Emma’s Dinner Party

As I pondered what to write about for our theme this month, I came across this from Jane Austen’s book Emma. It is Mr. Knightly speaking to Emma and her father about being introduced to Mr. Elton:

“With a great deal of pleasure, sir, at any time,” said Mr. Knightley, laughing, “and I agree with you entirely, that it will be a much better thing. Invite him to dinner, Emma, and help him to the best of the fish and the chicken, but leave him to chuse his own wife. Depend upon it, a man of six or seven-and-twenty can take care of himself.”

So here is a little story based on that snippet, and knowing Emma’s propensity for matchmaking, how a dinner party may have turned out. I have never written anything from Emma before, but I hope you will enjoy it.

Emma prided herself on her dinner parties – as well as her matchmaking – and put a good amount of consideration into whom her guests for this week’s dinner party would be. She finally decided on Mrs. Goddard, Miss Harriet Smith, and Mr. Elton, of course. She chuckled. Miss Smith and Mr. Elton were the two main reasons she was hosting this particular dinner party. She decided she would also invite Mr. and Mrs. Weston and Mr. Knightley.

She cringed. She hoped Mr. Knightley would not suspect her true motives for this evening’s get-together, for he did not approve of her matchmaking schemes.

If he questioned her, she would reassure him that she hosted these parties to give her father the ability to have social intercourse within his home and to show gracious hospitality to those in the neighbourhood less fortunate than the Woodhouses. She also liked to extend invitations to different people each week.

As she awaited the day, she looked forward with great eagerness to see for herself how well Mr. Elton and Miss Smith would suit each other. She would likely know by the end of the evening just how promising another successful match might be.

The three ladies had come often to Hartfield to visit, but this would be something nicer. With the additional men, there should be ample conversation, and an opportunity for her to see how well Miss Smith handles herself in their midst, particularly Mr. Elton’s.

A few days before the dinner party on this mild October day, she talked with Turner about the menu. The only two things she requested was roasted chicken with egg sauce, and since apples were in season, she asked for apple dumplings, but the other courses she would leave up to Turner.

On the day of the dinner party, Emma observed as the servants set the table with the best china and linens. Her father slowly came to her side.

“There is nothing nicer than a beautifully laid table.”

She turned and smiled, slipping her hand through his arm. “It is lovely, is it not?”

He made a grimace. “But why must we ruin it with all the food?”

Emma chuckled, silently telling herself that she should have expected this. “Father, when you are invited to a dinner party, you expect to be served a dinner. And when you are invited to a dinner party at Hartfield, you expect to be served only the finest dinner.”

He waved his hand. “Nonsense!”

“Father, not everyone shares your dislike for rich foods. You may eat your gruel, but we shall dine on roast chicken, ragout veal, potatoes, biscuits, vegetables, and apple dumplings.”

Mr. Woodhouse placed his hands on his stomach and moaned. “Oh, just the thought of all those rich foods makes my whole body ache.”

Emma patted him on his shoulder. “We go through this every meal, and I hope that for once you will allow our guests to eat without you alarming them with all that may happen to them if they eat everything we are serving them.”

He grunted. “Well, at least I can take comfort in the fact that when they are old and decrepit like me, they shall wish they had heeded my well-intended advice.”

With a chuckle, Emma said, “I am certain that if we have ailments when we are advanced in years, we shall remember all your cautionary advice on what we should have or should not have eaten in our youth.”

Just before the guests were expected to arrive, Emma checked with Turner on the meal to ensure all was satisfactory. She had no cause to worry, for Turner had always produced a splendid meal. Everything was ready and waiting to be served. Turner excelled in making a variety of sauces that complimented the different courses, and she knew tonight’s dinner would be well received.

She walked into the sitting room where they would gather for games after eating, and made sure everything was ready for them. She glanced about, straightening a chair, and plumping a pillow. She then returned to the parlour to join her father.

“Has anyone arrived yet?” he asked.

“Not yet,” she said as she smoothed out her dress with her hand. “It is still a little early, but they should begin arriving soon. James left about fifteen minutes ago to pick up Mrs. Goddard and Miss Smith, and the gentlemen and the Westons are coming in their own carriages.”

