her brother, and anyone else she could think of. It really was too much to expect Mr. Knightley would leap to the aid of someone he had never met and on so slim a recommendation, but she pinned her hopes on her sister knowing the perfect good Samaritan.

A week brought no good news to Abbey-Mill Farm. The flurry of letters sent to all points on the compass did not receive encouraging replies. Friends and family knew of no opportunities, but would forward to more distant connections. Then, a terse missive arrived at Hartfield that was too brief to offer hope but did invite speculation.

Mr. Woodhouse,

I have to travel through Surrey some time in the next fortnight and beg your hospitality for two nights at most. If you and your daughter can accommodate me, I promise to be a most obliging house guest, and your obedient servant, Geo Knightley.

Emma studied the scrap. Enough time had passed since her letter to Isabella for Mr. Knightley to have received her message. He could have just asked Isabella to include his answer in her next letter to Hartfield. It would be so strange to receive him without the other Knightleys as a buffer. And then she had agreed to attend a dinner party at Donwell in 10 days time. George Knightley would no doubt arrange his visit to coincide with that evening for maximum inconvenience. Still, if he felt the need to meet Robert Martin before making a decision, then Emma would remove any impediment. The Martins needed to move to a new situation as soon as possible if they were not to lose the year. Emma sighed and ordered the carriage. She had an errand to run before she penned a welcoming reply to Mr. Knightley.

Mrs. Churchill was delighted to hear that George Knightley was coming to Highbury, not suspecting it had anything to do with her wayward tenants. She offered to have him for tea if he was unable to attend her dinner, for Mr. Churchill continued to speak highly of the man. But in Mr. Knightley's next letter, tea was proved unnecessary, as he would arrive the evening before the party, in perfect time to attend it. Mrs. Churchill went to work, rearranging her table to suit her new honored guest. Highbury's vicar and his wife were accommodatingly understanding.

Mr. Knightley arrived on horseback at Hartfield on the appointed day as early evening was falling. He was made welcome and warm and, once refreshed, joined Mr. Woodhouse for a game of backgammon. Mr. Woodhouse inquired distractedly into what business had brought him into Surrey.

"It is your daughter's business," he answered.

"But why did not Isabella come herself?" asked his host. "Is she not well? Is something wrong with the children?"

He would have continued in this vein for many minutes had not Mr. Knightley stopped him.

"Forgive me, sir, but I meant your other daughter. She wrote to London looking for a new situation for a friend. As much as I trust her opinion, it does not do to enter into contracts like this sight-unseen."

This did not decrease Mr. Woodhouse's agitation, and he would not be calm until Emma was called before him to explain what was happening to the Martins. George Knightley thought Emma managed her father rather well despite the old man's lamentation. Mr. Woodhouse was firmly opposed to the Martins leaving Donwell though he had no say in the matter, but after soothing words, Emma was at last able to get him to admit that if the Martins were forced to leave, Enscombe was as good a place as any for them to go.

After a bland evening meal, Mr. Woodhouse retired and Mr. Knightley was able to have a few private words with Miss Woodhouse about the following day.

"Am I to take it that the general neighborhood does not know I am here to meet with Mr. Martin, or is it just your father who had no warning?"

She glared at him over her tea cup. "Father would never be happy with the news and I sought to spare him some grief. Besides, I could hardly broadcast the announcement considering that you hadn't declared your business. And of course Mrs. Churchill will be seriously displeased to think you, a favorite of hers, would betray her like this."

"A favorite of hers? How is that even possible? I met her for the first time three months ago."

"There is no accounting for taste," Emma shrugged.

George Knightley reacted with unabashed surprise. "I beg your pardon," he said, preparing to do no such thing, "but is there some reason why I should expect such open hostility while I am a guest in your home, performing an errand at your request?"

Emma had the grace to be embarrassed. "You upset my father," she gave as her excuse.

"It was never my intention to upset him," he said. "I expected him to be aware of what is going on in his neighborhood."

Here Miss Woodhouse became thoughtful. "He was so distressed last year at the Westons' wedding, and again when Harriet married Mr. Martin. I know he will take this change poorly, but there is nothing to be done about it; they must go. I had thought that to delay the news would at least spare him a few weeks of anxiety."

By the glow of the fireplace she looked so isolated that he forgave her earlier coldness, turning the conversation to when they were to visit Abbey-Mill on the morrow.

She took a moment to clear her throat and drink her tea before replying. Her answer was a detailed schedule that started with breakfast and involved an early tea at Abbey-Mill before the carriage was needed to pick up Mrs. and Miss Bates who would keep Mr. Woodhouse company that evening while the other two supped at Donwell Abbey.

"And if you would be so good as to not mention the true purpose of your visit to the Churchills, I promise to be grateful," she added.

---

The next morning passed exactly as scheduled and Mr. Knightley handed Miss Woodhouse from the carriage as the Martins gathered outside Abbey-Mill to greet them.

Every face eagerly looked up to Mr. Knightley, except Miss Woodhouse who sought to convey that this was a regular call. Her calm presence did much to help the girls settle their own nerves. After starting a mundane conversation with her friend, she could not keep her eyes or ears from straying, however, to the quiet words exchanged by Mr. Knightley and Mr. Martin. Eventually, even Miss Woodhouse gave up her pretense and allowed herself to eavesdrop.

Mr. Knightley then suggested that the two men go outside and admire the herd, leaving the women behind.

Harriet Martin was in a pitiable state, unable to sit, unable to pace, unable to attend, unable to talk sense. Convinced that the men had enough time to move out of earshot, Miss Woodhouse suggested her friend take a turn on the gravel to quiet her nerves. The suggestion was approved with alacrity and once outside, Harriet was able to unburden herself more fully.

It was very near the soliloquies that Miss Woodhouse had heard the year before when Mrs. Churchill began in earnest her campaign to break Robert Martin's engagement to Harriet Smith. Harriet, too ready to see the merit of others and blind to her own, fretted that Mr. Knightley might have heard of the rumors and would therefore disdain to make the connection. And if Harriet was responsible for losing this opportunity...

"You must not say such a thing!" ordered Miss Woodhouse. "You must not think it! Mr. Knightley will judge your family on its merits. And if he does fall prey to those falsehoods, then he is not worth you. And I shall tell him so myself!"

The two young women kept pacing the gravel until they saw the men returning, and hurried to meet them in the parlor. The smiles that greeted the ladies were all that needed to be said, and Mrs. Joshua Martin began to make offers of refreshments before remembering to defer to her daughter-in-law. Harriet was ecstatic with joy and, so far from taking offense, gave her mother leave to serve their savior herself.

Mr. Knightley now apologized, but he knew the carriage was expected back at Hartfield for another errand, and he had no wish to inconvenience Mr. Woodhouse. The men exchanged a few more details, then the maid announced the coachman was ready, and they were off.

Miss Woodhouse sat in silence, considering what she had just witnessed. She was pleased for her friend, so very pleased. She felt guilty for the unjust things she had said to Mr. Knightley. She was grateful and penitent. And underneath all her happiness for Harriet's sake, she felt sadness to lose her friend to such an insurmountable distance. Her father's words that marriage was disruptive to one's social circle resonated in a way they hadn't before.

By the time they reached Hartfield, her spirits were quite low. Mr. Knightley noticed it and tried to address it. After all, he had been very well behaved today, and could find no fault with the outcome.

"Are you well, Miss Woodhouse?" he asked.

Emma had hoped to retire immediately but she did not. She owed Isabella's brother more than that. Instead, she held her chin up and took his hand.

"Thank you, Mr. Knightley, for what you have done today," she said simply.

He received her thanks solemnly and gave her hand an answering squeeze. Had she left it at that, she might have retreated with her dignity intact.

"The Martins are the best of people," she continued with a sniff, "and I hope you recognize their worth. I am sure you could not find a more excellent addition to Enscombe." Here she let out a sob to think that she would never see Harriet again. Before she could stop herself, she pulled him into a fierce hug and cried on his shoulder.

Poor Mr. Knightley just stood there flabbergasted until the tears passed. When she regained enough self control, she apologized in a hurried mumble and left him.

---

Robert Martin left later that week for a trip to Enscombe to see the farm offered by Mr. Knightley. It suited his purpose admirably, and the two men signed the agreement before Mr. Martin returned to his family with dates and other details. In the end, it was not hard for Mr. Martin to convince his wife that they were leaving for a better situation which went a long way toward easing her mind.

It was then a mad flurry to prepare for the move. What could not come with them had to be sold or given away. Before a month had gone, they had made their last goodbyes.

Mrs. Churchill was glad to see the back of them but she would have preferred that they not look so cheerful about going to an obviously inferior situation. She had been unable to learn whither they were bound, the Martins having decided it was no longer the Churchills' business, but she was still curious. And, besides, there might come a day when the Martins' new landlord might appreciate information that Mrs. Churchill could provide.

Chapter 7: Tedious Dissipations

Mr. Elton's bride was the subject of avid and romantic speculation. She must have been very beautiful indeed if he couldn't stop thinking of her and had to hie to Bath as soon as his responsibilities waned.

As reports filtered back to Highbury through Mr. Cole, and from there to Donwell, a more complete picture began to emerge. She was absolutely lovely, if Mr. Elton was allowed to judge: the prize from a family of beauties. The height of physical perfection, ornamented with impeccable taste, wrapped in wit and intelligence.

Her physical qualities were only surpassed by her accomplishments. She played the piano-forte and sang. She sketched and painted. She embroidered. She was perfectly fluent in Italian, and could read French, German, and Russian.

Added to the whole was a dowry of £10,000, and the good people of the neighborhood felt proud that their vicar had won her hand! Mrs. Churchill, like the rest of the community, was eager to meet this paragon who seemed to rival, if not exceed, Miss Woodhouse's own attractions.

Mr. Elton brought his new bride to the Abbey at the earliest opportunity. She was indeed beautiful, well-dressed, and accomplished, sprinkling her conversation with a charming laugh, an occasional Italian phrase, and references to her married sister. The cream, however, was the deference she showed to the Churchills, for she was very astute when it came to matters of class and social hierarchy.

Mrs. Churchill found her delightful, and sang her praises to all who would listen. She hosted a dinner party to formally introduce Mrs. Elton to the local society. Miss Woodhouse, for her part, declared the vicar's wife to be "very elegant" and organised an assembly in her honor.

In truth, it was Miss Woodhouse and Mrs. Weston who were to organize it, but Mrs. Weston was at that point frequently indisposed. Mrs. Churchill suspected the cause but was too offended by the possibilities to dare inquire. The loss of Mrs. Weston garnered Miss Woodhouse so much support from others, however, that by the time the Churchill carriage rolled up to the hall just five minutes past the desired time, the crowd had been at the assembly hall for half an hour at least.

The Churchills sat at the head table with the Eltons, the Westons and Miss Woodhouse. By some miracle, Mr. Woodhouse also joined them, and Mrs. Churchill was forced to consider which she held in lower regard: Mr. Woodhouse's usual unwillingness to venture from his home, or uneven numbers at the table. His complaints about the excessive noise of the crowd, the large number of dishes, and the richness of the desserts did not endear him in the slightest.

To irk her further, Mr. Woodhouse left immediately after supper despite all his daughter's entreaties that he stay to watch a few dances. He was determined to go, for he knew that all those dancers would heat the room to broiling, and if he were to leave then, the shock of going outside into the cold air, no matter how many blankets and warm bricks were in the carriage, would surely do him in.

As Miss Woodhouse led her father to collect his coat, the couples started forming for the first set. Normally Frank's duty to step up with Miss Woodhouse for the first dance, his aunt had decided to give that honor to Mrs. Elton tonight. Mr. and Mrs. Churchill would dance together, leaving with Mr. Elton the implied duty of shepherding Miss Woodhouse to the dance floor.

But Miss Woodhouse was not presently available! What was Mr. Elton to do? He turned to Mrs. Weston and made a gallant offer. Unwilling to give offense to a guest of honor, she accepted but with a worried look to her husband, who read in it the wish that Emma would not be inadvertently slighted. As Mr. Woodhouse forbade his daughter to linger over a long farewell in front of a drafty door, Emma hurried back to the head table, and she and Mr. Weston were able to join the set before Mr. Churchill signaled the musicians to begin.

After the first dance, Mrs. Churchill was ready to call for her carriage. The room was uncomfortably warm and loud, and would only grow hotter and noisier as the evening wore on. Mr. Elton, however, coaxed her into staying for one more song, bribing the musicians for a slower tune than originally planned so he could dance with the grand dame of Donwell. She took his flattery very well, and Mr. Churchill himself asked Mrs. Elton to join him in the set.

When it was over and the dancers could return to the advertised program, Mr. and Mrs. Churchill made their goodbyes and left the young people to their amusements.

Mr. Elton danced two dances with his wife, and once with many of the women who attended. He stood up nearly as often as his wife. Sadly, he did not engage Miss Woodhouse for a single set. It must have slipped his mind. But he did manage to converse with her for a quarter-hour, during a musicians' break, about how lovely his wife was, and how pleased she was with her new home.

---

Mrs. Elton spent the next day at home glorying in the attention she received as everyone came to welcome her again to Highbury and to exclaim over the assembly. Everyone came -- including Mrs. Weston and Miss Woodhouse -- except Mrs. Churchill. That poor woman was laid up in bed until the afternoon. Between the fatigue of dancing, the riotous noise, and the rich foods from the night before, she was utterly fagged. Add to that the chill brought on by leaving the superheated assembly room for her carriage, and it was amazing she could raise her head.

Mrs. Elton came to visit her the next day, full of wishes for a speedy recovery. The vicar had already warned her of Mrs. Churchill's delicate health and so she had come prepared with sympathetic phrases and anecdotes.

Mrs. Churchill was almost not of a mind to receive her guest, so miserable she felt, but it was such a kindness to receive the visit, and it would show too much attention for the Donwell carriage to return the call at the Highbury vicarage.

Mrs. Elton had not been long married, but she had already determined that she should set herself up as protégée to Mrs. Churchill. To that end, she applied flattery and attention with a skill matching her husband's. It had already begun to bear fruit, with Mrs. Churchill referring to her as, "Augusta," in an unguarded moment.

"Mrs. Churchill," said the newlywed, "I cannot figure Mr. Woodhouse out. He confounds me!"

"Whatever do you mean?" came the encouraging reply.

"I was speaking with Miss Woodhouse when she came by yesterday, and suggested she take her father to Bath. The waters would do him a world of good, I know, but she said her father wouldn't hear of it. I swear she was even a little offended for his sake that I brought it up." Mrs. Elton had learned that, while she might not attack Miss Woodhouse directly, Mrs. Churchill was more than willing to listen to criticisms of Mr. Woodhouse.

Mrs. Churchill tutted. "The poor man fancies himself an invalid," she sighed regretfully. "Much as I approve of her devotion, I quite despair for his daughter. A change of scenery would be her salvation."

"If only she would go to Bath!" opined Mrs. Elton.

After a lull, Mrs. Elton continued. "I believe I interrupted two girls in the bakery yesterday, gossiping about one of your tenants," she said conspiratorially for there could be no doubt who she meant. "I wanted to say something but my hands were tied. After all, it is not a cautionary tale that teaches brazenness over decorum."

This was all the encouragement Mrs. Churchill needed, and she expounded on that subject for many minutes.

"What I do not understand," said Mrs. Elton when she could get a word in, "is why so many people still stand by her! Why, even Miss Woodhouse --"

"Emma had befriended her before the scandal broke, and thus could not appear to abandon her."

Mrs. Elton could only shake her head over "Country manners! In the towns like London and Bath, one can drop an unworthy acquaintance and be respected for it."

She had just realized she had more to say when a servant announced Miss Woodhouse.

"Miss Woodhouse!" Mrs. Elton exclaimed, tittering nervously, "we were just talking about you."

"All good, I hope," responded Miss Woodhouse as she stepped forward to greet her hostess.

Mrs. Elton did not trust herself to speak, but she needn't have worried as Mrs. Churchill had the situation very much in hand.

"And how is your father?" asked the mistress of Donwell. "Is he fully recovered from his exertions?"

Miss Woodhouse smiled and took her usual seat. "He is much as he always is, thank you for asking. And how are you, dear Mrs. Churchill? I heard that you were quite unwell."

That was a subject Mrs. Churchill loved to discuss.

When that topic was sufficiently canvassed, Miss Woodhouse spoke again. "I confess, my reasons for coming are twofold. And knowing you are better, I can come to my next object. As I mentioned before, George Knightley will travel through Surrey on business and has asked to stay at Hartfield -- so much better than an inn! -- while he is in the area."

"Who is George Knightley? My caro sposo has never mentioned him," said Mrs. Elton cautiously, not unconvinced that Miss Woodhouse had another undesirable friend.

"Oh, Mr. Knightley is a true gentleman," said Mrs. Churchill, and waxed long in her proofs, leaving Mrs. Elton firmly convinced that she should cultivate an acquaintance with such a man.

"Yes, he is quite wonderful," agreed Emma Woodhouse with less enthusiasm, "but I have received confirmation from him on the exact dates of his stay. I despair that his visit will coincide with the dinner you plan to give."

That was all the hint Mrs. Churchill needed. "You must bring him! I insist!"

"But your numbers," Emma protested.

"I am sure --" she began. "Oh, but he will make 13! We must think of something."

Mrs. Elton saw a way she could be of use. "I have just the thing! A cousin who was unable to attend the wedding is right now in London. I could have Mr. E pop into town early next week to collect her and then bring her to dinner. That would even your numbers, ma'am."

"A cousin? Who is she?" Mrs. Churchill asked, unwilling to open her home to strangers.

"Arabelle is a cousin on my mother's side," explained Mrs. Elton. "She only has 7,000, but I vouch she is a perfect gentlewoman."

That was all the evidence required, and the young women sat and watched Mrs. Churchill pen two invitations to go out in the evening post. Miss Woodhouse stayed a little longer, discussing parish business and the date determined for Miss Fairfax's return to Highbury.

"You will be so pleased that I have already begun to prepare for Jane Fairfax," announced Mrs. Elton.

"How so?" Emma inquired.

"Since I have learned of her tenuous position, I have written to some friends to see if they know anyone seeking a governess."

"A governess!" Miss Woodhouse remarked with dismay. "I believe her guardians brought her up to be a gentlewoman."

Mrs. Elton was nettled by the comment. After all, Cousin Arabelle's £7,000 was surely sign of a gentlewoman, but she had not heard that the Campbells had set aside any provision for their ward. It was foolhardy to have raised the girl to standards she could not hope to maintain, and Mrs. Elton pitied her, but it was time to set aside childish dreams and to be practical.

"The story of Miss Fairfax's parents is indeed sad," Mrs. Elton said, having endured Miss Bates' retelling many times, "and the charity the Campbells have shown in raising her is commendable. They may have brought her up as their own daughter but in returning her to her family, they are signalling the end of their obligation on that score. And if Jane Fairfax, for all the advantages of her upbringing, was unable to snare a rich husband in London, she surely will not find one in Highbury where the best catch for miles around is Frank Churchill now that Mr. Elton is off the market, if you don't mind my saying so."

Mr. Elton had set his sights too high when he had aimed for Miss Woodhouse, but he had struck too low with Miss Hawkins, thought Emma. She was silently furious that Mrs. Elton had put the idea in Mrs. Churchill's head, for the older woman immediately began to fear the girl. Frank, for all the time he had snuck off to London on some trumped-up pretext or other, had yet to mention his beloved Jane even to his uncle, by far the more reasonable of the pair, and Mrs. Elton had made everything suddenly harder.

"I am afraid Augusta is right, Emma dear," said Mrs. Churchill. "If the Campbells have provided Miss Fairfax with an education but not a fortune, then her lot must be that of a governess. I will begin to mention her in my own letters and we shall see, Mrs. Elton, which of us is able to place her first."

