"Victoria," Victor's worried cry floated down the stairs. "Victoria? Will you, will you come up here? Just for a moment?"
"What's wrong?" Victoria called and went up the stairs as fast as one can in a corset. Silently praying that Victor hadn't cut himself or that she wouldn't find him hanging on the windowsill from a nasty fall. But he wasn't in his room. "Victor? Darling where are you?"
"I'm in the loo." Victoria turned shades at his words.
"Are you descent?" She called through the door.
"Yes, could you just come in." Victoria had to strain to here her husbands words but upon deciphering them entered. There was Victor in a relatively safe position. "Victoria? How long have I…"
Victoria leaned forward as Victor turned around and pulled some of his hair forward. There nestled happily with the rest of his raven colored hair was a large patch of white. With a relived smile she went over and pulled him down far enough so that she could kiss the white hair.
"Is this all? Victor, why did you call me over that?" Victoria smiled gently at her husband.
"Is this all? I've never seen this before in my life!" Victor looked faint so Victoria quickly sat him down and tried to not laugh.
"You've never noticed?" She gently ran a hand through his locks. But this did no good. Victor's mouth slowly opened and he looked at her.
"How long have I had this?" His words were slow and he stared straight at her.
"As long as I've known you. You must just always slick your hair back in a way that covers that." Victoria messed his hair up slightly as Hildegarde came in.
"Here you are deary! What are you two doin' in here?" Victoria smiled at her maid.
"Victor called me over a small patch of white hair." Victoria was about to continue when Victor butted in.
"Small? That's a load of white hair if you ask me! I'm falling apart at the seems!" Victor looked a bit less panicked but still very worried.
"If any one makes fun of you I'll take care of it." The old woman punch one hand into the other and Victor wasn't sure if he should thank her or cry that an old woman, with one foot in the grave, had to defend him.
"Don't worry so darling," Victoria whispered, "Your not going gray."
On Victor's 27 birthday when he had more gray hair than black, and more white than gray he would look at his wife and simply say, "I'm not graying eh?" And she would smile apologetically and powder her hair just a little more that morning.