Chapter 29
“Peter, do be a dear and fetch Ana’s favorite chair from the drawing room and bring it up here.”
“To our bed . . . my bedroom?” Peter’s neck heated at the implication of his question.
“Yes, dear,” Mother said, unable to hide the laughter in her voice. “Ana will require a comfortable place to sit as she is tending to the babe throughout the night.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Oh, and Peter?”
Peter turned, cocking his head as if to ask whatever else Mother could require. “I am not surprised in the least that Ana is sharing your bedroom,” she said, “so you needn’t continue to pretend that it is yours alone.”
“Very well,” Peter choked, then nearly ran from the room. Apparently Mother had guessed at the true progression of his relationship with Ana.
Preparations for Ana’s confinement had officially begun.
The birth of their child would be, at the physician’s best estimate, only a few weeks away, and it was Peter’s priority to ensure that she be given the greatest accommodations to ensure her health and safety.
Mother had been a great help in arranging these things.
She had even found a highly acclaimed accoucheur to assist in the lying-in time and a monthly nurse to help Ana with her recovery afterward.
Ana’s bedroom had started to be transformed into the lying-in chamber.
Her bed was moved to the far wall, and an innovative bed now stood in its place.
A new table had been brought in to house the supplies needed for the lying-in and recovery, as well as a few additional chairs.
It unnerved Peter somewhat after spending too much time in battlefield medical tents visiting his wounded men.
Peter reached the drawing room downstairs, squatting to brace his legs with strength as he hefted the armchair into his grasp.
Fortunately, Ana was staying in his room now and had been for a number of months now.
Peter didn’t know if he would ever be able to sleep again without her warm form pressed up against his side.
The velvet softness of her skin was intoxicating, and her slow, insistent kisses drove him nearly to madness.
The thin boundary that remained between them, held there by the insistence of his honor, seemed to waver every time she pulled him to her lips.
In such moments, he frantically reminded himself how incredibly uncomfortable she already was in her current condition, in addition to the shadows of her past. She did not need any sort of pressure from him.
And he certainly found enough satisfaction in her kisses and companionship alone.
How would he ever survive without her when he was recalled to the army?
Even more than her presence in his arms, his bed, Peter found he could no longer live without her company and her character.
Her quick wit brought him out of any dark memory, and her compassionate speaking had already made him more of a caring neighbor and friend.
And the tender way she spoke of their child made him dream of the future—and future children—in a way he had never allowed himself to do.
The fear of the reality of death on the battlefield had limited his vision and imagination to merely surviving the next day.
He had never allowed himself the privilege of thinking of the next month, let alone years in the future.
But now, with Ana, he envisioned them taking their nightly lemonade on the terrace, surrounded by a great gaggle of toddling children, blissfully, incandescently happy.
Happiness. That was something he had certainly never guessed he would achieve in life, but it was a treasure he had already found in the presence of his darling wife.
That said, they would likely both be a great deal more comfortable once their child was no longer performing a jig in Ana’s stomach each night.
Her moaning, tossing, and turning kept both of them up each night.
Peter only wished there was something more he could do to ease her comfort.
And so he was following Ana’s every bidding and Mother’s every command in rearranging their rooms for the imminent birth of their child.
Peter carefully squeezed the stuffed armchair through their bedroom door, finally bringing it to rest at their bedside with a great heave and a satisfied sigh.
“Peter, es perfecto!” Ana exclaimed from the doorway adjoining their rooms. “Thank you.” She crossed the room, rose on her tiptoes, and brushed a kiss against his cheek.
Peter noted that Mother was conveniently occupying herself with the bedclothes, her lips curved knowingly with a smile.
So Peter took advantage of the moment. He pressed his lips quickly but firmly to Ana’s, breathing in her contact as if it were just as necessary to his survival as air.
“I do wish the two of you could have visited us for the ball at Heathridge Hall,” Mother said.
“I would have loved to present you to my friends. And our home looked more beautiful than I ever remember it being.” A peaceful, serene smile crossed her lips as she folded yet another incredibly small piece of clothing for the baby.
It had been the first large event Mother had hosted since she was out of mourning, and she had been talking—and writing—about it ever since it occurred two weeks past. To see hope in his mother’s eyes again buoyed Peter up in a way that was hard to express.
For so many years, he had longed to wipe the grief-worn lines from her brow.
And even now, he had not been able to do so. But Matthew had.
“I am truly sorry we couldn’t be there, Mother. But as you know, Ana’s condition would not allow us to travel and stay at such a late event. She requires much rest, particularly now.”
However, the true reason for declining the invitation was because Peter had been fearful of who might be there.
Would they encounter a fellow soldier who knew Ana?
Would someone guess at their plight? He could not risk it.
The privacy and seclusion afforded by Abbeygate was a blessing, one that would not last forever.
“Of course, dear, I don’t hold it against you in the slightest. I understand completely why you were unable to attend. But it was a most wonderful night, particularly for Matthew.”
“Matthew—he become betrothed, no?”
“Yes, and to the most wonderful woman,” Mother gushed, placing a hand to her heart.
Peter gripped the back of the stuffed armchair, adjusting it slightly yet again. Of course Matthew would have an ideal betrothal, one that Mother would be proud of. It seemed yet another example proving why Peter was a disappointment.
“She is kind and humble and compassionate, much like yourself, Ana,” Mother continued. “In fact, I believe that the two of you will become dear friends and sisters. That is, once your condition permits that you can meet her.”
Peter’s fumbling with the furniture paused as he slowly raised his eyes to his wife.
Theirs had not been a typical betrothal or marriage.
Indeed, nothing about their lives would ever be typical or normal.
But Mother was clearly able to recognize the unique ability that Ana had to spread love through her eager expressions of affection and fond embraces.
A rush of warmth clouded Peter’s chest. Perhaps finding some measure of comfort within his family would not be as impossible as it felt, at least not with Ana at his side.
“And why she not come here with Matthew?” Ana turned to Peter, reaching for his hand. He folded her hand into his eagerly, rubbing his thumb over hers. Her gaze was bright, shining with that same hope that reflected in Mother’s eyes.
“Dear, it is a particularly lovely idea. But with your lying-in soon approaching, I am not certain that making plans to receive visitors for an extended period is the wisest idea.”
“Oh, not now. After the bebé perhaps? After the boda? The wedding? Quizás that time will be easier for us all.”
“They are to be married in June,” Mother interjected. “The timing of it all would work rather well.”
Peter sighed. He knew that the recovery after the confinement period could be difficult; Mother had told him as much.
But if he was completely honest with himself, he was more nervous about the prospect of hosting his brother in his home at such a vulnerable time, particularly when they had not yet had the opportunity to resolve things between them.
“Very well, dear,” Peter said to Ana. “If that is what you wish.”