Mr. Knightley’s Diary

I wandered round the rooms, too happy for sleep. Here I would bring Emma. Here we would live together. Here she would be my wife.

At last I went upstairs, and retired to my room. It seemed familiar and yet different. The last time I slept here, I had no notions of such a happy conclusion to all my worries! I thought Emma was about to marry elsewhere. And now she is to marry me!

As I thought of everything that had happened, I knew myself to be the happiest of men.

Wednesday 7 July

I returned to Hartfield first thing this morning and Emma and I took a walk in the grounds.

"I hope it is not too damp underfoot," said Mr. Woodhouse anxiously, as we set out.

"Not at all," I said. "It is particularly dry."

"Do not forget your shawl," he said to Emma.

She took it, though the morning was fine and she did not need it. At last we were alone.

"I never thought, when I set out for my walk yesterday, that so much would happen," she said.

"Nor I. I thought you were hopelessly in love with Frank Churchill."

"When I had just discovered I was hopelessly in love with you."

"What brought it on? What made you realize it? Was it when you heard me speak?"

"I..." She hesitated, then said: "I scarcely know."

There was something, I felt sure, some incident that had told her her heart. But I was too happy to press her, and my feelings overflowed.

"I was luckier," I said. "I had had time to come to understand my feelings, even if I did not dare hope they would be returned."

We went indoors, and I took my leave. I returned to the Abbey to attend to my business. But I could not stay away long, and when I visited Hartfield again this afternoon, I found that Emma had had a letter, written to Mrs. Weston but passed on for her perusal, from Frank Churchill.

She wanted me to read it, but as it was long I said I would take it with me when I left. This would not do for Emma. She expected Mrs. Weston this evening, and wanted my opinion before then.

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.