November 2, 1813, Abbeygate, Surrey Hills, England
Ana lay on her back, cushioned on all sides by thick bedclothes and feather-stuffed pillows.Her eyes followed the small, web-like cracks in the whitewash on the ceiling above as her fingers traced her midsection.How strange it was that there was life, ever-growing inside her, even though she could feel no swelling of the womb, no shape of motherhood.The only evidence she had was the abnormal ways her body was acting as of late.
Hiding her ever-progressing condition from others at Abbeygate was proving more difficult than Ana María expected.Her body had yet to curve and grow in the telltale shape of motherhood, but her sickness could not be prevented.She had learned to spring from the water closet, where she was retching, back to her bed at the slightest noise outside her door, for fear Mrs.Thompson would be coming to dress her for the day.Fortunately for her, the flooring just outside their rooms was awfully creaky and would always reveal the presence of a member of the staff.It seemed that the floors had been well-worn, likely from years of rambunctious boys running to and from their parents’ rooms.
The exhaustion that weighed her down seemed to reveal that her tiny, growing child was already quite demanding of her attention and energy.She chuckled.So insistent, her little one.Just as she had been to her own parents as a young child.Despite having a strained relationship with her ownmamá, Ana María had always desired to be a mother, had always adored the sight and smell of a freshly bathed babe.Perhaps her own lack of siblings made that desire even stronger.She longed to create a safe and joyous home for her children, with attentive parents who were besotted with one another.A home that was not at all like her own.She had always dreamed that discovering she was expecting a child would be accompanied by feelings of joy, hope, and happy anticipation.
How wrong she had been.
Deep down, Ana had suspected she was with child while they were still aboard the ship headed for England, but she hadn’t said anything of it to Peter.She had been violently ill, something she had attributed to her lack of “sea legs,” as Peter called it.But then her monthly bleedings had not occurred, despite her body’s dependable predictability in years previous.She had counted each day of that intended week, hardly breathing for the nerves she was feeling.And then the suspicion had slowly started to settle upon her, like a misting fall rain—that she was with child by a wicked man she did not know and did not wish to remember.Of course, it was difficult to be certain.Mother had never told her of such things.She had not been present to do so.Ana had discovered her monthly courses on her own and hadn’t the faintest idea of how one’s body reacted to carrying a child.
Once their ship landed in London, the seasickness had not retreated.Feelings of nausea still plagued her, squeezing her stomach with extra force during the morning and evening.And she was no longer able to lie to herself, no longer able to deny her condition.She was with child.And completely and entirely on her own.
The realization of her condition had filled her with panic, fear, and desperation.She had lost her appetite and cried herself to sleep, retreating into that unfamiliar place inside herself where she drowned in her nervousness and hopelessness while she was frozen silent on the outside.She would bring a poor soul into the world, entirely dependent upon her, without a father to speak of.There would be no safe home, no loving parents.Worse still, Ana had no understanding of how to be a mother, at least not the kind she had dreamed of being.She could not be a calm or wise or confident mother when she had no way of surviving alone.All of her carefully laid plans were shattering around her, and it was all Ana could do not to fall apart alongside them.
The heaviest burden to bear was the guilt that threatened to pound her into the ground.So many other women had suffered the same fate as her that wretched night, and still she carried the burden of her condition as if it were the weight of the world.In her heart, she knew she was not at fault for what had occurred, but her religion taught her that having a child out of wedlock was a grave sin indeed.Would God ever forgive her?
Would she ever forgive herself?
How Ana had sobbed that night, releasing all the pent-up mourning for her father, her mother, and herself.Yet another secret burdened their family, even in their absence and death, and it was a secret she felt might break her if she had to carry it alone.She had cried until it was difficult to breathe, until her side had cramped with sorrow, until finally, mercifully, her exhaustion dragged her into a fitful sleep.
But amid her distress, Ana had convinced herself that her child had to be a sign of mercy or grace.Somehow God knew.He knew that she would need anángelto pull her from the darkness that she had been subjected to in San Sebastián.Thatángelwould be her preciousbebé.God would give her the strength sufficient to carry and care for this child.He had to.