Miss Woodhouse attempted to stay those helpful hands. "Let us wait until Miss Fairfax arrives before we get rid of her," she suggested. "She has been so long away from her family that she may not choose to quit it immediately."

"Oh, as for that," Mrs. Elton said with authority, "make no mistake, Jane Fairfax knows to strike while the iron is hot. Being cast off by the Campbells, she will be desperate to secure some future for herself. I only hope she will show a little prudence and not go grasping at any improper opportunity."

That response could only excite greater fears in Mrs. Churchill, who imagined Frank as that improper opportunity. Emma was forced to be firm.

"Forgive me for disagreeing with you, Mrs. Elton," she said, "but I have known Jane Fairfax since we were children. She is nothing like the person you describe." Emma wished to go further in her praise but feared what she might say were she to speak too freely.

Mrs. Elton smiled benevolently. "Her aunt tells me that Jane Fairfax has not been seen in Highbury, except briefly, for several years. I am sure, Miss Woodhouse, that however close you were as children, you are both of you changed so much as to render yourselves unrecognizable one to the other."

Mrs. Churchill could see the larger argument building and, having no desire to see a rift between her two close friends, intervened to end the subject. "I suppose there is nothing to do but to wait for Miss Fairfax to arrive and to judge for ourselves how she is. Personally, I hope she is just like you, Miss Woodhouse, but one must not expect to meet with such admirable young women every day."

Emma was now much too worried for Frank's cause to stay much longer. Having secured an invitation for her brother-in-law, she had no further announced aim, and thanked her hostess one last time before departing. She had to find Frank right away and make him talk with his uncle!

With Miss Woodhouse gone, Mrs. Elton would have dearly loved to have criticized the girl's defense of Jane Fairfax. It was all of a piece: Anne Weston, Jane Fairfax, Harriet Martin. Who knew what undeserving slattern would Miss Woodhouse champion next? As the belle of Highbury, Miss Woodhouse should be more discriminating in her friendships.

Mrs. Elton tried to lead by example. After all, as Mr. Elton's wife she was expected to interact with all levels of society, but as a respectable woman she would not allow herself to become too close with anyone undeserving. Miss Woodhouse, too indulged by a father who would not or could not rein her in, did not realize the damage she did to the social fabric. Mrs. Elton was even slightly shocked to see how the Churchills indulged Emma Woodhouse, especially when one considered their plans for Emma and Frank.

Mrs. Elton would have happily remained in her seat for another half-hour longer but Mrs. Churchill began to hint that she was fatigued. The vicar's wife was not perfectly willing to quit her place, however, and began a new line of conversation.

"Mrs. Churchill, I hate to say it, but have you ever considered taking your family to Bath?" Mrs. Churchill had not. "It is all perfectly respectable, I assure you," she said. "There are plenty of family entertainments: plays, musicals, dancing. Typically, the price of admission separates the wheat from the chaff, so you need not fear the quality of the people you meet. I do so wish you would go, all three of you. The waters are so very salubrious, Mrs. Churchill, and you could introduce your nephew to a wider circle than he will encounter around Donwell." That was as bold as she dared be about the unsuitability of Emma Woodhouse for the next mistress of the Abbey.

Mrs. Churchill first pooh-poohed the idea, but not vehemently. Mrs. Elton recorded it as progress and bid her goodbye.

Chapter 8: The Dark Horse

"You must speak to your uncle immediately," Miss Woodhouse commanded.

Frank demurred. "I've been working up to it, but I'm not ready yet."

"Not ready?" scoffed his fair friend. "Frank Churchill, you cowardly, undeserving laggard! Speak to your uncle today or I shall. Mrs. Elton has already begun to poison your aunt against Miss Fairfax with talk of desperate, grasping girls, no doubt the kind she knew in Bath. By the time you find your resolve, it will be too late. Miss Fairfax will be promised as governess to some snobbish family with wretched children in the far North. And then all your hopes will be for naught, because your aunt would never accept her after that."

"Please, Emma," pleaded Frank, "you know what she is like." He thought not of dear Jane’s perfections but of his aunt's flaws.

"I have a far more real grasp of her abilities if I can see the danger you do not," snapped Miss Woodhouse. "Unless you have been toying with Miss Fairfax's affections without a sincere interest in her. I begin to understand why she refused to announce anything in Weymouth! "

The barb struck deep. "That is unfair!"

"How unfair are you being to Jane Fairfax?" Emma asked, pressing her advantage. "Asking her to prepare for a day that may never come? Asking her to refuse opportunities far superior to what you will be, in the end, unable to provide her? Frank, have some knowledge of the consequence of your delay! It is not just your happiness you jeopardize, but hers as well. If you are ever to be worthy of Donwell, you must first be worthy of her. Speak to your uncle, without delay."

Thus roused, Frank had no choice but to seek an audience with his uncle, for Miss Woodhouse showed no sign of departing without seeing him ensconced in the master's office.

Mr. Churchill was surprised to see his nephew, and after sending Mr. Endicott away on some errand, they shared an awkward pas de deux as Frank pursued a circuitous path to his announcement.

Mr. Churchill had begun to suspect the nature of Frank's speech a month ago but, knowing his wife was unready to receive the news, had not pressed the young man. There was no point forcing a declaration that would be so distressing to those who loved him if he did not feel the need to make it known. Indeed, it could all be some passing fancy before Frank settled into the serious business of life.

Frank mentioned his trips to London, which of course his uncle remembered, for what else could explain Frank's hair? Frank then veered back to Weymouth and the good people he had met there; his uncle too remembered that trip. Frank mentioned that some people he had met in Weymouth were currently living in London, and had invited him to dine with them while he was in town; Mr. Churchill had believed that to be the case, and nothing could be more natural.

Frank then mentioned that the Campbells had a daughter, and Mr. Churchill thought they were approaching the heart of the matter. A quick prompt, however, only increased his confusion. Frank carelessly admitted that Miss Campbell was a nice-enough sort of girl, but she had married and moved to Ireland months and months ago, long before Frank had begun skulking off to London.

But, he continued, the Campbells had another young lady living with them, their ward whom they had raised as another daughter. Mr. Churchill wondered what kind of a girl she was and the glowing, meandering answer told him all he needed to know of the strength of Frank's affections. However, it told him nothing of practical matters.

"And so you say the Campbells raised her as a daughter?" he asked. "And what settlement did they make on Miss Campbell when she married?" It would not be so bad if the family truly viewed her as one of their own.

Frank could not satisfy him on that account, for he had no notion of the wedding articles, or how it might translate to his dear Jane. And it did not matter, because he loved her. And so would his uncle, as soon as he could meet her. But for that, they must wait until Jane visited her family.

"She has family in the area?" asked Mr. Churchill, wondering who it was. The Coles were a relatively good sort, originating from trade and grasping to better themselves, but there was no material harm in that so long as they could afford it. And the new Mrs. Elton rubbed elbows with the rich if her anecdotes about Mr. and Mrs. Suckling were to be believed.

"Yes," said Frank. "Mrs. Bates is her grandmother."

"Bates!" repeated the beleaguered Mr. Churchill, raising a hand to his forehead for support. "She is a pauper!" Mr. Bates had been the previous vicar of Highbury, and he had been a highly esteemed man, but no one would ever accuse him of being wealthy. "Oh, this is a tragedy!" Mr. Churchill had slowly accustomed himself to the idea that Frank might not marry Emma Woodhouse. He had even had the thought that Frank might not alloy himself to an ancient and noble house, choosing instead a pretty miss with newly acquired funds. The thought had never crossed his mind that his future niece would be poor as the proverbial church mouse. Donwell would survive an infusion of money acquired from trade, but there wouldn't be one stone atop another if Frank married Mr. Bates' granddaughter.

"Frank, you cannot be serious!" he exclaimed.

"I am terribly serious," countered Frank with equal zest. "Why do you think I have taken such a strong interest in running Donwell if not to make up for what I assume to be her small portion? And I have made some progress, you have said so yourself. But Aunt has heard that Miss Fairfax is coming to Highbury and does not know my interest in her. Aunt is trying to find her a position as a governess. You must stop it!"

Mr. Churchill was not convinced. "But what if she wants to be a governess?" It would be a disappointment to Frank, but he would overcome it in time.

"I have asked her to marry me," Frank blurted out.

The two men were silent so long that Mr. Endicott walked back into the room, believing it to be empty. The steward apologized for interrupting them, but bustled about the room, signaling that it was time for business.

Mr. Churchill, too, was uncharacteristically eager to go through the normal tedium. He attempted to shoo Frank out.

"Uncle, we are not done here," pleaded Frank.

"I am sorry, Frank, but I'm afraid Mr. Endicott needs me right now. We can talk about this later." The revelations of the afternoon were too much and he needed time to think about them.

---

At least Miss Woodhouse was sympathetic now that Frank had spoken to his uncle and tried to think of new ways to advance his suit. The next step, she realized, was financial: Mr. Churchill must name his price. The Churchills thought Jane too poor, but how rich would a girl need to be to satisfy them? From there, it was a matter of negotiating them down into sense.

Perhaps Mrs. Elton's cousin with her £7,000 could be of use in that regard. Emma had no doubt she was as self-important as Mr. Elton's choice. Her dowry might refurbish a few rooms in the Abbey, but such a girl could not bring class to it. There were some things money couldn't buy.

Emma and Frank both realized it was risky. The Churchills might not be able to appreciate the difference between style and fashion; Mrs. Churchill was still "taken in" by Mrs. Elton, whose flattery and deference hid a lot of shortcomings. It would be up to Emma to expose the problem with Mrs. Elton or at least with Miss Arabelle Platt.

Frank had to work on his uncle, pestering him about the bottom line until they found a way to shift it. Emma also gave him the assignment of finding out just what the Campbells intended to do for Jane. It was probably not a real fortune, but it was surely more than Mr. Churchill expected. It would also, along with Mr. Churchill's price, give them a range to work within.

For his part, Mr. Churchill grew weakly resigned over the se’enight. He lamented in private. He forced Mr. Endicott to commiserate with each expense. He mumbled unintelligibly in front of his wife. He made discreet inquiries whenever his tenants asked for advice. He glared forebodingly at Frank. He flinched every time someone mentioned the name Bates. But through it all he grew resigned, and he had yet to meet the agent of his destruction.

Everything he heard confirmed his original supposition that the Bateses were respectable but dependent upon the charity of their neighbors. An older farmer, Mr. Lasseter, remembered Mrs. Fairfax, née Bates, and called her the jewel of the country. He was pleased that she escaped the fate of spinsterhood, but sad when her new husband took her away, sadder still to hear of her death. Reliable details of Miss Fairfax were harder to come by; people remembered her as a little mouse, but that proved nothing as her mother had been a late bloomer.

Frank disappeared to London for an emergency trip to his barber with the strict injunction from his aunt to be back in time for her dinner party and to bring sweets enough to share with the guests.

Mr. Churchill was now in a pickle. Frank's continued trips to London along with his efforts around Donwell spoke of his resolve. Divulging his secret to Mr. Churchill clearly meant that Frank expected help in breaking the news to Mrs. Churchill. Mr. Churchill had no desire to be the bearer of bad news, but he knew it would go so much worse for him if she found out without forewarning from him.

In the end, he said nothing. Discretion was the better part of valour.

---

Frank's first aim in London had been to speak with Col. Campbell. It was an awkward tête à tête -- in some ways worse than his talk with his uncle -- but he managed at last to declare his romantic intentions as well as his uncle's pecuniary bounds.

While the colonel had not discussed the young man from Surrey with his ward, he and his wife had had many private conversations about Frank Churchill and whether he would be the one to steal their Jane from them. With each successive visit, it became more likely, and Frank’s confession was in general what the colonel had been expecting, although the exact sum had been a slight surprise. Jane's parents had died young and so had set little aside for her, but the Campbells had invested it on her behalf, tossing in a pound or two of their own when they could. The result was under £600 but the colonel was willing to round up for the right suitor. Frank Churchill had previously struck him as just the right sort: besotted with Jane, devoid of mercenary intent, and close enough to London should Mrs. Campbell need to mother someone.

The expectations of Frank's family, however, put a bad spin on things, which was made even worse by other news. Jane would never be an heiress, but the Churchills practically insisted on it. Frank was undeterred, or at least he said he was undeterred. He spoke of this being just an opening negotiation, that he had already spent time bringing Donwell’s accounts forward, that his uncle could be talked down quite a bit, and that meeting Miss Fairfax would surely resign him to what little difference remained.

The colonel listened silently to the younger man's verbal ramblings until his guest had reached his end and awaited a response.

"I have been inclined to like you, Mr. Churchill," the colonel sighed regretfully, "and I believe Jane does too. Had you called on me a week ago, I would have given my blessing gladly. However, Jane has received what I can only call a distressing letter from her grandmother recently and now I am loath to receive your petition."

Frank’s eyes widened in surprise. He tried to recall anything from his last visit to Mrs. and Miss Bates that implied trouble of some kind, but all he could remember was the innocuous gossip of Miss Bates.

"Has something happened to her family?" was all he could say.

The colonel shook his head. "I do not have the letter and I will not call upon Jane to produce it, but it was not what happened to the Bates family that was the source of Jane's distress."

The colonel’s exposition was maddening. "Please sir," said Frank, "speak plainly and tell me what is wrong."

"What is wrong, son, is that you have come before me requesting permission for you to marry Jane when you yourself lack the approval or means to marry her."

Frank blinked rapidly as this news sank in. "What makes you say that?"

"Much is based on what you have already told us: that you are your uncle's heir and are dependent upon him; that you lack your own establishment and control over your own funds," the colonel pointed out. "The latest letter from Surrey, however, told of how your aunt had disapproved of a farmer's choice of wife and as a result was forcing the family to leave their farm, and that you will never give your family such trouble because you are practically engaged to a local girl. Tell me, has Mrs. Bates misunderstood the situation with respect to this farmer?"

The news momentarily stunned him. How could Mrs. Bates write such a letter to Jane, he wondered, before realizing that Jane's family in Highbury knew nothing of his interest. If the ladies imagined anything, it would be that Jane had a natural curiosity to hear about someone she had recently met rather than stories of people she had forgotten.

Now, unfortunately, the damage was done and he would have to think quickly to extricate himself from this predicament.

Frank wanted to deny the farmer's tale but he could not. "Had the man in question not sought my uncle's and aunt's advice, they would have been much less offended by his decision to follow his heart,” he said instead. It was a weak and unworthy deflection, and the other man was not assuaged.

"But you must see the concerns that raises with respect to the home you are able to offer for my ward," the colonel appraised him. "If you were to go to your family this evening and announce that you were engaged to Miss Jane Fairfax of -- Street, London, would you be permitted to keep that engagement? Would your family make her feel welcome into their home, or would she be made to feel inferior? And if, expecting difficulties, you were to elope or otherwise thwart your family’s expectations, would Jane be made to bear the brunt of the punishment? How would society judge her for marrying into a family that was so hostile to her? She would be seen as a grasping fortune hunter and if, having fallen out with your uncle, you might lack the resources to keep her out of penury. As her guardian, I must protect her from such a fate."

Frank wanted to counter the older man's arguments, but it was clear that the colonel had been prepared for this scene while Frank had expected an entirely different reception. Before he could articulate a word in response, Jane's guardian continued:

“And what of this other girl you have in Surrey?” he questioned. “The one that Mrs. Bates believes you will marry? Have you been courting two girls at once? I cannot condone that sort of behavior, Mr. Churchill. It sounds of a thoughtless entitlement that can only bring misery to those around you. Had Jane everything else in her favor, how could your family and community accept her as your wife when they have expected you to offer to someone they already know and admire?”

Frank was very close to fleeing in a panic. He had been so hopeful in the last few miles of his journey. “You do not understand. This young woman, Emma Woodhouse, has been my companion since childhood. She is like a sister to me. We neither of us have any intention of marrying each other; I want to marry Miss Fairfax.” He stopped short of giving Emma all the credit for his coming to London and renewing his acquaintance with the Campbells. “Emma knows of my feelings for your ward, and she had been helpful and encouraging in coming up with strategies to deal with my family.”

This was not an admission that improved the colonel’s opinion. “Mr. Churchill, I am afraid that, despite your attachment to my ward, I cannot permit the relationship to go further. It is clear to me that your family will not sanction or support the match, and that you lack the resources to marry otherwise. Nor would I subject Jane to the censure of your neighbors should you be able to marry her.”

“May I at least speak to Miss Fairfax?” he asked desperately.

The colonel shook his head. “No, I will not permit it. I am very sorry, sir, but this interview is over.”

After a short period of shock, Frank Churchill quitted the house with no knowledge that he should ever return.

---

Frank was uncharacteristically jolly at the dinner party, going so far as to show particular attention to Miss Platt, who blushed and laughed as Jane never would.

Emma noticed. Mrs. Elton noticed. Mrs. Churchill noticed. Everyone noticed. Frank was not discrete and Miss Platt was not subtle.

Emma knew something must have happened between Frank and Miss Fairfax. She dearly would have loved a private word with him, but she had been too busy earlier that day introducing Mr. Knightley to the Martin family to learn the particulars. She could only observe and fret that he would provoke the wrath of his aunt over a pointless lovers' spat. The only bright note was that Mrs. Churchill would probably lump Miss Platt and Mrs. Elton in with the wrong that Frank was doing.

Mrs. Elton could not help but observe the excessive attention Mr. Frank lavished on her cousin, and right under Miss Woodhouse's nose. It was deplorable yet it filled her with glee. Cousin Arabelle was putting Emma Woodhouse in her place in a way Mrs. Elton could never imagine. Her caro sposo caught her eye and smiled back. Perhaps she should write to her Aunt Platt tomorrow about extending Arabelle's stay.

Mr. Weston observed his son's behavior with wonder. Since purchasing Randalls and getting to know his son as a man, he had initially assumed Frank would marry Emma Woodhouse. It had taken many hours at Hartfield, watching them interact in the company of the delightful Miss Taylor, for him to realize that Frank's interest in Miss Woodhouse was fraternal, and that she treated him with a matching sisterly concern. This led Mr. Weston to wonder what kind of woman would eventually win Frank's heart: would she be like Grace, his first wife, or Anne, his second wife? Miss Platt was so unlike either Mrs. Weston, but Frank's attention was so marked, that his father wondered if Frank had chosen something completely different.

Mr. Knightley divided his attention between Frank's behavior and Emma's reaction. The gentleman from Enscombe was certain there had been something to the couple, and Miss Woodhouse's worried looks only confirmed his suspicions.

Mr. Churchill watched his nephew flirt with the newcomer with a feeling akin to horror. Was Frank attempting to punish him for not being more open to Mr. Bates' granddaughter? Was he trying to proclaim unequivocally to his uncle and aunt that he had no intention of marrying Emma Woodhouse, now or ever? Was he trying to doom them all? Would it be seen as rude for Mr. Churchill to feign a headache and retire for the evening?

Mrs. Churchill couldn't help but notice her nephew's regard for Miss Platt, much though her husband and Emma tried to distract her. She saw it with growing indignation. That Frank should behave with such disrespect and disregard! That Miss Platt should encourage him with her brazen wiles! That Mrs. Elton should have brought such a temptress into their midst! It was all too much and she nearly asked the Eltons to leave, but poor Emma bore it with a fortitude that inspired her to save the expression of her anger for a more private moment, when the Coles and the Montgomerys weren't watching. Frank might play a fool now, but he really was without sense if he thought his actions tonight were without consequence.

---

It was unclear who was in greater disgrace after the dinner party at Donwell Abbey: Frank for flirting with that hussy, or Mrs. Elton for bringing her. Word of the evening spread through Donwell and Highbury. Mrs. Elton was not received at the Abbey again while her cousin was with her; Mrs. Churchill had a convenient indisposition that lasted the rest of Miss Platt’s visit.

