At long last, Victor and Victoria were alone. They'd wound up in Victor's bedroom, with the doors securely locked. In a house full of children, it was the last refuge. And they were long, long overdue for this chat. He'd assumed they'd be able to steal a few moments after dinner, that the children would be occupied.

Nothing was that easy. He should know that by now.

0-0

They'd tried to sit together in the parlor directly after dinner, assuming that the children were well-occupied elsewhere. Side by side they'd sat on the sofa, not quite touching though Victor had ached to take her hand. Here he was, just where he'd wanted to be all day, alone with his wife and ready to have a talk. Yet he was at a bit of a loss. They'd never fought before. How should he go about trying to make up? Victoria, hands clasped in her lap and her eyes sad, had turned toward him.

"Victor, dear," she'd said, her voice low and her eyes not quite catching his, "I said terrible things to you this afternoon. I'm terribly sorry for what I said. I was unfair. And...and cruel. I'm sorry." At that, Victor had gone ahead and taken her hand.

"Apology accepted," he told her, and she nodded. When their eyes met, Victor felt another rush of warmth, the same as he had in the parlor before dinner. Stroking her fingers with his thumb, he realized that this was the first time they'd touched, really touched, all day. Frowning, he considered. Or was it longer than that...?

Fresh guilt over his recent moodiness and distance swept through him. The guilt was swiftly followed by fresh hurt over what Victoria had said to him. Now was as good a time as any to question her, to reassure her.

"Apology accepted," he repeated, squeezing her fingers. Serious now, keeping his tone even, he leaned in toward her, scanning her face. "I'm sorry for not being there. For...well, not having been here. But Victoria, why were you so-"

He only made it that far before Anne came into the parlor wearing her nightdress and robe, hauling a very sleepy-looking Boisduval and a large book along with her. It was amazing that she was able to manage both at once. She'd offered them a smile and quiet greeting as she hoisted herself and the cat into Victor's armchair. Seemingly oblivious to having interrupted her parents, she settled in with Boisduval curled up next to her and her book (one of his illustrated bird guides, Victor noticed now) open in her lap.

Victor and Victoria glanced at each other. As they quietly sighed, Victor felt a little stab of rather impotent annoyance. He was fully within his rights to ask Anne to leave. Yet he didn't want to hurt her feelings. He'd not spent very much time with her lately, either. As he dithered to himself, trying to figure out a nice way to order his daughter and the cat out of the room, Victoria gently withdrew her hand and stood. Quickly he glanced up at her, hoping he hadn't missed his chance.

"I think I'll go up to my room," she said, meeting his eye with a pointed look. Understanding, he nodded. "Good night, Anne."

"Good night, Mother," Anne replied with a smile. When Victoria left, she turned to Victor, who had his frustrated gaze on Victoria's back. "Look, Father, this is the bird I told you about last week."

Slowly Victor turned to her, having no idea what she was talking about. Anne was tilting the book toward him, pointing to an illustration. He was trying to remember when she'd mentioned any sort of bird when she said, "Remember, I found the nest in the hedge? And then I saw a little bird. I think it's this one..."

And she happily prattled in her quiet way for quite a while, as Victor, hoping his indulgent smile wasn't coming across as a grimace, tried to figure out a way to politely get himself out of there. Eventually, a bit more curtly than he might have otherwise, Victor interrupted her to praise her research, give her a pat on the head, and tell her it was nearly bedtime. Then he'd bid her good night and left her there, plainly a little confused.

Taking the stairs two at a time on his way up to Victoria's room, he practiced his lines, went over what he wanted to ask. Oh, but all he really, truly wanted to do was give Victoria a hug. It was all that seemed important right now.

Instead of finding Victoria in her bedroom, though, he found her in the hall. Back to him, she stood with Lydia and Catherine, already in their nightgowns, before her. As he neared, feeling again that pulse of annoyance, asking himself yet again what in the world could be happening now, he saw that Victoria had her hands on her hips. It was a pose reminiscent of Maudeline, and was Victoria's primary scolding position.

"Keep your voices down," she was saying as Victor came to stand at her shoulder, "you'll wake Mary up."

"What's going on? What's wrong?" Victor asked, noticing the defiant expression on his daughters' faces and the harassed one on Victoria's.

