Chapter 9
December 1, 1813, Abbeygate, Surrey Hills, England
Ana’s personal dressing room was a haven now that it was not entirely white and cold.She had gathered certain colors and textures to remind her of her beloved homeland, creating a vibrant, comforting room that made her feel more secure, more like herself.Each morning, she knelt to recite her prayers, and the stabbing guilt at the origins of the growing babe inside her had slowly dulled to an ache.Although the holy experience of praying for and creating that spirit together with a husband had been viciously, selfishly stolen from her, Ana was still responsible for her child.God had somehow entrusted this little spirit to her, to care for and to love.That her condition was progressing had to be a sign of His blessing, His forgiveness.That was her prayer.And she would cling to the shred of peace that came at the thought.
Ana fingered the vibrant, woven fabric that she had wrapped around the back of her chair.It was a strangely bittersweet sensation to reflect on her heritage and culture, as it always brought painful memories of her parents to her mind.She had nothing physical to remember her father by.She had not been able to bury her father, had not been able to mourn him traditionally in the manner ofluto riguroso.She would never be afforded the privilege of decorating his grave with arosario.But she vowed to remember that day each year.She would mourn San Sebastián, mourn her father, and celebrate his life.
For now, she found that the sweet, early memories of her childhood were the only happy things grounding her, besides the quiet comfort of her husband.She was painting an illustrative map of her hometown in Valencia when Peter knocked on the door, interrupting her work.She froze, startled, carefully lowering her paintbrush so as not to mar her painstaking work.
“Sí?”
“May I come in?”
“Por supuesto.”Of course.He was her husband, was he not?Did he truly need to ask permission to enter?
“How are you today, Ana?”
“Muy bien, gracias.”
“And how fares everything with Mrs.Thompson?”
“Todo bien.”In reality, Ana felt that many of the traditional responsibilities she was being taught were frivolous or ridiculously stiff.She did not understand the careful arrangement of calling cards and visiting hours.Perhaps she was fortunate that she managed to marry Peter without the complexities of a regular English courtship.She was not certain she could have survived one.Her lips blew out a huff of amusement.
“Is she proving helpful in teaching you about the responsibilities of your role as the lady of the house?
“Mrs.Thompson is good to me.So very kind.But ourcasahere is so private.Do I need to know all these things of hostingy eso?”
“I can’t honestly say I enjoy all of England’s traditions, but I’m afraid they’ll be expected of us.”
But she couldn’t so easily adopt such foreign traditions.
“While Abbeygate is not a particularly vast estate,” Peter continued, “there is still quite a lot that needs to be done to ensure that the property is well cared for.I’ll care for the tenants and the land, and I was hoping that you would take charge of caring for the house, including much of the day-to-day happenings as well as any needed decoration changes or guest parties, things of that sort.At least, this is what Mother has explained to me would traditionally be done.”
“Traditionally?”Ana María raised a brow in his direction, rolling therfor emphasis.
“I understand that things may be different in Spain, particularly on the part of your family, but we have been allowed to live at this wonderful place and need to do our part to take care of it, you see.And that includes calling on our neighbors, hosting events in our home, and maintaining our standing in society.”
Peter seemed to tick off his words like a great list of tasks to be completed, but Ana could see that he’d gone into that practiced, methodical form of himself that came out when he was on assignment or instructing soldiers.Notably absent were the melodic passion in his voice or the emotion-filled crinkling of his eyes.Clearly he did not feel a great personal connection to all their new responsibilities, not like he felt for their missions on the battlefield.He had to comprehend why such a life felt so foreign to her.Ana’s chest tightened with emotion as English words fled.
“But the traditions of Spain are important to me too,”she rambled in her native tongue.“I cannot abandon the culture of my heart.”
Peter’s eyes remained distant; his brow furrowed in concentration.He truly wasn’t understanding a thing she said to him.
“You have no idea what I’m saying to you,” she rattled off freely, her pronunciation sharp and precise.It was so much easier to speak Spanish than English!
“That is precisely right,” he said with a smile.
She had to at least acknowledge that his acting was rather good.But she could say all sorts of nonsense, and he would never realize what she was speaking about.It seemed that the responsibility would be hers to learnhislanguage better.
“Bueno, there are many things to do, I see.But can we not choose to live how we like?Perhaps I wantuna siestato rest during the day, like inEspaña, but always there are guests that come visit.What do I do?”Ana tried to lighten her voice as if jesting, but it cracked with emotion, betraying the weight of the issue on her mind.She rested her hands at her waist, her eyebrows raised.
“I’m afraid it would not be proper.”Peter bit his lip, rubbing one hand across his brow.“While this is somewhat of an isolated estate, it is well known in Surrey Hills that Abbeygate is an earl’s country seat.There would be talk, you see.”
This Ana could not understand.In Spain, the position ofhidalgo,or gentleman, was often determined by those who possessed land or money, instead of it being a lineage or royalty-bequeathed title.Certainly, there was a layer of the lower nobility that fit under the name ofhidalgothrough inheritance,but one could also become ahidalgothrough their responsibilities, accomplishments, ownership, and more.The broad inclusion that this caused in their culture blurred the lines between nobility and middle class, and there was a greater sense of comfort and flow between people of differing birth and origin.
This was why Ana felt so bothered, so uncomfortable, at the thought of being constrained in who she could and could not interact with in public solely because of who she married.Couldn’t she receive a little bit of help from whoever was willing to offer it?It seemed that settling into life here would be more difficult than she had hoped, particularly if she was trying to put the house in order while also preparing for the birth of her child.A prickle of frustration cut at her throat.She spun on her heel, pacing the room.
“But I cannot do all.Entiendes?”
