I read it; it was a trifling letter, as I expected. It was very bad, but it could have been worse. Once I knew Emma was out of danger from him, however, I cared little for his behaviour, except for a charitable wish that Miss Fairfax could have found a better man.
All was explained. When he had gone to London for a day, earlier in the year, it had not been for a haircut, it had been so that he could purchase a pianoforte for Miss Fairfax. His attentions to Emma had been an effort to disguise his feelings for Miss Fairfax. He admitted that he had behaved shamefully; that he had resented Mrs. Elton, and her officious desire to find Miss Fairfax a position as a governess. He explained that he had had an argument with Miss Fairfax on the day of the strawberry-picking, and that he had been grief-stricken when she had broken off the engagement because of his behaviour towards Emma. And he wrote of his decision to throw himself on the mercy of his uncle after the death of his aunt, and that his uncle had approved the union, and that he was now reconciled to Miss Fairfax.
"You do not appear so well satisfied with his letter as I am," she said, when I had finished it; and, indeed, my comments had not been, for the most part, favourable. "But still you must, at least I hope you must, think the better of him for it. I hope it does him some service with you."
"Yes, certainly it does. He has had great faults, faults of inconsideration and thoughtlessness; and I am very much of his opinion in thinking him likely to be happier than he deserves: but still as he is, beyond a doubt, really attached to Miss Fairfax, and will soon, it may be hoped, have the advantage of being constantly with her, I am very ready to believe his character will improve, and acquire from hers, the steadiness and delicacy of principle that it wants. And now, let me talk to you of something else," I said, having wasted enough time on Frank Churchill. "I have another person’s interest at present so much at heart, that I cannot think any longer about Frank Churchill. Ever since I left you this morning, Emma, my mind has been hard at work on one subject: how I am to marry you, without attacking the happiness of your father."
"I have thought of little else," Emma confessed. "I can never leave him; on that I am resolved."
"He could come and live with us at the Abbey," I suggested.
"I have considered this, too," said Emma, "but he will never consent to leaving Hartfield. And even if he did, his constitution is not strong. The shock would very probably make him ill, or worse."
"Now that I have won you, I cannot give you up," I said. "I have another suggestion to make, which is that I should come to live at Hartfield."
"What! Give up the Abbey?" she asked.
"No. I would not give it up. I would go there every day to attend to business, but I would not live there."
I saw her smile. "You would do this for me?" she asked.
"I venture to say I would do anything within my power for you," I replied.
"And you would not mind living with my father? His foibles are sometimes a trial to you."
"They are nothing, compared to the happiness I would receive from being with you," I replied.
"You must have time to think of it more fully," she said, but I could tell she spoke only in deference to my feelings, and not to hers: the idea appealed to her as it much as it appealed to me.
"I have thought of it as much as I need to. I have spent the morning walking away from William Larkins, in order to have my thoughts to myself."
"Ah! There is some difficulty unprovided for," said Emma. "William Larkins will not like it. You must get his consent before you ask mine."
I laughed. "I am sure William Larkins will be overjoyed. He will have his old master back, instead of a man who is distracted."
"Then I will think about it," she promised me, and I am confident she will agree.
Thursday 8 July
When I returned to Hartfield this morning, I found that Emma wanted me to move to Hartfield as much as I want it myself. It is the best solution to our present difficulties. Emma and I can be together, and Mr. Woodhouse will not be alone.
Whilst I was there, Mrs. Goddard called, and as we all took tea together, she broached the subject of Harriet.
"Such a toothache, poor girl!" said Mrs. Goddard.
Mr. Woodhouse was all solicitousness.
"She must see Perry at once."
"Would it not be better for her to see a dentist, Papa?" asked Emma.
"You are quite right, my dear, as you always are, but there is no one I would trust near by," he said anxiously.
"We must send her to London, to see Isabella’s dentist. I am sure Isabella will be glad to have her for a few days. Harriet was so good with the children when they were with us," said Emma.
"Indeed she was," he said, much struck.
I caught Emma’s eye, and she coloured slightly: she was feeling guilty for encouraging her friend to think of Elton, and wished to give her some fun to make amends, I could tell, for once the trip to the dentist was over there would be trips to the London amusements. The delights of the shops and the entertainments would be there for Harriet to enjoy.
It was arranged that Emma would write to Isabella, and that Mrs. Goddard would arrange the affair with Harriet. Mrs. Goddard went away full of the news, and if her own excitement was anything to judge by, I thought Harriet would be very well pleased.
After tea, Emma and I took a walk around the gardens.
"I will go to your father this evening and ask him for your hand," I said.
"No! I must be the one to tell him," she said. "It will be easier for him if it comes from me."
"Very well, if you are sure."
"I am."
"Perhaps you are right. If you speak to him whilst I am still here, then I can add my reassurances to yours when the news has been broken."
"No," she said, "I cannot tell him just yet. He is very nervous about Mrs. Weston. It is only a fortnight now until her time, and I will not add any more anxieties to his present store. He does not need to know about our engagement yet. It will only cause him needless worry."
I was impatient to reveal my happiness to the world, but at last I agreed.
Thursday 22 July
Mrs. Weston has had a daughter! I could not be happier for her! She and her little girl are doing well, and Weston is beside himself with joy.
"She is the most beautiful baby in the world," said Emma, when she had seen the infant. "She looks just like Mrs. Weston."
I remarked that, with such parents, the baby would be indulged, and Emma cried mischievously:
"At that rate, what will become of her?"
"Nothing very bad," I said with a smile. "She will be disagreeable in infancy, and correct herself as she grows older. I am losing all my bitterness against spoilt children, my dearest Emma. I, who am owing all my happiness to you, would it not be horrible ingratitude in me to be severe on them?"
She laughed, and said that she had had me to correct her. But I could not let this pass.
"My interference was quite as likely to do harm as good. How often, when you were a girl, have you said to me, with one of your saucy looks - “Mr. Knightley, I am going to do so and so; Papa says I may” - something of which, you knew, I did not approve."
"What an amiable creature I was! No wonder you should hold my speeches in such affectionate remembrance."
" “Mr. Knightley”. You always called me “Mr. Knightley”, and, from habit, it has not so very formal a sound. And yet it is formal. I want you to call me something else, but I do not know what."
"I remember once calling you “George”, in one of my amiable fits, about ten years ago. I did it because I thought it would offend you; but, as you made no objection, I never did it again."
"And cannot you call me “George” now?"