“We need to make sure they all leave early enough to get home before it is full dark. There is only a slight moon tonight, and if there are any clouds, it could prove disastrous.”

Emma smiled. “Yes, Father.”

The butler walked in and announced Mr. Knightley, who followed him in.

“Good evening,” he said cheerfully.

“I should have known you would arrive early,” Emma said. “I do not think I have ever known you to be late.”

He gave a shrug. “I do tend to be punctual.

“I heard no carriage,” Mr. Woodhouse said.

“That is because I walked.”

“Heavens!” Mr. Woodhouse exclaimed, slapping his hands down onto his legs. “You will catch your death of cold, I guarantee it!”

“I assure you that it is quite pleasant outside.”

“Oh, but later it will not…”

Knightly put up his hand. “Rest assured; it will be warm enough to suit me.”

“Oh, you young people never listen.”

Emma placed her hand on his arm. “Father, Mr. Knightley is hardly young.”

Knightley let out a groan and quickly changed the subject. “Who else is joining us tonight?”

Emma tilted her head and did her best to appear casual. “Mrs. Goddard, Miss Smith, the Westons, and…” She paused. “Oh, yes, and Mr. Elton.”

Knightly lifted a brow. “Indeed?” He gave sent her a pointed look, which Emma conveniently ignored. “I hope you are not…”

He was interrupted by the butler stepping in and announcing Mrs. Goddard and Miss Harriet Smith.

“Ah! It is so good to see you!” Emma rose and walked over to greet them. She clasped each of their hands with one of hers. “I am so glad you could make it.”

“Thank you,” they both replied.

She turned and introduced the two ladies to Mr. Knightley.

They exchanged civilities, and there were more greetings as the Westons and Mr. Elton arrived. A lively conversation ensued as they waited for dinner to be announced.

Unfortunately, as they visited in the parlour, Mr. Elton was seated near her and not Miss Smith, so Emma could not direct the conversation between them, but it would be easier at the dinner table. She hoped.

When dinner was served and they took their seats at the table, Emma was pleased that Mr. Elton took the chair between herself and Miss Smith. She would be able to readily observe how well they interacted and confirm her suspicion that the two would be well-suited.

There was light conversation as the first course was served. Small talk on what was happening in the village of Highbury was always a highlight, especially for Mr. Woodhouse, who rarely went into the village on his own.

At length, Emma looked at Mr. and Mrs. Weston. “I know I have said this many times already, but your wedding was beautiful!”

They thanked her, and everyone else expressed their agreement – except Mr. Woodhouse, who merely grunted and lowered his head.

“A dreadful affair, these weddings. They bring about such unnecessary change.” He looked up at Mrs. Weston. “Miss Taylor had it so well here.”

Emma chucked. “Father, we have discussed this before. She is very happy as Mrs. Weston.”

Knightley agreed and made an attempt to placate the older gentleman, who then went on and began complaining about the wedding cake.

While they were engaged in reassuring him that the cake harmed no one, Emma took the opportunity to address Mr. Elton. “I cannot say enough how well you performed the ceremony.” She tilted her head.

“I thank you, Miss Woodhouse.” Mr. Elton said with a smile.

Emma returned his smile. “I think, if I may be so bold, that I perceived a genuine appreciation and respect for the wedding vows and a couple pledging their lives together.”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, I most certainly do, both as a clergyman who performs the sacred ceremony, but as a young man who also has aspirations to cleave myself to another someday.”

Emma noticed that Knightley had turned his eyes to her, despite still being in conversation with the Westons and Mr. Woodhouse. She perceived a slight narrowing of his eyes, making her wonder if he knew what she was about.

She turned back to Mr. Elton and then to Miss Smith. “Miss Smith, what are your views on the subject?”

Miss Smith’s eyes opened wide and a pale blush tinted her cheeks. “On marriage? You want my opinion on marriage?”

“Certainly. Have you given much thought to it?”

She looked nervously at Mr. Elton, who was watching her. “I… why, yes, I have given much thought to it.” She continued, despite a quaver in her voice. “I would very much… one day… like to be married.”

Emma clasped her hands. “Ah, I thought you would.” She looked intently at Mr. Elton. “I have only just met Miss Smith, but I can see already that she is a wise and kind woman.” She looked back at Miss Smith. “Knowing Mrs. Goddard, I am certain you have learned many of the finer accomplishments from her.”

