"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?"

"Impossible! I never can call you any thing but “Mr. Knightley”. I will not promise even to equal the elegant terseness of Mrs. Elton, by calling you Mr. K. But I will promise," she added presently, laughing and blushing, "I will promise to call you once by your Christian name. I do not say when, but perhaps you may guess where - in the building in which N. takes M. for better, for worse."

I am looking forward to that day. I can think of no greater happiness than having Emma as my wife.


Friday 23 July

Isabella has invited Harriet to stay on for another two weeks, so that she and John can bring her back to Highbury in their carriage when they visit us in August. I am glad. It means I will have Emma to myself, without her friend always being by.


Monday 26 July

I wrote to John of our engagement today. It will be a loss to his boys, there is no doubt about it. Little Henry will soon be replaced in his position of heir to Donwell Abbey, God willing. But John has always urged me to marry, and I do not think he will be displeased.


Tuesday 27 July

I have had a letter from John, congratulating me on my engagement. I showed it to Emma. It was brief, and wished me well.

Emma and I spoke again about when to tell her father the news. "I have resolved to do it this afternoon," she said.

"Do you want me with you?"

"No, I will do it better alone. Then, upon your arrival, you can add your assurances that it will be for the good of all."

"Very well. What time do you want me to call?"

"At four o"clock. I will have tea with Papa first, then tell him the news, and then I rely on you to add your cheer."

And so we agreed.

I arrived punctually at four o"clock, and found Mr. Woodhouse in a state of misery.

"Ah, Mr. Knightley, this is a sorry affair," he said, on greeting me.

Not many men can have been met with these words when they announced their engagement!

"What! A sorry affair! To have Mr. Knightley always with us!" said Emma rousingly. "Someone to write your letters, and attend to business, and give us diversion when we are low in spirits!"

"That is very true," he admitted.

"I count myself a lucky man to have won the hand of such a sweet, beautiful woman, for you know there is no one better than Emma in all the world," I said.

"Yes, that is so," he remarked, much struck. "No man ever had a better daughter, unless it was Isabella, who was so happy, here at Hartfield before she married. Poor Isabella!" he said, shaking his head. "Marriage is a dreadful thing."

"But not this one, Papa. This one will not be taking me anywhere," said Emma. "I will still live at Hartfield. And I will have Mr. Knightley here as well, as you will, Papa. It is quite a different matter from Isabella’s marriage."