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"How are you really doing, Don Alejandro?" Victoria asked him discreetly when she brought him his plate, pointedly hinting at some of the other customers' whispers and looks.

His answer was a disillusioned but brave smile, along with a self-derisory short sigh. He was taking the blame like a man, she thought, and not without elegance. And even dignity, quite paradoxically. Gentlemanly. Always the caballero, she thought.

Even though some of the whispers she caught on her way to his table said otherwise:

"Not a true gentleman," Don Virgilio had told his teenaged sons when she passed by them. "Don't even think of doing the same, you two. If ever you did, as long as I'm alive I'd have you marry the girl immediately!"

"That's unworthy of a caballero!" an indignant young Don Raul had murmured two tables further.

"Don't be so harsh, Raul," his brother had replied. "Don Alejandro just had the bad luck of being found out, that's all... For the rest... well, it could happen to anyone, you'll see when you're older..."

Victoria sighed: couldn't all these people mind about anything else? Didn't they have their own concerns to talk and worry about, rather than gossiping about a man she liked? A good man, despite his unexpected failing.

She watched his sheepish brave little smile: quite a strange mix, she thought. "So, how are you, really?" she repeated in a gentle voice.

"My daughter is safe and sound, as well as her mother," he said. "And Diego seems to accept Leonor, finally. So this is all that's really important. All the rest is..."

He made a slightly dismissive gesture with his hand, but Victoria could swear that his heart wasn't totally in it: he was trying to convince himself, but she guessed that whatever he said, it was still hard on him to be the subject of public talk and criticism. As well as of public awe and praising little smiles.

"I guess I'll just have to let it wash over me. As long as neither Leonor nor Araceli bear the brunt of it, I'll just... grin and bear it..."

Again he had a self-depreciating little smile, and at the sight of this smile, it was just impossible to resent him.

But a bell of recollection rang in her head at this sort of smile... Something rather familiar, that she vaguely associated with Don Alejandro... no, rather with the de la Vegas... with Don Diego of course! Yes she had seen this self-depreciating look on Don Diego's face more than once, but never before on his father's!

Well, like son, like father she thought. Those two had finally more in common than they thought... than everyone thought! So how come that this little smile was impossible to resist to on Don Alejandro's face, when she was just frustrated to no end when his son sported it?

Probably because Don Diego was truly hopeless, whereas his father usually was a man who succeeded in many of what he tried his hand at! Yes: Don Diego, with all his knowledge and cleverness, didn't understand the first thing about everyday life, about the real world, about the pueblo, about love, about women, and about all the aspects of life in general. The man lived in his own little world. And now a little girl had crashed into this world of his... so he'd have to peek beyond his books from time to time as of then, and in Victoria's opinion it could only do him some good! The man really needed to open to the real world, and he certainly could do with a little bit more social interactions.

She turned back her thoughts to his father. He obviously wanted to protect his daughter and his... uh... woman, and he was willing to take all the blame on himself, to shoulder the responsibility in order to 'shield' the woman he had wronged and the child he had fathered. Don Raul, Don Virgilio, the vaqueros and the peons could say whatever they wanted, she thought, Don Alejandro de la Vega definitely was a true caballero, a real gentleman. In every sense of the word.

A very honourable man, she concluded, even though socially accepted rules pretended otherwise. Señora Valdès was lucky to have such a man as a father for her child. She could have done far worse!

And again she envied the woman. If Zorro still refused himself to her, could she find such a man to father her children before she was too old for that? But which honourable man would accept to sire a child out of wedlock, with full knowledge of the facts? Which good and reliable man would accept to grant her her wish and make her a mother? Even in Don Alejandro and Doña Araceli's case, Victoria understood that Leonor had been an unplanned accident. A wonderful one, sure, but considering the situation, at the time Don Alejandro hadn't meant to get Señora Valdès pregnant.

So morally speaking, there was a paradox in her quest: Victoria wasn't sure she could find a man with the required moral qualities who'd accept her rather scandalous proposition. And contrary to last night, she couldn't just try to seduce the man. First, because it might very well not work: Zorro's turning down of her overtures had dealt a blow to her self-confidence and she was now more than a bit unsecure about the power of her charms. And anyway, she didn't want to trick a man into paternity: not that she didn't try it with Zorro, but well, in his case it was different. He had promised her marriage, and a family, but for later. Always later. He owed her that, as she had thought on the moment.

But no other man owed her anything, so she'd have to be honest and crystal clear with them. And not feign any romantic feeling or let the man hope for anything else than some carnal moments. And a child, if ever he wanted to take responsibility and acknowledge paternity of his offspring.

But this still very virtual man would have to meet so many requirements that it seemed really impossible to find someone who'd fit the profile...

First, he must be single. An unmarried, unengaged man, or a widower. Victoria would never steal – or in this case, borrow – another woman's man. No way.