Cousin Arabelle was convinced she was the victim in all this. Her introduction into Surrey’s society had started so well. Everyone had been so friendly, and Frank Churchill had gone far beyond that. She was convinced she wasn’t going to head back to town without receiving and possibly accepting a marriage proposal.

Her cousin Augusta had been even more pleased after the dinner, smirking about Miss Woodhouse and dashed hopes. Even Mr. Elton had found it diverting. But that ended the next afternoon when Mrs. Elton took her to the Abbey for tea, and they had been turned away. The butler had made a show of declaring his mistress was indisposed, however he gave them such a disapproving eye as he said it that tipped them off immediately.

Mrs. Elton had then insisted on a round of other calls to investigate the matter. What they learned did not soothe. Word had gotten out that Miss Platt had thrown herself at Frank Churchill in a shocking display under Mrs. Churchill's very nose.

Miss Platt was indignant but Mrs. Elton was shocked into silence. The parallels between Cousin Arabelle and Mrs. Robert Martin were not hard to see for someone like her. Intentionally or not, Arabelle had set her sights on someone that Mrs. Churchill deemed improper for her. The only thing remaining was to surrender the field and beg forgiveness.

There would be concessions, of course. The first being the expedited departure of her cousin, which is how a visit of six weeks lasted less that six days.

Mrs. Elton lost standing due to the debacle, but she was able to recover, demonstrating to the neighborhood her unique brand of charity.

Chapter 9: Pernicious Upstart

"Miss Woodhouse, I could not help but notice Frank Churchill's behavior tonight," Mr. Knightley began as the carriage pulled away from Donwell.

"Do you think his aunt noticed?" asked Emma with some worry.

"She would be blind not to," he answered.

"Oh, dear," was all she could say. Whatever had happened between Frank and Jane had spilled out into tonight's party and now Frank was going to hear about it, make no mistake of that.

"You are far too generous," he told her. "Reason was offended on your behalf. If Frank Churchill was trying to make you jealous of Miss Platt, then it was in poor taste. And if Frank Churchill honestly prefers Miss Platt to you, then he has no taste at all."

Emma was surprised at his warm defense. She knew from letters from town that Isabella viewed George Knightley as a brother, but Emma had seen him so rarely over the years that she could not feel the same. Indeed, she viewed Frank Churchill like a brother and, in such capacity, she worried about him and what tonight's performance meant about his long-term happiness. Frank was simply not clever enough to test the waters with someone so unsuitable as Miss Platt before revealing Jane Fairfax to be his first choice.

"What was he thinking?" she mused aloud. She would get no answers tonight, nor tomorrow in all probability.

"I doubt he was thinking at all!" Mr. Knightley huffed. "For my part, I cannot see the attractions of a girl like Miss Platt. She is not the sort of girl I would prefer."

"Forgive me, Mr. Knightley but, as a bachelor, there are so many women you do not prefer that one cannot discern any slight intended in your comment."

"Am I unclear?" he asked. "Very well. Her fortune -- and any sense it should have bought -- was not on display in Donwell's dining room. Her conversation consisted of saying, Oh really? Do tell! and laughing uproariously. And her manners were more suited to a pantomime on a stage."

Emma silently agreed with him. Miss Platt was a little too close to Emma's imagined caricature for comfort, but she could not resist the urge to tease. "If I am too generous with Frank, you are too stinting with Miss Platt. Her manners were stilted but only because she was among strangers and desirous of being pleased with all she encountered. Her looks, while you are ready to disregard them, are what many men regard as handsome, and some may call beautiful. 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, her £7,000 notwithstanding."

"You cannot be serious," he told her, not seeing her sly smile in the dimness. "A man of sense will not bind himself to a Miss Platt, be she uncommonly pretty and rich. He knows that sooner or later, looks or money will not paper over the flaws in character and intelligence, and he will be trapped in an unhappy marriage until the end of his days."

"You have much to say on this subject for an old bachelor," Emma commented.

“I have thought on it a great deal. Had I any less, I might not be a bachelor.”

Emma thought he was being intentionally humorous. The moon had outstripped the clouds and shone down on the landscape, and now he could see her white teeth smiling. He returned the gesture.

"Come now," he said. "Take my hand and tell me truly, were you not hurt by Frank Churchill's performance tonight?"

Emma sighed. How many times did she have to tell this man that there was nothing between her and Frank before he believed her? Nothing short of being courted by some handsome young fellow, marrying him, bearing his children, and watching said children grow and develop lives of their own which would be on display at her golden wedding anniversary would convince Mr. Knightley that she was no longer in love with Frank. Still she reached out to pat his wrist absently when she was suddenly seized by a bit of cleverness.

"I say, Mr. Knightley," she said, gripping his wrist, "you are a man who occasionally possesses greater insight than others around you. Are you absolutely sure that Mrs. Churchill noticed Frank's behavior?"

"Absolutely!" he averred.

"And are you certain that she interpreted it as a romantic interest in Miss Platt at my expense?"

"Yes," he said. "There can be no two interpretations of tonight's events."

"And she will naturally assume that I am wounded by Frank's public rejection?"

"Of course!" he agreed. "That is what I am saying."

Emma released her hold on him and leaned back in her seat. If Mrs. Churchill thought that Emma had taken offense, if Emma continued to act hurt by Frank's display, perhaps it would convince the older woman that Emma and Frank were never going to marry each other. It was not as good as securing the Churchills' blessing for Frank and Miss Fairfax, but knowing that Emma was resolved against Frank would make other steps easier to take.

"You are perfectly right, Mr. Knightley," she said at last. "I do not know why I refused to see it before. I have been ill-used, and I will not soon forget it."

Her companion stared at her. A transformation had seemed to take place before his very eyes though it had been too dim to notice. It also rang false, but he could scarcely accuse her of inventing outrage, not after he had repeatedly attempted to get her to admit of secretly harboring plans to marry the dolt.

Still, he couldn't stop himself from saying, "You are teasing me, Emma."

Now she was offended. She couldn't be in love with Frank Churchill and she couldn't not be in love with Frank Churchill. George Knightley simply did not know what to make of a woman who knew her own mind. "If you know the truth of my feelings better than I," she challenged him, "pray explain it to me. Be sure to use simple, unambiguous words so that I may finally understand myself."

Mr. Knightley frowned but he knew better than to take the bait. All he had wanted to do was to ease the heartache Miss Woodhouse was no doubt feeling after tonight's dinner party, and all he had succeeded in doing was to offend her far more than Frank Churchill had. Having grown up without a sister, having reached middle age without a wife, he was forced to admit he did not understand women in the slightest and would probably remain a bachelor to the end of his days.

He did not voice these thoughts, and it would have given him no comfort to learn that this was one topic on which Emma Woodhouse agreed with him.

---

Frank Churchill was deservedly miserable. His aunt had devoted the entire morning to letting him know how just how abominable his behavior had been at dinner. She had been haughty and imperious, commanding him to break off all ties with Miss Platt. It was one thing to be friendly and welcoming, but his flirtatious behavior went too far, to the point where he had offended his family and Miss Woodhouse and any other person of good sense, and no doubt excited expectations in a young woman who was so totally unsuitable and grasping. Frank found this observation especially disturbing when he compared Miss Platt's £7,000 to Jane's significantly smaller fortune. That thought led him back to the realization that his future with Jane was likely impossible, which only drove him deeper into misery.

Mrs. Churchill finally returned to her rooms, declaring herself too ill to receive visitors today. Lest Frank believed her present indisposition was unrelated to his earlier misbehavior, she set him straight on that account before she retired, and as she swept from the breakfast room she issued a final injunction forbidding him from having any further contact with the loathsome Miss Platt ever again.

His uncle was unsympathetic to the point of accusing Frank of staging the whole debacle to bring this Miss Fairfax business to a head. And if matters did not turn out the way he had planned, Frank had only himself to blame! For his part, Mr. Churchill had felt physically unwell ever since the disaster began and he would be very much surprised if there was another dinner party at Donwell before summer. And then there was the Elton-Platt business to patch up, for he was certain that expectations were raised there, and naturally Miss Woodhouse was a smart girl and had seen a sorry eyeful last night.

"But I've already told you," interrupted Frank piteously, "Emma and I --"

"Have you told your aunt?" countered Mr. Churchill, knowing his nephew had not. "Then you cannot have told me!" Those words clanged painfully in Frank’s head, rolling around with a dark echo of Colonel Campbell’s words from the day before.

That settled the matter, making clear to Frank just how much his thoughtlessness had cost him. He had no ally, no mediator at home; not even a messenger. If anyone was to convince his aunt to accept Jane, it would have to be Frank. Likewise, if there was anyone to prove to Jane’s family that he deserved her, it would be him. And at this moment, he felt completely unequal to these challenges.

His only possible salvation lay with Emma Woodhouse. His uncle had the right of it, Emma was intelligent, far more clever than Frank. If there was a way out of this mess, Emma would find it.

Custom and experience, however, dictated that he would get no help from his friend today. The day was sufficiently advanced that George Knightley was already on the London road, but Hartfield and Mr. Woodhouse were no doubt still recovering from the change in their quotidian routines, and Emma would be too busy seeing to her father's comfort to consider Frank's dismal situation.

But he could not go to Emma, he realized. Had the colonel not just verbally stropped him for spending too much time in Miss Woodhouse's company, giving rise to all sorts of rumor? What would Jane think if he immediately flew to Hartfield after being sent away by the colonel?

But he must escape from the Abbey! His uncle and his aunt had made the building so unaccommodating, and the dining room and parlor revived such unfortunate memories of yesterday, that he could not bear it.

He decided a ride to Randalls would clear his head, and he was smart enough about it not to mention his exact destination to the groom in case the Churchills did not appreciate the Westons' influence on Frank at this moment.

His father was unable to greet him when he arrived so he sat down to tea with his stepmother until Mr. Weston was finished with his letters.

Mrs. Weston had never harbored any romantic delusions about Emma and Frank, having been the governess at Hartfield for many years. But for all that she knew of who Frank was not in love with, she was unaware of Jane Fairfax, having never been in Frank's confidence before. After having witnessed Frank's attentions to Miss Platt at the party, however, she was willing to champion Mrs. Elton's cousin; she had experienced for herself the coldness from Mrs. Churchill when she had traded the name Taylor for Weston and she knew that anyone who won Frank's heart would face a serious challenge in overcoming the dislike of the Churchills of Donwell. If she could in any way help her stepson and his intended, she was happy to do so.

"So!" she began when Frank was equipped with cup and saucer. "Miss Platt --"

Frank groaned loudly. "Ma'am, please may we not discuss that subject! I am too much embarrassed to endure additional scrutiny."

Mrs. Weston immediately surmised that the Churchills had already taken young Frank to task for his interest. "Frank, you must not let others decide such personal and weighty matters for you. We must all of us follow the dictates of our own hearts, because we are the ones who must live with the consequences. Some in your family may be disappointed at first, but they will outgrow it. And you may always depend upon your father and me to support you whatever you do.”

She thought she managed that speech rather well but Frank could only feel a numb horror at her words as they applied to both Jane Fairfax and Arabelle Platt. Even as she turned the conversation to more comfortable topics, he could not be easy and after a quarter-hour’s tête-à-tête begged his excuses to his father and was gone.

He was not yet ready to return home, but now Randalls and Hartfield were closed to him. The Bateses’ modest apartments should likewise be avoided after the colonel’s clear rejection of his suit, but he could not alter his direction once he had set himself on that path.

But there he found a sort of repose. He need not say much so long as he looked encouraging. Mrs. Bates was more than a trifle deaf so she could never hear him anyway, and Miss Bates presented such a steady stream of innocuous, unvarying chatter, that he could forget whether he and Jane had recently fallen out or if they had already reconciled, or perhaps they had not even met yet.

He went there often in the days following his disgrace. Mrs. Elton never visited the Bateses, so he need not fear to encounter her, and his aunt would never call on these modest apartments. Miss Bates was such a remarkable contrast to Mrs. Churchill that for the longest time he didn't realise he was comparing the two women, but it humbled him when he finally realized it and knew it would make his aunt furious.

---

Mrs. Churchill did not cease to berate her nephew until Arabelle Platt was returned to town. What made it worse was that a coolness had sprung up from Hartfield; Miss Woodhouse called but only when Frank was not at home, and she always had some ready excuse to leave at the end of her quarter-hour. When Mrs. Churchill brought up the topic of her nephew, Emma’s mouth pressed into a thin line and her eyes traced patterns on the carpet. It was as if Miss Woodhouse had suddenly woken to the thought that Frank Churchill was not her ideal match and was trying desperately to find a way to extricate herself from the unspoken understanding.

As the aggrieved local party in the Platt Debacle, the larger community would side with her whichever way she chose. True, Miss Platt was the vicar’s cousin but she had been trucked back to town under such a cloud that her innocence in the scandal was only protested as a matter of form. If Emma Woodhouse could forgive Frank Churchill for his ridiculous behavior, nobody else would ever be so rude and thoughtless as to speak of it again. If she could not forgive him, then it did not much matter how preordained their union was. Frank Churchill had squandered his chance and there was no reason why anyone else should suffer for it.

Mrs. Churchill heard enough scraps of hastily silenced rumors to fill in the rest. Frank’s future with Miss Woodhouse was dangling on a precipice, and a cold wind was blowing.

Increasingly worried that an irreparable rift was growing between Frank and Emma, Mrs. Churchill decided to speak plainly to her nephew at dinner a fortnight after the scandal first happened.

"I do so hate to see you at odds with Miss Woodhouse, but you brought it upon yourself with that ridiculous Miss Platt," she reminded him with her usual candor. "I am curious to hear how you plan to win Miss Woodhouse’s forgiveness. Surely enough time has passed for you to begin your attempt?" It was too much to hope that Miss Woodhouse would force Frank to come to the point, not with her father so unseasonably hale. But Mrs. Churchill would not refuse the connection no matter the timing.

Frank, however, had spent the last two weeks thinking of all the mistakes he had made that had led him to this defeat, not just in the time since he had met Jane, but the many months and years prior which had established his character and reputation. His desire to avoid conflict had put him too much in his uncle and aunt's power, and unbeknownst to them, he had never before been so at odds with them as now.

“I am sure there is nothing to worry about with Miss Woodhouse,” said Frank, feeling again the impropriety of befriending his neighbor.

“I hate to see a coolness between you,” his aunt said again.

“If there is any perception of coolness now, it is only because there was too much warmth between us earlier,” he said, feeling testy. It had never seemed like mischief before, to go to Emma constantly for help or intervention, but now he could clearly see how others viewed the situation and it embarrassed him. To think that he had unwittingly hurt Jane brought the pain back to himself.

Mr. and Mrs. Churchill shared a look. This sounded too much like the Frank that had run off to town at a moment's notice for a haircut. He had been so meek in the last fortnight that they were hoping he had outgrown some of his recklessness. Mr. Churchill in particular wished to believe that Frank had ended an unworthy fascination.

“But it is perfectly natural for the two of you to be close; you have known each other all your lives,” said Mrs. Churchill. Had she left it at that it was not a point against which Frank could have argued. “You two make the perfect couple and I am sure that people are merely worried that Miss Platt has driven a wedge between you. Settling matters with Miss Woodhouse would go a long way to easing everyone's minds.”

This, however, deserved to be refuted. “But I do not want to settle things with Miss Woodhouse,” Frank whined. “Or, at least, not in the way you have in mind. We have long ago decided not to marry each other.”

Mrs. Churchill was shocked by this pronouncement, and Mr. Churchill looked even more surprised than she did.

“What can you mean by that?” she asked uncomprehendingly.

“Only that I shall never marry Emma Woodhouse, and she shall never marry me.” It was a relief to say it aloud to his aunt but it was not a pleasure in which he could long indulge. He listened briefly to inarticulate protestations before rising from the table, tendering his apologies, and retiring to his room for the remainder of the evening.

His uncle and aunt gaped silently at each other after he had gone, wondering what they had just witnessed.

“Do you understand what has gotten into him?” asked Mrs. Churchill with some concern.

Mr. Churchill started to shake his head before he shrugged and said, “I was going to ask you the same thing.” With that, he fell silent.

“Well, do not you think you should speak with him?” prompted the wife.

“Now?” begged the husband. “He does not appear to wish to speak with either of us. I shall talk with him tomorrow when he is in a better mood.”

Mrs. Churchill tried to use gentle persuasion but she was unable to shift her husband and master; Mr. Churchill would not speak with his nephew again today. Mrs. Churchill was left to her own imagination as to what was behind Frank’s outburst.

---

Morning brought Frank out of sequester and down to breakfast where his uncle and aunt were waiting for him.

No one spoke of the night before, not even after Mrs. Churchill rose and left the room with a prompting look to her husband. Bartholomew Churchill planned to avoid this confrontation for as long as possible.

It was not until the men retired to a sitting room favored for its morning light, speaking of some pet project of Endicott’s, that Mrs. Churchill greeted them with an expectant, “Well?” and they realized they were trapped.

“Well, Ma'am?” Frank repeated with innocence.

“Well,” repeated Mrs. Churchill with a tinge of annoyance, “has your uncle coaxed from you a satisfying explanation for your behavior yesterday?”

“We did not discuss it,” Frank said, taking a juvenile pleasure in putting his uncle on the spot, even though he knew his reprieve would be short lived.

Mrs. Churchill spared a disapproving glare for her husband before she turned once more to the matter at hand.

“Frank,” she said, “your behavior yesterday was something of a mystery. You said such strange and confusing things that we do not know what to make of it.” It was a generous opening from her.

Frank began with the simple declaration that, “I am not going to marry Emma Woodhouse.” After a short pause, he decided to leave it at that. It was not in his power to announce another engagement; the colonel had seen to that. And he was also against bringing Jane to his aunt's attention; his hopes for her were dashed but he felt more than ever the need to shield her from further harm.

Mrs. Churchill was as perplexed by this announcement in the morning as she had been the day previous. “But how is that possible? Everyone knows you are meant for each other.”

Frank came dangerously close to being angry but realized he was just as much to blame as anyone else. He took a deep breath before speaking. “Then I must make clear my intentions before any additional mischief is done.” With that he rose as if he would immediately leave the Abbey to broadcast his lack of intent across the county.

“Stop!” commanded his aunt. “You cannot be serious! This is Emma Woodhouse you are talking about, take care,” she warned.

Instead of quitting the room, Frank stepped to his aunt and sat next to her. He took one of her hands in his. “Emma knows my feelings, and she shares them. I never wanted to disappoint you, but I cannot continue to deceive you. I cannot go on like this.”

Mrs. Churchill gaped in mute horror. For a moment, all her plans for the future of Donwell Abbey came crashing about her ears.

“No!” The denial came from deep within her. “No, you are wrong. Emma is hurt and angered by your recent idiocy; that is all. She will forgive you if you are supplicant. You are dangerously close to throwing away your chance at happiness over a girl who is not fit to grace a farmer’s sitting room!”

Frank’s knew that his aunt was still incensed over Miss Platt, that she knew not enough to suspect Jane Fairfax of being Frank's inamorata, but her reaction only underscored the soundness of his decision to make no mention of Jane.

They were at an impasse and there was no point in continuing. Frank was unable to persuade his aunt to accept his decision -- it was futile for him to try -- and, despite the strength of her arguments, Mrs. Churchill could not convince Frank that he was wrong enough to abandon his foolhardy resolution. He tendered his apologies again and bowed himself out.

Chapter 10: Dastardly Ambush

Frank Churchill had never been a very industrious boy, his aunt had always been too opinionated and managing for him to exert himself likewise. After all, there was no point in bothering to form an opinion or to announce a resolution if he would only be forced to retract it later.

