Disclaimer: I do not own any of the historical characters in Victoria nor do I own the TV series which was written by Daisy Goodwin. Any lines from the show are also not mine and are just borrowed from Daisy Goodwin and ITV Victoria.
In this fic I've decided to focus, more than in the other Vicbourne works I've done so far, not only on the emotional connection between Victoria and Lord M but also on their physical relationship and attraction – hopefully it works out alright.
Victoria is lonely in Kensington, lonely and isolated.
Lehzen is the sole person to show her much real warmth and the only physical contact she ever seems to have is needing to place her hand on the arm of Lehzen or mama in order to walk down the stairs.
Kensington is a prison. It is cold for both her body and her mind.
She hates it.
Then suddenly, barely eighteen, she finds herself queen.
She meets Lord Melbourne.
There is an instant rapport, an immediate connection.
It is true that she rebuffs his offer of assistance at that first meeting but she is overwhelmed and nervous, not yet quite realising how genuine and well-meaning he is.
And there is something new that she feels upon meeting him, a warmth curling in her belly that she has never experienced before. She thinks him attractive.
Lehzen's words about him ring in her head. Disreputable, she says. Yet he does not seem so to Victoria.
She has never noticed men much before. The only ones she has known well have been her uncles and the odious Sir John Conroy. Lord Melbourne is different, the first she looks upon as a woman might look upon a man.
It is a short meeting but the memory of his face, of his smile, stays with her for the rest of the day.
On the way to see Buckingham House they share a carriage and she is far more aware of his presence next to her than she has ever been of Lehzen's.
He is so nice, cheerful and helpful as he explains the history of Buckingham House and tells her stories of life in the courts of her uncles.
There is no awkwardness despite the curt refusal she made of his offer to be her Private Secretary when he first visited her.
He leads her around what will be her new home, showing interest in her views, entertaining her with fascinating stories and making her feel like the queen she is supposed to be rather than the child everyone else seems to think she is.
"They've always underestimated me. They expect me to fail … They don't believe me capable of being Queen."
"I think they're mistaken, Ma'am. And anyone who dares comment on your stature should be sent straight to the Tower … I've only known you a short while, Ma'am, but I'm confident that you will bring great credit to the monarchy. It's true your education may be lacking in some areas, but you have a natural dignity that cannot be learnt."
"You don't think I'm too short to be dignified?"
"To me, Ma'am, you are every inch a queen."
Her stomach swoops again and again as she looks at him, his face lit up with animation as he talks.
There is something about this man, she thinks. It is not any one thing but a combination – his looks, his wit, his help, his kindness and most of all the fact that he believes in her where few others do.
She knows instinctively that she needs him, wants him around her.
She asks him to be her Private Secretary and he accepts with no bitterness over her coldness at the end of their first meeting.
"I would be honoured, Ma'am."
"Thank you... Lord M."
He looks at her as she gives him a nickname, quizzical and amused and fond.
Then he guides her out of the room for the remainder of the tour, his hand barely skimming the small of her back.
She feels the warmth and comfort of his hand for hours afterwards.
The intimacy between them comes about so quickly that she doesn't even think about the talk it might cause.
She has never been given the sort of training that would help a future monarch. Better educated that most girls she may be but she is woefully unprepared in matters of the constitution and parliament. Her mother's doing, of course, thinking she would rely on Conroy.
Instead, far more preferably, she has dear Lord M. Who tells her about the courtiers and explains government procedure and whispers names into her ear when she cannot recall them.
She does not know what she would do without him.
So why should she listen to idle gossip calling her friendship with the Prime Minister inappropriate? Why should she be cut off from her one true supporter just to please stuffy gentlemen who have no idea of the trials she is facing just trying to be taken seriously?
They might whisper and point but all of the while she is learning how to be queen, experiencing life outside Kensington, understanding what it is to laugh and smile with a man who makes her feel like she can do anything if she only puts her mind to it.
How can that be wrong?
"Mama came to see me this morning."
"Yes?"
"She thinks I should not always be guided by you."
"Perhaps she's right."
"What do you mean?"
"I should not be your only advisor."
"But why not?"
"We are ... so often in each other's company. We ride out most days. I dine at the palace nearly every night. It could be ... misconstrued."
Strangely enough, it is only when he says it out loud to her that Victoria starts to truly consider the rumours that might arise from her spending so much time with Lord M.
She has thought of the possible ramifications only briefly before this moment and has always dismissed the risk.
