"Hmm…" Andres tapped his fingers lightly against his knee, his mind running through the questions he wished to ask. But the one that lingered most was also the most curious.
"If you don't mind me asking," he began carefully, "how is it that your family came to settle here? Most British families I've known never linger long in the Philippines."
Sarah blinked, surprised by the question. Her brush paused midair before she set it gently down on the wooden box beside her. For a moment, she hesitated, as though weighing how much to tell him.
"My family… the Whitmores," she started softly, her accent carrying the faintest trace of hesitation, "came to Manila long before I was born. My grandfather was part of the British merchants who wandered across Asia after… well, after wars Britain fought on the other side of the world. India, Malaya, China…" She trailed off, her blue eyes briefly meeting his before flicking away again.
Andres leaned slightly forward, listening intently. "Merchants, then?"
"Yes," she nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips as if recalling words often repeated at home. "When the British briefly held Manila, some of those traders stayed even after Spain regained control. My family was one of them. They sought a 'new beginning,' or so my grandfather used to say."
Her voice grew quieter. "Of course, staying here wasn't easy. They had to make… certain arrangements with the Spanish authorities. Trade privileges. Taxes. And eventually, to avoid suspicion…" She glanced down at her lap, fiddling with the edge of her skirt. "They converted to Catholicism."
Andres arched a brow but didn't interrupt.
"By the time I was born," Sarah continued, "we were already… how do you say it? Rooted. My father manages plantations in Batangas—sugar mostly—and abaca trading in Bicol. He also leases ships in Manila Bay. That's why we're here now, closer to the port. For the business."
Andres gave a slow nod, piecing it together. The Whitmores weren't merely guests in the colony. They were part of its lifeblood—the commerce, the flow of goods, the ties between islands.
"So you've lived here all your life?" he asked.
She hesitated, then shook her head gently. "I was born in Manila, yes. But my parents sent me to Macau for a while when I was younger, to study with other British and Portuguese families. Only recently did I return. I still feel… like an outsider sometimes, even though this is my home."
Andres regarded her carefully. The way she said outsider carried a weight he understood all too well. Criollo, foreigner, half-something—labels used to box people into their place. He almost smiled at the irony.
"You speak Spanish quite well," he observed.
Her lips curved faintly, pleased at the remark. "And Tagalog too," she admitted shyly. "My nursemaids taught me when I was a child. My parents preferred I learned all three languages—English, Spanish, Tagalog. They said it would help me… belong."
Her voice softened at the last word, and her brush toyed nervously against her fingers again.
Andres leaned back slightly, a thoughtful look in his eyes. "Belonging… is not always given. Sometimes, one must carve their own place."
Sarah glanced at him, startled by the quiet conviction in his tone. For a moment, she simply studied him. The young lieutenant who had risen from whispers and ridicule to stand at the top of his class.
And before she could stop herself, she whispered, almost too softly to be heard.
"Like you did."
The words slipped out, leaving her cheeks flushed as she quickly looked away, pretending to busy herself with the canvas.
Andres said nothing at first, but a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. So basically, from that conversation, she is a Filipino in a technical sense since she was born here.
Suddenly.
"Sarah."
She flinched lightly, her head snapping up. A tall man in his fifties approached, his presence as commanding as the polished cane he carried. His features carried both English refinement and the wear of years under the Philippine sun. His dark coat was finely cut, his bearing that of a man accustomed to both wealth and authority.
"Father," Sarah murmured quickly.
Mr. Whitmore's eyes softened for a brief moment at his daughter, but then sharpened with curiosity as he noticed she was not alone. His gaze shifted to Andres.
Andres rose at once, offering a crisp bow. "Lieutenant Andres Novales, sir. At your service.
"I see, so you are the son of my friend who we are to celebrate the graduation."
Before another word could pass, another voice cut in.
"Oh my!"
It was Doña Isabella, her skirts sweeping lightly against the grass as she stepped into the garden. Her eyes widened when she saw them together, her son, sitting beside a girl. And not just any girl, but a beauty with fair hair and eyes like the sea.
"My son," Isabella breathed, a smile tugging at her lips. "Speaking with a young lady. What a sight." She turned her gaze to Sarah, and her smile softened with genuine admiration.
Mr. Whitmore inclined his head slightly. "Doña Isabella."
"Señor Whitmore," Isabella returned with a graceful nod, before her eyes darted knowingly between Andres and Sarah. "I see our children have already made each other's acquaintance."
Sarah flushed immediately, her hands knotting in her lap as she lowered her gaze.
"M-Mother told me we would meet eventually," she admitted softly.
Andres remained composed, though inwardly he couldn't help but feel the subtle shift in the air. So their families knew each other. Closer than he had realized.
"You two know each other?" Andres asked.
"We are business partners," Isabella said smoothly. "The Whitmores' ships and plantations are of great value to the colony. Their name is well respected in Manila."
"Is that so?" Andres asked and Mr. Whitmore simply nodded his head.
"Perhaps it was fate, then," Isabella continued with a knowing smile, "that our children should meet in such a way. Quietly, away from the noise of the hall."
Sarah's head snapped up at that, her blue eyes wide. She lowered her gaze again, fidgeting with the hem of her dress.
Mr. Whitmore raised a brow at Isabella's tone but gave only a polite smile.
"Children will find their way, Doña Isabella. Whether among the crowd or beneath the shade of trees."
"True," Isabella agreed, though her eyes lingered warmly on the pair, her son and the bashful young lady beside him.
Andres, ever composed, stepped slightly forward. "It is an honor to make your acquaintance, sir," he said firmly to Mr. Whitmore. "And to see that our families share such ties."
Whitmore regarded him carefully, then gave a slow nod of approval. "The honor is mutual, Lieutenant. Now, we have to depart. I have business to attend to. Sarah, get ready."
"Yes father," Sarah rose gracefully, smoothing the folds of her dress as she glanced at Andres. For a moment, her lips parted as if to say something, but the words faltered.
Andres stepped forward. His heart beat quicker than he expected. Taking her hand lightly in his, he bowed his head and pressed a soft kiss upon the back of it.
"Until we meet again, Señorita Whitmore," he said.
Then, with a hint of boldness, he added, "If it would be possible… may we meet once more, away from the crowd? To continue our conversation."
Sarah froze, her breath catching. Her blue eyes darted to his, wide and searching, her cheeks tinged pink. For a heartbeat, she said nothing—then, lowering her gaze, she gave a small, bashful nod.
"Yes," she whispered, almost too softly, but with unmistakable sincerity. "I… would like that."
Doña Isabella's lips curved into a knowing smile, her eyes gleaming with quiet delight at the sight. Mr. Whitmore, however, cleared his throat, casting a pointed glance between the two before turning toward his daughter.
"Come, Sarah," he said firmly, though not unkindly. "We must not delay."
"Yes, Father." Sarah curtsied politely, her gaze flicking once more to Andres before she stepped back.
Andres held her eyes for as long as he could, committing the moment to memory, before she finally turned to follow her father.
As the Whitmores walked away, Isabella leaned closer to her son.
"Looks like my son is starting to turn into an adult. I must say, she is a fine noblewoman. You must get her heart before anyone else."
"Mother," Andres simply looked at his mother who was teasing him.
"I just want you to know that just in case, you have my support."
Andres sighed.