“Can you tell me what happened to your wife, Mr. Dalton?”
He gaped at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“I know you were married before you came here. Now you are not. What happened to your wife?”
“My wife is dead, Miss Donovan.” Dalton surged to his feet. Kendra thought she saw his hands tremble before he clenched them. “Sir, this is beyond the pale,” he appealed to the Duke. “My wife is an unhappy memory, one best left in the past.”
“I sympathize, my dear boy. However, given the unusual circumstance we’re dealing with here . . .” Aldridge lifted his hands, then left them fall. “I’m afraid you must forgive our impudence.”
Kendra suspected that Dalton would’ve loved to toss them both out on their asses, and the only thing preventing him was the Duke’s social status. He stood silent for a long moment.
“I do not know how Marianne died,” he said finally.
Kendra lifted her brows. “What do you mean, you don’t know? How could you not know?”
He tossed her an angry look, then shifted his gaze to the Duke. “How much do you know of my family history, sir?”
“I am aware that your grandmother was Lady Ellen—and her father was the Marquis of Grafton. She married Mr. Peter Morse, did she not? His family was involved in the river navigation around Manchester.”
“Yes. My grandfather’s family worked with the Duke of Bridgewater to build the Bridgewater canal.”
“A brilliant piece of engineering.” The Duke smiled. “My father invested in the canal mania that followed. It was a lucrative venture.”
Dalton seemed to relax a little. “Quite. My mother received a sizeable settlement when she married my father, who was a doctor in Manchester. Marianne’s family lived in the house next door. She was eight years my junior. A pretty thing, but still a child when I left for university and later medical school in Glasgow.”
“You followed in your father’s footsteps,” Aldridge commented.
“Not quite. He wished me to become a doctor. I was more fascinated by the surgeon’s role. It caused . . . disagreements. I joined the military as a sawbones. When my father passed away, I returned home, and discovered that Marianne was no longer a child, but a beautiful woman.” He shrugged. “Quite frankly, I was bedazzled. She seemed to feel the same. We married a month later, before I was required to return to my post.”
He fell into a brooding silence. When he finally spoke again, his voice was carefully modulated. “We married with the blessing of both our families, but it proved to be a mistake. We moved to Dover, and I returned to my post overseas.”
“You were involved in the Peninsular War, were you not?”
“You are well informed, sir. Yes. I was sent to Spain. It was a difficult time. So many men . . .” His voice trailed away. He shook his head and continued, “Naturally, because of the danger involved, I couldn’t bring Marianne with me. She disliked being left alone. She disliked being the wife of an army surgeon.
“Marianne was beautiful, vivacious, and willful. She became enamored with a military officer stationed near our home in Dover, who, I believe, seduced her.” His mouth tightened. “Of course, I knew nothing until she wrote a letter explaining how she wished to petition for a divorce. Naturally, I returned home to salvage the marriage, but it was too late. She’d already left with the man.”
“My God . . . what of the scandal?” Aldridge wondered. “Did she care nothing of her reputation, much less your own?”
“As I said, she was willful. She and her lover fled to Geneva. I returned to my post and agreed not to fight the divorce. Marianne died before the petition went through. Her family sent me a letter to inform me of her death.”
“You never asked what happened?” Kendra pressed.
“No. What would be the point? ‘Twas too late.”
She studied him. “When did she die?”
“Five, almost six years ago. But we’d been estranged for almost a year prior to her death.”
“How long were you married until you separated?”
“Two years.” He looked at the Duke. “Really, sir, I have nothing more to say regarding my late wife. You, of all people, should understand how painful these memories can be.”
“Yes, Mr. Dalton. I am keenly aware of how painful memories can be,” Aldridge acknowledged, and exchanged a look with Kendra. “Are we finished, Miss Donovan?”
“Yes. Thank you for your time, Mr. Dalton.” She stood up. “I apologize for bringing up painful memories. It’s not personal.”
“Odd. It feels very personal to me.”
He escorted them to their carriage and stood watching as the coachman flicked the reins, and the carriage started down the drive.
Kendra looked across at the Duke. “When did Mr. Dalton inherit Halstead Hall?”
“Five years ago.”