He nodded. 'I do not blame you for your mistake, for it is rather like my hand. It appears Lady Honoria had an accomplice. A footman, perhaps?'
She thought for a moment to correct him on the likelihood of a footman having such a fine hand or for that matter, being able to write at all. 'Although it is just the sort of trick Honoria might play, if she meant to try to get around me. She must have got Peters or Richards to help her. Or maybe it was John the coachman.' She gave the paper a little rattle, hoping that rough handling of it now might make it less obvious that she had pored over the thing, reading and rereading, searching for a happy meaning to a few short words.
And then, his hand covered hers to still their movement. 'No matter. If I had a pen, I would solve it all by putting my name at the bottom of it and pretending that it came from me.'
And his smile was so warm and his touch so comforting that she felt her hand begin to relax. 'But you did not mean to see me.'
'That does not imply that I do not take pleasure at the meeting.'
'Thank you, sir.' And then, she added impulsively, 'And I enjoyed talking with you, as well.'
'Then it is settled. We are both glad to be out in the park on a lovely spring day. Especially after such a hard winter. Let us walk a ways together.'
When she looked up his eyes seemed very green, and staring down at her with an intensity that made her heart jump. And she remembered that their meeting was not really proper. She should have separated from him after the briefest of greetings. 'I am afraid it is not wise for us to be seen together. It might appear to some that we are having an assignation.'
He smiled, for he must have realized that that was exactly what she had been expecting. 'I have always thought it more a proof of the small minds around us, that they can be so eager to think ill of a lady of good character, such as yourself. But if it puts your mind at ease, we will keep to the less-travelled paths, away from prying eyes.'
And that was exactly what she should have feared. A man who was less than a gentleman would take advantage of such privacy. But surely, Mr Dale was not such a one. So she said, 'Thank you for your understanding. Perhaps I am overly sensitive. Since it is my job to guard the reputations of others, I work very hard to set an example to them by my own behaviour.'
'Then I will take care to do nothing that is beneath reproach,' he said, offering her his arm.
She tucked the note back into her reticule, then reached out gingerly to put her hand upon the crook of his elbow. He turned and guided her off the main path. And then he said, 'What shall we talk of today? Poetry, perhaps? For if it is a shared interest...'
'No,' she said firmly. 'Today, I wish you to tell me something of yourself. For you have managed to ferret information from me that I would not usually tell a stranger. It is hardly fair. You must give me something in return.'
He thought on it for a moment, and a strange expression crossed his face. 'I suppose that is true. I must tell you about myself. Although, I am afraid that the story will not be pleasant.' And his arm tightened against hers, tucking her hand close to his side. 'I hardly know where to begin.'
She gave an encouraging squeeze to his arm. 'Begin with your family, then. Are they living? Or are you alone?' Like me. She had almost added the words, but did not wish it to seem that she was searching for more similarities.
'My father is...dead. He died when I was just a boy.' That seemed a difficult admission, and she wondered: had they been so close that it still grieved him?
'And what of your mother?'
'I have not seen her for many years, nor my sisters.'
'You are estranged from them?'
'Not by my doing, I assure you. I pray daily for their welfare.' It touched her heart that he looked so distressed that she might think him capable of abandoning them. It was just another example of his tender heart.
His eyes fell. 'After Father's death, there were difficulties. Our finances were strained. We children took employment, and each contributed to the family's welfare as best we could. But one night, when I was returning from...work. I was set upon by a press gang.'
'You were in the Navy, then?' It explained the commanding way he stood, as though the earth could move under him and he would not stagger.
He gave a sad smile. 'You make it sound very heroic. I was there against my will. Off the coast of France, and then the Americas. I spent the first months--sick as a dog from the motion of the water--trying desperately to contact my family, to explain why I could not come home to them. But I do not think the letters found them, for there was no response.'
'It must have been horrible, not knowing.'
His mouth made a bitter line. 'Six years of my life, wasted.' And then he looked at her, his eyes sombre. 'And this is where you will see me for the sort of man I truly am. For when I finally got the opportunity, I jumped ship.'