Ana pressed her hand more firmly to her stomach, as if embracing her child, the motion bringing her back to the present.She looked at the door separating her rooms from Peter’s.Perhaps God knew she needed Peter too.She chuckled.He did have a sort of angelic look about him.Particularly when his brows were drawn together with concern on her behalf or when one of her comments made him laugh in a rare, relished moment.Yes, he was one of Ana’s angels, to be sure.He had saved her.And also managed to make her feel comfortable without causing her guilt for feeling so.Still, their little haven of conspicuity could not last forever.
Peter had arranged for their marriage as quickly as possible, but Ana still feared that some member of the staff or the community would be adept enough at calculations to discover their secret.She had not been in England long, but she already understood quite well the expanse of his family’s reputation, and she would not let any rumor of impropriety mar it.Perhaps she should even consider shrinking the staff of Abbeygate, as minimal as it was.
A knock sounded at the adjoining door.Peter had only entered her rooms through that door when she had been noisily heaving the contents of her stomach in the middle of the night.But she was resting quietly now.What could he be needing?
“Pedro?”
“Sí,” Peter said.“May I come in?”His voice was rough from sleep and lack of use.
“Un momento.”Ana shrugged on a silk wrapper that she had found in his mother’s wardrobe, which Peter had ordered to be moved into her room.The wrapper’s gold and red floral pattern made her yearn for the intricate designs and unique fashion plates of her home.How quickly she tired of the subdued colors of the dresses that were popular here.She didn’t require any fanciful styles.She just needed to feel more like herself.Once she felt presentable, she walked to the door and opened it.
There stood Peter, with a breakfast tray in his hands that was piled high with more than enough food for them both.He stepped over the threshold into her room and busied himself preparing a plate for her at her desk.It was a new sight, seeing him without his uniform.This new version of Peter still revealed the same precision, with a neat knot at the base of his throat and orderly buttons lining the front of his waistcoat.But compared to the patterns and colors she saw on the clothing of many gentlemen in London, it seemed that Peter preferred earthy tones.She would not complain about this brownish-red color he wore today.It reminded her of the clay earth on the borders of Spain and set off his tanned skin and dark hair quite handsomely.And she much preferred to see his sun-darkened hands stirring her herbal tea than handling a musket.
A flood of emotion suddenly overwhelmed her.Tears blurred her vision, and she blinked hard, slapping her cheeks.She almost laughed at the silliness of it.Was she truly crying over a mere breakfast tray?
“I know mornings are most difficult for you...”he stumbled.“I only mean I have observed that it is challenging to sit in the breakfast room when your stomach could heave itself up at any moment.”
“Lo siento, I do not know why I cry!”
But it wasn’t a mere breakfast tray.It was a symbol of thoughtful kindness brought to her by her husband.It represented the attentive way that he would minister to her needs, down to the most minute of details.He was already showing her that he was everything Ana had hoped for in a husband.
Peter merely smiled and straightened into a pose that was somehow perfectly disciplined, stiff, and comfortable, all at the same time.He wasn’t affected in the least by her outburst, as if he had been surrounded for years by overly emotional expectant mothers instead of rough and hardened soldiers.The thought transformed her sniffles into giggles.What was happening to her?
“Come, sit here and do try to eat,” he said.“I may not know of the mysteries of carrying a child, but I have at least heard that having a bit of food in the morning can stave off the sickness somewhat.”
How strange it was to have to eat to keep down the sickness when eating was the very thing that seemed to cause her sickness to worsen.Ana rubbed a hand down her temple.
“Yes, I will do that,gracias.Will you eat too?”
“I already took my breakfast, thank you.I simply wasn’t sure how hungry you would be and didn’t want your food to be scarce.”He scratched at his head, a wobbling smile on his lips.
After devouring more of the bread and preserves than she had been anticipating, Ana finally settled back into her chair and sighed.The desperation of her nausea was already beginning to diminish, and it was a most welcome relief.
* * *
