Page 39 of If I Loved You
The man pulled his chin from the palm of his hand and turned sideways to really look at her. “You are a very sweet younglady. I wouldn’t mind keeping company, but a nice girl like you probably wants to be dancing and watching some young fools fight over her.”
Emma laughed at this. “This girl does not, sir. I am Emma Ainsley, and I am happy to keep you company. I think I’ve had enough of the fools, young and old, for the evening.”
“Pardon me for truly being too weary to stand and make a respectable bow to you, Miss Ainsley.” But he shifted slightly and offered his right hand. “Hadlee. Very nice to meet you.”
Emma put her hand in his and he squeezed it politely.
“May I ask you something? It’s a little embarrassing.”
He straightened, seemed livelier, suddenly. One thick brow rose above widened eyes. “Sounds intriguing. Ask away.”
“I am not...anybody, rather an imposter here, truth be told, though I’ve come with the sponsorship of Lady Marston,” she was quick to clarify, as his brow had furrowed with her first words. “I don’t want to shame myself or the good lady, but when you introduce yourself as simply Hadlee...what does that mean? Is that your title? Your surname? And how should I address you?” As he appeared non-plussed, she bit her lip and covered her face with her hands. “How humiliating,” she murmured into her hands.
“Now, now, Miss Ainsley,” the old man said, reaching over to pat her hands, pulling one away from her face. “You only surprised me, that is all. Do not fret. I gave you my title, Hadlee. When a person introduces themselves with only one name, you should assume amy lord. If I were not of the nobility, I would, I suppose, present myself with my given name and surname.” He scrunched up his lips. “Maybe just the surname. I am not entirely sure.Very pleased to meet you. I am Mr. Fiske.” He seemed toconsider this further. “I don’t think anyone outside the peerage would say,Hullo, I am George Fiske.”
Emma slapped her hand against her chest. “George Fiske?”
The man laughed, the sound ancient and craggy. “Haven’t heard that in many years. I’ve been Hadlee for so long.”
“But you are George Fiske?”
He nodded. “Yes, have been my whole life. But you cannot address me as such in front of other persons. They tend to get a little—”
Emma blurted out, “I found your letters. I have your letters to Caralyn Withers.”
And now it was his turn to be astonished, to have his jaw fall open and stare at her as if she’d just announced she’d found the Holy Grail. But Emma nodded at him, her heart pounding with excitement.
“How do you know Caralyn—whoareyou?”
Shaking her head, Emma assured him, “I am nobody, I promise. But I’d been...staying with the Earl of Lindsey, at his house in Hertfordshire. I was...well, I was snooping one day, just looking around such a grand old house, and I found a stack of letters. I found the letters you wrote to Caralyn.” She smiled at him, while his face had gone as white as the marble floor. “What happened? Is she your wife?” Her eyes widened. “Is she here?”
His entire thin body seemed to sink into the furniture, his shoulders slumped, his hands fell to his sides, his gaze dropped to his lap.
“My lord?” Caralyn Withers was not his wife, she surmised. Emma’s heart and shoulders sank as well. “I’m sorry. How thoughtless of me. But I was so excited to know it was you—Ididn’t even think that maybe....” She stopped when he began to shake his head.
“Do not be sorry. I was only startled. I-I haven’t heard that name in forty years.”
Emma sat silently, allowing the old man to collect himself and his thoughts.
After many long minutes, his shiny gaze found hers. “Forty years.”
Softly, Emma said, “I cried over those letters. They were so beautiful.”
He gave a grimaced smile. “I was mad about her.”
“I know. It’s all written so plainly. What—may I ask what happened?”
His frail shoulders lifted in a shrug. “She didn’t love me.”
“That cannot be true,” Emma insisted, though wasn’t sure of this at all. But it mustn’t be true. With a nervous laugh, she admitted, “I fell a little in love with the George Fiske who penned those gorgeous words.”
He sat back, straightening himself, slid his hands up and down his thighs. “I loved her the very moment I first saw her. She had come to London with Lady Julianne Morrissey, as her companion. She wasn’t of the nobility.”
Emma did not interrupt but knew that name, Morrissey. It was, essentially, who she was pretending to be, a Morrissey relation.
George Fiske turned and favored Emma with a kindly smile. “Like you, she stood out. You couldn’t not notice her. Of course, so many were turned off by her lack of good family, being only the poor relation. Ah, but she was remarkable, had the most amazing eyes, and her laugh was akin to angels singing, I swear toGod.” He grinned again, at his own fancy, Emma was sure. “We met, we talked, we fell in love. Or so I thought. When the season was nearing an end, I begged her hand. She turned me down.”
“But why?” Had been the burning question inside Emma for so long.