Second, it must be someone she could trust. Fully trust. Someone who wouldn't take advantage of the situation: if he ever chose to acknowledge paternity for the child, she knew that according to the law, married or not the father had more rights and authority on his child than the mother. How unfair! But it meant she would have to find a really, really decent and trustworthy man.

Third, it had to be someone she could get along with: if they were to take decisions in common about the child's upbringing or future, it must be someone she could discuss with. Ideally, it must be someone she could be friends with. Or even better, someone she already was on friendly terms with, all the more so to help her dare present to him the very unusual and rather scandalous proposition she had in mind.

Fourth, he should be healthy: she didn't want to catch any venereal disease. Yes, but the problem was, it was never written on people's forehead. You could never know... Sometimes even the strongest, healthiest young man was in fact secretly affected. Often unknowingly so. So she'd have to rule out those whom she knew frequented paid women or had too much success with the ladies... and probably soldiers, too. Except perhaps Mendoza? He was a well-behaved and sensible man, even during military campaigns she was sure...

And he was single... and a friend... and a good man... and an orphan: he'd probably want a child in order to have what could resemble a family. He was kind. And good with children: she remembered little Leonor took an almost immediate liking to him the day she arrived.

Yes, Jaime Mendoza would definitely be on her list of potential... 'associates'... in that delicate business; a list which would anyway be probably very short, she thought regretfully.

But one other question remained: would she really dare put her plan into motion, and would she dare go through with it? All the way and right to the end?

And if so, would Zorro ever understand... and forgive her?

z ~ z ~ z ~ z ~ z ~ z ~ z ~ z ~ z

"Buenos días, Señorita Escalante."

Victoria turned to the voice to see who was coming into her tavern. Like earlier when Diego's father had entered, the conversation paused for a split second before turning into a concert of whispers when the woman from San Diego and her daughter – Don Alejandro's daughter! – stepped inside.

"Oh, buenos días Señora Valdès," Victoria answered. "Buenos días Señorita Leonor."

"Buenos días Señora," the girl answered spontaneously.

"Are you looking for Don Alejandro?" Victoria asked Doña Araceli.

"Not particularly," the woman answered. "We've come for some refreshment. It's rather hot today, and Leonor remembered how tasty your lemonade is. But if he's still here we'd gladly share our pitcher with him."

"No, he's gone," Victoria informed her. "He had lunch here but he left some time ago."

Mother and daughter sat down at a table and Victoria saw their maid join them a few minutes later. She took a small book out of her purse and handed it to the little girl. She suddenly remembered what Señora had told her about her daughter two days before: she's rather bookish, that's something running in the family. At the time she probably referred to her own family, because anyone knowing Don Alejandro knew that, although he respected books and valued some level of knowledge, he couldn't exactly be called 'bookish'.

But now that Señora Valdès had met Don Diego, she certainly couldn't help but notice this other similarity between the two half-siblings – apart from some evident physical likeness. 'Running in the family' indeed...

But when she brought her their drinks, Victoria saw that the book in question was in fact a sketchbook, and little Leonor was scribbling on it with a lead pencil. A charcoal pencil and a red chalk were also lying on the table before her.

"Gracias Señora," the child said when a glass of lemonade was put in front of her.

Victoria noticed that this time her mother didn't need to nudge or prompt her daughter for the polite reply: the girl seemed to be in a merrier mood than the day before, and she obviously was feeling more at ease now.

"If ever you'd want to go back to the hacienda with Don Alejandro," Victoria informed her mother, "I think he's gone to the churchyard..." she added in a lower voice.

Señora Valdès nodded slowly.

"Yes, yesterday has been hard on him. It distracted him from him current sorrow, but it also took a toll on him, on all of us. I guess he needs some time to recover. We all have to, and we all have our own way to do so..."

Her voice drawled on these last words, and her eyes seemed to look inside her own mind, Vitoria noticed, wondering what the señora's way of dealing with these hardships was or had been.

"And how is your daughter doing today?" she asked Doña Araceli in a whisper. "Is she recovering from yesterday's ordeal?"

"Yes, surprisingly well I must say," her mother answered. "She surprises me. It never ceases to amaze me how resilient children can be... But yes, she's doing rather well today; partly thanks to Don Diego, in fact. I'm sure he has a part in it!"

"Don Diego?" Victoria wondered.

"Yes, he's been good with her this morning. You were right about him, and I'm glad I've listened to you yesterday. He seems to really be the kind and understanding man you told me he is. Thank you."

Victoria smiled at her.

"I'm sure he'll make a great big brother. He knows a lot of things, you know, and I'm sure he's eager to share these with someone else than Felipe."

"Felipe?"

"The deaf young man who works as a servant for the de la Vegas."

"Oh, yes."

"Don Diego is a good man. I'm glad for your daughter that she has him for a brother. She's lucky. As you said yesterday, family is important. There's nothing like that," Victoria stated. "And it's even more obvious to those who lack one," she added almost ruefully.