Chapter 15
Darling Ana,
Querida Ana,
“Dear Ana . . .”
Peter had not anticipated how difficult it would be to write a letter to his wife.
He had so much he wanted to express to her, and it seemed that none of the words he required would come to him.
Even determining how to address her proved a formidable task.
After all, he was still sorting through the myriad of feelings that their shared kisses had stirred up in him.
Peter shook his head as a rush of tingles ran down his spine, as pleasing as it was bothersome.
I apologize that I do not write with good news.
It is evident that this matter of sorting through the repercussions of San Sebastián is going to be a great deal more complex than I previously imagined.
I am grateful to have the assistance and understanding of Sir Huntington while I am here.
He has proven most helpful, and I am ever so grateful.
Do not be concerned, for I am in good company at his side.
It is beyond tiresome to hear lies told about the happenings in Spain when many of the men around me know the truth of it all.
And that truth must be brought to light, not only for the justice required by the courts and people of San Sebastián but also for the integrity and spiritual welfare of all our souls.
I am determined to see this through, although I am not sure how we will come to any sort of conclusion at this time.
I will have to spend a little while longer here than I anticipated, likely a week at most. Do not be worried on my behalf; I am quite comfortable at Heathridge Hall, and Mother is keeping me quite entertained, although I miss your company more than I can say.
I promise to return to you at the soonest possible moment, and we can resume any of the holiday celebrations that we may have missed together.
I miss you, Ana. Te extrano.
Yours,
Peter
Peter ran a hand through his hair, narrowly avoiding smudging his face with his ink-stained hand.
He was impossibly torn between wanting to return to Ana at the soonest possible moment to ensure her well-being and wanting to fight for some semblance of honesty and justice regarding the issue of San Sebastián.
But he could not allow Ana to worry, wondering why he hadn’t returned after the singular day he’d expected to spend in London. Peter signed the letter and folded it precisely, methodically. He would send it by messenger to Surrey Hills that very day.
“Is everything all right, dear?” Mother said from across the room, where she was seated at her desk, writing some correspondence of her own.
“Yes, Mother. I’m simply writing Ana to inform her I will need to stay here a few days longer.”
“And will that be quite difficult for her?”
“I couldn’t say.” He desperately hoped not. It was already distressing enough to be away from her while she was still in such a delicate state. Peter sighed heavily and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to calm his rising annoyance at Mother’s continued prying.
“And for you? I imagine it is a great challenge to be away from one’s new bride. Why, you have only been married a few months.”
“Of course it’s a challenge, Mother,” Peter snapped, his voice thin and slicing. Instantly, Mother’s demeanor changed. She seemed to fold into herself, and her eyes held a great deal of pain, much more than a simple retort should have earned.
“I am only trying to help, dear. I thought it might do you some good to talk about how you are feeling.”
“I’m sorry, Mother. I did not mean to sound vexed.
Forgive me.” Peter shook his head, wishing he could take back his rash tone.
Years apart had not made communication with Mother easier, particularly when he was in a foul mood.
A tiny voice of fear whispered that in that respect, he had become more like his father than he had ever wished, even after being anxious to get away from him.
“Matthew frequently discusses his troubles with me, and he finds it helps him a great deal.”
But I am not Matthew.
Again, that insistent frustration returned, rising in heat like a fever.
Peter bit his lip to keep an impatient, annoyed response from slipping out again.
He should have expected that upon returning home, he would be welcomed with a plethora of comparisons to his older brother.
After all, who wouldn’t compare them? Matthew was a handsome, kind, accomplished earl who was wholly adored by Mother and every other person he came in contact with, man or woman.
He had never made a mistake in his life, as far as Peter was aware.
Peter, on the other hand, was a voluntary outcast who had abandoned his family in their time of need.
And after so many years of minimal communication, Mother had the right to harbor some hurt.
At the very least, she had the right to feel confused and to seek understanding.
Guilt hazed his mind, thick and heavy, like an insistent smoke.
In so many ways, his choosing to leave Heathridge Hall had been a matter of survival.
One more day spent under the same roof with his father would have led to violence.
And Peter was so untrained at the time, he surely would have been severely injured.
When he had realized that Matthew and Mother herself would not allow him to enter into any sort of physical altercation with his father in their defense, Peter felt he no longer had a place there, at least not in his present state.
He had joined the army in an effort to gain strength and discipline that would assist him in putting Mother’s home into order once and for all.
But then Father had died unexpectedly of a deadly fever.
