Chapter 8
Hiro hummed under his breath as he paced, the baby’s sobs slowly turning to cries, then to hiccups, then to soft murmurs. She was overtired—at least, that’s what her mother, Hiro’s middle sister had claimed—and he’d volunteered to come out here in the garden and walk with her.
He’d said the fresh, cold air would do her good, but he suspected everyone could see he was the one who needed a break.
Tonight had been…more difficult than he’d expected.
It was December twenty-seventh, and when the three cooked hens—dressed in the French style—had been delivered this afternoon, they’d sent Okaasama into a frenzy. She’d sent for Hiro’s siblings and their families, and they’d enjoyed an impromptu dinner party.
His brother, a successful cobbler here in York, had been determined to get to the bottom of the mysterious birds, moreso when Okaasama mentioned the silver turtledove ornament which had been delivered the day before, and the basket of fresh pears delivered Christmas evening.
Fresh pears! In late December!
Hiro had pretended to be as confused as the rest of the family, but he’d known who sent them.
There was only one person passionate enough, and rich enough, to make such an extravagant statement.
Christ Almighty, Amanda still made him smile.
“She shouldn’t,” he whispered to the now-sleeping infant. “I should stay far away from her.”
The wee lassie didn’t answer, of course. This was his sister’s youngest, born six months ago, and this visit was his first time meeting her. He hadn’t been here in York for any of the births of his nieces and nephews, but he loved them all.
He just wished he knew them better.
“Little May,” he whispered, bending closer to rub his chin against the knitted cap she wore as protection against the cold. “Just remember that your uncle loves you, aye?”
Listen to you, sounding like Alistair. Sounding like a Scotsman.
Well, why not? Amanda wouldn’t mind.
Amanda.
Hiro stared down at the tiny baby as he paced. His middle sister had married a hakujin, a white man who owned a successful wool-weaving factory. May and her older brothers were a perfect mix of their parents; his sister’s black hair and their father’s round eyes.
Your daughter would look like her.
Closing his eyes on a curse, he whirled about to stalk down the length of the garden again, but pulled up short when he saw the hunched shape in the path before him. “Otuo-san! You startled me.”
Hiro’s father had already been old when he’d married, and now he seemed positively wizened. But his frail body was still strong, his hair still full, and when he smiled, everyone could see he had all his own teeth.
As always, Hiro was struck by a wave of fondness for the older man, who’d coached him through so much as a child. Belatedly, he inclined his head in a small, respectful bow. “I expected you to be indoors, in the warmth.”
“And miss this picture of domesticity?” Otuo-san gestured to the baby sleeping on Hiro’s shoulder. “Bah. You look good with a baby in your arms, son.”
Hiro glanced down at sleeping May. “She is perfect.”
“She is. All my grandchildren are, no matter their appearances or their talents.” The older man nodded firmly. “Perfect. Now, come with me.”
Without waiting to see if Hiro would follow him—because of course he would— Otuo-san turned and hobbled toward the small benches set beneath the bare apple tree.
In the spring and summer months, this was one of Okaasama’s favorite spots, but now the garden was silent and the stars shone bright in the winter sky.
The old man settled himself on the stone, and Hiro, knowing what was expected of him, cuddled the baby closer—her wee body was warm enough, he knew—and sank down opposite him.
“Now, my son.” Otuo-san’s gnarled hands spread across his knees. “Why have you not given me another perfect grandchild with that Englishwoman of yours?”
Hiro reared back in surprise. Surprise that his father knew of Mandy. Surprise that he would speak of her.
Finally he managed, “She is a duke’s daughter, Otuo-san. Too far above me.”
“Ah,” the other man hummed. “She thinks she is better than you? She does not want to give you a child.”
A child. A child with his hair and Mandy’s eyes and his strength and her bravery. Hiro closed his eyes on a pang of longing so intense he could taste it.
“Why would you stay with such a woman, my son?” Otuo-san pushed. “A woman who does not look at you and see you for the worthy man you are?”
“She does,” Hiro whispered. And when his father remained silent, he opened his eyes to face the truth. “Mandy does think I am worthy. She wants…” To marry me. To spend forever with me. “A future.”
Otuo-san cocked his head as he studied Hiro, who couldn’t meet his gaze. It was easier to switch his attention to baby May, to fuss over the sleeping infant, to tug at her bonnet.
Finally, the older man clucked his tongue sadly. “It is you then?”
Hiro didn’t respond, didn’t look up.
“You are the one who is afraid you are not good enough?” Otuo-san asked sadly. “But you are. You, my Hiroshi, are a good man.” When Hiro finally met his father’s gaze, the older man nodded. “The best man.”
The best man. She’d called him the same, that night in the hotel in Edinburgh.
Hiro swallowed. “Not in her world, Otuo-san,” he whispered. “Her brother is a duke. He is wealthy and powerful. His decisions change the world.”
“They change his world?”
Thinking of the laws Alistair had helped to pass, Hiro shook his head. “They change our world. But his world is different than my world, Otuo-san. He lives in a big house and has many servants and his family…they deserve the best.”
You are the best man.
But his father didn’t repeat it. Instead, he nodded slowly, as if considering Hiro’s words. “And your Mandy? She belongs in that world?”
Hiro frowned. “Yes, of course. She is…she is a lady.”
“Does she want to belong in that world?”
Ah.
Hiro dropped his gaze to his niece. How many times had Mandy tried to explain how little she wanted to belong in her brother’s world? How many times had he spoken over her, unwilling to be the reason she forsook the privileges of her birth?
But the truth was the truth. “No,” he whispered. “She doesn’t want to belong there.”
His father hummed. “Does she want to belong to this world?”
The small laugh wrenched from Hiro’s lips before he could stop himself, and the baby stirred against his shoulder. He dropped his voice to a whisper when he explained to his father, “No. To visit? Yes, perhaps.” How many times had she spoken of visiting York, and his family? “But she is happier…”
When it is just the two of us.
Slowly, Hiro straightened on the garden bench, the cold from the stone seeping through his overcoat and chilling more than just his arse.
Mandy was…happy.
She was happy when it was just the two of them, facing the world.
She loved her family, the way he loved his family, but neither would be happy living among either household. They’d spent years alone, doing the impossible.
Together.
Otuo-san stood, a slow unfolding, and stepped up to the bench where Hiro sat. When Hiro tipped his head back to look at his father, the older man placed one gnarled hand on Hiro’s shoulder.
“Then perhaps, my son, the two of you should build your own world.”