“May I take your cloak, Mrs.Ashmore?”Burnsey asked.
“Yes,gracias,” Ana said, shrugging the snow-watered garment off her shoulders.“And would you send for a tray with spiced tea,por favor?In my dressing roomestá bien.”She would do just as Peter said and prepare for their nightly tradition.
A sudden chill wrapped around Ana.It seemed that she could feel Peter’s absence like a warmth that was ripped from her, and not only because they had been standing so close.Only months ago, she had wondered how they would get along as virtual strangers turned spouses and then parents.And now she found she nursed a deep ache at the thought that Peter might receive a letter at any time that he would need to read in seclusion, away from her.Would they ever achieve the complete, open honesty in which husband and wife shared the entirety of their lives together?Not just their kisses and embraces but also their dreams and devastations?
She hoped so.More than she could say.
Ana had changed into her thick, white nightgown and wrapped her deep, purple dressing gown over the top, knotting it tightly.She arranged the padded chairs near her desk in their nightly positions long before Peter finally came up to the room.When he opened the door, his posture was slumped, defeated, and his eyes were trained on the floor.
Ana’s heart plunged as she reached out to him.“What is it, Peter?”
“The army has called me to London.”
Chapter 13
December 25, 1813, Abbeygate, Surrey Hills, England
Peter was seated in his library, rereading his recent correspondence for the fourth time, willing his eyes to derive some new meaning from the words.He was anxious about his journey to London.The sweat that beaded on his brow and the nervous bouncing of his knee indicated as much.At least he had already made the necessary preparations for his journey.His knapsack was packed with his uniform and the essentials for a quick overnight stay.With any amount of luck, he could stay at the London estate, Heathridge Hall, with Mother instead of one of the barracks at the army’s headquarters.His back already ached at thinking of sleeping on one of those hard, narrow beds.Peter chuckled.Had he become so soft in only a few months of sleeping on a comfortable bed here at Abbeygate?Perhaps he could become accustomed to life outside the army after all.
He had also been in contact with Sir David Huntington, whose letter had arrived alongside the summons from the army, warning him of the heightened tensions surrounding the issue of San Sebastián and the recent legal trial and counseling him to proceed honestly but cautiously.It seemed that Peter’s account of the happenings of the siege had moved Sir David, at least enough to confess that he was perturbed by the army’s position of feigned innocence in the trial.Peter was anxious to speak more with him.He would need all the information he could possibly obtain to give himself a chance of success in the verbal battles that surely awaited him.His last meeting in San Sebastián had certainly indicated as much.But he could not stand by such moral weakness and let it go unprotested.
Now he had but a short time to devote entirely to Ana, and he vowed to try to make her feel as comfortable as possible before he had to leave.And, he reminded himself, he needed to participate in some semblance of a Christmas Day celebration.
It had been years since Peter had spent Christmas on leave from the army.Even if he hadn’t been on duty, he had found it too painful to return home for a holiday that was wrapped up in all sorts of nightmarish memories.Holidays—and any sort of celebratory day for that matter—had always turned out that way when Father was around at their London home.He had found the special day as an excuse to get tremendously intoxicated and had proceeded to terrorize his wife and children.Even at a distance, it was terrible.Peter remembered sneaking downstairs in search of a sip of spiced punch only to be greeted by the sight of Father flirting outlandishly with a young woman who looked half his age.He also remembered Father’s yelling and Mother’s sobbing echoing down the hallway as he and Matthew had lain awake, all thoughts of Saint Nicholas entirely abandoned.He wasn’t sure which memories hurt worse.
But now Peter had a chance, even if it was a limited one, to recreate Christmas in his mind.He had his own family now, and they would be making their own traditions.The smallest flame of hope lit in his chest at the thought of mixing Spanish and English traditions together until they found the perfect sort of holiday that they would love to celebrate in their home.Finally, the moments of the year that were intended for rejoicing would regain some sort of allure for Peter.And there was nobody he would rather spend them with than Ana.He only wished he wasn’t required to leave so soon.The timing was rather awful, really.
