Peter’s cravat was practically wound into a rope in his hands, so tense his grip appeared to be.But at her words, the tension, the visible fight in him melted.
“Very well,” he murmured.He approached Ana, who instinctively held Esperanza higher and tighter to her chest.“Good night,Preciosa.”He pressed a quick kiss to the top of Esperanza’s head, then turned to Ana.His eyes were on her lips, but the thought of kissing him when her mind was in such a state of turmoil only brought Ana greater distress.She turned her head, and he brushed her cheek with a quick kiss that she wasn’t entirely sure she had felt at all.
“Buenas noches, Ana.”
Ana lowered herself back into the pillows with great care, wincing at the lingering pain that ached when she moved.How had everything become socomplicadoso quickly?All it had taken was the birth of her daughter and too many sleepless nights for her relationship with Peter to dissolve almost completely.She felt that she was more of a burden than a wife or friend.And that was even more evident now that he was leaving.Arrangements were to be made.
Surely he wished for another marriage, one that he wasn’t obligated to enter into.Or another child, one that was truly his own.There was one last narrow path that she could follow if she became certain that she was truly burdensome.If she could convince Peter to do so, he could go to court, testify that Esperanza isn’t truly his child, divorce Ana, and disinherit Esperanza.After all, she had borne a daughter, not a son, and that meant that she wouldn’t be required by law to stay with Peter, since Esperanza was not his heir.Ana would be ruined, at least in the eyes of English customs and society, but such things would hardly matter upon returning to Spain.More importantly, divorce was a grave sin according to her religion.She could possibly be putting her own salvation in jeopardy.But how could she live out her entire life as a burden to the man she loved, and while being separated from the country she loved?Living beside Peter without being able to love him was a torture she would not survive.Surely God would understand her need to find relief from the agony she felt, even if it meant seeking out a divorce.
Perhaps Peter would be happier returning to the army.Or starting a completely different life anew—one that didn’t tie him down with responsibilities that were not truly his own.
Chapter 33
June 30, 1814, Abbeygate, Surrey Hills, England
Ana María was lost.
The waves that had lapped at her skirts in moments of worry during pregnancy had now grown to an insurmountable height.She was on the verge of drowning.Despite Ana’s being besotted with her round-cheeked babe, she was exhausted with her never-ending cries to be fed.She felt she had lost herself and her closeness with Peter in so short a time.It left her impossibly disoriented.
Strangely enough, the only semblance of contentment that she could find was in the middle of the night—those moments when the entire world was silent and asleep, unable to bother her, and she was entirely at peace, alone with her daughter.
Every day that passed, she felt her desperation growing.A small part of her mind knew that she was in no sort of shape to be caring for her daughter every hour of the day or night.She should be relying upon help, particularly when her body was so weak and tender still, her bleeding still flowing.But she could not do it.The sight of her baby in someone else’s arms filled her with panic and anger.She would find herself in the ocean again, being dragged downward in the waves, water clogging her throat.Only once she had her baby back would her head break above the waves.
She was exhausted.Her head throbbed constantly.She could hardly walk.Peter had kindly donated his dressing room, creating a sort of private parlor where she could receive visitors.They hadn’t had much company yet, only the Smiths.But still, every part of Ana was craving isolation, screaming out for someone to protect her.Having visitors in her home would be an excruciating reminder of the life that Ana would never have now that Peter was leaving her too.
And yet she needed to tell Peter of the waves in her mind.But how could he understand the vast, brutal ocean of some threat she was unable to understand?
“Peter?”Her voice trembled with tension and trepidation.
He froze, halting his preparations in their makeshift parlor.
“Yes?”he said, his confusion physicallymanifest in the tension bunched in his shoulders.
“I need...your help.”
“Name it, and it will be done.”
But how could she name something that she didn’t know how to identify?How could she tell him of the waves constantly throwing themselves over her head?She wet her lips, begging words to come.But instead, she crumbled to her knees, her body arching over the sleeping babe in her arms.
“Estoy perdida,” she said as tears doused her cheeks in a sheet of emotion.I am lost.
Steps sounded loud and fast, and strong arms pulled her up from the waves.
“Oh, but you’ll be all right, dear.You simply need a good rest.Asiesta,no?”he said.
“No.”
“Believe me, you’ll feel much better after a rest.Here, hand me our daughter and...”
“Mydaughter.”She gripped Esperanza.
At that, he froze.
“Yes, she is yours,” Peter said, his gaze intent.“But I have also agreed to father her.I want to help you, but I do not understand why you will not allow me to do so.”
But how could he be Esperanza’s father from the great distance of the battlefield?Papáhad proved it quite difficult indeed.
She sighed, shoulders slumping.“No entiendo nada.”I do not understand anything, not even myself.
