My husband is an honorable man. He is faithful, hardworking, honest, funny, talented, intelligent, handsome, kind, humble, compassionate, and lovable. He’s known throughout the community as a dependable, pleasant person who will readily help those in need. He’s also read the Austen novels, and he watches all the film variations with me, quoting fluently. He’s handy, too. If he can’t fix it, throw it away. He has always been a wonderful husband and a superb father to our daughters.
However, he does have one fault; he’s not a good gift giver. For Christmas, he gave me an alternator for my car and had it serviced. Not exactly a ten on the romance meter. (Rest easy, ladies. I bought my own Christmas presents from him and put them under the tree. He also bought me a few more presents when he saw that I was less than thrilled. I received a portable battery charger for my phone. (Now that’s romantic, right?) In short, I married Mr. Knightley, not Mr. Darcy.
Mr. Knightley is a great favorite of mine, obviously. He does what is right; he does his duty. He’s down-to-earth and sensible. In short, it’s possible that after 38 years of marriage, he could give Emma an alternator for Valentine’s Day and wonder why she isn’t thrilled. It’s also probable that after he realizes she’s disappointed, he would choose another gift, just like my Mr. Knightley did (and he might make the same mistake again in going for practicality over romance).
That’s fine with me. I’d rather have an honorable Mr. Knightley than a romantic Frank Churchill any day.