25
Sometimes, particularly on sleepy winter nights, afterward was Victor's favorite part. Half-asleep, relaxed, only the dying fire lighting the bedroom. Every limb felt heavy, but in a nice way. Brain pleasantly fogged.
And Victoria, beneath him, her arms around his middle, holding him close. Still breathing a little heavily. Her hair spread out over the pillow. Her eyes were closed.
With a deep, contented sigh, Victor pressed his forehead to hers. Nuzzled at her cheek. Opening her eyes a little, Victoria turned her head so that she could kiss his lips. Victor moved off of her a little, the better to bury his face in her shoulder. He felt her run lazy fingers through his hair, drop a kiss on his forehead.
It was late. He should put on his pajamas, let Victoria fetch her nightgown. Wind the clock. Check on the children. Make sure the cat was safely shut in the kitchen.
But the room was so chilly, and the bed was so warm with the two of them beneath the covers. He let his hand roam up and down the hills and valleys of Victoria's body, heard her sigh quietly. Felt her heartbeat beneath his palm when he let his hand settle on her chest.
The world outside of the bed could wait a few more minutes.
26
This was the only small fantasy Victor had ever entertained about having children: he would sit with a tiny child beside him on the piano bench and they would spend happy time making music together. That the dream had come true warmed his heart.
After lunch on the days that Victor was home, he and Catherine, who was three now, would settle in the parlor at the piano and play for a half an hour or so. Today, wet and wintry outside but warm and cozy in the parlor, Victor sat on the bench and lifted Catherine up beside him. Ceremoniously he opened the keyboard cover. He bent to retrieve the basket where they kept the sheet music, and set it on the bench on Catherine's other side.
The basket was very full now. There were Pinafore and Penzance and Ruddigore, the first of which had proven most popular. Victor had started by purchasing several collections meant for children, but those were gathering dust at the bottom of the basket. Catherine liked dancing music, music she could bounce about to. So he'd bought just about every popular tune he could, especially American ones.
Victor played some scales to warm up while Catherine sifted through the music. He watched her out of the corner of his eye. Her golden head was bent over the basket, her chubby hands picking up, considering, discarding. She was such a pretty little thing. Like a child in a soap advertisement. She also kept her mother and the dressmaker busy, as she loved to dress up. Today's dress was one Victor had not seen before, be-ribboned and flouncy with puffed sleeves.
"Would you like the songs about the boat?" Victor asked. This was what she called Pinafore. He'd learned to speak her language. He played a little bit of the overture, which he had by heart at this point. But Catherine shook her head.
"No boat," she told him, in her piping and sweet little voice. "No boat today."
"Fair enough," he replied, secretly grateful. He switched to "Clementine" just to pass the time while she considered.
"Stop," Catherine ordered firmly. She went so far as to put a hand on his wrist to stay his hands. "Stop it please. No."
"You are picky today," Victor remarked affectionately, reaching to gently tickle her side. She laughed full-throatedly, not just a giggle. It was one of the best sounds in the world. "All right."
He plunked a few notes from "Daisy Bell," and when she didn't object, he continued. Victor wasn't entirely sure whether Catherine was actually choosing something, or just looking at the pictures. If it were Lydia, he would just ask. But Catherine had a hard time answering questions. With conversation in general. Harder than Liddie had, anyway. Still, she was young. And Victor hadn't ever had an easy time with conversation, either, so he understood.
He'd moved on to his usual warm-up piece, the one of his own devising that he always played, when Catherine shoved some music at him. Startled, he jumped a little.
"This one! The bell!" she cried, scrambling off of the bench. Victor in turn had to scramble to help her so that she didn't go head over heels in her haste. The music had dropped to his lap and he caught it before it slid to the floor. "The old man and the bell!"
And she ran out of the parlor. "Catherine, where are you going?" he called, leaning to see through the doorway into the entry. "Didn't you want to listen? Are you done?"
No answer. Of course. He could hear rustles and rummaging—was she into the hall tree? He looked down at the music she'd picked. "The Liberty Bell March." He grinned as he set up the music and flexed his fingers.
Catherine scurried back into the room, triumphantly wielding Victor's umbrella and wearing Victoria's velvet hat. Her cheeks were flushed and she was smiling hugely. Victor wondered about the state of the entry even as he returned her grin.
"Are we ready?" Victor asked, turning back to the piano.
"We are ready!" Catherine cried happily.
