A/N: I own nothing. Any mistakes are my own. This was an inspiration I had, and I only ask that you stick it out to the end to see how it finishes

Dedication: To my wonderful sisters, may you both find your Mr. Knightley and avoid any more Frank Churchills…..

Scar

Chapter 1

"For your offenses Sir, as previously listed, I demand satisfaction in defense of Miss Woodhouse's honor." I stately firmly, my gloved hand strayed to my father's sheathed rapier, awkwardly strapped to my side. Nervous though I might be, he should not know it.

Although I had had, like every other gentleman's son fencing and shooting lessons, they were almost thirty years ago, a longer span of time I feared than the man whom I had just challenged. I never wore this weapon, it was mostly for ceremony, though as John and I had discovered as young men, it was nonetheless quite sharp. I wore it now to remind him, though I was a gentleman, I was still prepared to defend the innocent.

My future opponent stammered. "H-How did you discover my understanding with Miss Fairfax? She and I were the only ones who had knowledge of it." I had the satisfaction of seeing Frank Churchill's smug face completely drained of color for once.

I produced a folded parchment from my coat pocket with not a bit of self-satisfaction, "A letter from your dearest Aunt, who discovered some rather incriminating letters amongst your things at her house. She, being the respectable woman she is, and having heard about you dalliance with Miss Woodhouse, took it upon herself in her failing health to bring your secret to light before you wounded not one, but two women, and wrote to Mr. Woodhouse." I turned the blotted paper over in my hands, as if debating what to do.

My insides roiled. How COULD he do this? To Miss Fairfax? To Emma? It went against all notions of legality, not to mention morality. I felt a firm hand on my shoulder, and heard my younger brother's voice.

Thank God for John and his cool head, else I might have started this duel prematurely.

"Mr. Churchill, do you accept my brother's challenge and his defense of Miss Woodhouse's honor?" his tone was rigid, but I who knew him so well, knew he was just as unsettled as I was, though for another reason as well.

"George, what he did to Emma was unthinkable! Without honor to be sure, but does an unanswered proposal to Emma while engaged to another require you challenging him for her honor? Why can this not be decided in court?" I remembered distinctly John's pleading last night as I sat by the fire with him in Donwell debating what to do.

My mind is set though, he had maligned Emma's honor, and as her friend I could do no less than defend her, even more so since I discovered I was hopelessly in love with her.

The blessing in all of this, was that Mr. Woodhouse was so concerned about this letter, he called on me at once for advice, and I told him I would handle it, and Emma need not know that her would-be-fiancé had deceived both her and another woman. At least not yet anyway.

The small bubble of hope for me in this whole situation, was that Emma had not yet responded to Frank's proposal, she had merely said she would 'think upon it.' Perhaps her feelings are not so set on him as we have all thought. The little voice in my head was irritating.

"Well, Mr. Churchill, what say you?" I demanded, staring him down.

He swallowed, "What shall be the weapon?" he asked with a dry mouth, and my dark side got the better of me. Even though he was easily ten years my junior, he was still afraid of me.

John interrupted before I could speak again, "As the challenged, it is your choice, in concert with the Rules of Dueling, my brother is adept at either the pistol or the rapier." His hand clamped even harder into my shoulder, reminding me to keep my uncharacteristically fragile temper in check.

Churchill replied steadily finally looking me in the eye, "The pistol, to first blood."

"Tomorrow at dawn, by the bridge at the ford." I rejoined, " My brother, John shall be my second. Mr. Larkins shall officiate, and Dr. Perry shall be on hand as well if we should need his services."

"My servant, Tom Riley, shall be my second, and Mr. Elton shall bear witness."

I extended my hand, "Are we agreed?"

"Agreed." He shook my hand, and I resisted the urge to wipe off the glove as I turned to walk away from the blackguard.

I sighed. "George Elliot Knightley what HAVE you gotten yourself into now?" Even now I could hear my father's voice chiding me, the memory of my ten year old self covered in mud in what had been my Sunday best clothes made me smirk. My father always taught us that violence was always the last resort. "..A gentleman should use every last resort before he turns to violence, and if that time does come, it is only to be used against your equal in strength. Never a woman or child..."

Well father, it's in defense of a friend. John still shook his head at me, as if he could read my thoughts.

He and I walked in silence for a time, and as we crested the hill leading out of the village I turned to him.

"Thank you for supporting me even if you do not agree with my reasons." I laid my arm on his shoulder, looking into his eyes, mutely asking for his forgiveness in risking his life as well as mine.

John, looked first to the ground, and then to my face, blinking rapidly as he had done since a boy when his emotions overwhelmed him. "The lawyer is me does not agree with your reasons George." He paused and sighed, looking down again as he shifted his feet only to meet my eyes again.

"The man in me keeps asking myself how would I have reacted in any other fashion if this had been Isabella." He laid his arm on my shoulder, in our decade-old pact of brothers from the mud fights to Oxford and beyond, we had done nearly everything together.

"George," he choked and then laughed, "you've loved her since my wedding haven't you?" his feeble attempt at humor broke the severity of the situation in which we found ourselves.

"Quite possibly," I replied sheepishly not quite meeting his eyes, "though I did not discover it till much later."

"George," his serious tone returned, demanding I look at him, "if you love her half so much as I love Isabella, and sometimes I think you might even love her more, then you must tell her before the morrow. Emma must know why you are doing this for her" His brown eyes pleaded with me to do what I knew I should, but did not wish to do.

"Must is a strong word, John," I sighed, "Perhaps you are correct, I shall think upon it." If perhaps I do survive tomorrow, and I tell it, it will alter our friendship in irrevocable ways. What if she no longer wants to be my friend anymore?

Turning away I began to walk forward again black boots plodding across the partially slick grass from a recent rain, before stopping a final time. "John, you must promise to tell no one what we have spoken of, this is my decision and you cannot even tell Isabella."

My brother's face lit up with fury, "My wife has a right to know if I'm going to end up possibly being killed tomorrow!"

She will tell Emma and Mr. Woodhouse though, and they will try to stop this.

Isabella has a right to know.

"You may tell her right before we leave." I compromised.

He considered for a moment, knowing in the end there was no other option anyway.

"George I think you are to secretive for your own good sometimes," was his resigned answer.

We walked off towards the setting sun and Donwell like we had for so many years past, but this time talking of anything but what tomorrow held.