Peter’s stomach was a heavy pit of pain.Even with the foresight gifted to him by David and Captain Davies, the words were still a strike to his heart.Could he really leave Ana when she needed him so desperately?Would he sell his commission, as he had promised?Already his mind started to whirl in a panic, wondering how he could possibly provide for the family that was now so entirely dependent upon him for their survival, and in more ways than one.The army had provided him stability and the promise of a future.But now?
“It has been a difficult road, and some of you may question whether you would like to sell your commission.After all, Napoleon is in exile.But consider how abandoning your country would reflect on you, on your family.You will not be hailed a hero in the halls of London for such behavior.”
But selling a commission was not the same as desertion!Once again, Peter’s gaze went to the soldiers who surrounded him.Officers of some degree, they all were.Nearly all of them were gentlemen and understood the binding nature of honor and reputation.And yet he could see the same doubt and trepidation that he felt shadow some of their faces and draw their shoulders downward.He was not alone in questioning whether he could truly continue in the army after all they had witnessed.The illusion of discipline and honor had long disappeared now.But many of the men surrounding him would continue in their lots, whether motivated by duty to the Crown or the potential to fill their pockets.But those whom Peter pitied most of all were the poor men who felt so haunted, so transformed by life at war, that they doubted if they would ever be able to reenter society, or any degree of normal living, again.
“There is still an important work to do for Crown and country.Our Duke of Wellington has accomplished a great deal, such as the Peace of Paris signing only months ago, of which you are well aware.But much unrest remains, particularly in France and Spain, even as Napoleon is exiled.You will be great tools in ensuring that this period of peace continues.”
Peter was all too familiar with the cost of wartime peace.Peace was bloody.It was the ghost of mourning, screaming, suffering.Peace was not quiet.At least it did not start that way.Once, that peace had been enough for him.It had been a sort of comfort compared to the wreckage of his family home.But with Ana María, Peter had found an altogether different sense of peace.A lasting peace, a healing peace.A peace that did not require killing.How would he sacrifice that peace again?
Chapter 39
August 1, 1814, Abbeygate, Surrey Hills, England
Lady Ashmore and Peter had left for London within nearly the same hour, leaving Ana feeling hollow and sending her tumbling, splashing back into the ocean of darkness that had drowned her only weeks before.She had spent the following days entirely on edge.Ana wandered Abbeygate in her dressing gown, as it felt impossible to prepare herself fully for the day when she was entirely certain her entire world was about to shatter to bits around her.She circled past the entryway a few times each hour, checking for letters, waiting for news, straining to hear the sound of hoofbeats.Burnsey was often stationed there, his normally jolly face drawn downward in worry and pity.That only stoked the desperate determination that was burning in Ana’s stomach.
She would not remain behind endlessly, waiting for word that Peter had been drawn back to the army by the false promises of glory.She would not sit by idly while all of Surrey Hills whispered about poor Mrs.Ashmore, abandoned again by her duty-bound husband, and all while hardly knowing how to communicate like a civilized person.And she had told Peter as much, had promised him she would wait, but only for a time.If many more weeks passed without his return, Ana would be forced to conclude that despite his protective and caring nature, Peter had determined that his responsibilities to his country were greater than his obligation to her.And why wouldn’t he?It was not as if he loved her.
Ana pressed a hand to her face, as if that would quell the tears that wanted so badly to pour out of her.She breathed deeply, desperately, and her throat ached from the tearing emotion that was stifled inside her.Esperanza cooed, her eyes roving around Ana’s face, as if searching for the source of unhappiness in her.Her sweet, tiny eyes were cloudy still, both in color and in vision.She had begun to move about her head and gaze as if searching for the source of noises, but she was not so adept at recognizing what she was looking at, from what Ana observed.Still, her cooing increased, and she nuzzled in at Ana’s breast, where she was firmly tucked.
“You feel my distress, no?Lo siento, hijita.Estoy bien.Nothing is the matter, and if it were, it would not be any fault of yours.”
Ana stroked a finger across Esperanza’s velvety cheek, the warmth of the contact grounding her again.The nursery was quiet as she rocked, the soothing sounds of nighttime faint outside the window.She would have to act according to Esperanza’s needs—and her own.And both of them needed family.If this child was not to have a father present and Ana was not to have a husband, then they would journey to Spain to see herabuela.Perhaps someday they would even findMamá,if she had survived the war that ravaged the country.
“We will be well,mi amor.Te lo prometo.”
“Ana!”came a yell from the hallway, Elena’s bright, open pronunciation bouncing off the walls, echoed by the sound of quick footsteps.
Ana rose to her feet, her heart pounding, “Qué pasó?” Esperanza startled at the movement and started to cry, bringing tears to Ana’s eyes for more than one reason.She bounced her arms, whispering to the babe.
“Ana!”The maid halted herself at the door, bracing herself against the frame.“Word is arriving,de Pedro.”
Ana eased the calming babe into Elena’s arms, bunched the skirts of her dressing gown in her hands, and hurried down the hallway and down the stairs.
Burnsey stood at the door.“We heard tell that a soldier approaches on horseback.Likely with notice of Mr.Ashmore.”
Without hesitation, Ana disregarded her state of undress, grasped the handle, and heaved open the large, wooden door, ignoring Burnsey’s protestations entirely.He was correct, indeed.Off in the distance, beyond the gate and drive, there was a redcoat on horseback.Ana started down the stairs and walked briskly down the gravel path, tears already streaking across her face.This poor, unfortunate soldier hadn’t the slightest notion that he was about to determine her entire future and would likely face a very emotional bout of Spanish as a result.
But that was no mere messenger.
As the horse—and Ana’s hurried steps—brought the man into closer view, she saw the gold epaulets on his shoulders and badges glinting off his chest.This was an officer.Something terrible had to have occurred for them to send an officer in a messenger’s place.Ana broke into a run now, her chest heaving with exertion or emotion, she was not sure which.
At the increase in her movement, the officer urged his horse on to a gallop and ripped the hat off his head.Dark hair escaped its binding, waving in the heavy humidity of the evening.The darkening sky did not aid Ana much in making out his face, but as he drew increasingly closer, his hair, his form, his broad frame looked all too familiar.
She choked on tears and hope, collapsing to her knees as Peter leapt off his horse and ran, closing the remaining distance to her.In one movement, he knelt at her side and swept her onto his lap, into his arms.
“I thought you would never return.Nunca,” she sobbed into his crimson jacket.
“But I promised I would, darling.And I would never break a promise to you.”
So many times,Papáhad left her, promising to return soon.So many days Ana had spent searching forMamáin Valencia, convinced that if she could only see her daughter, she would return home.And these past days had filled her with that familiar terror as she walked about Abbeygate, convinced that she and Peter would never share the same space again.
But here he was.Whispering her name, pulling her body closer to his, quelling her trembling with his strong stability, and Ana had never felt so relieved, so safe.Her desperate fingers felt at the rough fabric of his sleeves, clutched at the warmth of his firm arms beneath.Now the panic ebbed out of her in waves as she wet his front with tears, leaving her weak but calmed.
Finally, Ana found her voice and the courage to speak.“When does thearmadarequire that you return?”she whispered, proud of how her voice only trembled on the last word.
“Never.”
Ana’s heart thudded to a stop.“You abandon them?”She pushed back out of his embrace, urgency filling her words as she searched his gaze.“But your mother, your family, their name will be affected, no?”
