#mrs weston

[lady-arryn]

EMMA (2020) costume appreciation: 22/∞ (costume design by Alexandra Byrne)

[elmorinn]

Janeuary Day 10 - Wedding breakfast ⛅️

@janeuary-month

Miss Taylor's wedding that precedes the events of Emma and that the named Emma didn't enjoy very much D:

and in the background can be seen Mr Weston that's about to marry one of the sweetest women ever <3

[aria-baerose]

[didanagy]

EMMA (2009)

dir. jim o'hanlon

[wardrobeoftime]

Please do miss bates and mrs Weston’s wardrobes in Emma 2020

I'll see what I can do.

[firawren]

This is so sweet and sexy!

AO3 link

for dearest you will always be

If anyone observed that following his nuptials to Miss Woodhouse, Mr. Knightley, while in company, referred to his wife exclusively as Mrs. Knightley, it seemed no one was inclined to remark upon it, ascribing it to the gentleman’s well-known propriety and elegant manners, regarding it as yet another sign of the exemplary quality of the aristocracy in the neighborhood of Highbury, despite the frequent complaints of Mrs. Elton to the contrary.

No one, perhaps, except Mrs. Weston and only when she sat in her sunny morning room with her former charge, a plentiful array of cakes and biscuits accompanying the tea that had been brought in as Mrs. Knightley’s call was expected to far exceed the traditional quarter of an hour which those who were visited by Mrs. Elton often found themselves thanking the good Lord and good Ton for establishing.

“I admit I have noticed, dear Emma, that Mr. Knightley does not use your Christian name when you are among others, even those of us who are old and, I would venture to say, dear friends and have known you both under less formal appellation and situation,” Mrs. Weston said. Mr. Weston would have said when Emma was in leading strings and George was in short dresses, but Mrs. Weston was more delicate about these things.

Emma laughed and took a sip of her tea. It was prettily done, a reflection of Mrs. Weston’s tutelage.

“I’ve never heard Mr. Weston call my husband George, not once.”

“He would be more likely to say only Knightley, I agree,” Mrs. Weston said, which was a half-truth, as her husband referred to their neighbor as George when he felt the man was acting the sage before he’d acquired the years required for wisdom. “But Mr. Knightley himself had been wont to call you Emma, perhaps not at table, but in conversation that might be overheard. Especially if your sister and his brother were of the party. It does not trouble you, that he should be so formal?”

Emma thought back to the evening she had asked much the same question of her husband, when they had retired for the night and he was giving her hair the hundred strokes her lady’s maid ought, save that he’d begged the task the first morning she’d woken as Mrs. George Knightley and it had been her very great pleasure to accede. It had taken her a fortnight to be sure he was not calling her Emma outside of her bedchamber and she had been apprehensive when she inquired, so much so that he’d stroked her furrowed brow before he’d answered.

“I cannot call you Emma, my dear Emma, dearest Emma, when we are with others, for it recalls to me too intensely calling you so when you are in dishabille, in my arms. In my bed, naked,” he’d said softly, then leaned over to graze her temple with his, kissing her throat, his hand at her shoulder coaxing her to rise from her seat, to be turned and held in his embrace. 

“Emma, my dear Emma, you beguile me, bewitch me, beloved,” he muttered, his palm cupping the back of her head, the other possessive at her hip. “The scent of you, the taste of your lips, your skin, your desire—you make me dizzy, make me a fool—”

“Oh,” she’d gasped, only that, and then he’d lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed, his body pressed hard against hers with an escalating carnal urgency it had taken a sacrament to make virtue and not the most delicious, salacious vice.

“Dearest, how could I let anyone hear me call you that when it means this,” he said, striving closer, a hand raising the hem of her night-rail, with a terrible, wonderful confidence pursuing those intimacies which left her overwhelmed and panting, her appetite tempted as it was sated. “Dearest Emma, when I call you that, I mean you are mine, body and soul, I mean I have run out of any other words, dearest, yes, like that, just like that—”

They had barely slept that night, by daybreak their voices hoarse, and when he’d called her dearest as the housemaid brought in her chocolate, Emma had blushed and shivered, making George chuckle and give her a most knowing look that had her diving beneath the coverlet, waiting for him to seek her out.