And so he became agreeable and charming. He learned not to care too deeply on a number of subjects. He became adept at getting his way through inaction, such as by not proposing to Emma Woodhouse. And besides, he was too young to marry anyway.

But Jane Fairfax made him see things differently. Marriage did not seem so distant or undesirable, but rather an end state to strive towards. He proposed. Fitting for a young man who was very good at making no commitments of his own, he was not exactly refused nor was he accepted. Rather, he was given a goal.

When he returned to Donwell Abbey, he was changed. It was hard to see, nearly imperceptible, and his old habits and ways of thinking often reasserted themselves, but he wanted to improve himself. He was, unfortunately, ignorant of how to go about the necessary self-improvement. He knew -- secretly he knew -- that his uncle and aunt would never allow the marriage to take place, that Jane Fairfax would not satisfy them as the next mistress of Donwell, but if he did not think too long about it, perhaps it would simply resolve itself. Indeed, with an industrious and clever friend like Emma Woodhouse, it was easy to believe he would eventually marry his secret love.

He set himself, through Emma’s gentle coaxing and stern instruction and his own occasional insight, on a course of gradual correction. He took greater interest in the estate of Donwell and in its people. Mr. Endicott, the steward, drew him into the business that his uncle ignored. He lapsed frequently at first but less often with time. He knew he would never have the carefree existence that he had been raised to expect if he married Jane, but if he looked to Emma’s brother as a model, he could see an attainable happiness.

All that stopped rather abruptly when Jane's guardian refused his proposal. What was the point of all Frank’s hard work if it didn't end with her at his side? Whereas before he had only relapsed briefly, now he gave up entirely. Taking a leaf from his uncle's book, Frank avoided Mr. Endicott at all costs.

This was more than unfortunate. The steward had begun to hope for the next generation of Churchills and did not want to see this defection as anything other than one more momentary aberration. He forgave Frank and waited for his return. Something had plainly happened; the young man was obviously at odds with Mr. and Mrs. Churchill, and that no doubt carried over into the managing of the estate.

The steward made no mention of the change in Frank’s activities to Mr. Churchill, not wishing to exacerbate whatever grievances lay between the two.

Similarly, Mr. Endicott made his excuses to the tenants who, having received a small sample of an attentive landlord, had quickly developed a taste for such pampering. Mr. Churchill and his nephew were very busy with some very pressing business, he explained, and would deal with other matters as soon as they could.

On the other hand, Frank’s uncle had been too busy actively avoiding all conversation to learn about this. He did not want to notice that Frank had begun to shirk duties, and was thus blindsided by two farmers after Sunday services a month after the dinner party that started it all.

Mr. Calvin and Mr. Waters had long been at odds with each other. Their differences were exacerbated by their proximity to each other and by the lack of an active authority to settle arguments before they escalated into feuds.

Mr. Calvin approached his landlord directly as the Churchills exited the church. He began to state his case in clear, loud terms. Mr. Waters, fearing that his nemesis was gaining the upper hand, joined the duo and offered his interpretation of the situation, making certain to correct any half-truths from Mr. Calvin’s version. Mr. Calvin, however, had not been raised to be meek or to endure any slander against himself, especially when it was spoken in front of him, even if he was in a churchyard.

Poor Mr. Churchill stood there mutely as the two farmers argued with increasing volume and implied threats. His dear wife was reviewing the sermon with Donwell’s vicar and thus did not see he needed aid; Frank was still avoiding his family in general and did not realize how quickly the situation had escalated. It was Mr. Endicott who stepped between the men to defuse the tension, and it was Mr. Endicott who was pushed aside with unexpected force. The steward stumbled back into his employer and both men went down in a heap.

There was a collective gasp from the congregation. Even Calvin and Waters knew they had crossed a line. Robert Martin would certainly have stepped in before now to calm both men except that he and his family were no longer living in Surrey, having offended the Churchills much less seriously than by knocking one down in front of the entire community.

The farmers attempted to right their wrong by helping Mr. Churchill to his feet and dusting him off, practically falling over themselves in their zeal. By now, the beleaguered landowner found his voice and shooed them away in uncharitable terms.

Mrs. Churchill arrived and demanded to know what had happened. Both Calvin and Waters had suddenly lost their tongues. They cast down their eyes, unable to find a ready excuse.

Mr. Churchill was more indignant than humbled, however, and declared that those two men had accosted him with nonsense. The farmers tried to protest but Mr. Churchill was deaf to them and his wife glared them into silence.

“Frank!” called his uncle. “Come along. We are leaving now.” And with that he limped to the waiting carriage, more injured in dignity than body.

The ride home was agonizing. Mr. Churchill was stonily silent but Mrs. Churchill spoke more than enough for two. She was shocked and appalled by the manners; her own husband was rudely handled, and right outside a house of worship; the vicar had stood by worthlessly while it happened. That would be the last people saw of the Churchills at Donwell’s neighborhood church for a good while! Dear Augusta Elton had been begging her friend to come to Highbury for Sunday services, and next week the denizens of Highbury were in for a treat!

When she had exhausted that line of thought, she turned to what possibly could have provoked them. She made plans for her husband to speak with the steward at his earliest convenience to get to the heart of the matter, for men did not turn savage overnight. And if this was part of a larger pattern… Well, they had just replaced the Martins at Abbey Mill; surely the rest of their tenants knew what could happen.

As the carriage rolled to a stop before the abbey’s grand entrance, Mrs. Churchill instructed her husband to send for Mr. Endicott at once. That worthy put his foot down, gingerly. He explained that the pain from his injuries, which at first had seemed so trivial, had only intensified during the ride home. He was only fit to lay quietly in his room for now. It would expedite matters to have Frank deal with Mr. Endicott.

Thus it was decided. And Mrs. Churchill had so many more words of instruction for her nephew as they waited for Mr. Endicott to answer the summons, that Frank was relieved when the steward finally arrived.

Once the two men were ensconced in the office, however, Frank began to feel differently. Embarrassment and awkwardness wiped away his cheer, leaving him strangely in sympathy with his uncle.

Mr. Endicott tried to set him at his ease by talking only of the business before them but Frank’s conscience demanded him to make some apology. He stuttered through it poorly, ending with a claim that he was singularly unfit for this work, being convinced it would profit him nothing.

Bygones were gone, and the steward would not hold past neglect against him, but perhaps Mr. Frank could apply himself to the present embarrassment for a speedy resolution?

“Oh, none of it matters anymore to me, sir,” said Frank. “I shall not be married after all. And without a wife, there can be no future generation of Churchills to run the estate.”

Mr. Endicott was too polite to point out, based on the example of Mr. and Mrs. Churchill, that a wife was no guarantee for children, not was the lack of children an impediment to declaring an heir. Instead he tried a more diplomatic approach, arguing that while it mattered very little to Mr. Frank, it mattered a great deal to Mr. Calvin and Mr. Waters who were both by now convinced that they were to be sent away like the Martins. A word from Frank would go far toward easing their worries.

“Oh, but it does not matter,” Frank protested.

“Surely that cannot prevent you from going,” prodded the steward who had already ordered two horses saddled and made ready for a ride.

Thus was Frank Churchill slowly coaxed and lured to visit the farmers, and to hear their individual grievances and apologies, and to admonish them gently, and to rule in favor of neither (or so it appeared to them ).

Frank took no personal satisfaction in these visits, but he could see their fear give way to something like ease as wives began to scold their husbands again and eldest sons sneaked out to the barn to criticize their foolhardy fathers and to vow that they themselves would never be so recklessly thoughtless with only the cart horse or the cow to witness.

As the two men rode back to the abbey, Frank listened to the steward touch on a variety of small troubles that had grown up during his month of inattention. It became clear to him that, while his life might have no more joy, there was still much to fill his hours. It was certainly a more effective way to pass the tedium that was to be his existence rather than hiding in unused rooms at Donwell Abbey between mealtimes. It was a life though it brought him no pleasure.

“Would you be terribly disappointed,” Frank said, interrupting him, “if I sold Donwell after my uncle and aunt died?”

“Mr. Frank!” the steward was aghast. “Why would you do that?”

Frank sighed and did not answer. The real question was what would he do with himself when that day arrived.

From that day on, he treated his time at Donwell as one of indentured servitude. He slowly resumed his activities for managing the estate but without any expectation that he should enjoy the fruits of his labors. Between his family and Jane's, that was impossible.

What he would do with himself when his uncle and aunt had passed on and he had finally ridden himself of the estate was a curiosity to him. He had no idea what Donwell Abbey would be worth to a buyer, what amount of money he would take with him when he left, what kind of life he could afford for his later years. Indeed, if he did not earn enough to carry him through to the end of his life, what could he possibly do? His uncle and aunt had seen to his education, but they had been clear to his tutors that Frank did not need an employable skill. He was to be a wealthy landowner, and the only tools he needed for that were land and money. By their own examples, Frank could not determine what he might do to earn food and shelter. He supposed if it came down to it, he would finish his twilight days as Mrs. Bates currently did.

He was taking tea at Randalls one day when Mr. Weston took him aside to announce that the Westons were expecting a child before Christmas. Frank was to be a half-brother.

Frank was overjoyed on their behalf and quickly wished them every happiness.

“I hope you do not mind,” said Mr. Weston, “if I hope to be a better father to this child than I was to you.”

Frank started at such sentiments. “How can you say that, sir? How can you think that? You have done for me all that was in your power. You have provided for me as well as your lot would allow. And when you feared that would not be enough, you entrusted me to those with better means. What greater sacrifice is there?”

These words were a great relief to Mr. Weston who, in contemplating a second child, had looked back upon his old decisions for Frank with self-reproach and condemnation. A manly silence fell in the room and it was several minutes before Mr. Weston trusted himself to speak again.

Having satisfied himself that his son bore no ill will toward him and his second family, he spoke again at last. “Mrs. Weston now feels comfortable to share the news with our friends and relations but perhaps the first reaction in the Abbey should be private. Would you mention it to the Churchills tonight? Mrs. Weston will call upon your aunt tomorrow officially.”

It was a wise plan and Frank promised to fulfill his role in it. His uncle and aunt had been especially sensitive ever since the incident in the church yard and he did not know how they would react to the announcement.

This led naturally to Mr. Weston inquiring into the health of Frank’s guardians and how they were fairing.

“My uncle’s leg is still bothering him,” said Frank. “It was an unfortunate accident and I do not blame the men involved, but I think there are still some hard feelings to be worked through. I have taken over a more active managing of Donwell during my uncle’s convalescence, and I suppose I shall continue in that role until I can sell it.”

“Sell it!” exclaimed his father in surprise, and Frank spent several minutes attempting to retract those fateful words. Nothing less than a full explanation of what had provoked them would satisfy Mr. Weston, whose countenance grew darker and more gloomy as Frank tried to justify everything that had happened without laying blame on anyone. He even revealed that he had fallen in love with no hope of gratification although he again refused to divulge her identity other than confirming that she was not Miss Platt.

“Well, I fail to see how selling Donwell Abbey will set anything to rights,” declared Mr. Weston after hearing all Frank had to say.

“Nor does Mr. Endicott,” said Frank, regretting his outburst. “Once Donwell is mine, I should be autonomous, but by then she will doubtless have married someone else. To think what happiness it will have cost me, I do not want to hold onto the place.”

“These are grave words, indeed,” declared Mr. Weston, “and I cannot reconcile them with the kind absolution you offered me at leaving you in the care of your mother's family. How can it have been right for me to do such a thing that has brought you such unhappiness?”

The relief Frank had felt in sharing some of his feelings was snatched away and instead he felt the guilt of heaping this burden on his natural father.

“Please, sir,” he begged, “do not let my present circumstance give you unease. I could never forgive myself if I troubled or distracted you in this joyous time. If my situation is pitiable, it is only because I have let it become so. Why should you -- a man who defied my uncle and aunt twice to marry for love -- why should you suspect that I lack the capability to do the same at least once?”

“But I had an independence from the Churchills, something I failed to give you. Frank, I -- ” Mr. Weston would have continued to argue for his share of the blame but Frank forestalled him.

“Sir, if I had known that this would upset you so much, I would never have mentioned it,” Frank said. “Pray, think of it no more. I shouldn’t have come here today.”

Mr. Weston realized that to continue speaking of it would only force Frank into silence. This accidental confidence could be the first of many, or the last. With new understanding, he saw that fatherhood, an adventure upon which he was about to embark again, never truly ended.

---

Mr. and Mrs. Churchill were not pleasantly surprised to hear of the Westons’ news. They did not hide it particularly well, but Frank had every hope that they would have more control over their reactions when Mrs. Weston called the next day. Indeed, he knew his aunt thought too highly of herself to allow any such lapse of breeding to be observed by outsiders. Mr. Churchill could bemoan the loss to Frank’s inheritance but he knew there was nothing to be done about it. If the child was a girl, the Westons would need enough money to raise her, launch her into society, dower her to attract a good husband, all expenses that would subtract from what would be available to Frank. If the child was a boy, however, the child would siphon even more money until there would be nothing left for Frank and the abbey.

Mrs. Churchill was composed if not congratulatory as Mrs. Weston sat across from her and confirmed over tea what had been suspected at the Abbey since the assembly that welcomed Mrs. Elton to their neighborhood months ago. Frank was there as well to chaperone if necessary but there was no cause for him to intervene. And, although he had already congratulated his stepmother the day before, his sincere compliments acquitted any coolness from his aunt.

Mrs. Weston, sensing that her welcome would be short, did not linger over her cup. She shared her news and said that she would begin to let the rest of Highbury and Donwell find out about their newest addition.

Knowing that his aunt was only waiting for the departure of her guest to give vent to her feelings, Frank offered to escort his stepmother home or to her next destination. The gesture would surely demonstrate the Churchills’ approbation while also saving him from an unpleasant scene.

Mrs. Weston was touched by the offer and responded prettily. She could well guess -- and correctly -- Frank's motivations but there was no harm in accepting. She had originally thought only to visit Donwell Abbey and then to return home, but in light of Frank’s companionship, she extended her circuit, taking in the Coles, the Eltons, the Montgomerys, and even the Bateses in her route.

Their audiences were all welcoming of the news; weddings and christenings were delights to the entire community. Mrs. Weston received more efforts at help and announcements that someone would begin a knitting project than she was sure she would know what to do with.

Still, the unending offers of tea and cake, the rattle of the carriage, the stream of good wishes began to exact their toll, and Mrs. Weston was relieved when they turned up the drive to Hartfield to see Emma Woodhouse.

In truth, Mrs. Weston was reluctant to inform Mr. Woodhouse of her news. He was still referring to her as “Poor Miss Taylor” a twelve month after she had last signed that name, and he viewed infants as willing carriers of disease, but he must be told by her for certainly he would hear about it from others now.

Emma rose to greet her guests, extending her hospitality to them in the usual form. Mrs. Weston eschewed the standard cup of tea for a brief visit to the water closet, leaving Frank alone with Emma for the first time since the Platt Debacle.

Miss Woodhouse lost no time in asking how his courtship progressed. She tendered her condolences to hear that it had ended. It was sad to hear, but it explained much of his behavior.

“I must apologize as well for neglecting our friendship of late but I am afraid it cannot be helped,” he said. “Our former openness, along with my aunt’s well-known expectations, have hurt Miss Fairfax immensely as the letters from her family contained stories of my public attachment to you and the general expectation that we would be married.”

Emma was shocked to hear such nonsense, and that Miss Bates would spread such gossip. Then she realised that Miss Bates could never be intentionally malicious; the woman had only shared kind stories of her neighborhood, never realizing how those untruths had hurt her niece.

“But if you explained to Miss Fairfax --” she began.

“I was not afforded that opportunity,” said Frank, still smarting from being dismissed by the colonel. “I must behave as if news of my every action will be carried to her -- not to deliberately bring her pain but with plenty of possibility for unfortunate misinterpretation. I was sent away because I appeared to be doting on you, but if Mrs. and Miss Bates write that I am still seen with you constantly, does that not imply to Jane that the accusations were just? How does that not bring her further suffering?”

“Are you serious?” was all the response Emma could muster. She had expected some lovers’ quarrel to have prompted his flirtations toward Miss Platt. She had realized -- long before Frank -- the importance of quashing Mrs. Churchill's hopes to unite the young people. But Emma hadn't known how much sacrifice would be expected of her. “Frank, we are friends. We have known each other all our lives. We cannot be expected to drop all connection in perpetuity.”

“No, not all connection,” Frank agreed, “but I must be more circumspect. Our time for private teas and secret scheming is over.”

Emma wanted to argue, to find a compromise that allowed her more of Frank's companionship than that of an indifferent acquaintance. She had lost Harriet Martin to Enscombe, and Mrs. Weston would never go back to being Miss Taylor. And, while Miss Bates was a cheerful old woman, she too closely resembled a warning of Emma's own distant future. Isabella was too far away in London, and too wrapped in the concerns of her husband and children. Mrs. Elton would never be a sincere friend, and so many other women in the neighborhood were either too old or too young, or beneath Emma 's intimate friendship. Frank felt like her last true friend, and he was turning his back on her.

Emma wanted to argue, but before she could marshal her arguments, Mrs. Weston returned and claimed all attention with her wonderful news. Emma, who had only been awaiting the official announcement from her former governess, expressed her good wishes by presenting a delicate, lacy cap, suitable in size for only a newborn.

“I have been expecting this, you see,” Emma smiled. “And I have had plenty of practice with Isabella. Come, let us tell my father. He will be surprised, but you are too familiar with his habits to expect otherwise.”

Chapter 11: Seasoned Blackguard

Mr. and Mrs. Churchill could only observe their nephew with increasing dismay and alarm. His behavior had been erratic since that infamous dinner party. No, if they were honest with themselves, he had been acting strangely even before he received his first ridiculous haircut.

His hair, thankfully, had returned to its usual length and style although his moods were still not fit for company. What was more, he had lost his taste for good company, avoiding his family except mealtimes and consorting with the tenants at all hours. Mr. Churchill had even caught Frank hurriedly leaving the abbey to attend the birthing of an animal! The young man had also gradually resumed his visits to Mrs. Bates and her spinster daughter in Highbury but had deliberately avoided Emma Woodhouse at Hartfield.

To Mrs. Churchill, these acts of defection were as if she had gathered a serpent to her bosom all those years ago. That her precious little boy -- Mr. Churchill's dead sister's only child -- who had only ever wanted to make her happy should now act with such cold indifference! She had not understood how some people viewed a large family as a blessing rather than an expense, but she was beginning to see the strategic advantage of numbers in case one offspring -- or more -- proved undeserving of their inheritance.

Frank’s uncontrollable behavior was not offset by his growing maturity. In fact, it was worsened. Frank had nearly taken over the entire running of the estate. The mundane concerns of Donwell Abbey had never held much allure for Mr. Churchill, and he considered it as beneath a true gentleman to do more than dabble with such business. He had tried to instill these values in his nephew but Frank was now perversely growing more interested in it. And while Mrs. Churchill could count on her husband to bring to her attention all the pressing matters so that she might share the burdens of Donwell with him, even to the point of deciding for him, Frank was disinclined to seek her opinions. And when she volunteered her views on pertinent topics, he disregarded them.

She had only to recall those ruffians who brutally accosted her husband and her nephew's gentle treatment of them to feel fresh outrage. Frank had met with the two blackguards that same day and, rather than turn them out immediately, he had accepted their apologies on behalf of the Churchill family. The miscreants were to stay! When she heard of it a few days later from her dear friend Augusta Elton, she was appalled. What did Frank think he was meant to do about it other than remove them forever from the area at all possible speed?

“But we have already chased off the Martins, ma'am,” explained Frank when she had cornered him after Augusta had returned to the vicarage. “Should we lose two more in such rapid succession, people would begin to think it was us and not the tenants’ families who are to blame.”

“They threw your uncle bodily to the ground!” she reminded him.