"I never touched her stupid fan!" Lydia cried. Whether in response to his question or just as a general protest, he wasn't sure.

"Language, Lydia," said Victoria, glancing at Victor.

Suppressing another sigh, Victor pressed his palm to his forehead briefly. A fan. Arguing in the middle of the hallway, in their nightgowns, over a fan. When he and Victoria needed to talk. Again he entertained the notion of selling them to the first group of Gypsies he could find, but decided that that solution wouldn't be very kind or fair to the Gypsies. From the look on her face, Victoria was thinking along the same lines.

"I didn't touch it," Lydia insisted, glowering down at Catherine, who glowered right back up at her. "Why would I? You probably just left it somewhere."

"I didn't!" Catherine said. "You did something with it, just to be mean. You know I need it to cover up my lip, and you hid it just to be horrid!"

"You're crazy," Lydia said flatly, pulling a face. That was apparently the last straw.

Balling up her fists, her plump face distorted with rage, Catherine lunged at her. Quickly, with a gasp, Victor grabbed Catherine by the shoulders and pulled her away. For a moment she struggled, and he held on. Meanwhile Victoria stepped in front of Lydia, who had taken a hobbling step backward, impeded by her cane.

"Catherine!" Victor said, pulling her a little closer.

"You're horrible!" Catherine cried at Lydia, sounding near tears. "I hate you! I'm never going to—ow."

She broke off with a pitiful little moan of pain, her fingers to her lip. Glancing down, Victor saw she'd re-opened her split lip. Bright red blood was dripping onto her front, and her fingertips glistened with it. Despite himself, Victor winced at the sight.

"Serves you right," Lydia said rudely. She quailed just a little when Victoria spun round to face her.

"Go to bed. Immediately," Victoria told her. She did not raise her voice, nor did she sound angry, but she did sound as though she'd had enough.

Lydia looked for a moment as though she was going to argue, but the look on her mother's face seemed to stop her. Without another word, Lydia hobbled her way to her room down the hall, closing the door behind her hard enough to make a point but not so hard that she could be accused of slamming it.

"Are you all right?" Victoria asked Catherine, turning to her and bending to take a look at her lip. Before Catherine could reply, the sound of footsteps, little Mary-sized footsteps, came from within the nursery.

Over Catherine's head, Victor and Victoria shared a look. It was not the warm, romantic, intimate gaze from earlier. It was the look of two wardens attempting to quell a prison riot, wondering how much violence might be justifiable in the fulfilling of their duties. With matching grim expressions, they'd parted ways once more—Victoria into the nursery to tend to Mary, Victor steering Catherine into the washroom to clean up her lip.

Pressing a cold, wet washcloth over Catherine's mouth served the dual purpose of stemming the bleeding and keeping her quiet. Victor didn't feel much like hearing from her just now. Not from any of the children. The lovely domestic scene from earlier, and then the relatively peaceful meal, seemed very far away. Almost like it belonged in someone else's life.

When her lip had stopped bleeding, Victor had wiped a stray spot of blood from her chin, given her a kiss, and then sent her to bed with promises that he'd keep out a sharp eye for her missing fan.

After making quite sure that Catherine had gone to her room and was going to stay there, Victor made his way to Victoria's room, closing the door softly behind him. Victoria was in the armchair by the window, and she glanced up when he came in.

"Mary heard the argument and wanted to help," she said, tiredly massaging her temples. "I think she's asleep again, though."

"Oh," he said. Nearing her, he took a deep, calming breath, prepared to pick up their conversation where they had left off. Before he could say a word, though, there was a gentle knock on Victoria's bedroom door.

"Mother?" came Anne's voice, thin and reedy through the closed door. Victor closed his eyes and took another breath. Offering him an apologetic look, Victoria rose and took a few steps toward the door.

No, Victor thought.

Wordlessly, he put a hand on her arm to stop her, shaking his head and putting a finger to his lips. He was through messing about. Her only reply was to nod. Taking her hand, he led her through the adjoining door into his bedroom, closing and locking the door behind them. He also took a moment to lock the door that led into the hall. Victoria lit the bedside lamp. They heard one more knock, and one more faint call, and then footsteps heading into the nursery. Good. It had not sounded like an emergency. Anne could wait.