"Then off we go!"
Victor played, truly getting into the piece, making it as loud and lively as his daughter was. He tried to keep half an eye on Catherine as she marched about, hat cocked, umbrella swinging. There were a few narrow misses, but luckily most of the ornaments were up high and Catherine was very short, even with the umbrella.
"Catherine! Not so near the fireplace!" he warned, but it came out almost sung, in time with the music, as his head was full of the song. Catherine laughed, delighted. Better, she obeyed, and confined her marching to around the sofa, following the patterns in the rug with her little feet.
"Sing more!" she called as she marched past, keeping time with the umbrella. The hat was falling over her eyes.
Victor's heart sunk. He knew from experience that explaining to Catherine that many songs had no words would not work. So, gamely, he began narrating Catherine's progress about the room to the tune of the march. It was ridiculous and it was silly and it was absolutely great fun. Victor didn't think he had ever truly played like this in his life. For Catherine, life was a grand game. He admired that about her.
He was playing and singing quite loudly, so he didn't hear Victoria approach. It wasn't until he caught a glimpse of her over his shoulder that he knew she was there. Catherine saw her, too. Beaming, she marched double-time toward her, swinging the umbrella.
"Don't trip on the carpet and watch out for your Mother!" Victor sang to the ending notes, and finished with a strong chord. He turned to Victoria. "Wonderful timing!"
He watched as she caught the umbrella in mid-swing and gently took it away, setting it on the windowseat. Then she picked up Catherine, who was out of breath and a bit sweaty, and held her in the crook of her arm.
"You two were having a grand time, I see," Victoria said affectionately. She tilted the hat back on Catherine's head, out of her eyes. "But you need a rest, Catherine."
Catherine threw her arms around her mother's neck, clinging to her like a baby monkey. "Dance me?"
Victoria glanced at Victor, who shrugged. "Oh, darling, I couldn't..." she protested, but weakly.
Very innocently, Victor started in on a quiet "Blue Danube," and then cast Victoria a sideways grin. She looked a little embarrassed and uncertain. Probably still hearing her own mother's voice in her head. He kept playing, and Catherine kept asking, and finally Victoria relented.
"Just a little. You do need your rest," she said, and waited for Victor to nod when a starting beat came. With Catherine in her arms, she swept a tidy and careful box step in the space between the door and the piano.
Victoria very rarely danced, hardly ever—and it was always Catherine who could get her to do so. He stole glances at them as he continued the song, near to bursting with happiness and contentment.
The only small fantasy he'd ever had about being married: a pretty wife to glide about the room while he played for her.
27
Victoria was nearing thirty years old. She had been married for almost a decade. She was a mother to three children. She ran a household. She was a woman with a role and responsibilities. No longer a girl.
And yet she was still caught up short every time she saw her husband in only his shirtsleeves.
Was it something about the not-entirely-dressed state? Or simply the way a tight waistcoat, cut just so, made him look?
Just now she'd come into Victor's dressing room—after knocking politely on the door between their rooms and being invited in, of course—to ask something about breakfast. Upon seeing him she could not remember what she was going to say.
Victor was standing there, by the bureau, tying his tie. His jacket was waiting on the valet. He was looking at her questioningly, but Victoria couldn't stop staring at his waist. And his shoulders. Especially his shoulders, as he turned his back to her to check his work in the mirror. She studied the slim lines of him, how the waistcoat trimmed his middle and made his shoulders look broader. Even now, when she knew his body almost as well as her own, a thrill sang through her. Just to look. And admire.
When he turned back to find her still staring. He looked down at himself. "Do I have a button missing?" he asked, checking his waistcoat.
"No," Victoria replied. She had to clear her throat a little. It was a challenge to meet his eyes. "No. You look...very handsome. That is a very nice waistcoat."
Victor looked slightly confused. "This? Oh, it's an old one," he said, reaching for his jacket. Victoria watched his arms as he shrugged the jacket on, watched his long, graceful fingers do up the buttons. A little shiver went down her spine.
"Is there something wrong?" he asked. Victoria shook her head. She thought for a moment, then bit her lip. She took a breath, and the moment passed, though she still felt pleasurably warm.
"Only...only saying good morning," she told him.
"Oh," he said. He gave his jacket one last adjustment, then ran a hand over his hair. "Good morning."
Victoria smiled, then went back into her own room to splash a bit of cold water from the basin on her face.