“That is not what happened,” Frank corrected her. “They accidentally knocked into Mr. Endicott who fell onto Uncle. No one intended for anyone to be hurt.”

“That hardly excuses their behavior,” she retorted. “Your uncle is still not over the ordeal. Just knowing that those farmers are still on our land must hamper his recovery.”

“I am sure he is stronger than he realizes,” Frank said, trying to keep fatigue from his voice.

“He has not the resilience of youth,” Mrs. Churchill countered. She was unaccustomed to the need to still be arguing her point. Frank should have bowed to her wishes long before now.

“When he is feeling up to receiving them, I am sure Mr. Calvin and Mr. Waters will personally tender their apologies in whatever manner he dictates,” said Frank. “In the meantime, the example of Robert Martin will certainly keep everyone in line. Now, if you will excuse me.” He offered no competing claim on his time but left the room just the same.

---

As frustrated as Mrs. Churchill was by Frank’s uncharacteristic distance, she found no relief for her feelings in Miss Woodhouse. Her neighbor was deaf to any concern that Frank was no longer his usual self, a delightful mix of obedient and carefree. It seemed to Emma to be a natural progression of maturity, a sign that he was becoming more deeply involved in the Abbey. Besides, did not Mr. Churchill want his heir to show more interest?

Worse, Frank had slowly evolved from mutely listening to his aunt's plans of installing Emma at Donwell Abbey as her successor to actively voicing his opposition to such a scheme regardless of whoever might be listening. Mrs. Churchill had given up even hinting at it for fear that a servant would catch wind of her nephew's denial and spread the gossip as fact. Not that it mattered much as she rarely saw him anymore; with all his claims of “estate business” she spent more time in the company of Augusta Elton than with her own nephew! And while that dear woman was infinitely sympathetic with whatever complaint or observation that Mrs. Churchill made, Mrs. Elton lacked the long understanding of Frank to know when or how to tease her out of her moods. As such, she increasingly complained of headaches and flutterings, and Mrs. Elton could only repeatedly recommend the salubrious delights of Bath.

Mrs. Churchill was sure that a reconciliation between Frank and Emma would immediately restore her to health. But as much as Mrs. Churchill tried to bring them together, she failed. The two young people seemed to have entered some unspoken pact that one would never appear before Mrs. Churchill while the other was present. Miss Woodhouse was as obtuse as ever to her hints and refused to find it odd that she never saw Frank any more. “After all,” opined the young woman, “we never much intentionally met at various places; it was always accidental, and I am inclined to believe it is accidental now. And, as you say, he is now heavily involved in running the estate. Doubtless that business erodes the time available to him to make social calls. I commend him for his industry. Donwell is so much larger than Hartfield, it must be so much more challenging to run.”

Mrs. Churchill could not be more plain, for she knew it would signal to her friend that Frank was presently determined not to marry, and she worried Miss Woodhouse would second that lunacy. She could only watch and cringe and massage a tightness pulling on her chest as these two dear people grew further apart.

---

“Oh, Mrs. Churchill, you will never guess who I saw today in Highbury,” announced Mrs. Elton one day in early June.

“Was it the Knightleys?” Mrs. Churchill knew they were expected soon.

“No!” said the vicar's wife, brimming with excitement. “It was Jane Fairfax and her guardians, Col. and Mrs. Campbell. The ladies were so fashionable that I had to be introduced, and when I found out who they were I could barely contain my shock.”

“They are all here?” inquired Mrs. Churchill. That was unusual. In previous years, Miss Fairfax had always traveled alone, rather like a servant.

“Well, I am sure the colonel is gone by now,” decided Mrs. Elton. “He had only come to drive his wife and Jane Fairfax to Surrey on his way to Southampton. They will be here a week or longer before he collects them on his way back to London.”

“The poor Bateses, I wonder how they will find the room to host them,” Mrs. Churchill mused. “You know how little they have the wherewithal for overnight guests.”

Mrs. Elton could only nod. She had taken tea with Mrs. Bates before. “I suspect Miss Woodhouse will step in. She has a penchant for strays and charity cases,” Mrs. Elton added conspiratorially.

Mrs. Churchill could only murmur a response.

“To be fair, Miss Fairfax did not appear as grasping as I imagined,” Mrs. Elton observed. “Of course, I had little opportunity to form my opinion. But if she were grasping, this is a prime time to be in Highbury for not only is your nephew here, but George Knightley is coming as well. And the fact that she had not already secured a position as a governess somewhere makes me inclined to believe she aims for more. I wonder why the Campbells are not more firm with her.”

Mrs. Churchill could only wonder when exactly the interlopers would be gone. She had already invited Emma Woodhouse and her extended family to Donwell Abbey for a strawberry-picking party, and the party had grown to include several young people. Young was perhaps a relative term, but Mrs. Churchill viewed them as such. She had even spoken with her housekeeper on multiple occasions on the importance of occupying the children and keeping them separate from the grown-ups as Miss Woodhouse’s nieces and nephews would be there. Mrs. Churchill was not overly fond of other people's children, and she could imagine many adults felt similarly, especially when their white muslin was marred by strawberry-colored fingerprints.

The date had only been provisionally set in case the weather should be discouraging but whenever it was to be, a supper would be served at the Abbey afterwards. This was to be the first such party at the Abbey since the Platt debacle and Mrs. Churchill shuddered to imagine what would happen if another unattached and pretty young woman should be in attendance this time. Frank was still not reconciled with Miss Woodhouse and it was unclear how his present self would react to the newcomer. It would be best for everyone not to find out; it would be best for Miss Fairfax not to come to Donwell.

“It is a shame the two will miss our little strawberry party,” said Mrs. Churchill, confident that the Londoners would not be invited. Why would they expect to come when no one had invited the Bateses?

Mrs. Elton nodded in tacit agreement. She did not trust herself to say the right thing given her relationship with her cousin. She certainly didn't want to remind Mrs. Churchill that it was the Eltons who had last brought a stranger to the Abbey. On the other hand, Mrs. Elton wondered how Frank Churchill would react to the new young woman -- whether he would flirt outrageously with her, proving beyond doubt that he was not attracted to Miss Woodhouse, or whether he would receive her with distant civility, proving beyond doubt his attraction to Miss Platt. In either case, Mrs. Elton found herself wondering whether events might conspire to allow Frank to meet Miss Fairfax.

“When does your nephew make his neighborhood calls?” Mrs. Elton asked aloud. Surely Frank would call upon the Bateses before their visitors returned to town.

The look on Mrs. Churchill's face showed she had the same thought although with different emotions. “Oh,” she said, then once again, “Oh! Pardon me, Augusta, but I suddenly do not feel well. I think I need to lie down.”

When Mrs. Churchill felt unwell, the best and surest cure was always the complete and undivided attention of her nephew. It was folly to expect she could keep him confined to her rooms for a week or longer. She could not think of a wiser plan at the moment but all she needed was time -- a few days at most would be all she needed to come up with a way to protect her dear boy from this impoverished interloper.

In the meantime, she massaged the tightness in her chest and let Mrs. Elton make sympathetic noises before curtseying herself out. Alone, she wasted no time sending for Frank and moving with heavy steps to her boudoir.

Shortly after her maid had made her comfortable, Frank came to see her. “What is this I hear?” he asked. “You are feeling poorly? This has been going on for a month or longer. Shall I fetch Mr. Perry?” He had been cloistered with Mr. Endicott all morning and had heard no other news.

“No,” said Mrs. Churchill firmly. If Frank went wandering all over Donwell and Highbury, who knew what he might find? “No, just sit and read to me. I am sure all I need is a little rest.”

As Frank was in need of a break from Endicott, he was amenable and picked up the book he had been reading during his last time in this room. By mutual accord, he reread the five pages before the chapter he had dogeared, which provided all the background necessary to remember the characters and plot.

As Frank kept reading, he became engrossed with the story, and his aunt could devote her mental energies to finding a way to keep him there.

It was perhaps too late to invent some errands to take him elsewhere. No doubt, wherever he went there would be unsuitable females trying to entrap him. And if he went alone -- and Mrs. Churchill could hardly send her husband as a chaperon -- he would be so unprotected against wiles and machinations.

To keep him here, however, guaranteed that he would meet this Jane Fairfax, for she could hardly keep him locked in the family wing until Colonel Campbell took her away again. No, Frank was bound to meet this stranger, and it was up to Mrs. Churchill to make sure his opinion was already decided against the young woman before any introduction to place.

During a pause between two chapters, Mrs. Churchill casually mentioned that Mrs. Elton had been to see her today.

“How were you feeling before her visit?” asked Frank, trying to determine if the vicar’s wife had carried some cottagers’ illness to his aunt.

“As well as can be expected,” she answered. “Mrs. Elton had run into Miss Bates just this morning.”

“Oh, did she?” asked Frank. “I was there a few days ago.”

“Oh, Frank, I wish you did not spend so much time with that family,” she said petulantly. The tightness in her chest made her perhaps too candid. “The tenants of Donwell have greater need of you. Let Emma and Augusta take care of the poor of Highbury.”

“Have no fear that I neglect our tenants; Mr. Endicott sees to that. And I do not visit Mrs. and Miss Bates out of pity,” Frank said calmly, trying to soothe her. “I like them.”

“Do you like them more than your own family?” She had not meant to sound so small and hurt but the pressure on her chest was not easing.

“Of course not!” he replied immediately, not even wondering whether it was true.

“Then stay here and keep me company,” she pleaded. “I do not want to think of you being far away from me right now.” She did not want to think of him meeting Jane Fairfax in some cramped parlor. Frank was too good, too friendly. He had no natural immunity to unsuitable young women.

“Of course,” he said and pressed her hand affectionately. “Do you want me to call for Uncle? Do you want to see him as well?”

She shook her head and nestled deeper into the pillows. “No, not now.” Frank was the one who worried her. Frank was the one she needed to keep close.

She closed her eyes, done with conversation for the moment. She could not yet think of how to extract a promise from Frank to avoid Highbury without arousing his suspicions. She needed to handle this carefully, and she was not yet ready for it. After observing her briefly, Frank picked up the book and found his place again.

He remained with his aunt the rest of the afternoon but at a certain point he began to feel restless. He tried to hide it from Mrs. Churchill and was unfortunately too successful. He worried that her present indisposition was more rooted in fact than usual.

When a maid came in to clear away the tea tray, he dispatched a summons to Mr. Perry. He waited until she was in a light doze before slipping out to find his uncle and appraise him of what was happening.

Mr. Perry came and went but the headache and the tightness remained. He declared his diagnosis to be a “simple indigestion,” prescribing a temporary diet that implied Mrs. Churchill suffered from gout. She did not leave her rooms for the evening meal, preferring instead some beef broth served in a teacup. The two men dearer to her than anyone else in the world came to see her after their dram of port.

Mrs. Churchill lectured them both about Mr. Perry and Mr. Churchill was somewhat bothered to learn that the apothecary has been called. He had, after all, offered to his wife nearly daily to call the man to the abbey, and she had rebuffed his petitions. But Frank had simply done it without consulting anyone. The presumption! He knew that he would have received a stern admonishment had he taken such liberties.

And to find out that it had been for the most part unnecessary! Mrs. Churchill was no worse than Mr. Woodhouse, that perpetual hypochondriac. She had eaten something that had disagreed with her and needed to show some restraint in the next couple days. Mr. Churchill knew he was being petty, but there was satisfaction in hearing his wife tell Frank not to overstep like this again.

After the gentlemen left her to rest, they returned to the library and the port decanter. Mr. Churchill decided to further drive the point home. His nephew had begun displaying an alarming independence and it was time for an end to it.

“Frank,” he began after refilling his glass, “you were out of line in calling for Perry. Your aunt and I have spoken on this topic before and she is firmly opposed to it.”

“Perhaps she does not see the need for Mr. Perry,” Frank countered without malice, “but I did. She clearly looked like she was ailing this afternoon. I know I shall sleep better knowing it was nothing serious. Besides, how was I to know she had decided against it?”

“How, indeed!” exclaimed Mr. Churchill. “How are you to know how your aunt is doing or what her wishes are if you avoid us at every turn?”

His uncle’s words were too near his aunt's earlier complaints that he spent too much time with other people. Frank flushed and tried to stammer an excuse but Mr. Churchill was enlivened to be winning an argument for once. “Don't try to deny it. You and I both know why. Or should I say whom . And we both know that your aunt would have a legitimate need for Perry should you ever tell her.”

“I have no intention of her ever finding out,” said Frank, chastened.

“And why not?” pressed his uncle. “It cannot be concern for your family that holds your tongue.”

Frank felt his uncle was being unfair. He was tempted to call him on it. He settled for taking a steadying breath and saying, “There is no reason for Aunt to know. I shall not marry, so why list out all the girls I shall deprive of the honor?”

“What?” cried Mr. Churchill in confusion. “Not marry? Why would you say such nonsense? Surely your little church mouse -- ” He stood up straighter. “She refused you?”

Frank sighed but admitted nothing. She had not refused him directly after all. “If I cannot marry Miss Fairfax, I shan't marry anyone.”

“But, but what about Donwell?” asked Mr. Churchill. “We did not raise you to be a bachelor.”

“Donwell does not need an heiress,” said his nephew. “It only needs vigilant management. Why do you think I've been working so closely with Mr. Endicott? Look at Miss Woodhouse's brother over at Enscombe; he needs no heiress, or any other kind of wife.”

“What does George Knightley have to do with anything!” exclaimed the exasperated man. “And he has a brother with sons to inherit should he fail to produce his own issue. Who do you have, Frank? And, so help me, if you dare mention your father's expectation -- ”

“Please stop, Uncle,” Frank was quick to interrupt him. “You have said enough. Excuse me.” And he retired for the night before more words could only lead to discord.

Chapter 12: Unfortunate Setback

Emma Woodhouse was lonely.

She was not lonely because she was bored and lacked for things to do. She met often and sometimes for hours with the various senior members of the household staff to ensure the smooth management of Hartfield. She had her usual routine of calls and callers. She had her charity visits. She had her correspondence. She had her father. When truly bored, she had her music. What she wanted, however, was a companion, and she had no idea how to procure one.

Her father was, in some respects, a dependable companion; he never left Hartfield unless she was with him and she always knew where to find him, but he was her father . He would not do as a peer or confidant.

Mrs. Weston had been her companion, and Isabella before that. Both had left Hartfield to enter their husbands’ houses, and both were still close to her. And yet, Isabella's letters were getting shorter as the children made more claims on her time. The content of her letters, too, was growing more and more removed from a life Emma recognized. Perhaps that would change when Mrs. Weston had a child and Emma could witness firsthand every advance rather than reading about it for ten or eleven months of the year. Or perhaps Mrs. Weston would simply be too busy being a mother to have time for Emma.

Harriet Smith had been a perfect companion for Emma -- lively and pretty, slightly younger, not very educated, with no family home to claim her. Emma had well imagined the seasons they would pass, until Harriet had received an offer of marriage from an unlikely source. And, as much as Emma would have liked to keep her friend close to her, she knew it was better for Harriet to become Mrs. Robert Martin. Indeed, after overcoming a few unpleasant obstacles, Harriet had thrived as a farmer’s wife, up to the moment her new family was forced to leave the area.

That departure had been a blow to Emma, even more than it had been for Harriet. For while Harriet was going to an unknown place with people who loved and valued her, and quitting a place that had become a constant reminder of acrimony, Emma was staying behind. And not only had Emma played a significant part in finding a distant home for the Martins, she had practically guaranteed that she would never see Harriet again, because the Martins would surely never return to Donwell after how they had been treated by the Churchills, and Emma could not imagine the fortuitous circumstance that would allow her to travel so far from Hartfield as Enscombe.

As it had been with Isabella, Emma was forced to interpret a life through letters as the demands of the here-and-now slowly made Emma less and less relevant to her correspondent.

There were others in her circle of acquaintances -- Mrs. Elton, Miss Bates, Mrs. Cole, Mr. Avery, Mrs. Hodges; she had even asked Mrs. Goddard if there were any more boarders that would benefit from her guidance -- but she could not find the sort of companion she sought anywhere she looked.

But at least she still had Frank Churchill, or so she thought. Yes, they hadn't spoken to each other since the dinner party at Donwell Abbey, but that was a temporary break. It needed only last as long as it took for Mrs. Churchill to realize that Emma would never marry Frank. Granted, that was probably longer than Emma would like, but she was certain that everything would be back to normal soon enough. In the meantime, she needed to be steadfastly cool at the mention of her friend, and make it clear to all observers how mistaken their assumptions were.

And then she had talked with Frank, and she realized it would never be the same again. He had claimed that Jane Fairfax had heard rumors linking his name with Emma’s. Emma could see in an instant how the mischief was done, and just how badly this must have hurt Miss Fairfax who, like Emma, was dependent upon her correspondents for an imperfect understanding of a community that was out of reach.

Frank loved Jane and, while his past easy behavior had hurt her, he would not intentionally cause her additional suffering. He had to be more cautious from now on. And, should he succeed at last, should Miss Fairfax forgive his youthful indiscretion of harmlessly flirting with a neighbor, there was no guarantee that Miss Fairfax’s forgiveness would extend to Emma. Jane Fairfax might never see Emma as a friend, and she might never want Frank to treat her as such either. And besides, how long would it take before a married Frank developed cares and interests which Emma could not share with equal vigor?

Emma did not love Frank. Not romantically, of that she was certain. But he was like a brother to her, and a dear friend. And she was running out of friends.

Talking with her father, listening to him bemoan the natural progression of time -- weddings, christenings, illnesses, funerals -- she felt a darkness fall across her future and couldn’t not imagine what might lift it.

---

Isabella was coming to Hartfield, with all her Knightleys. Let that be the bright spot in Emma’s future, the happiness she could work toward. Calls had to be made. Amusements had to be planned. Rooms and menus had to be prepared. And, if she was lucky, a visit to London could be arranged.

Miss Woodhouse even managed to convince Mrs. Churchill to host a strawberry party at the abbey; it was just the sort of thing that the children would love. Mrs. Churchill had been difficult to persuade at first, but Emma was not above mentioning that George Knightley would enjoy that sort of gathering. The older woman had a soft spot for the gentleman of Enscombe and Emma did not scruple to exploit that.

As the arrival of the Knightleys drew nigh, Emma was in a flurry of preparation. She went on her usual circuit of calls, nearly giddy with the announcement that the next time her neighbours saw her, her sister would be by her side.

That news, however, was nothing compared to what Miss Bates had to share, for as Emma was shown into the Bateses’ sitting room, she found a vaguely familiar face already there which could only belong to Jane Fairfax. Seated next to her was a cosmopolitan-looking woman of an age with Miss Bates who was introduced as Mrs. Campbell.

Of course, Miss Bates did the introductions so it was not immediately that Emma learned the identity of the other woman or how the two came to Mrs. Bates’ sitting room. But, by listening to one word in ten, Emma was soon able to figure it out.

During Miss Bates’ rambling monologue, Emma had plenty of time to observe Miss Fairfax and Mrs. Campbell. The younger woman could barely look about her and, on the rare instances in which she did, Jane dropped her gaze again as soon as she noticed Emma's attention. Miss Fairfax might be shy but she was extremely beautiful, so Emma could not fault Frank’s taste. She also knew from listening to her neighbors that Jane had a not-inconsiderable list of accomplishments. Were Emma to compare Miss Fairfax with someone else of her acquaintance -- Mrs. Elton, perhaps -- she was sure that Miss Fairfax would be rated superior despite a lack of obvious fortune. The shyness, however, was a serious impediment, Emma realized, for Mrs. Churchill would not simply give over with good grace, and Frank needed a young woman willing to fight alongside him for her place in that family. But then again, maybe Miss Fairfax simply felt awkward around Miss Woodhouse due to rumors linking Emma to Frank. Maybe Miss Fairfax was far more open and well-spoken around those who made her feel comfortable. Maybe all she needed was time to exert herself.