Peter stood, stretching his arms above his head and shaking out his legs one by one, as if that could dispel the nervous energy that coursed through him.It was their first Christmas.He could not permit himself to make a mess of it.He reached for the package that lay on the corner of his desk, carefully wrapped in creamy silk and green ribbon.Mrs.Thompson’s help in wrapping the gift had been invaluable—it looked simply beautiful.But what lay inside had the potential of being even more beautiful.How he hoped Ana would appreciate it.But what was this nervous pounding in his chest?He had never felt so anxious to see her, not since...well, since before he had nearly kissed her beneath the kissing bough and then again at the front of the house.Was that truly only yesterday?
The close sight of her soft red lips had undone him entirely.Somehow, in the short span of a few months, he had gone from vowing to never touch his wife in any sort of romantic fashion to desiring more than anything to kiss her.How it had happened, he could not say.And it bewildered him to no end.
And yet to see panic widen and glaze her eyes, to feel her jump away from his touch, to hear her breathing quicken in desperation...it had all terrified him.He knew, deep in his heart, that her reaction had been because of the attack she had endured after the siege.But some small part of him wondered, even if it was only for a moment, if she was truly so repulsed by his touch.Surely she couldn’t be, not if she had invited his touch again so soon after.But he would never want to presume, not when she had experienced such pain already.He had sworn to never do anything to make it worse.
Peter pulled open the heavy wooden door of the library and climbed the stairs leading toward their bedrooms.He knew the stairs well, knew which ones were creaky and which ones were spotted with paint or blood from the many adventures and mishaps he and Matthew had shared as young boys.Most of the summers of their childhood had been spent here in such a carefree manner, something that had only been possible when Father was not around.And as a result, they had gotten into more mischief than Peter liked to admit.But the climb to the second floor had never felt so long as it did now.With every step, his heart pounded, but not from exertion.It was only his luck that he would be called away from his new wife during the Christmas holiday, and just when they were beginning to make some progress in their relationship.
He knocked on Ana’s dressing room door.“Ana?”
“Pasa, Pedro,” she called, bidding him to enter.
Ana had put away the conservative-colored gowns she had worn religiously the past few months, instead donning a deep maroon dress, the shade of darkened rubies.Clearly this dress was not one of his mother’s; it fit Ana too perfectly.No, she must have had this dress made up for herself, and he was mighty glad she had done so.It was perfection.Delicate sleeves puffed to her elbows, emphasizing the soft, even color of her olive skin.A swooping neckline framed her form most becomingly, Peter noticed as his cravat felt suddenly much too restraining.The shining dark red fabric spilled from her waist and was embroidered with black roses at the hem, a nod to her heritage.He also noted that she had wrapped about her shoulders the black lacemantillaveil that she had worn on their wedding day.The combination of the dramatic hues and the wide, earnest smile on Ana’s face made a strange heat boil in Peter’s stomach.If he never saw her wear another color for the rest of their lives, he would be perfectly content.
“Feliz Navidad, Pedro.”
Peter opened and closed his mouth several times before finally managing to speak.
“Feliz Navidad, Ana.How are you faring?”
“Muy bien, gracias.And you?”
“I am well, thank you.You look...”Again, words escaped him.
“Bien, I hope?”
“More thanbien, Ana.You are positively beautiful.”
Ana’s cheeks matched her dress with a rosy blush.“Gracias,Pedro, you look very beautiful as well.”
Peter opened his mouth to correct her choice of vocabulary until he saw the twinkle in her eye.They laughed together, and Ana rose on her toes to brush a kiss against his cheek.It seemed Peter’s heart would not get a break for the entirety of the day.The woman was torturing him; surely she knew as much.He needed to distract himself...that is, if he could remember why he had come to her rooms in the first place.Surely he had another reason other than gawking at her beauty and considering how best to kiss her.Ah yes, their plans for the day.