“I’m very content with Mr. Knightley,” Emma said to her former governess. “He is everything circumspect and proper and it is an honor to have the company reminded I am his wife, held in his highest esteem and respect.”

“I am quite convinced,” Mrs. Weston said, her brown eyes merry. “He shall not be distressed though if I call you my dear Emma, from time to time, as our long acquaintance supersedes the duration of your marriage and of course, having had the duty of educating you, I sometimes revert back to my old ways.”

“He shall not be distressed by that at all, Mrs. Weston,” Emma replied. “Though I think he derives nearly as great delight as I do in hearing me called Mrs. Knightley, unless John is doing it to tease Isabella and me to distraction!”

Written for Janeuary 2025 @janeuary-month Day 20, prompt: dearest

[haveyouseenthismovie-poll]

[chasingrabbits-art]

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Discord

Hurray, it’s finally done and it's super fucking ugly! /lh

I have no idea why it came out this bad but I swear that next updates won't be this ugly ever again LOL

I'll probably get around to redrawing it later, I can help but feel guilty about subjecting you guys to this mess 💀

[hotjaneaustenmenpoll]

Propaganda...

Sir Thomas Bertram (2007): NIce big house, curly hair

Mr Weston (2020) : Mr Weston is a family man, he’s a committed husband. He’ll set you up with his son, he’ll personally apologise when his son blows you off. He uses humour to diffuse awkward situations. He’ll throw a ball in your honour. He loves dancing. Truly just the loveliest dilf in all of Jane Austen.

He's gorgeous in an unintimidating way, without being snobbish or vain. He's super friendly and likeable and welcoming to everyone.

[lady-arryn]

EMMA (2020) costume appreciation: 30/∞ (costume design by Alexandra Byrne)

[bethanydelleman]

I find it funny when Mr. Weston is assuring Emma that his secret (Jane & Frank being engaged) doesn't have anything to do with Knightleys:

“Upon my honour,” said he very seriously, “it does not. It is not in the smallest degree connected with any human being of the name of Knightley.”

Except it will have a massive effect on Mr. Knightley, who will come back riding in the rain all gallantly to make sure Emma is okay. The engagement of Jane and Frank is the catalyst for these two people finally declaring their feelings. It results in a person becoming a Knightley!

Love the irony.

(Also, as someone with a similar personality to Mr. Weston, kudos to him for holding in a secret for an entire half hour. I know it was hard, buddy.)

[mollywog]

Quick!

Who are the Weston’s in an THGxEmma AU? Given that Frank/Jane are Finnick/Annie and Haymitch is Mr. Woodhouse

[bennetsbonnet]

RIP Emma Woodhouse you would've loved RPF

[browsethestacks]

Superman

Art by Chris Weston

[jetslay]

Superman's world by Chris Weston.

[jomiddlemarch]

Badly done, Emma

“Do you think, my dear, that little Emma lacked aptitude or determination?” Mr. Weston said. They had been wed for well over two years and Anne still found it hard to think of him as John outside their bedchamber. Married life was an endlessly fascinating mixture of the incongruous and the familiar, any awkwardness in address balanced by the tremendous ease she had in his embrace, the peace of his heartbeat lulling her to sleep as she of the narrow, spinster’s bed found her rest nestled in his arms.

“She is Mrs. Knightley,” she corrected, her satisfaction in Emma’s marriage still coloring her tone, curving her lips into a smile. Emma had found such happiness in the match Anne could hardly recall the days when she herself had hoped her charge would become Mrs. Churchill.

“I know I ought to call her that but I can’t forget what a sprite she was with those bright curls and dainty bows, that little voice piping up, cossetting her Papa, the most managing miss Highbury has ever seen,” Mr. Weston said.