Mrs. Campbell, on the other hand, met Emma’s eyes boldly and took her measure in such a way that Emma wondered if she had found an ally. Emma extended an olive branch of sorts by expressing a hope that these guests would be able to attend the numerous events that were planned once the Knightleys were here. She personally invited the two to Hartfield for the tea she had organized and Mrs. Campbell gladly accepted for the both of them. Emma chatted with her until it was time to leave. As she listened to Miss Bates’ parting effusions, she felt hopeful that Mrs. Campbell understood that Frank Churchill was not a romantic object to Emma or, if she was not quite convinced, Emma believed that there would be ample opportunity to make her disinterest clear over the coming week.

Emma went through the rest of her calls with uncharacteristic inattentiveness. It was a relief to her when she was home and able to indulge in the musings of what had brought Jane Fairfax to Highbury, and what Frank Churchill would do about it. While Emma missed spending time with her friend, she still wanted him to be happy, and strove to figure out how she could help. She wanted desperately to send a note to the Abbey to break the news, but she had found out that Mrs. Elton had already carried it to Donwell yesterday, and that Frank was dancing attendance on his aunt after Mr. Perry had been called there yesterday evening. Frank had to know by now, but it did not follow that he was at liberty to call on Jane today. Emma did not know how exactly matters had been left between the two, but she knew it was not peaceful. Jane might not welcome Frank yet, or she might not approve of him abandoning his sick relative to pursue a woman who did not wish to be pursued. It was most distracting and, had Emma not expected her sister the next day, she would have certainly spent hours trying to puzzle out the thoughts and feelings of Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax.

---

Until the carriages came into view, Emma still held some fear that they would be delayed. The Knightleys travelled in two carriages -- one devoted solely to the children and their nurse -- and any number of mishaps could have stopped them before they even got on the road. She had admitted none of this to her father; he spent too much time darkly predicting untold misfortunes for Emma to add anything to it. Instead, she was silent and watchful until she could dash to the front door and skip about the gravel as they approached.

She was warm in her greetings to the point of being effusive. The children revelled in it until their grandfather began to fidget, and then Emma sent them into the garden with a maid to run around while their nurse got the nursery tea ready. Even George Knightley was included in her greetings which left him confused and wary. In their dealings together, she tended to run hot and cold with him, and this graciousness was sure to be soon offset by some affront.

She at last sent the travellers upstairs to recover from their journey, with the promise of tea when they were refreshed. She and her father repaired to the sitting room where Mr. Woodhouse resumed his favorite seat by the fire and promptly fell asleep.

Emma picked up her latest embroidery project and smiled at the domestic tableau. It was good to have Isabella in the house again, she thought, and waited for her sister to appear.

George Knightley was the first to arrive, Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley having stopped at the nursery before joining the adults. He brought with him a small bundle which he gave to Emma.

“Of course you remember the Martins,” he began, “and you may be sure they remember you. Had I known I was accepting a tenant who worshipped you like a saint, I might have reconsidered, for I hear nothing from Mrs. Robert but how good you are. It makes me feel quite rotten in comparison.”

Emma smile again and accepted the gift which bore evidence of Harriet’s wrapping technique. “Come now, Mr. Knightley,” she teased him, “your opinion of me must certainly be too fixed to be moved much by the words of another.”

“Fixed?” he repeated. “You are not constant, so why should my opinion be? Every time I think you sweet and kind, a feminine ideal, you lash out at me. And every time I think you pitiless and unfeeling, you reveal inner beauty.” It was more true that he intended to admit but it would be worse to attempt a retraction. The Martins had all taken Miss Woodhouse as their champion and savior and could not see him without voicing their thanks to her . In consequence, George had thought a great deal about Emma Woodhouse recently; as an old bachelor, there was enough novelty in it that he persisted despite the futility.

Emma was uncertain how to respond, so she settled for opening the package from Harriet. It was a drawing of a farmhouse with a family arrayed in front. Harriet had never excelled at drawing, but Emma recognized the figures instantly as being the members of the Martin family, with Harriet herself included as an afterthought on the end. She must have asked the others to pose in front of the house as she sketched it.

“What have you there?” asked John Knightley as he escorted his wife into the room. Emma showed them the drawing and George explained its history lest they think the gift originated with him.

Then, setting it aside, Emma performed her duties as hostess, making tea for her guests and gently rousing her father. There was much to discuss and, after settling Mr. Woodhouse’s repeatedly voiced concerns about the children and their travel, Isabella was able to pry from her sister the details of planned amusements.

“We are having a tea at Hartfield,” Emma began to list them off; “a dinner at the Coles’; Mrs. Elton is organizing an afternoon musicale at which you and I will both be expected to exhibit, Isabella; Mrs. Churchill is having a strawberry party; and the Westons are having a ball.”

“And, if Papa does not mind, I shall finally whisk you off to London for a day or two while John and George keep an eye on the children,” said Isabella with a wink at her husband.

“All that!” cried John with some humor. “I thought we came to the country to get away from the bustle of the city. It turns out we have merely swapped one venue for another. Had I wanted a rest, I suppose I should have insisted on going to Enscombe.”

“I doubt that you will have too much to do,” said Isabella. “After all, you will not be involved in any of the planning or preparation, with the exception of staying out of the way when the ladies come for tea. If you wish to remain home for the other activities, I am sure my father can keep you company.” Mr. Woodhouse seconded that offer.

John was neatly trapped by his wife. He laughed in good-natured defeat and promised to appear wherever she wished, and to be pleasant about it. They engaged in more banter until Mr. Woodhouse had forgotten all about the option of staying home.

---

Emma had chosen a tea at Hartfield because she did not believe her father would be happy with more. That is not to say he was unsocial or unneighborly but the tea would end early in the evening, giving guests ample time to return safely to their homes, and a tea had a far more healthy menu than a supper where he would naturally be concerned that his guests would overindulge.

But the demands of hosting a tea were significantly less than hosting a ball or even a strawberry party, and Emma and Isabella had much to do to help their neighbors. The two Mr. Knightleys were informed that they could help or shift for themselves, and it was obvious which option the sisters preferred.

Mrs. Weston at Randalls was far more capable of preparing a midsummer ball now than she had been of organizing the assembly that welcomed Mrs. Elton months before. Despite the improvements in her health, she still had a number of smaller decisions that she had left as a courtesy for her former charges. Emma and Isabella spent a pleasant afternoon deciding where the musicians should sit and how the buffet tables should be arranged as Mrs. Weston had already engaged the musicians and planned the menu.

At Donwell Abbey, however, they found a very different situation. Preparation had come to a standstill during Mrs. Churchill’s recent illness. She had given a great deal of direction to the housekeeper prior to taking to her bed, but she was the sort of person who had always been deeply concerned with the minutiae so that there was much still undecided. What was worse, no one at Donwell felt able to make the decisions for her, being all too familiar with the sting of her disappointment.

Frank was still dancing attendance on her, having left her side but little since she first fell ill. She reached for him in agitation whenever he tried to claim some other demands on his time until he gave in and remained with her. As such, he was still ignorant that Jane Fairfax was in the area.

The Woodhouse sisters were invited to Mrs. Churchill's room and met with her there. They were both shocked to meet their neighbor thus, but showed only their best manners until Mrs. Churchill grew fatigued. So they left her to rest, and sought out Frank who was waiting to speak with them.

He greeted Isabella Knightley like an older sister and she lost no time in replying in kind, “Frank, what is wrong with your aunt? This is not her usual indisposition.”

Frank shook his head powerlessly. “I do not know. I asked Perry to call on her five days ago and he seemed to think it was indigestion but he cannot have been right if she is getting weaker. Unfortunately, between my presumption in sending for him and his original diagnosis being wrong, Aunt is adamant that she will not see him again. Uncle supports her decision.”

The sisters frowned and shared a look. The afternoon among Donwell’s strawberries must be forgotten. More important than that, however, Mrs. Churchill needed to see that this obstinacy was detrimental to her health. She could barely receive two favorites for ten minutes before needing to rest. Surely something must be done!

“I shall send a note to Mr. Perry asking him to check on his patient,” decided Emma. “You can take no blame for that. But how did this happen? What led to this current illness? And have you spent the last five days in that room keeping you aunt company?”

Frank smiled sadly. “She fell ill when Mrs. Elton was visiting and you know how she is,” he reminded them. “Aunt insists that I comfort her whenever she is ill. I spend about thirty minutes in the morning with Endicott but otherwise, yes, I stay with her.”

“Where is your uncle throughout all this?” asked Isabella.

He could give no flattering answer. Mr. Churchill had not had much of anything to say to Frank since their argument after Mr. Perry had left, and had stayed to himself to avoid further conflict.

“So you have not been to see the Bateses recently?” Emma asked. “You haven't heard any of the latest news from Highbury?”

“What news?” He wasn't much concerned but Emma seemed to think it was worth his attention.

Emma glanced cautiously at her sister. She did not know if Frank would appreciate Isabella learning his secret. “Frank, for your sake, get away from the abbey for an hour or two,” she said instead. “You should not spend all your time in a sick room. It is not healthy.”

Isabella seconded the suggestion. Since Mrs. Churchill had just begun to nap, “now is a perfect time. You can be gone and back before she wakes.”

“Yes,” said Frank, warming to the idea, “but where should I go?”

“If there is any news to be had, you will hear it from Miss Bates,” Emma said, feeling immensely clever. “Now be quick. Isabella and I shall take care of Mr. Perry.”

“Yes, indeed,” agreed Isabella, getting into the spirit of it. “You do not want to be here when Mr. Perry arrives. That will make your protestations of innocence more believable.”

Thus sending him on his way, they also left, stopping by the apothecary before returning to Hartfield as promised.

Chapter 13: Bitter Disappointment

While the Woodhouse sisters were engaged with their calls, the Knightley brothers were in conference with Hartfield’s steward. It was everyone's expectation that John and Isabella would inherit the estate upon Mr. Woodhouse's death -- or at least would purchase the remainder from Emma should Mr. Woodhouse provide for his youngest with a portion of land rather than money -- and that the estate would eventually fall to little John while his older brother Henry inherited Enscombe. As such, it behooved John to enquire into how the estate was being run, if there were any problems or concerns on the horizon, and whether he needed to take a more active hand.

In all the years of his marriage, he had never needed to exert himself in Surrey. Mr. Woodhouse was of indifferent health, but Emma had a keen eye for this sort of management and what she could not or would not do was competently performed by the steward, Mr. Avery.

George joined the conferences because he had much experience with Enscombe and John greatly valued his opinion, although John secretly admitted to his wife that he did take some juvenile amusement in watching Mr. Avery shut down George 's warnings and advice as being either unnecessary or already considered.

“And what is your opinion, Mr. Avery, on whether my brother would best retire from Town and take up his permanent residence here?” George asked as they were concluding an interview. “Hartfield seems to be running quite smoothly without him, but I would rather he be here too early than too late.”

“Well, sir,” said the steward, “we are quite comfortable here right now. As thoughtful as these visits are, I do not think we need to alter any arrangements just yet. Perhaps we can discuss it again in a twelve-month, with Miss Woodhouse of course.” As much as he respected the brothers, he was loyal to his mistress and he did not like the idea of discussing this without Miss Woodhouse.

“Rest assured, Avery,” said John, “that I do not want to interfere in such a well-run operation. I am quite content to remain where I am for now, although the time will come when it will be better for me to be here if only to be seen by others as having a place in the neighborhood. And of course if Mr. Woodhouse’s health should deteriorate rapidly my wife will want to be near him."

“Admirably expressed,” complimented Mr. Avery, “but have no fear for the neighborhood. Mr. Weston was accepted by all quite warmly when he settled here. And if Miss Woodhouse wants you to stay, I do not doubt that she will ask.”

George Knightley could not yet be easy but he yielded. If his brother would not press, what right had he to do so?

When the ladies returned from their planned excursion to Donwell Abbey with news of Mrs. Churchill's ill-health, Mr. Woodhouse was terrified for his poor friend but John, who had heard his wife's versions of events for years, was able to roll his eyes and voice a wish that the old woman would be back to normal before long.

“I did not like the look of her, John,” cautioned Isabella. “It was surprising even to Emma to see how weak she is now. I think it is more serious than we realize. And poor Frank was the only one looking after her. Mr. Churchill was not to be found.”

“Frank Churchill cannot have anything else to do,” George said. He had not been much impressed with the younger man. “Surely he can sit with a sick relation in between gadding about the countryside and gossiping with his neighbors.”

Emma thought the criticism was unfounded but she knew better than to defend her friend; George Knightley would just try to twist her words and she was uninterested. She was too busy imagining the reunion between Frank and Miss Fairfax to attend him.

"I wonder what we shall do with our time now that the party at Donwell is cancelled,” Emma voiced aloud. There had to be additional ways to bring Frank and Miss Fairfax together.

Isabella had already thought about that and suggested that people go to Box Hill for the day instead, with she and Emma traveling the London the day after. The idea was quickly met with near universal agreement. Mr. Woodhouse was the only one who found any fault with the plan, considering the distance too far and the weather too unpredictable. He would much rather stay home, and would prefer it if everyone else stayed at home as well, whether the intention was to travel to the capital or even to some place closer. John put that hope to rest and Emma lost no time in offering to extend an invitation for Mrs. Bates to spend the day of the Box Hill excursion at Hartfield so her father would not get lonely. This, of course, guaranteed that Miss Bates would have to be included in the scheme to the local landmark, along with any of her guests.

“And I am sure Mr. Churchill will sit with his wife while Frank enjoys a few hours with his friends,” Emma schemed. “No doubt Frank can give Miss Bates a ride, and Mrs. Campbell and Miss Fairfax too.”

Emma and Isabella discussed the remaining particulars to their satisfaction, despite their father's intermittent worries. But George Knightley could only frown. He had witnessed Frank Churchill’s unforgivable behavior in the spring and it bothered him to hear Miss Woodhouse had let bygones be bygones. When he found a private moment with her later that evening, he had to air his concerns.

He began by reminding her of the dinner party he had attended at Donwell Abbey and how Miss Woodhouse had admitted she was too hurt to be in love with that whelp Frank Churchill. Emma let him exhaust himself. When he slowed, she interrupted him.

“Have I ever told you that I was not in love with Mr Frank Churchill?” she asked him.

George admitted to vague recollections of that.

“And have I ever told you how deeply and irredeemably I am in love with Frank Churchill?” she asked.

George was forced to think long and hard but could not be certain what he remembered.

“And, in either case, what does it matter to you?” she asked, a note of disdain more obvious in her voice.

At last he knew better than to answer.

---

“You know, you should be kinder to George,” Isabella quietly told her sister. “He does not mean to offend you, he just has no practice.”

“I cannot help it if he is so provoking!” Emma sighed. “He is absolutely fascinated by the idea of Frank and me. And I have run out of gentle ways to disabuse him of the notion. I suppose I should feel some pity for him if the man were not usually so clever, but this is his one great failing and it irritates me constantly. I feel as though he does not believe me, that he not-so-secretly suspects me of lying to him. Tell me, how should I behave toward a man who refuses to take me at my word?”

Isabella commiserated lightly and offered to give George some sisterly advice on speaking with Emma, “but more often than not it is you offending him rather than the other way,” she reminded. “And while George blunders accidentally, you are all too intentional.”

There was nothing for Emma to do but to take her sister's reproofs to heart and to be suitably chastened. What was said that was not true? What was said that was unnecessary?

Isabella also spoke with her brother and the end result was that Emma Woodhouse and George Knightley were able to meet again as friends without a word of apology being spoken directly between them.

Matters continued so agreeably between them that George asked her to dance at the Westons' ball, and she accepted which led to the most pleasurable half-hour either of them had ever spent in the other’s company.

Frank Churchill was also at Randalls that night, despite his aunt's ongoing illness. George noticed that Emma did not dance with Frank and that, after initial greetings the two had very little to say to each other, but Emma frequently glanced after the heir to Donwell who was too busy attending Miss Bates and her guests to notice her regard. This evidence of unequal affections bothered George but he was under strict orders from his sister not to speak another word of Frank to Emma. Observations from this enforced silence only convinced George how right he was. Still, he obeyed Isabella and decided to bring the matter up with his brother at a later time.

For her part, Emma enjoyed the ball at Randalls immensely. She got to see Frank and Miss Fairfax together and, while they were not an avowed couple, she was certain that they would be before long. Emma even enjoyed dancing with George Knightley -- they two were not so close as brother and sister to make it pitiable and he could be quite charming when he wasn't treating her like a lying child. If she could only survive the musicale planned by Mrs. Elton, she was sure to find Box Hill a treat.

---

Mr. Churchill spent the evening of the Westons’ ball exactly as he had wanted, enjoying the comforts of home rather than suffering from the hospitality of Frank’s natural father. Still, it galled him that Frank was there, having no concern for Mrs. Churchill who remained in bed with some lingering ailment. Mr. Churchill would never say that he despised Mr. Weston but Frank had put him sorely out of humor.

This latest battle had started shortly after midday when Frank had run his uncle to ground and informed him that the Westons’ ball was tonight and Frank would be in attendance.

“My father knows that Aunt is sick but he had asked me to be there if only for a little while,” Frank explained.

“And what of your aunt?” demanded Mr. Churchill. “She depends upon you for comfort. What will she do in your absence?”

“I was hoping you would sit with her while I am away,” Frank confessed. Of necessity, Mr. Churchill had avoided the sickroom to avoid Frank.

Mr. Churchill glared obstinately. “Surely such an evening cannot hold much attraction for you,” he said. “You will need to dance on your own two feet rather than sit a horse, and there won't be a single sheep or pig in sight.”

“There will be attraction enough,” Frank said steadily before adding, “Miss Fairfax will be there.”

It was the first time either had acknowledged to the other that the young woman was in Highbury. Mr. Churchill felt that a gauntlet had been thrown. He needed to address this ridiculous infatuation without delay.

“I forbid you to speak with her,” he declared. “Offer her no encouragement. Your aunt and I will never accept her as your bride. Desist this reckless course.”

“I cannot do that. My heart and honor are already engaged,” Frank said, hoping to appeal to his uncle's own sense of honor. “If I can persuade her to accept me, we will be married.”

“Where will you live? It shall not be here,” countered his uncle, feeling a surge of triumph. “No, marry her and we shall disown you!”

Frank paled at those words. For a minute, he could not speak. “Then I will go to Randalls tonight,” he said at last, “and try to have a private word with my father to see if there is some position in his business that would allow me to afford a wife. It will mean a longer engagement but in the end, I shall have my Jane.”

In the end, I shall have my Jane! Oh, how those words wounded! Had it all been for naught? Had he taught Frank nothing? No, he had been firm and repetitive. If there was fault to find, it would be with his nephew!

But how could Mr Churchill show his face with a nephew like that? He prided himself on being a paragon, a pillar of the community. He was known and respected for miles around. At least, he had been. But now who would look him in the eye given this grave failure? Who would not judge him for raising such a headstrong and obstinate young man? And with Frank no longer here, who would shield him from his tenants? Who would make the decisions he so assiduously avoided? It was in every way impossible. Would it not be better to turn a blind eye to the marriage and keep Frank at Donwell? The abbey was large enough that he never need see the church mouse if he didn't want to. But Mrs. Churchill would never approve that arrangement, he realized dejectedly. And what would happen if Frank and that young woman had a child? Would they hire a nurse and governess, or just expect the mother to raise the child as Miss Fairfax had no doubt been trained to do? It was altogether an impossible situation, and solely Frank's fault.

Despite the fact that Frank had clearly spent time in the company of Miss Fairfax and the probability that Frank had spoken with Weston, Mr. Churchill had heard none of it. Still, the man did not repent and ask for information. If Frank had news worth sharing then let him be brave enough to mention it!

