Mr. Knightley’s Diary

I enquired after her health, and the health of her mother and Miss Fairfax.

"Well, I thank you," she said. "We are all well."

I thought, perhaps, Miss Fairfax looked a little better. She was not so pale as previously, although this could have been because she was sitting nearer the fire, and the heat was giving her cheeks a ruddy glow. She was helping her grandmother wind wool.

Mrs. Cole was talking about the dinner party she means to give. Ever since her husband provided her with a new dining-room, she has been longing to entertain.

"I have ordered a screen from London, in the hope that Mr. Woodhouse might be prevailed upon to join us. I know he does not go out as a rule, but we would be honoured if he would condescend to visit us, and I thought, perhaps, if he was properly sheltered from draughts, he and Miss Woodhouse might accept our invitation," said Mrs. Cole.

So Mrs. Cole is planning to invite Emma to her dinner party. It will be interesting to see how Miss

Woodhouse of Hartfield reacts!

Thursday 25 February

It was good to dine out again, at the Otways, as problems with the accounts, heavy weather and troubles with the sheep have kept me at the Abbey for some time, except when I have been dining at Hartfield.

There was the usual talk before dinner. Mr. Longridge had seen two houses near Highbury, but neither of them had been suitable. Three Chimneys had had a dark hall, and Whitestone had had a very small garden.

"Hardly big enough to put a seat in, let alone have friends round in the summer. I like a garden," Mr. Longridge said.

Weston seemed very happy. He said nothing, but he and Mrs. Weston have been married for some months, and I think we might soon have news that another Weston is on the way. Mrs. Weston was not there this evening, as she was indisposed, lending credence to my idea.

At the end of the evening, Weston and I walked home together until our paths diverged. He told me he was still hoping to see his son in Highbury, but until such time, he was finding comfort in talking of Frank to Miss Fairfax.

"It was fortunate her meeting him at Weymouth," he said to me. "She has been able to tell me how he looked, and what he said and did. She is more nervous than I remember her, though," he said with a frown. "Every time I asked her a question she blushed before she answered."

Perhaps it is just because her spirits are low, but I suspect another reason for her embarrassment. I think it possible that Frank Churchill did not please her. If he is what I think he is, he was probably condescending to her or her friend. She would not wish to say so to Mr. Weston, of course, which is why she was embarrassed.

I did not tell Weston what was going through my mind. He might as well think his son is perfect for as long as he can.

Friday 26 February

I have discovered Emma’s reaction to the Coles" plan to invite her to their dinner party. I do not know where she heard of it, though I suspect the news came from Mrs. Weston, via Weston and Cole, but she has already decided she will not go.

"Who are the Coles?" she asked in a superior voice, as we played chess, whilst her father ate a bowl of gruel.

"They are your neighbours," I said.

"But of such low origin, in trade!"

"You dine with Harriet every night without knowing anything about her antecedents. I would not be surprised if she had a dozen relatives in trade," I reminded her, for as Harriet was absent for once, I felt it possible to speak honestly.

"That is quite different," said Emma.

"How so?"

"Because, as you say, I know nothing about her antecedents. Her father might be a shopkeeper, though I doubt if a shopkeeper could produce such a charming daughter, but he might equally well be a prince," she said in all seriousness.

"Oh Emma!" I said, shaking my head. "Not even you can think something so ridiculous."

"I do not see why it is ridiculous."

"Because a prince would never leave his daughter at Mrs. Goddard’s!"

"Mrs. Goddard’s school is a very refined establishment," she said mischievously, but she was forced to laugh. "Well, perhaps not a prince," she acknowledged, moving her piece. "Nothing quite so grand."

"A duke, perhaps?"

"Pay attention to your game," she admonished me. "You are about to make a disastrous move."

"Disastrous for you," I said, making my move.

"Not a duke, perhaps, but a baron or baronet. I think it only too likely. Someone who has a position to maintain, and enough money to ensure Harriet’s happiness."

"I hope you are not filling her head with this nonsense," I remarked.

"I am encouraging her to think well of herself, if that is what you mean. I do not want to see her fade into oblivion for lack of someone to bolster her confidence. A girl with a sweet disposition and a pretty face should be entitled to think well of herself."

"Have a care, Emma. There is a fine line between confidence and self-deception. If you encourage her to think her father is a baron, and he turns out to be a shopkeeper, what then?"

She looked uncomfortable.