40
One evening Victor sat on one end of the parlor sofa, elbow propped on the armrest, his magazine balanced carefully. His other arm was around Victoria, who was curled up against him with her novel open on her lap.
Eventually he realized that she'd been very still and quiet for quite some time. Her head was resting heavily on his chest. He looked up when her book slid to the floor with a small thud. When he leaned over to check, he saw that she was asleep.
He glanced at the clock and saw that it was only a little past nine. The housekeeper was still clearing up the dinner, and the children had only been in bed for an hour or so. Then he looked down at Victoria, a little grin on his face.
It had been a while, but he remembered the clues all the same. He hadn't noticed her being ill, but that hadn't happened since the first time. Sleeping late and falling asleep early. How heavily she slept in particular. What a bear she was before she'd eaten breakfast. How she stopped eating meat entirely but could eat half a loaf of bread with butter at one sitting—that night's dinner had done a lot to cement his suspicions. She'd had the dish of tomatoes at her elbow and had demolished nearly the entire thing, along with most of the bread.
Now he glanced at her face again. It was cool in the parlor as they'd had the windows open earlier to catch the first warm spring air. Victoria's cheeks were very rosy. The hair along her temples was damp. Just in case, Victor put a palm to her forehead, the way he did with the children. Not feverish. Only incredibly warm. Like a hot-water bottle. He nodded to himself. That was the clincher.
The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he missed having a baby around. At least a little. Well, there were lots of things he did not miss, and a lot that he'd likely forgotten about, and now the children were old enough to care about a new sibling, but all the same...
In his current romantic and rosy glowing frame of mind, all he could recall was the warm weight of a tiny person. Those pudgy little fists. Those enormous roving eyes and gummy smiles. Their utter surprise and delight when they realized that they had feet. Those irresistible squealing first laughs.
He tightened his arm around her briefly, trying not to disturb her. He let his forearm and hand rest against her middle. No change there yet, he didn't think. When he moved his arm Victoria slumped sideways and her head slid down into his lap. She didn't even stir. Her breathing stayed deep and even. He gazed down into her face and ran his fingers across her hairline, smoothing her hair back.
Should he say something? No. Likely not. She must have a reason for not saying anything yet. Or perhaps she didn't know yet herself. That would be a little strange, but certainly not impossible. She couldn't be that far along yet. He stared off into the middle distance as he thought back over the past month or so. When might it have happened? After that country house party? Perhaps it had been the time she'd only had her dressing gown on, and she'd been in his lap, and-
A small snore broke into his reverie. Victoria's mouth had fallen open slightly. She snored again, louder this time. Loudly enough that she woke herself up. Victor watched her eyes flutter open and eventually meet his.
"Oh," she said groggily, blinking. She rubbed at one eye, then at the corner of her mouth. "Did I fall asleep?"
"Yes," he told her, warm with affection. He helped her sit up beside him again. As she smoothed at her blouse he noticed her rest a hand against her middle, just fleetingly. Probably nothing. A coincidence. When she rose from the sofa with a sigh, he followed her.
As he walked with her up the stairs to her room he kept one hand protectively on the small of her back. She was still a little bleary. It certainly wouldn't do for her to have a fall.