Breakfast after the ball brought no grand announcement. Frank did not declare that Miss Fairfax was coming to tour the abbey, nor mention when he would be moving permanently to Town for some meager living in Weston's business. If he seemed more at peace with himself than usual, he politely kept his emotions under control in front of his uncle but he did not tarry over breakfast and went to meet with Mr. Endicott as soon as his plate was emptied.

It was there in the abbey’s office that Frank could smile openly, and speak with such a tone, and look with such satisfaction, that the steward fully expected an engagement had been made.

It had not, but Frank at last felt the relief of knowing that it was only a matter of time. He had spoken to Jane, and to Mrs. Campbell. The visit to Jane's family had been entirely Mrs. Campbell’s idea who had read through a number of letters from Highbury and had formed a completely different theory as to why Frank Churchill had been so closely tied to Miss Woodhouse. Jane had retained her doubts but had agreed to go with Mrs. Campbell for support. The Emma Woodhouse they had met was so very different from the possessive vixen Jane had imagined, and listening to Miss Bates rattle on about Mr. Frank, Miss Woodhouse, and everyone else in the neighborhood opened her eyes to the real nature of the relationship between Frank and his longtime friend. In the end, she confessed to Frank that Mrs. Campbell had the right of it.

As giddy as he felt to hear that, Frank had to claim responsibility for much of the behavior that have her that impression. Had he only been more firm with his uncle and aunt sooner, so much heartache could have been spared. However, he realized, the heartache could not be avoided entirely, and he had to explain that he was unable to offer more than himself, that his uncle was firmly opposed to the match. Frank did not believe this irrevocably prevented their union, but it did mean that, should Jane accept him, he would not immediately have a home in which to receive her. A long engagement would be needed for him to find work and a permanent place to live.

Mrs. Campbell was sympathetic but concerned that Frank, who had been raised in luxury, might quickly regret his reduced circumstances. “What will happen,” she wondered, “if you later seek to reconcile with the Churchills?” Would Frank be steadfast enough to stand by Jane?

“The past year has opened my eyes to some defects in their characters and mine,” he answered. “I think a reconciliation will be highly unlikely.”

Mrs. Campbell chose not to voice any doubts but rather determined to wait and see how Frank attempted to provide for himself. If he applied himself industriously, then Mrs. Campbell would not worry too deeply for Jane’s sake, for a handsome young man with charm and good breeding will find opportunities for success. However, if Frank delayed and squandered his chances, then the wedding would certainly never happen. She would let the colonel handle it, but she would recommend to him that no engagement would be agreed upon until Frank had managed to find a position. If nothing else, it would spur the young man to be quick.

Frank needed no further incentive than his own internal desire to be settled with Jane. He had arrived early and had already spoken with his father before the other guests had arrived. His father had offered him nothing substantial at the time, but had said he would see what he could do, which was all Frank had needed to hear.

And so Frank now went about the business of the morning, with a considerably lighter heart than usual. His time at Donwell Abbey was drawing to a close. While he did not yet know the number of days remaining, he felt them counting down. In some ways it made him sad to think of all the people he was leaving, all the servants he had known his entire life, all the farmers and tenants who had come to depend upon him in the last half-year. Even his uncle and aunt would be missed; despite this formidable stalemate, he had many fond memories of their care. But he had a future waiting for him, and he had grown impatient for its arrival. And that future was not at Donwell.

After riding about with Endicott for a few hours, he changed and had tea with his aunt. He longed to break the news to her, but she was still unwell and he knew the news would strike her like a blow. Her health confounded him. Mr. Perry’s repeated attempts to cure her were failures. She remained weak. Perhaps she even declined further. Frank stayed with her throughout the afternoon, leaving only when it was time for him to ride over to Randalls to call again upon his father.

Mr. Weston had thought over Frank’s dilemma and had sent a letter by express to London before the sun had risen. He had the response by the time Frank arrived and was able to give his son the good news. There was an opening to assist the manager of a warehouse. It was not a prime position but Frank had already known he must keep his expectations in line. He had not devoted himself to law, the military, or religion, so he must make his way in trade. His tutelage under Endicott would serve him well wherever he went, and if he would be managing stacks of boxes rather than farms, so much the better! Boxes and crates had to be less complicated than livestock and weather. And the salary was right; it would not transform him into a prince, but it would be enough to turn him into a husband.

Chapter 14: Irrevocable Break

An unseasonable fog clung to the valleys on Tuesday morning and Frank nearly despaired, but the sun quickly burned off the offending mist and preparations continued for the outing to Box Hill. He had written to Colonel Campbell and, if all went well, the colonel would be in Highbury this evening to meet with him and hear his application for Jane’s hand in person.

While he had told no one of this beyond his father and Jane’s family, he had accepted the position with his father and was scheduled to appear in London in August. That would give him plenty of time to break the news and to bid farewell to his friends and family in Surrey. He knew it would come as a shock to many but he wanted to wait for his aunt’s health to improve before advertising his change. And he also wanted to include in his announcement that he would be marrying Jane. And for that, he needed first to speak with the colonel.

Despite the colonel sending Frank away months ago, it was not that the colonel could prevent Jane from marrying him; Jane was too old to be under her guardian’s thrall although it was wise of her to comply with his decisions while she remained under his roof. But Frank wanted the older man’s opinion on when he would be ready to marry Jane. Mr. Weston had estimated it would take ten months for Frank to be established enough to afford a wife -- possibly sooner if Frank advanced quickly within the business -- but that estimate sounded far too conservative to the young man. Perhaps the colonel, who lived in London, had better insight into how long these things took than Mr. Weston living at his country estate.

It bothered Frank that he had not told his uncle anything since before the ball at Randalls. Mr. Churchill knew nothing of the job in London or of the fact that Jane had accepted him although had Mr. Churchill bothered to observe his nephew, he would have noticed a happiness that could only mean one thing.

But Frank did not want to mention it to his uncle. They never seemed to have a pleasant conversation anymore. They never spoke except to argue and disagree. It always ended in offense and insult, and Frank was simply too happy to put himself through it. His uncle would find out soon enough, and learning sooner would not change the outcome in the slightest.

So he was more worried than surprised when his uncle appeared at breakfast and announced that he too would be joining the excursion to Box Hill.

“But if you and I are both going,” asked Frank, “who will sit with my aunt while we are gone?”

“The housekeeper will do it,” he answered. “I have already spoken with her. I find I need to get out of doors today. I have been cooped up in the abbey for too long.”

Frank could not disagree with that. His uncle had been living practically as a hermit since the argument between Calvin and Waters at Donwell’s church. He looked pale. The fresh air and sunlight would do him well, but Frank feared his uncle would make things difficult. Jane and Mrs. Campbell had extended their visit although Mrs. Campbell expected to return to London tomorrow with Col. Campbell while Jane stayed behind, ostensibly to be with her family. Jane, her guardian, and her aunt were to attend the picnic today. Frank was to drive them. He was certain that there was physically enough room in the carriage for his uncle to join them, but Frank had already explained to Jane and Mrs. Campbell how vehemently opposed his uncle was to the marriage. He could not imagine his uncle wanting to ride there and back with such company, nor did Frank want to expose Jane to any unpleasantness from his uncle.

He dispatched a note and the carriage to Mrs. Bates’ rooms, explaining the reason for the change. Then he sat briefly with his aunt, mentioning the excursion today. She had forgotten about it. She seemed unable to remember much these days. Perhaps it didn't matter who sat with her today after all. Still he sketched a note asking Perry to come to the abbey today.

The drive in the gig with his uncle was painfully silent for the first half-hour. Mr. Churchill had no wish to say anything that might lead the conversation to Miss Fairfax who he knew was still in the area and suspected of being in the group of people traveling to Box Hill today. Fewer people were coming to this picnic than had been invited to Donwell's strawberry party but, as Mrs. Churchill was no longer in control of choosing the guests, no doubt that grasping Jane Fairfax had swindled an invitation from Miss Woodhouse and Mrs. Knightley.

Frank was likewise disinclined to talk when he knew talking only led to argument. However, as they rolled over the countryside, it occurred to him that his days at Donwell were numbered. He should attempt to reduce the acrimony and discord before he moved to Town. From then on he kept up a stream of inane chatter that eventually elicited a response that slowly warmed into an actual repartee between the two men.

This easing of tensions lasted until Mr. Churchill saw one of Donwell’s carriages at the site and saw three women handed down from it. Mrs. Knightley greeted the youngest woman with a cheery, “Miss Fairfax!” and Mr. Churchill could only glare at his nephew in betrayal.

Mr. and Mrs. Elton engaged him in conversation but he kept one eye on Frank at all times, watching as he first approached Mr. Weston before making his way closer to Miss Bates’ niece. Just when he realized he needed to intervene, Miss Woodhouse suggested that everybody pair up and take a walk. They had ridden a distance and could use the opportunity to stretch their legs while the servants prepared the area for their picnic.

The idea was greeted with general approbation although Mrs. Elton declared she was not much of a walker. Most of the people formed groups of two or three and began to wander about in search of admirable views. Mrs. Elton then distracted Mr. Churchill with some superficial enquiry into the health of his wife and while he was answering, Frank slipped away, no doubt with that confounded church mouse!

---

In truth, Frank was with not only Miss Fairfax but Mrs. Campbell and Miss Bates as well. Luckily -- or strategically -- Mrs. Campbell and Miss Bates paired up and soon were far behind the younger couple. He was able to acquit himself satisfactorily to his love and even be commended for such quick thinking. They both possessed a certain nervousness for the interview with Col. Campbell that awaited, and they soon gave up on conversation as they took in the sights before them.

Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley were a natural pairing, and their brother gave them privacy. Years of marriage and a growing brood of children had not tired them of each other’s company. It was a pretty domestic scene and George watched them go with a bachelor's pang of envy.

For her part, Emma strolled off with the Westons. She had spent the ride with the Knightleys and believed it was in the best interest of harmony to be around someone else right now. Mrs. Weston certainly appreciated another arm in case her footing was unsteady, but she made a slow companion when Emma longed to dash about. Likewise, Emma knew her former governess had a mental library of poetry and could easily recite some phrases to enhance the views before them, but Mrs. Weston could talk only of babies. Mr. Weston was no help at all to Emma because he was so solicitous of his wife. He matched her plodding pace and took delight in her every hope and observation in the child they were expecting.

It was a bad combination of too much and too little, and she politely excused herself from their company when she spied George Knightley taking in exactly the view she wished to see.

She spent a pleasant quarter hour with him, admiring sights she had never seen before for all that they were an hour from where she had lived her entire life, while listening to him compare the countryside in Surrey with that around Enscombe where Harriet Martin now lived. Emma was even inspired to remember some fragment of Cowper although she was disappointed when Mr. Knightley interrupted her and caused her to lose her place, but he more than made up for it by picking up where she had left off, recalling more lines than she was sure she had ever learned.

They were quite alone and out of sight of everyone when they finally redirected their steps back in the direction of the picnic and Miss Woodhouse realized that it was not a chore to spend time with George Knightley, although she never would think of him exactly as Isabella did.

When they returned to the gathering place, there were rugs and food set out and a few had already returned -- or, in the case of Mr. Churchill, had never left -- and had begun to enjoy the work of various kitchens. They joined the others in the meal.

After a while, some had already finished their meal while others were still savoring their last morsels, and people began to grow restless. It was still too early to prepare for the return trip but there would not be enough time for everyone to take a walk as they had before the meal. To distract them all, Mrs. Weston suggested a game, and Mr. Elton declared himself a ready sport if someone would name the activity. A few people proposed ideas but nothing met with general approval. Mr. Weston then suggested they appoint a young lady as their judge and everyone else would compete for her favor. “We can say either one thing very clever, or two things moderately clever, or three things very dull indeed, and our fair judge will laugh heartily at them all and appoint a winner."

There was a murmur of agreement at this, for not everyone could run the fastest or jump the farthest or even say the most clever thing, but three chances to make one of their number laugh was within the reach of everyone.

Indeed, even Miss Bates declared she, "need not be uneasy. 'Three things very dull indeed.' That will just do for me, you know. I shall be sure to say three dull things as soon as ever I open my mouth, shan't I?”

A ripple of laughter greeted her self-deprecating remark. Had a queen yet been crowned, Miss Bates might have won the contest then and there. But there was no one to rule them and Mr. Churchill was in no mood to be pleasant.

The Bateses were a low family and to tie them to the name of Churchill was an indignity. He had spent little time in their company heretofore, but it had been more than enough for his tastes. They were poor and, whatever their origins, considered themselves above nobody. Mrs. Bates was practically an invalid and her daughter was the worst sort of bore. Listening to the others signal their amusement at something Miss Bates said was more than he could stomach.

“Pardon me, Miss Bates, but there may be a difficulty. You see, you will be limited as to number: only three at once. No one who knows of you will believe you can stop at three."

Miss Bates, deceived by the general seriousness of his manner and the rarity of his attention, did not immediately catch his meaning but it was clear to the people around her. And when at last comprehension dawned on her, she did not grow angry. She was hurt rather than offended although her guests were more than offended on her behalf.

She stammered out a painful apology for being so tiring and disagreeable while her niece quietly assured her that nobody could think such a thing.

Mr. Weston attempted to salvage the situation by calling for someone to nominate the queen of the day. There were very few single women in attendance and the honor was soon bestowed upon Emma Woodhouse who could be counted on to be a just and gentle ruler.

Next Mr. Weston asked for a someone to begin the competition. Mr. Churchill volunteered a conundrum he had thought up recently. "I doubt its being very clever myself," he forewarned his audience. "It is too much a matter of fact, but here it is: What two letters of the alphabet are there, that express perfection?"

He eyed Frank meaningfully as several people attempted to unravel it. After a few failed guesses he put them out of suspense. "Ah! you will never guess. I will tell you: M. and A.” He paused to wait for Frank’s reaction. “M-A. Em-ma. Do you understand?"

Frank frowned at first; his uncle was not subtle. He glanced at Jane to see how she bore the slight which only blackened his mood further before he covered it with a smile when he heard some scattered laughter.


It might be a very indifferent piece of wit, but Emma bore the responsibilities of her title well and found a great deal to laugh at and enjoy in it.

Mr. and Mrs. Elton, however, took no pleasure in such favoritism, or such a favorite. If flattery and pandering were needed to win the queen's prize, they wanted none of it. Out of respect to Mr. Churchill, they did not immediately walk off but made plans to slip away with quiet dignity after one or two more offerings.

But no more volunteers were immediately forthcoming. Between his barb at Miss Bates and his bold compliment to Emma, Mr. Churchill had thrown a pall over the joy of the outing. Miss Woodhouse might be willing to be pleased with all, but no one wanted to subject themselves to Mr. Churchill's disapprobation.

Mr. Weston tried to recruit others to perform for the queen but the game was dead. Frank declared that no one could best his uncle and his “perfection,” then gallantly offered his arm to Miss Bates. It was not so late that they could not see a little more of the area before the carriages were ready, and it might be a long while before he was here again.

Miss Bates was momentarily profuse in her thanks before remembering certain criticisms and silencing herself. Mrs. Campbell linked arms with Miss Fairfax and followed them.

Mr. Elton saw this as their chance and mumbled a humble excuse to the remaining assembly before escorting his wife in the opposite direction.

Miss Woodhouse's domain was rapidly diminishing. “I am afraid, Mr. Weston,” she said lightly, “that I must abdicate. It was a lovely idea, and I certainly enjoyed my reign, but we were not able to profit from it.”

The ease with which she relinquished her crown gave other picnickers leave to wander and explore, and soon very few were remaining. Those who stayed behind -- Mr. Churchill and the Westons -- got out of the way of the servants who made short work of the mess and soon had everything packed away in the carriages which were now being hitched to the horses again for the journey home.

Having abandoned all illusions of power, Emma Woodhouse walked with her sister through the sloping fields. It had been a lovely adventure on the whole to travel so far from Hartfield. Had she not secured Mrs. Bates’ company for her father, Emma would have begun to worry about him being alone. Still, her feelings underscored that she could not join her sister in even a brief London trip despite Isabella's plans and entreaties.

Isabella laughed. “You worry about Father. He worries about me. And I worry about you. The circle is complete!” She tugged on her sister's arm. “Just come for a brief visit. Just one night. It is already arranged. How long have we awaited this opportunity? When shall it come again?”

“Oh, why bother for just one night?” Emma asked. “What could I achieve in so short a time? And what if something happened to Papa while I was away?”

Mrs. Knightley shook her head. “Emma, we have planned this. John and the children are here to keep Papa company, and George is here as well. Nothing bad will happen while those two are here to watch over Hartfield. Let's run off to London, you and I, for a quick adventure. If you are truly uneasy, we can come back the next day. Even then I am certain we two can make the most of it.”

Miss Woodhouse did not surrender but as she had already agreed to the scheme, it was not necessary. She offered no vehement opposition. Her sister took it for encouragement and began to plot how she might renew Emma’s earlier enthusiasm during the drive home.

---

Mr. Churchill and his nephew had a frosty drive home. Neither was pleased with the other which did not need to be discussed as it was so obvious to both. As it had been in the morning it was Frank who broke the silence, but now his words did not ease the tensions between them.

“I have spoken with my father,” he began with his eyes on the horses. “I will move to London in August. You need not think of Miss Fairfax or myself after that.”

Mr. Churchill felt his fears escalate into a cold and dense panic. He had given Frank an ultimatum but had failed to sway him. Soon Frank would be lost to him forever. “This will kill your aunt,” he said.

Frank had no desire to bring his aunt to further harm. Surely she would be sufficiently recovered by then to hear of his departure. And he knew that asking for the Churchills to accept Jane as Frank’s wife would be just as fatal at this point. He was very sorry he could not please them and be happy, he was grievously pained. They had forced him to make a choice and he had made it, and he was not about to unmake it.

Mr. Churchill argued with him, pleaded with him for sanity. Had they been at home, one of them would have fled the other’s company by now, but the carriage forced them both to remain and finish this had not they finally reached Donwell and the staff.

It was immediately apparent that there was an uproar in the abbey. Mr. Perry was there and Mrs. Churchill had suffered a sudden decline. A lad from the stables had been preparing a horse so that he could ride out and urge them home sooner in case every second counted.

The two men put aside all animosity and rushed to Mrs. Churchill. She was still alive but it was only a matter of time. They sat with her throughout the night. She was dead by morning.

Chapter 15: Final Vindication

Emma Woodhouse had lived her whole life within a very small radius. Her mother, clearly the more adventurous parent, had died before Emma was old enough to be allowed much travel. Her father had never any inclination to wander farther than his daily walks around Hartfield. Her governess was entirely too resourceful in devising activities close to home. And by the time her sister was able to invent excuses for Emma to visit her in Town, Emma was too concerned about their father's failing health to abandon him to the care of their thoughtful servants.

And Emma had been content for the most part with her tiny world. But she was growing tired of it. No that was not right. She did not feel tired; she felt confined. She wanted to go and do and see more than her little life had given her. Her friends were passing her, outgrowing her, and she was too clever not to notice and feel the loss.

Isabella’s idea of a jaunt to London sounded laughable when she had first proposed it in a letter. Had they not been plotting for years for Emma to visit, only to have their plans turn to ash at the end? But after her recent distance from Frank, the trip became an irresistible desire. Emma simply had to go to London! Yet as the time drew nigh, the plans only grew more firm, the probability for actually traveling only increased, and Emma felt her courage falter. How could she leave her father, now or ever?

When Isabella mentioned to her husband during the ride back from Box Hill that they were only going for a day rather than two, it did not seem so reckless anymore. Indeed, John's reaction -- “Who goes to London for a single day? You will have no time for anything.” -- rather fixed in her mind that she did want to go.