“I believe she’d forgive you, though George mayn’t,” Anne said, lifting her brush and gazing at the canvas before her. It was not quite right, not yet, but she’d gotten closer.

“It’s a curious pleasure, to find a way to make cool, steady George fierce,” Mr. Weston said.

“It is for you, as you delight in teasing him,” Anne replied.

“He’s got to refine his sense of humor. Or enlarge it,” Mr. Weston said.

“You’ll have to enlighten me, Mr. Weston, for I cannot fathom your meaning,” Anne said, daubing a bit more paint, nodding at the effect, and then glancing up at her husband, who stood just behind her, with a clear view of her work and its subject.

“I mean to cast no aspersions, for I always thought you were the finest, most accomplished governess in Surrey, but Mrs. Knightley’s portraits leave something to be desired, in a manner of speaking,” Mr. Weston said.

“In a manner of speaking? It isn’t like you to be so indirect,” Anne replied.

“I believe Mr. Knightley’s Praxidike could render a more accurate likeness than his wife’s work in watercolors,” Mr. Weston said. “A likeness less likely to make the viewer seasick, though I admit that is primarily caused by her landscapes.”

“Praxidike is a horse,” Anne said.

“Exactly,” Mr. Weston smiled. “So I return to my initial query—did little Emma lack talent or did she not attend to your wise and skilled instruction, my love? For your portraits are most apt and hers are most…appalling. That she thought to secure Mr. Elton for Mrs. Martin with her painting makes one question her vision if not her sanity—"

“You are too harsh, sir!” Anne said.

“Only if one believes Mrs. Martin bears a strong resemblance to Prinny in his cups,” Mr. Weston replied. “Though was that perhaps Mrs. Knightley’s intention? I know it’s been said the lady is the by-blow of an aristocrat, but surely the portrait would suggest Mrs. Martin is Prinny’s very twin, if one imagines him with his hair dressed à la grecque, with quite a quantity of rice-powder on his nose, in Highbury’s very best Indian muslin.”

Anne laughed, almost in spite of herself, for her husband was droll if not entirely polite, but while her laughter made him smile, it caused her subject to frown and then howl most piteously.

“You’ve woken Sophia,” Anne said.

“You were done painting in any case,” he said, walking over to pick up their squalling infant daughter from the basket she’d been sleeping in, leaving the snowy lace-trimmed blankets in such disarray it was a blessing Anne had finished rendering them.

“You sound quite certain,” Anne said, raising her voice slightly to be heard above the crying baby. Sophia settled to some hiccoughs as her father patted her back and murmured some nonsense to her. Shortly after her birth, he had confessed that he intended to dote upon her and it would be up to Anne to make sure the little girl was not spoilt, that he would not waste his chance to be a papa a second time, after letting Frank be raised by the Churchills. He made good upon his promise every day, with such fond affection Anne could not bring herself to scold him for it, nor castigate him for declaring she must play the villain in their daughter’s life; they would simply need to hire an excellent governess to correct Sophia’s mischief.

“I am. You were about to ruin her cheek. I cannot paint myself, but I can tell when you’ve achieved perfection, my dear,” he said. “It is a skill I do not expect Mr. Knightley will ever be required to master.”

“He will not,” Anne said. “To answer your query, Emma applied herself assiduously to her artistic endeavors, so much so that she could not see to what degree her hand and eye failed her. When it comes to portraiture, it must be said that she lacks all talent.”

“I cannot imagine Mr. Knightley will fret much over it. It is any guest to Donwell Abbey who must prepare some delicate compliments in advance, for surely they would be struck dumb when touring the gallery,” Mr. Weston said.

“Perhaps not. Emma should take their silence as awe and quite prettily accept their reaction as unutterable praise and then invite them to tour the gardens,” Anne said. “She knows how Mr. Knightley delights in his roses.”

Posted for Day 4 of Janeauary 2025 @janeuary-month prompt: portraiture