Chapter 31
Ana reached for the small buttons at the front of her soft, cream-colored dress, unfastening them to prepare to feed Esperanza.
Tiny, bowed pink lips wrapped around her breast, latching and sucking with a pinch of pain.
It had taken some time to learn to feed her small babe.
Nursing was not as intuitive as the monthly nurse had protested it would be.
And she had scoffed when Ana had worried about discomfort.
What a great relief it was that Peter had dismissed her.
But he had not done so before the woman’s cruel words had planted seeds of doubts in Ana’s already exhausted mind.
Perhaps she was not capable of being the mother that Esperanza needed.
A better mother would not have complained about the pain of feeding her child.
A better mother would think nothing of the aching that stabbed through her each time she rose from her chair or took steps to the water closet.
A better mother would welcome others into her home to meet her new babe, no matter how it wreaked havoc on her unbalanced emotions and tender anxieties.
But Ana would not leave her child to be tended to by others.
She would, at the very least, be a better mother than her own mamá had been in that regard.
But the pressure of it all, increased by Ana’s helplessness in caring for her own recovery, made her feel like she was drowning.
That feeling was only worsened by Peter.
It seemed he was retreating from her. He was incredibly attentive to Esperanza, always eager to change her panales or rock her to sleep at night.
He often asked if there was more he could do to help the babe.
But did he not see how desperately Ana needed help herself?
He had always been dependable. Steady. Safe.
Consistent. And yet it seemed that he could be that for Ana no longer.
The blissful feeling of being cared for—understood, protected—that she had enjoyed for months was crumbling.
Of course, Peter would never hurt her intentionally.
He was too honorable. But now it was clear that his priority was to fulfill his honor-bound responsibility to protect her and provide her a safe place to deliver her child.
Nothing more. They would not truly be a family, not as she had dreamed.
She was nothing more than a task to be completed in his life. How inconvenient she must be.
First Papá. Then Mamá. Now Peter too. But she could not bear to see him distance himself from her. She would not survive him leaving her. Would she have to leave him first if it came to that?
Esperanza was no longer sucking, her hungry fists now relaxed as her breaths came slow and sleepily.
The only moments of peace and clarity came when her daughter was in her arms, against her skin.
Ana brushed kisses down the babe’s velvety cheek and set her down in her cradle.
She was suddenly incredibly thirsty, and the glass on her bedside table was empty.
Bracing herself on the arms of the chair, Ana gingerly stood.
The throbbing pain transported her somewhere else entirely.
Smoke and sweat stifled her breathing, and tears dripped off her chin as she stumbled over rocky, uneven ground in search of Papá.
Such a similar pain laced down her hips and legs, so familiar that Ana grasped her dress, feeling for the rips and the burn marks.
And then Peter had been there. He had protected her. Rescued her. Bound her wounds and nursed her to health, emotionally just as much as he had physically. But would he abandon her now? After all he had done to ensure her safety?
* * *
“Ah, the budding new father himself.”
“Sir Huntington,” Peter replied. “Thank you for coming.”
“Do call me David, please,” the man said, his smile deep. “It may seem boyish, but it is what your brother has called me since our school days together. I find the familiarity to be fitting with any Ashmore.”
David had sent a missive informing Peter that he would be in town and asking him to meet at the local café so his visit would not disturb Ana.
Peter was grateful for an excuse to leave the house.
The tightness that constantly bound his chest seemed to loosen upon seeing another soul outside his household.
“How fares Mrs. Ashmore?”
“I believe she is well.”
“You believe so?”
Peter’s thoughts blurred with anxieties, desperate for an outlet. So much had changed in so little time. But Matthew and Mother trusted David deeply, treated him as family even. Perhaps Peter should do so as well.
“Well, since Esperanza was born, she has seemed entirely independent. Before, she valued my help, or at the very least, my thoughts. Now it seems that she desires to do everything by herself. And it leaves me feeling more helpless than I can express.”
Even more distressing was the feeling that the tender affection they had shared was seeping away. The time when they had enjoyed kisses and embraces and shared the same bed now felt like an entire lifetime ago.
“Well, perhaps I have a reason for you to renew your efforts to help her—to break down whatever barriers she might be hiding behind.”
“Oh? And what would that reason be?”
Regret and pain shone on David’s face. “I have heard tell that your regiment is being called back to Spain. And so your time with your wife and new little daughter may be more limited than you expected.”
While panic seized Peter’s chest, he was not entirely surprised at the news.
His regiment was made of foot guards. They were rigorously trained and held to the highest standards of discipline.
In short, they were a valuable asset and likely should have been recalled earlier.
Then again, he had been quite vocal about his opinions regarding leadership’s approach to San Sebastián, so perhaps that extended leave had been intentional.
“Who told you as much?
“Captain Davies.”
Peter dropped his head into his hands. Once, Captain Davies had been a trusted friend.
Their men had worked closely together, and Davies had trained him in his duties as a new captain years ago.
But it seemed that his fear of crossing his superiors had drawn a line between them since the sacking.
Peter hadn’t heard from him in months. Still, the remnants of friendship had instilled in him enough loyalty to warn Peter that they would be leaving.
And the man hadn’t the faintest idea that Peter was a father now. He would be shocked.
“I cannot understand how it must feel to leave your daughter. But I do recall how I mourned leaving my sisters the first time I was recalled. I thought my heart would burst at the sound of their weeping and begging me to stay. It still brings tears to my eyes to think about it now.” David wiped a hand over his face.
“Tell me how I can help your family, and I will be at your service in an instant.”
“Thank you for being a loyal friend to me just as much as you have been to Matthew over the years. I hardly find myself deserving of such kindness.”
“I have seen how much your mother and Matthew have missed you. And now I have seen the hope restored to their home upon your return. It has healed a wound Matthew has nursed for too many years.”
Peter wondered at that. Matthew had given no indication that the tension that had existed between them had loosened.
True, he had never treated Peter with contempt or bitterness for leaving.
But Peter had always imagined he had harbored such feelings.
What if he had merely longed to have a brother close again?
“Even more than that, you accomplished what I most desire in this world: to have a family. I envy you, brother. I would be a married man and the father of a fine gaggle of children if I had found the right lady by now.”
Peter chuckled too at that. “I admit I had not imagined such a future for myself. And while it is a complicated one, it is also incredibly fulfilling. I have not felt such peace in . . . well, in my entire life, as I have these past months being married to Ana.”
“And your mother has noted that change in you and told me as much. Since I do not have my own family to care for, I will care for yours. I will not easily allow such a sweet family to be broken up over a badly timed recall, and I intend to assist your mother and Matthew in any way that I can in supporting your Mrs. Ashmore.”
Peter’s throat tightened with emotion at the thought of leaving his little family, and so soon.
But didn’t he know this was inevitable? Could he truly have expected otherwise?
He had spent years in the army and had always known he would be recalled at any time.
But perhaps that was one reason why he had never gone home for a long period before.
Because if he had done so, he might have never returned.
He might not even return now. There was always the option of selling his commission.
It was his property, his right to sell, although the practice of gentlemen achieving a certain rank for money or prestige and then selling their commission unexpectedly was one of his great frustrations of the army.
It made it difficult to maintain effectiveness and consistency when their leaders were constantly wavering and leaving.
He had always looked down his nose at such men.
Thought them foolish for betraying their responsibility to God, the Crown, and their men.
But he had never stopped to consider that many of those men might be returning to wives and children who needed them desperately.
It certainly changed his perspective now.
* * *