The married couple batted ideas about of what places to visit and experiences to acquire might fit into the time allotted. As for life in Surrey, they had nothing planned for the next few days. So as long as the sisters could be back in time for the Coles’ party, no one beyond Hartfield would miss her. The Knightley brothers were ready to occupy and soothe Mr. Woodhouse. And Emma herself was ready to go; a delay could prove deadly to her resolve. She listened to her sister and John discuss the wonders of the capital with excitement wriggling beneath her skin.

She nearly lost heart when she reminded her father of their plans. He seemed bereft at the idea of her going away but Mr. and Mrs. Knightley calmly explained that the women were going for one night only, and the men and children would remain to keep him company. John and George would prove so attentive that Mr. Woodhouse would hardly notice that anyone else was missing.

These were all points that Mr. Woodhouse had heard before. He did not agree to the scheme -- it was beyond him to do so -- but he did not dissuade his daughters from their chosen course for all his concerns about coachmen and horses and dirty summer roads.

Emma barely slept that night for all the anticipation building within her, and barely ate with all the fluttering in her stomach at the breakfast table. She had packed and repacked the night before and was able to bustle her sister into one of the Knightley carriages and down the lane toward the London Road before the first messenger arrived bearing sad news from Donwell Abbey.

---

The exact amusements Miss Woodhouse experienced in London, along with the biographies of those she met, were immaterial. One might imagine that the sisters engaged in the mundane pleasures of tea rooms and other shops so similar to what Miss Woodhouse had in Highbury yet novel enough to amaze.

They returned home in the evening before the summer sun made the shadows stretch overlong. Emma was brimming with stories of all she had seen. The smile on her lips, however, faded away at the sight of George’s somber face as they stepped down from the carriage.

“What is wrong?” she asked, instantly on alert. “Where is Papa?”

“Mr. Woodhouse is fine,” George assured both sisters. “He is merely resting. We’ve had a bit of a shock. Mrs. Churchill has died. John has gone to Donwell Abbey to console Mr. Churchill.”

And so it was. Grief came first as a numbing disbelief to the sisters who had grown up in the orbit of that woman. Emma bore it worse than Isabella, so much closer to Mrs. Churchill for remaining her neighbor. Mr. Knightley eked out the story as it was known, how she had died in the wee hours of the morning before Isabella took her sister to London, how word was not sent until after breakfast, until it was too late to call back the carriage, how John had personally decided not to send word to his wife. They would only be gone one night, the sorrow could wait for them.

George Knightley stepped forward. “There is more news,” he started to warn them.

“I do not think I can bear more news right now,” Emma replied with a sniffle. “Pardon me.” She walked off into the garden. She needed some privacy. She wanted to cry in peace. As much as Mrs. Churchill infuriated her, Emma viewed her as a proxy aunt, and her death was too sudden to be anything like a relief. She let Isabella attend to their father while she herself paced the manicured walkways until her handkerchief was wet through and still she did not go in. George Knightley came out to speak with her eventually. She had no interest in returning to the house as John was not yet home so Mr. Knightley joined her circuit.

He offered little details that he knew, filling in gaps left by his earlier account. It comforted her to learn what she had missed through her neglect. But when he had exhausted that cache of knowledge, he said, “And now I am afraid I have more bad news to give you.”

She paled, her pace faltered, and she looked up at him in horror. Seeing her like that, all speech dried up on his tongue. When it became clear that he would not relieve the worry that suddenly oppressed her, she prompted him. Were others now ill? Had the illness that finished Mrs. Churchill spread? Was the Abbey under quarantine? Was Mr. Churchill safe? Was Frank Churchill in bed with fever?

“Frank Churchill is engaged,” Mr. Knightley blurted out. “To Miss Jane Fairfax. They apparently met in Weymouth and he had been secretly courting her these many months. There is no formal announcement at this time for obvious reasons, but they have reached an understanding and have received the blessings of their families. I'm sorry.”

Emma was confused. “Is Miss Fairfax ill?”

“Miss Fairfax is engaged,” George told her. “To Frank Churchill.”

His answer cleared up nothing. “What is the bad news, Mr. Knightley?” she asked. “Please do not trifle with me further. The suspense is excruciating.”

Now he was perplexed. “How can you not view it as bad news that Frank Churchill is engaged to marry Jane Fairfax?”

“How can I view it as bad news that a dear friend has at long last secured his future happiness?” she countered. Was George Knightley the sort of bachelor who could not stand to see others married? Did he imagine she was likewise against matrimony? “I am positive that they will be very happy together,” she said to assure him. “I have known Frank to be in love with Miss Fairfax since he met her and, for her part, I believe her to be very mutually and very sincerely attached. "

George Knightley looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. “How can you be so charitable to one who has used you so ill?” he said tentatively.

“You exaggerate, Mr. Knightley,” she told him. “I have grown up with Frank, and I sincerely wish him happy.”

She had told him nearly as much on previous occasions yet he had never really believed her. He had never trusted her to know her own mind and heart, and he had often disparaged her friend. “Why,” she wondered, “must I always tell you this? And why must you never listen?”

He mumbled and looked away but she would not let him dissemble. With no other calls on her time she would wait him out. She would have his answer.

“I suppose I envied him,” Mr. Knightley admitted at last. But that answer would not satisfy. How could George Knightley envy a man he held in such frequent contempt? He corrected himself. “It is not Frank Churchill but his opportunity I envy. I have known too many friends from school who married young and regretted it. They made their decision after a whirlwind courtship, based on the weakest understanding and the slimmest chances at happiness, and have been disappointed. And I look at Frank Churchill, and I see…” He stumbled into silence.

“You see a man who has found his heart's desire,” Emma supplied. That was the sort of envy she could commiserate.

“He has found it, and he has turned his back on it!” George answered. “At three-and-twenty to have come so close to drawing such a prize! What years of felicity that man, in all human calculation, had on offer before him! To be fair, I know of no wrong with his choice. Miss Fairfax strikes me as an intelligent, steady, thoughtful -- albeit quiet -- young woman, and he could certainly have chosen far worse. But why he would choose her and spurn perfection, I will never understand. And so in one respect he is the object of my envy, and by that same standard I must hold him up as an object of ridicule.”

Emma wanted to speak. She always felt called upon to be clever and witty in front of George Knightley, but she could not think of anything light enough to dispel his perplexing mood.

“You are wisely silent,” he observed when the lull overstretched itself. “Would that I had the opportunity to learn from you. But I find I have come too far and must speak my mind though I may immediately decide I have acted without sense.”

She threw him a worried look. This was not the George Knightley she knew. He saw it and fell silent once more although his agitation was plain.

He was clearly suffering under the burden of a secret. She decided to give him some relief. “Forgive me, Mr. Knightley. I believe I have stopped you when you have more to say. I am a poor friend to have done so.”

“A friend!” he scoffed. “Such a cold and fearsome word.” He paused and for a moment Emma thought he would leave her to return to the house. But then he shook his head and resumed his pace. “No, I have already gone too far for concealment. Let me say my piece, and then you may send me away wherever you like. You view me as a friend, Miss Woodhouse. Tell me, then, have I no chance of ever being more?”

He stopped in his earnestness to look the question, and the expression of his eyes overpowered her. Too many thoughts tripped over themselves in her head for her to make sense of them.

“But we never agree,” she pointed out. “We argue all the time.” Why would George Knightley -- or any man -- want a quarrelsome wife?

“I have always thought of them as spirited discussions,” he smiled at her. Her lack of immediate refusal kindled a hope in his breast.

She could not believe him. Scenes between them flashed through her memory and she was struck by how childish and petty she must have appeared to him. How could he have fallen in love with such a creature? “But I was so rude to you,” she recalled.

“When?” he challenged.

“Always.” That was how she shamefully remembered it.

But he would not admit to any imperfection and stood ready to debate her flaws into virtues. His robust defense opened her heart further to him. She had always been short-tempered and uncharitable with him, and he had borne her treatment as no other man in England would have done. And why did she feel the need to test him so often and unrelentingly except that she must secretly believe that he was different, better than the other men she knew?

Still he talked. As his words washed over her, she could not attend one in fifty but her mind with wonderful velocity was able to catch and comprehend the exact truth of the whole of his speech. The exact truth, however slowly it had stolen upon him, however much in vain he had believed his hope, was that he loved her and wished to marry her. And the echo answered within her own breast that she loved him too.

At last he stopped and looked at her beseechingly. She had been silent long enough and it was now time to answer once and forever his petition. She spoke then, on being so entreated.

What did she say? Just what she ought, of course. A lady always does. She said enough to show him there need not be despair, and to invite him to say more himself. He took the opportunity of explaining that he had approached her without any selfish intention of declaring himself. It was his aim to bring her news of Frank Churchill's situation privately so as to spare her the embarrassment of hearing the news in front of others. If it was in his power to soothe and comfort her, he would have done so gladly.

He heard her complete lack of disappointment over Frank and Miss Fairfax, the confirmation that her heart was safely disengaged, but he had blundered forward in agitation until he had come so close to an admission that he could not turn back. He had momentarily steeled himself for rejection. But the more he said, the less rejection seemed probable, until it became completely impossible.

At times with painstaking slowness, at times with scandalous quickness, they settled the matter between them and finally returned to the house. John had recently returned and they felt free to share the news with him and Isabella.

John was surprised by the announcement but Isabella was smug. “When did this happen?” he asked in astonishment. “Have you two been hiding this all along? Is this why you have been asking me when we shall settle at Hartfield?” he asked his brother. “You know Emma will not leave her father until we are living here.”

But George and Emma would admit to no premeditation. He had expected for too long that she would marry another while she had expected to marry no one at all. Isabella saw everything. She took George's and Emma's hands and declared that she could want no brother more than the one she already had.

---

The loss of his wife simply devastated Mr. Churchill. He had quite expected her to outlive him so to lose her so suddenly left him bereft. To make matters worse, Frank, for all his grief, refused to budge on Jane Fairfax. This reminder of the brevity of life convinced the young man more fully that he wanted to marry his Jane without unreasonable delay. He would honor his aunt’s passing, then live his own life as he saw fit.

Col. Campbell was good enough to wait on him at Donwell and to bless the engagement, expecting a delay of some months of mourning before it could be announced. It was all Frank needed to make his current situation bearable. It only made his uncle more miserable.

As Jane’s guardian had condoned the match, it was now up to Frank to prove that he would support a wife. To that end, he still planned to go to London in August and earn a living. But who would remain at Donwell with Mr. Churchill while Frank was in Town? Who would look after Donwell in Frank’s absence? And never mind Donwell Abbey and its servants, never mind the land and tenants, crops and flocks, who would look after Mr. Churchill with his wife dead and his nephew absconded? Who would greet him over breakfast, or listen to him over tea, or commiserate with him at dinner, or give him leave to top off his dram of port before retiring for the night? Who would join him in hosting his neighbors in a grander style than they would ever know at home? Who would answer the petitions he could not? Who would make him feel proud and complete? Who would keep the abbey from becoming a mausoleum? These were very pertinent questions and they repeated themselves over and again in desperation to Mr. Churchill in the hours after Frank announced his resolve.

In the face of Frank’s steadfastness, Mr. Churchill could only crumble. Witnessing his uncle’s despair, Frank felt his own resolve slipping. He confided some of his concerns to Jane, hoping her words would bolster him.

While it was Frank's nature to protect and comfort Jane, it was hers to soothe and promote those dear to her. Now that Frank had thrown off the familial ties that chafed him, now that Mr. Churchill had no power to threaten Jane’s own happiness, she could think of the old man as a figure of pity rather than dread.

Jane felt she would overstep to offer any suggestions of her own, but she questioned what might be done for Mr. Churchill when Frank left Donwell. Frank freely admitted that he had been so concerned over his own future that he had not really thought about it. She gave him a look so he stole a kiss and promised to think about it.

Indeed, he thought about it during the ride home but came up with nothing useful. Upon leaving the stables, he expected to slip quietly into his rooms and take his tea alone but his uncle caught him on the stair and insisted on speaking with him immediately.

“Of course,” Frank could only agree.

His uncle did not begin the conversation right away but instead led Frank to his office where Mr. Endicott sat waiting, apparently for some time.

They greeted each other somberly then turned to Mr. Churchill who hovered by the door. He nodded at them and cleared his throat. “Yes, I shall leave you to it,” he said and left, closing the door behind him.

Frank was momentarily overcome with the memory of his uncle walking out of an earlier meeting of the three of them. “I, I'm sorry,” he said at last to the steward.

Mr. Endicott appeared to have been expecting that reaction. “No apologies are needed, Mr. Frank,” he said soothingly. “Mr. Churchill is nigh broken with grief, I quite understand. He has lost everyone dear to him -- his entire family -- except you. Now that you are planning to go away, he does not know what to do. He cannot afford to lose you as well.”

“I must go to London,” said Frank heavily. Too many people counted on him -- his father, the Campbells, Jane, himself -- but he did not know how his uncle would recover from this defection.

“But must you stay there, never to return?” asked Endicott. “Surely you will come back every once in a while, if only for a short stay. Would it not be beneficial for everyone to plan your visits now, before you go off to London? It will give those of us that remain something to look forward to.” He subtly cast his eyes in the direction of Mr. Churchill’s chair.

Frank instantly took his meaning. Mr. Churchill would let himself sink into lassitude without some outward motivation. His wife had provided it for more than half his life; without her gentle governance, would he even have cause to get out of bed? But if he knew that Frank was coming back, he would exert himself regularly albeit not vigorously. That might be enough to allow him to outlast the depth of his grief and depression.

Frank saw the wisdom in the idea, but the practicality was a challenge. There had to be some middle ground between his uncle’s wishes and Frank’s convenience, a regular pilgrimage to Donwell Abbey - but despite his uncle’s wishes, Frank could not always be at his beck and call. A schedule would give everyone manageable expectations.

It would take some time for Frank to get established in the capital; he would need to go to town a few weeks early just to secure lodgings. He began to sketch out a timeline with an eye for when he might reasonably return. Mr. Endicott gently interrupted to protest that Mr. Churchill did not expect his nephew to leave so soon.

“I will need to find a place to stay,” Frank pointed out. “I cannot ride into town on the very day that I am to show myself to Mr. Blake. I cannot eat and sleep at the warehouse. I will go a few weeks before for a day or two, just long enough to find a room. I am sure I shall not need much. And a less expensive situation will suit admirably.”

“I think I know of the perfect situation. It will not require any advance trips to London and I believe the landlord will give you quite favorable terms. And of course your uncle will approve,” the steward said with a twinkle in his eye. “Churchill House,” he announced when Frank did not appear to comprehend.

Frank was indeed very familiar with the Churchills’ townhouse, having spent many nights there for his “London haircuts,” but he could not fathom how it was affordable for a young man like Frank to rent it from his uncle. Likewise, he did not believe his uncle would want him to stay at the house indefinitely. Mr. Churchill’s present mood might not translate into a long-term desire to help Frank establish his independence and distance himself from Donwell.

It took an earnest back-and-forth before Frank understood that the steward was offering to let Frank stay for free in the town house. Frank had to refuse the offer politely. His uncle was in the throes of grief now; Mr. Churchill might agree to the scheme at first but he could easily feel very differently later. Still Mr. Endicott pressed him to accept. The relationship was strained, the steward agreed, but not irreparably. Maintaining tenuous contact was necessary until sufficient time had passed for Mr. Churchill to forget why he was ever at odds with Frank. Besides, with Frank at Churchill House, Mr. Churchill himself might be persuaded to visit the capital on occasion and leave behind the sad memories of Mrs. Churchill which must haunt every room at the Abbey.

Whether Mr. Churchill's largess lasted ten weeks or ten years, Frank would benefit for accepting it now. If his uncle did throw him out in some future fit of pique, Frank would be better positioned to find a new place in London after having lived there. If they did completely mend the breach between them, which Endicott believed was more likely, Frank would be better positioned to marry Jane if he had a home like Churchill House into which he could welcome her.

Two hours later and they were still not in accord. Frank could not accept the offer and Mr. Endicott could not accept the refusal. They parted with plans on Endicott's side to resume the debate on the following day.

The next morning, Mr. Churchill's valet spoke to Frank before breakfast, carrying a request that Frank speak with his uncle.

Frank complied, trailing behind Barton to his uncle's closet, although he was surprised when the valet left them that Mr. Churchill did not foist this conversation onto someone else.

The purpose of the interview was obvious, even through Mr. Churchill's distraction -- he wanted to know why Frank had not yet agreed to Endicott’s offer.

Frank had spent the evening pacing in his room and the night tossing in his dreams while he had mulled over his options. His ambition was to be happy, happy with Jane and happy with his father and happy with his uncle. If he could truly achieve that, then the details of where he lived or how he spent his hours were immaterial. And yet he was committed to going to London, at least for a while.

For his part, Frank felt ready to offer some olive branch to his uncle, yet he feared that Mr. Churchill would clutch it like a lifeline now only to discard it as unworthy later. If only he could have some certainty! But his aunt’s death had taught him a sad lesson. He had withheld knowledge of Jane from his family, expecting his aunt to reject her, and Mrs. Churchill had died before Frank could amend that decision; he could not bear to repeat that mistake with his uncle.

So he relented slightly. He accepted the offer to stay at Churchill House in London. In exchange for that generosity from his uncle, Frank promised to return to Surrey every four to six weeks to attend to the business that would not lend itself to correspondence and be otherwise neglected in his absence. The length and frequency of these visits could not be decided upon until he was working at Mr. Weston’s warehouse in town. He added a sincere hope that his uncle would grow to love Jane, and that Frank would never be truly easy until that day.

“Perhaps,” Frank felt childish voicing the idea, “you may join me from time to time in London. And when you are there, perhaps you will meet with Jane and the Campbells. She is perfect in every way, as I am sure you will see. Her natural goodness will wear away any objection you may have imagined.”

That offer had every desired effect. Frank and his uncle made up their differences privately (publicly, no one had really noticed much). Mr. Churchill traveled often to Town after Frank had moved there. The Abbey was too big for an old widower living alone. These trips allowed him to get to know Jane in such a way that she had quite won him over by the time he and Mr. Weston witnessed the blessing of their union in the Campbell’s parish church in Town. Mr. and Mrs. Dixon had travelled from Ireland for the ceremony, and they were both able to stand up with their friends who viewed the Dixons as instrumental in bringing them together.

Mr. Churchill continued to arrive often and unannounced in Town after the couple was wed. He gradually moved more of his most cherished material possessions to the house on Marlon Street, returning to Donwell only with Mr. and Mrs. Frank, then staying in London while they had a short holiday by themselves at the Abbey, then eventually telling them to take up residence permanently at Donwell with their children while he remained comfortably by himself in Town. By then the loss of his wife was only a dull ache and there were a few sympathetic widows in the neighborhood who were always impressed with his gentlemanly ways.

The Frank Churchills, for their part, were as content in the country as they had been in Town. Jane was as pleased to be near the Bateses as she was to be near the Campbells, so long as she was with her husband and children. The extra space gave them more liberty to host the Dixons during their biennial trips. And by the time they retired fully to the country, she had lost enough of her youthful shyness to preside as mistress of Donwell admirably. The tenants were by then disposed to love her for any number of reasons and did their utmost to make her feel welcome.

The Churchills of Donwell had never neglected their neighbors at Hartfield, but it was especially satisfying when the young family retired from Town to reside in Surrey year-round. Then the Frank Churchills and John Knightleys could be found constantly visiting each other, for a tea or a supper or some ramble. Frank saw Emma during her annual visits to Hartfield, and her letters to Isabella kept him informed of her adventures with her husband and children, her good friend Mrs. Martin, and others he would never meet.

And it should be mentioned that a young miss from Hartfield did eventually marry the heir to Donwell. The young man's great- great -aunt would have approved.