And now it appeared that Matthew had a wise and firm hand on the reins as the new Earl of Heathridge Hall.
The threat was gone. Mother was protected.
And Peter had not been the one to do the protecting she had so desperately needed.
And all the great horrors he had lived through, all the strength he had gained, would never justify his decision to leave them.
“Never mind that, dear. If you are not ready to speak of these things, I will not force you. After all, we are just becoming comfortable with one another again.” Mother patted the place next to her on the sofa, motioning for Peter to sit.
He obeyed, sitting rigidly next to her. “I really am delighted to have you here. It’s been so very long since I have had both of my boys here together.
” Peter wasn’t so sure that Matthew was equally delighted.
But he hadn’t indicated that his feelings toward Peter were as complicated as the feelings Peter harbored about him.
“I do wish it could be under better circumstances,” he grumbled. “It seems the army is content to bother me even during the months they insisted I spend recovering from the mess they put me through.”
“Are you certain there’s nothing that Matthew can do to assist in the issue? He has quite an influence, you know.”
“I am quite familiar with Matthew’s influence.
” An influence neither of them had ever been able to use to protect their own mother.
An influence that attracted all sorts of women in the Ton but that didn’t carry the weight to save their armies from being driven to the slaughter .
. . or from causing the slaughter themselves.
Peter breathed heavily, splaying his fingers on his lap to avoid creating a tense fist with them.
“I am quite certain. It is somewhat of a complex issue. But I thank you.”
“It is regarding your time in Spain, yes? Is there anything you would like to share with me? Perhaps it would help you.”
Peter remembered the weight that had lifted off his shoulders when he began telling Ana of his troubled thoughts and was almost persuaded to reveal the truth to Mother.
But then memories of blood-streaked dresses and ale-stained uniforms flashed through his mind, and he could not speak of it.
The pain was still too great. He rolled his shoulders and shook his head, as if that could dispel the visions that plagued him.
“I see that it would not be helpful after all. No matter—we can talk about something else. Tell me more about Ana. How is she faring? Is she enjoying Abbeygate? It is such a peaceful place. I always greatly enjoyed our summers there.”
“She is settling in well, thank you. Although she is certainly implementing some traditions of her own in the household,” Peter said with a chuckle.
“And I would expect her to do as much.”
Mother’s word snapped in half a cord of tension that Peter had not even realized he had been holding on to.
All this time, he had been so concerned that they were not conducting their household in a way that would be expected of the family of an earl.
But clearly Mother was more concerned about Ana’s happiness, as was Peter. He slumped in his chair, relieved.
“It is quite amusing, after being so caught up in the army for all these years, to suddenly find myself completely consumed with Ana’s well-being.
And now that I’m away, I am constantly thinking of her, wondering how she is sleeping, hoping that she is eating sufficiently, praying that she remembers enough English to communicate well . . .”
“You care a great deal for her.”
“And why shouldn’t I? It is my duty to ensure that she is comfortable, well cared for. She has endured so much . . .” Too much.
“I was referring to a more sentimental sort of caring,” Mother said with a slight smile. She reached across Peter’s rigidly folded arms and squeezed his hand.
“Of course,” Peter managed. He had spilled enough secrets for one day.
He would certainly not admit to harboring any sort of great sentimentality for his wife, beyond what was expected, of course.
He felt like he was young again and had been found out during one of his mischievous ventures with Matthew.
Mother’s brows arched higher on her forehead.
“You mentioned you’re concerned about Ana’s sleeping and eating. Is something amiss? Is she still feeling ill as she was on your wedding day?” she pressed. Then understanding dawned on her visibly, as her eyes widened and her mouth curved into the shape of an O.
Mother knew. She knew about Ana’s condition. And now she knew the timing of it all.
Peter felt his stomach drop violently. It had been years since he had lived with Mother.
Did she really know him well enough to believe that he would never harm Ana?
That he would never even imagine touching her against her will?
Devastating memories, too often shoved from his mind, rose to the surface.
Ana, bleeding, limping, crying. Ana, locked in the dark of her boat cabin, insistent that she could not bear the sight of the other soldiers on board.
Ana, shaking with sobs when she realized she was increasing.
Acute pain and anger fogged his mind and muddled his speech.
“She is not . . . it is not what you think . . .” Peter stuttered, placing his head in his hands as misplaced fear and shame overwhelmed him. “I have done nothing wrong.”
“I would never presume that you had done so,” she replied with a reassuring tone. “I am sure you have always behaved honorably toward your Ana. But are you suggesting that she is with child, and has been for quite some time?”