0-0

So that was how they'd ended up here, lying facing each other on the bed. Quiet, alone at long last. And now he wasn't sure what to say to her. She'd apologized, yes, and of course he forgave her—but he wanted to know what had brought her temper on. Those words she'd used, what she'd accused him of. It hurt.

"Why did you say those things you did?" he finally asked, deciding to be as direct as he could. Immediately Victoria looked guilty, uncomfortable. She rolled over onto her back, arms folded across her middle. Victor remained as he was, propped up on his elbow, waiting for her response.

"You've been so distant lately," she said at length, her voice soft. "I simply...I've missed you. We've not really spoken for a long time, we always have the children about...and we've not, well, spent much time together. It isn't all your fault, I realize that. I simply...I've felt...abandoned."

By the time she finished she was nearly whispering. Frowning, Victor looked at her in the dim light cast by the lamp, watched as she twisted her fingers together. He'd not seen her do that in a long time.

"I'm sorry," he said, "that you've felt that way. But I still love you. I'd never abandon you."

The silence was heavy with an unspoken response—once upon a time, she believed he'd done just that. They'd discussed this so many times, in so many different ways. So many times, in fact, he could hardly recall all of the things that he'd said. A feeling very close to anger began to well up inside of him, but he kept his voice level when he spoke.

"Victoria, I haven't any idea what else to say to you," he told her. "I confess, I...I'm hurt that you could possibly, even a little, think that I don't love you, or don't want to be with you. Haven't I been here, for fifteen years? We have a life, we have children...I just...It hurts to think that you believe I've been lying to you, somehow."

"Oh, Victor," Victoria breathed, turning her head toward him, her eyes large. "Oh...I never thought that—not really-" Before she could finish, he covered her folded hands with one of his.

"Let me finish, please," he said gently. Nodding, she fell silent, still watching him as he went on, "I've never apologized to you for what happened between Emily and I. I am sorry to have hurt you—you cannot imagine how guilty and strange I felt for becoming close to someone else after I met you. But I wanted to come back to you. I tried, I've told you so before..."

He had to stop for a moment, his thoughts swirling. Victoria held his hand between both of hers, folding their fingers together so that it was hard to tell where one hand stopped and another began. Their wedding bands clicked against one another.

"I never stopped loving you. I was...I was hurt, betrayed, when I heard you were marrying someone else. I thought you'd broken with me. But I still loved you...the moment I saw you again, when she put your hand in mine...it was right."

Victor was aware he was starting to ramble. The words just seemed to tumble out, one thought following another, all jumbled together. Taking a breath, he tried to choose his next words carefully.

"I'll always feel guilty for hurting you, for making you doubt, but I'm not sorry that I met her," he said slowly, "or that I got to know her, especially because of how it all turned out-"

"Nor am I," Victoria said quietly. "Truly. It turned out for the best, in the end." Victor cocked an eyebrow.

"So you've said," he murmured. "More than once. Do you truly think so?"

His question seemed to bring her up short. For a moment she stared at him, her mouth open. Then, with a small sigh, she turned to stare at the ceiling again.

"I'm not jealous," she finally said. "I'm truly not. At least, not in the way one would think...It's merely the knowledge that you wanted to marry someone else. I betrayed you, and I'll never forgive myself, but you know why I did it—you'd disappeared, I didn't know if you were trapped or hurt or ever coming back again...my parents needed the money. But I never wanted to."

Victoria's voice seemed to be on the brink of breaking, and she took a trembly breath. Victor waited. So much guilt, so much misunderstanding. In all the times they'd skated around this discussion over the years, she'd never put it like this. Oh, he knew, she'd told him the what and the how, what her parents had done—but she'd never put it like this.

"But darling, I understand," she went on, meeting his eye again. Her face was half in shadow. "I think...oh, that's why this is all so difficult, so...so..."

"Messy?" he supplied.

"I suppose so," she replied. "I know you love me, I truly do. And you're human, I understand that you could have feelings for someone else, and still love me. You did something beautiful for her, I recognize that...you've done something beautiful for me. I just...it doesn't...I don't know." Giving up, Victoria turned her face away, pulling one of her hands away from his so that she could run it over her forehead. Only now did he realize she'd begun to tremble a bit. "I don't know."

