In moments like these, she longed for Spain.Longed for her house, the lively banter of her family, the cooking ofMamá.Why must everything be so different here in England?
“We must find you a maid.That will help you a great deal, I’m sure.A Spanish maid, even better.I’ll write to Mother.Surely she has heard of something among the ladies of the Ton.That will help you feel more comfortable.”
“Sí, a maid would be nice, but I need that I feel comfortable!”Ana said, her voice rising as she strode about the room, emphasizing her words as she cast her hands into the air.“I need that I feel safe to live my culture here.I cannot haveuna bebéand live a different life than I always dream of.It would not be true.I will not feel safe.”
Pain splashed across Peter’s features as he nodded.“I know very well how it feels to be an outcast, a stranger in one’s own home.But this isourhome now.And I wish to do whatever is necessary to ensure that we are both comfortable, happy, and safe here.”
“But I cannot feelsegura aquí!”
That was just it—Ana didn’t feel secure here, so far away from family and familiarity.She desperately wished to, but she doubted if she would ever feel safe again after the events of San Sebastián.One hand pressed against her abdomen, feeling the tiniest hint of rounding hardness there.How could she bring a child into such a world?
“This isn’t merely about Spain, is it?”
Ana sank down to the floor, sobs finally shuddering their way out of her.
“No.”
Firm, strong hands grasped her upper arms, then softened, circling around her.
“Everything is wrong.I always wanted a child, and now I have a child but not from my husband.I always want a home, and now I have a home but not inEspaña.I am so farde mi familiaand Ino entiendo nadaof mineresponsibilities here.It is all wrong.Todo.And I no feel comfortable like this is my home.”Ana wiped at her doused cheeks.“But I no want to be ungrateful,Pedro.You are so kind.You saved me and my child.I feel so mad to be ungrateful.”
“I know it’s difficult, Ana.I also know I cannot understand how you are feeling.I have not passed through the...pain you have experienced.I am also not carrying a child and enduring the sickness and changes you are enduring.But when I asked you to marry me, I was entirely serious that I would support you in whatever way necessary.Not simply out of responsibility or honor, but also because I know what it is to feel unsafe and alone in the world.I do not desire the same for you or your child.”
Ana blinked hard, trying to clear her eyes, and looked up at Peter.His face was before hers, creased with concern and sincerity, his eyes dark with pain and understanding.
“I will help you, Ana María.You will not be alone, I promise.Te lo prometo.”
The racing of Ana’s heart began to slow as the faintest glimmer of hope broke through on the horizon of her mind.She had experienced some of life’s most painful changes in the last few months, but she did not have to move forward alone.Peter would help her, just as he had in listening to her concerns.That was surely an indication of safety in their relationship, was it not?
Chapter 10
December 11, 1813, Abbeygate, Surrey Hills, England
Peter jogged up to where the old stone chapel sat nestled among thick oak trees.Cool, winter sunlight sifted through the crisscrossing branches, tracing the building in highlights and shadows.He had paid many visits to this chapel throughout his childhood, not many of which involved actually going inside it, much to his mother’s dismay.It was a fact that he swore to change.He knew that Ana was a devout Catholic, or at least she was before the war.He was not very familiar with that religion, but he would support his wife in practicing it.Her murmured prayers had carried her through many dark days.She would likely want her child baptized and christened and anything else that particular faith required.Perhaps it was for the best that he was seeking to make amends with God and find forgiveness and peace, even if the Church of England was the only place he knew to do so.
The aching in his soul begged that such a thing could really be done.
He eased the chapel door open and started down the aisle.The broad form of the vicar, Mr.Smith, rose from a pew and turned toward him.He was a tall, muscle-bound man, a sight that Peter was sure wasn’t entirely common among men of the cloth.A thick, gold-edged Bible was clasped carefully in his strong hands, its corners visibly well-worn.
“Why, Mr.Peter Ashmore.What a delight!Happy Christmas,” he said with a bow.
“Happy Christmas, Pastor,” Peter said.
“I heard of your return and am anxious to see you and meet your new wife.I apologize that Mrs.Smith and I have not yet paid you a visit.”
“Well, I have also failed to payyoua visit, both in your home and here.”
“Both can be remedied, beginning today.”Mr.Smith gestured to the open pew next to him, and they took their seats together.“How are you faring?I know that life at war can be quite difficult to endure, even after one has returned from the site of conflict.”
Mr.Smith always had a way of spearing the point on its head.Peter found his rehearsed, polite answers were quickly overtaken by brutal honesty.
“I’m afraid I’ve gotten myself into quite a lump of trouble.”
“Oh, surely no more trouble than all the mischief that you and Matthew used to manage,” Mr.Smith replied with a chuckle.“Why, I remember one time when you climbed onto the chapel roof just to escape the service your mother seemed so insistent upon.”
Peter laughed bitterly.“Times were simple then.If only I were speaking of something so lighthearted.I’m afraid that the issue that seems to haunt me is a great deal more serious than that.”
“And is that why you have come here?To rid yourself of the guilt that comes from a mistake?”