Miss Smith picked up her napkin and dabbed her mouth. “Oh, yes, I have, and recently I have been learning to cook.” A sheepish look crossed her features. “If you felt your cook would approve, I would love her receipt for this chicken.” She looked at Mr. Elton. “It is delicious. Do you not think so?”

He gave a quick nod of his head. “Indeed.”

“Oh, Miss Smith, I know Turner would be pleased to give it to you. It is one of my favourites and would be a great addition to a little book of your own compiled receipts. I shall speak to her later this evening and have her write it out for you. I think it is very wise for you to learn the skills of managing a home, and preparing an excellent meal is so important.” Emma looked at Mr. Elton. “Do you not think so?”

Mr. Elton lifted a fork filled with that very chicken dish. “Pardon me?”

“Miss Smith is making a collection of receipts of her favourite meals. Do you not think that is beneficial and wise?”

“Certainly. If she can make it even half as good as this, any gentleman would find it delicious.”

Miss Smith blushed again. “I hope I would be able to make it just like this, for I know that Mr…” She paused. “Yes, I would want to make it as good as this. The sauce… it is superb.”

Mr. Elton turned back to Emma. “I must say that you bring an elegance and expertise to managing Hartfield and planning parties that I have rarely seen in someone as young as you are. Your father must be so proud of you.”

When he gave a nod to her father, Emma looked that way, as well, only to be met again by Mr. Knightley’s quizzical glance. She quickly turned back to Mr. Elton.

“Thank you, Mr. Elton, and I have made it my mission to pass on as much as I can to Miss Smith, and I can honestly say that she is a quick and avid learner.” She glanced at her young friend and smiled, meeting her Miss Smith’s gaze. “I am honoured to call her a friend.”

She was then drawn into conversation with the others at the table, but Emma felt she had planted a seed in Mr. Elton’s mind on the suitability of Miss Harriet Smith.

There was a short time of games afterwards, and while Mr. Elton was much more competitive than the meek Miss Smith, Emma still assured herself they would do well with each other. Shortly after her father excused himself to retire, the others took their leave, as well.

Mr. Knightly lingered, however, and once everyone had gone, he turned to Emma. “What was that?”

She glanced up at him with an innocent gaze. “What was what?”

He leaned in, and his eyes darkened. “Please do not tell me you are going to try to make a match between Mr. Elton and Miss Smith.” He shook his head. “This will not do, Emma.”

She laughed and turned her head. “I think they are quite suitable.”

His eyes widened. “Emma, you know who Miss Smith is. Or perhaps I should say, we really do not know who she is, but it is common knowledge that her birth is suspect. There is absolutely no way that Mr. Elton would align himself with a young girl like her.”

Emma defiantly propped her hands on her waist. “I will have you know that in his sermon this past week Mr. Elton talked about loving all people no matter their background or condition in life.”

Knightley let out a huff. “We are certainly to extend charity to all people, but he was not talking about loving someone to the point of marrying them.” He rubbed his chin as he shook his head. “He is a clergyman, for heaven’s sake.” He leaned in towards her. “This is going to end up very bad, Emma. You are not using wise judgment, and I would advise you to stop with this nonsense once and for all.”

Emma’s hands clenched and she lifted her head to within inches of his. “I believe I may know a little more about love, matrimony, and suitability than an old bachelor of eight and thirty!”

He drew back. “Do you?” He paused and then added softly, “I am only advising you to take care.”

They stood silent for a moment, just staring into each other’s eyes.

Emma shuddered and turned away. “I most certainly will, Mr. Knightly. I always do.” She turned back and drew herself erect. “Let me reassure you, however, that you have no reason to fear that I will ever try to make a match between you and some other lady. You are… you are safe from my machinations!”

Knightley’s countenance suddenly changed, and Emma could not readily define it.

“Good night, Emma.”

He turned and walked away. She had seen the disapproving looks before, the disappointment that she again was not heeding his advice, but there was something else. She walked to a chair, sat down, and clasped her hands, pounding them down on her lap. A tear slowly trailed down her cheek. “Mr. Knightley, whatever am I going to do with you?”