An Educated Woman

Posted on Wednesday, 2 April 2008

For Margaret D, who demanded that George get into the story.

Five years or so after "Nonsensical Girl"

"Princess Delaware!"

There was no doubt about it; the cat was hiding.

And on today, of all days! "Princess Delaware! Come out!"

"Mrow."

"Emma?"

Emma turned from the bed to look up at the door, face flushed.

"You look like you could use some help."

Strangely, though she usually saw George Knightley dressed impeccably in Armani, the ratty T-shirt and jeans also looked quite natural on him. And adorable. And when he leaned so comfortably against the doorframe, smiling so fondly at her...

Though she'd always kidded to her brother-in-law John that she'd snatch up his brother George, Emma hadn't anticipated that her "cute" crush could evolve into the mad, embarrassing, love infatuation that currently plagued her. It'd made maintaining her blasé carefree attitude that much harder these past couple of years, after he'd moved back home to Chicago. Especially in the last few months, when some times, he'd just-

But he was such a good friend. A very good friend/in-law with whom she did not want any awkwardness.

"Princess Delaware is hiding under the bed," she sighed in exasperation, leaning herself back against the frame of the mattress.

"I'm a nuisance!!!!!" giggled the girl with the sloppy ponytail who sprinted past the door.

"Becky, you stop bothering your aunt and uncle right now!!!!!" Isabella Knightley's voice reverberated throughout the quickly emptying house.

Emma shook her head and turned back to the bed frame. "Come on Princess Delaware..." she gave a half-hearted pat on the floor next to her. "You never liked this house anyway."

"Mrow."

George stepped into the room and bent down with a grin, and extended his hand under the bed. "Come, your highness...it won't be so bad..."

Emma turned to look at him.

"What?" George smiled pleasantly.

"Your highness?" Emma asked doubtfully.

"She likes being called that."

Emma poked her head under the bed to look at the twenty-pound "not fat, but big-boned" Siamese puffball that was currently making faces at her. "Your highness?"

"Mrow."

George leaned back against the bed. "I think she's just going to stay there forever."

"No she won't," Emma replied pragmatically. "She needs her litter box. Her water. Her food."

"Well, long enough that you can't get her on that plane to New York for that interview."

"Princess Delaware!! Come on!!! Oh I knew I should have doped her up and dropped her off at Dad's earlier, before the movers came. Let's move the bed."

"Let's not."

"George..."

"No, I think Princess Delaware is giving you an ultimatum."

"My cat is giving me an ultimatum."

"Yes."

"Oh, and seeing as you seem to be much more adept at communicating with felines, maybe you can perhaps tell me of her decree."

"She wants you to marry me."

"Marry you?" The squeak could not be suppressed.

"Mrow."

"See?"

Blushing hotly, she smiled at him indulgently, sure he was kidding. That was the problem with George; he was so congenial and annoying flirty, she could never tell when he was being serious. The cruel joker. "I-" she began faintly. She cleared her throat. "I don't think you know Princess Delaware as well as you claim to."

George scooted over to put a companionable arm around her shoulders. Even as she felt her spine becoming gooey, Emma forced herself to minimize outward shows of reaction.

"Oh," George mused, his voice dropping lower, he murmured into her ear. "I think I know her very well."

Every cell in her being oscillated with awareness even as her heart thudded into her stomach. Emma shrugged. "You hardly ever see her," she mused. "She's a very independent and solitary creature, you know."

"Oh, of that, I had no doubt. But let's just say that, over the years, we've formed a sort of...attachment. I think she's always adored me."

"You overestimate your abilities with felines," Emma laughed, as she moved away from his arm and bent back down to coax her cat again with a few playful taps on the hardwood floor. "Come on, Princess Delaware. This isn't cute anymore. Get out here right now."

"You certainly told her. I'm sure she knows who's in charge now. Here," he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a stack of envelopes.

Emma received them and flipped through them confusedly. Pristine white, with her name type-written across the front of each one. Each envelope was signed across the flap with a different name; she recognized her father's name, and Georgia Bates, a senior partner in George's law firm, as well as a good friend of the family. "What is this?"

"References, of course."

"For what?"

"It remains to be seen how you obtained one, let alone two, degrees yesterday." he asked. "Those are five letters of reference."

Heat rushed into her cheeks as long-forgotten words started crystallizing in her mind. She'd been so silly, then. Naive. How did he know? Oh God, what did he think of her? When she thought that he'd known of That Conversation...

"I recall overhearing a very important conversation a handful of years ago..."

And suddenly, things started emerging from the fog of embarrassment and confusion. A clear, thrilling truth was starting to coalesce. "We went to Radhika's two nights ago..." How was it that she didn't recall this before?

"...and back then, I was surprised."

"...you let me blast 'Dancing Queen' over and over when we drove up to see John and Isabella last June in their cabin up in Wisconsin..." Any sort of warning...

"But, well, it stuck in my mind..."

"...you fixed my dishwasher a month ago..." Or if she'd been less dense, perhaps?

"...and the more I thought about it, the more I liked it."

"...you got the Gerbers' mean Doberman to stay away from Becky just now..." Or less focused on not being in love with him?

"So I figured..."

"...and last night, you actually listened quite placidly as my Dad told you his fears of having scurvy." Confusion supersaturated her. Thrills electrified every nerve. She hadn't even finished interviewing for jobs yet. She had no idea where she was going. She'd was staying with her Father for the next two months while she sorted it out. What if it was New York?

"...this is it." George knocked on the floor three times slowly. "Your Highness?"

Emma confusedly watched Princess Delaware slowly creep out and purr her way into George's lap. "Her Highness" wore a new accessory. It was there, glittery against the shiny red satin bow. Emma stopped breathing altogether. George reached down to untie the red bow around her fluffy neck, and from it extracted a ring.

Wow. "Neat trick," she said huskily. Emma was sure she was going to faint from the shock. "Uh-I-I have that interview, in New York," she observed. The rug had been pulled from under her, and strangely, curiously, she was liking it. Because it appeared he was ready to catch her. "I-I like New York."

"But you love me," he said confidently. "Almost," he said, taking her hand in his, "as much as I love you."

"I-" Emma tried to give voice to the overwhelming happiness and sheer terror she felt. She always considered herself a fairly spontaneous person. It appeared she still had lessons to learn there.

"You have those other two interviews here in Chicago, too," he observed. George pulled her hands to his lips. "It was annoying that you decided on that double major, because that put things off for a year, but nevertheless, you got your BAs yesterday. Are you finally ready for the MRS?"

And looking into his warm, unwavering gaze, he could see that despite his light, teasing tone, he was perfectly serious. Earnest. And, indeed, in love with her.

And she grinned as she leaned forward. "Well, you've completed most of the requirements, but there was a critical addition to the qualifications list."

"Oh?"

"Indeed," Emma cleared her throat. "I have one more requirement for the future Mr. Emma Woodhouse."

"Yes?"

"He must be a fabulous kisser."

George was more than happy to establish his clear proficiency right then and there.

The End