Work Text:
The rest of the family had long since retired to the warmth of their beds; John sat vigil with his brother. Not a word had passed between them since they took their chairs before the fire. He stole a glance. George’s usually amiable countenance was gone, in its place an impassable mask, eyes blank and fixed upon the fire’s flames. He seemed lost.
John knew better than to ask. His brother was not one to share his troubles. Still he worried.
“You needn’t stay up with me, John. Go to bed.” The words were spoken at the fire. It crackled in response.
“You can no longer tell me what to do.” Said with a wry smile and a twinkle in his eye, the statement elicited a softening of his brother’s face.
After a moment of reflection, George spoke. “I am considering a trip up north to the highlands.”
“To what purpose?”
“Hunting, perhaps ... some time away to clear the head and heart.” He blinked nervously and looked away, fearing he’d said too much.
No longer able to hold back, John asked, “What is going on, George? Something is troubling you, has been since you crossed our threshold. And it seems to be getting worse.”
George shrugged and shook his head. Floundering for a way to explain and not wanting to explain at all, he wiped at his face and sighed. “Emma,” he let her whispered name slip from his lips and felt his face flush.
The tenderness with which he pronounced her name was enough to tell John almost all he needed to know.
“I have always ...” a pained look crossed George’s face and he took a breath before he continued. “I have always had a special place in my heart for Emma. She is light itself and always has been.” He paused again. His brother said nothing and waited.
“That spot, Emma’s place in my heart, has grown so ...” he shook his head. “I need to step away, to put sufficient distance between us, lest I do something foolish.”
“Have you spoken to her, told her of your feelings?”
“No. And with today’s news, I most probably never will. She and Frank Churchill...” he practically spat the name out and then once more grew silent.
“And you would stand in silence while that spoiled prat takes Emma’s heart? And more than likely breaks it?” John grew angry for his brother. “George, tell her how you feel. You may be happily surprised at her response.”
“I can not. I can barely speak to you about it...” He abruptly stood. “Good night, John,” and with a small bow of his head, left the room.