Neither did Victor, but he thought he got the sense of what she meant. It was all too easy for one's head to say one thing, and one's heart another. For a long while neither of them spoke, each consumed with their own memories. Silently, fondly, Victor studied Victoria's profile. Even here, even now, with all of these messy feelings being discussed, fears being brought to light...Victor's dominant emotion was love. Intimate, close, married love, that he knew deep down that he wouldn't ever have achieved with anybody else. Something close, maybe, something that worked just as well, and made him happy enough. But nothing like this.

Together, the two of them were special. More, and better, than they could be apart. There was no real explaining it, no tallying of personality traits, of pros and cons, of might-have-beens or greener pastures. Their connection simply was. He knew that she felt the same. They'd founded their lives, their life together, on it.

"I'm ridiculous, just listen to me," Victoria murmured, her hand still over her eyes. Instead of dignifying that with a response, Victor merely slid closer to her.

Sensing his movement, Victoria took her hand from her face and rolled back onto her side, so that they were facing each other again. As though on some secret signal, they pulled one another close. Feet entwined, arms about each other, sharing a pillow, they gazed into each others' eyes. They'd not embraced like this in a very long time...Victor was very, very aware of how long it had been. Perhaps that was part of the problem.

"Please forgive me," Victoria said. "For...everything. I love you so, I truly do."

"Please forgive me," Victor replied. "I've not been my best lately. But I love you, too. For heaven's...darling, enough to literally raise the dead. I can't imagine living without you—I never could."

Victoria made some little noise that Victor couldn't quite interpret. Getting a little frustrated, a little desperate, he kissed her. A bit harder than he normally would have, with a bit more urgency. As Victoria responded in kind, Victor realized how long it had been since they had really kissed one another.

"Please don't doubt my feelings for you," he murmured. "I'm here, I always will be. I don't want to be anywhere but here, with you. Please believe me."

"I believe you," she replied, touching his face. "I promise. Truly."

Those were the last words that passed between them for a while.

0—0

Afterward, they'd retired to Victoria's room. The house was quiet, no more little footsteps, muffled arguments, or knocks on the door. Victor was grateful. He was in the best mood he'd been in for a while, and wanted to keep it that way as long as he could.

Now in his nightshirt, relaxed and at peace with the world (or his wife, at least), Victor pulled the covers a bit more closely around himself, watching Victoria change into her nightgown. When she noticed him watching her, she gave him a very intimate smile.

Leaning back against the pillows, he sighed a contended sigh. It had been as good a resolution to their argument as he could imagine, all things considered. He could only hope Victoria's doubts and worries had been put to rest for good.

Soon enough Victoria joined him, putting out the lamp before she slid herself under the covers. She cuddled up next to him, resting her head against his shoulder.

"We never talked about you," she murmured, running a hand over his chest. It took him a moment to realize what she meant.

"Oh," he said. Gently he caressed her arm with his fingertips. "I suppose we didn't."

"What's been bothering you so?" she asked, the sympathy and concern he'd been looking for this afternoon very much present now.

Victor thought. Recalled his epiphany from earlier in the evening. Father's just like the cat...Though admittedly he felt a little less useless and housecattish now, there was still that niggling little melancholy in the back of his mind. The more he paid attention to it the more pronounced it became, flowing in and taking the place of the warm affectionate feelings he'd been enjoying.

"I'm not a young man anymore," he finally said. "I'm thirty-five, I'm a father of four, I have a house and servants and a cat. I don't know, I feel...like all the adventure is behind me, somehow."

"Adventure?" Victoria asked. Victor shrugged.

"Perhaps that's the wrong word," he said, and shrugged again. "Something new and different, perhaps?"

"Outside the routine?" Victoria offered. Something in her tone seemed a little off. Quickly Victor held her a bit closer.

"Now, don't worry that I'm bored with the children, or you," he told her, pressing his cheek to her hair.

"I wasn't," she assured him, though Victor thought he detected some relief in her voice all the same. After a moment, she said, "What about your hobbies? You could always devote more time to them. Would that help?"

"Perhaps," he mused. "I used to draw a lot more. I used to compose. You and I would go walking, do things together, read...you used to read more. I used to collect specimens, do research..."

Now it was Victoria's turn to shrug a little. "Children," she said simply. Victor gave her another squeeze.

"Indeed," he said quietly.

0—0

The next morning Victor woke refreshed. It was the best he'd slept in weeks. The sun, though weak and pale as always, was out, lending a bit of cheerfulness. Victoria was still by his side when he woke, which added even more cheerfulness. They exchanged good mornings, rose, and dressed—as a joint activity, something they'd not done in quite some time. Years. It was almost like the very early days of their marriage. Even down to heading downstairs arm in arm.

The children were up and breakfasting when Victor and Victoria entered the dining room. Yesterday seemed to have been completely forgotten. Lydia didn't have her cane, and Anne's bruise, though still a mottled purple, was no longer swollen. Taking his seat, Victor noticed a folded fan on the table at Catherine's elbow.

"You found it, then?" he asked, nodding at it. Unruffled, as though she'd not attempted to pop her sister in the mouth over it the previous evening, she nodded.

"I'd left it in the parlor," she said, being careful of her lip as she tucked into a bun. "Anne found it for me."

"Ah."

And that was that. Everyone ignored Lydia's snort and shake of the head. Down the table, Victor and Victoria shared another one of those small, intimate smiles.

A promising start, Victor thought, taking a sip of tea. He hoped it would stay that way.

Midway through the meal the post arrived, Alice bringing it in on a salver. A small card went to Victoria, and the rest to Victor.

"Your mother says for you to behave yourself in future, Victor dear," Victoria said, scanning the card. She glanced up. "She thinks a donation to the local hospital fund might go a long way to-" here she paused and looked down, and then read directly from the card- "stopping dreadful rumors and making certain you can show yourself in public again within the next year. And please telephone her."

"Noted," Victor said carelessly, going through the rest of the mail. At the bottom was the lepidoptery society's quarterly journal, which he had delivered. He scanned the contents. Moths. Migration routes. The same species mentioned over and over. The same three writers. Victor had to wonder whether he was the only subscriber.

"Is there anything interesting?" Anne asked, leaning over to peek. Victor shook his head.

"Same as always," he told her, handing the journal over and feeling disproportionately disappointed. He watched as Anne flipped through the pages. She always liked to read it, even though most of the Latin and scientific terminology were beyond her nine-year-old comprehension skills. She also liked it when there were photo reproductions. Done riffling, she handed it back, and he set it on the table before him. And stared at it.

"Is something wrong?" Victoria asked, concern furrowing her brow a little. Victor shook himself.

"Not at all," he assured her, plastering a smile on his face and poking idly at his eggs. He kept looking at the society journal as he did so, an idea beginning to form. The more he thought, the better he felt. Energized.

"Butterfly gardens!" he exclaimed, making everyone jump. He glanced around the table. "Sorry. Just an idea. Where's a—hm. Excuse me, please." Victor stood and nearly dashed from the room, not wanting to lose his train of thought before he could write anything down.

"Is Father all right?" he heard Lydia ask as he loped his way to the study.

I am better than all right, he thought happily, finding a pen and a loose bit of paper on the desk. Butterfly gardens. An article on plants and attracting certain species. As far as he knew it had not been done in this journal before.

Yes. With a flourish, he finished his quickly jotted notes, and then regarded the chickenscratched lines with a certain pride. There it was. His project. Something new to do. But he'd need his little assistant. Perhaps the bigger ones, too, provided they were interested.

Grinning, sketchpad and notebook in hand, Victor made his way back to the dining room, dangerously close to cheerful. He felt...good. Uncomplicated.

Thank goodness Mary was in brown today.

THE END.

0—0

0—0

Dear Readers:

At long last, here's the end of "Victor's Daughters." I hope it doesn't disappoint, wraps it all up, and is all-around a satisfactory ending. I'm aware that my style has evolved a bit since I left this story, and I hope that the changes aren't too noticeable or jarring. I tried to remain consistent with the style/ideas/characterizations of the original, but the mood just seemed to go where it ended up going after I tried to convince it to do otherwise. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, but I don't think I'll be doing any changes or updates to this story after this. Many thanks to everyone who answered the call for ideas—I really appreciated the help! Again, hope it's not disappointing, as so many of you asked for this.

PlayerPiano