She is rather innocent about the power of gossip. Her mama has always tried to ensure she is loved by her people, has always warned her that she must behave in a way befitting royalty. But she never considers that her rides and meetings with Lord M might cause trouble.
It just seems so natural to her, to meet with him regularly and quite alone – after all a monarch always meets her Prime Minister alone. It irks her that her gender makes things different and difficult for her, that she finds it harder to fulfil her role as monarch just because she is female.
Why can she not enjoy a good, clever and useful minister's company without it causing a scandal?
To be sure he is a handsome man, and of course there have been occurrences that have led to him being labelled as disreputable by some. And it is true that she finds it pleasant to look at him, that he is physically attractive to her.
But why should that matter?
He does not use his looks or charms to try and persuade her down unwise paths for his own gain. He offers clear and sound advice, helps her learn so that she will one day need not rely so fully on her ministers. It is in fact his own teachings that are slowly making her less reliant on him in political matters.
He has the power but does not abuse it.
Besides, she is stubborn enough that it does not matter how much she likes him, if she believes he is wrong then she will say so.
It does not matter what her mama says, Victoria thinks, she will make up her own mind about who she spends time with.
And she will not be giving up the company of Lord M any time soon.
"I feel I should tell you, Ma'am, that at Holland House, they call you Mrs Melbourne."
She almost smiles.
She is only just beginning to know Lord M, only just starting to realise what her new, burgeoning feelings are and what they might mean. But despite her severe lack of knowledge about men and the poor examples of marriage she has witnessed, she finds that to be called Mrs Melbourne, to have her name so assuredly linked with his, is something she rather likes.
Lady Flora seeks to be spiteful, seeks to push her to rely on her mother and Conroy rather than on her Prime Minister.
But Victoria will not be persuaded from her friendship, certainly not by petty, jealous people who try to embarrass her into acting differently.
Lord M is worth far more to her than the good opinion of Holland House.
Her ladies are being quite evasive on the subject of Lord M.
She does not know why he has not yet arrived – the first guests are already at the palace and it is not like him to be late.
Not for something he knows she is so nervous about.
She wanders over to the window but she cannot see his carriage among those coming towards the palace. She cannot see much of anything really, thanks to the darkness of the night, but she looks just the same.
Her hands shake a little. She needs him here to steady her.
Needs him to tell her it will all be alright.
"Lord M should be here. He always knows these things."
"I expect he's on his way, Ma'am."
"I thought he'd be here by now! I don't want to walk in without him."
Where is he?
She needs him by her side. It is her first big ball and she knows there will be many watching and hoping for her to fail, to prove them right in their assumptions that she is just a silly girl who has no business pretending she can be a queen.
She glances around again, scans the crowd for his familiar, welcome face.
Nothing.
She brings the glass of champagne to her lips. She forgets the warnings she has received. She drinks quickly.
Where is he?
"May I have the honour?"
"I thought you weren't going to come."
"I had a matter to attend to."
"I thought perhaps you were cross with me."
"You? Never."
To dance with him is a delight.
He dances well, guides her around the floor with none of the inappropriate behaviour the Russian Grand Duke has exhibited.
She can relax with him, just enjoy her dance rather than worrying about the impression she is making.
There is a comfort in being next to him, a secure strength in the way he holds her as they move about the room.
With him she can be real, be herself in a way she can with almost nobody else.
She has not known him very long but she knows that it is magic to dance with him.
"You dance so well. I wish I could dance with you every night."
He is not frowning but there is something more serious than normal in his face, something detached.
Victoria thinks he might be concerned about the champagne she has drunk.
She doesn't understand why – it has only made everything a bit brighter and louder, calmed her nerves and helped her feel like everything is going to be fine.
Why will he not smile at her? Why won't he let the corners of his mouth twitch in amusement, in that expression she loves so much to see him wear?
She wants to dance with him, wants to feel that safety and happiness once more.
But his eyes are not warm like they have been. They are not cold, it is true, but they are wary and worried.
"I'm afraid you're tired, Ma'am. Perhaps you should retire."
"I don't want to retire. I want to dance with you."
"Not tonight... Ma'am."
She suddenly feels very sober, all trace of the champagne-induced good mood gone.
He has said no to her.
She cannot understand it. He said earlier that he was not cross with her, yet now he acts so coolly towards her.
She can feel tears build. She does not wish him to see her cry.
She turns away from him, a mix of anger and embarrassment and hurt.
And she marches away, leaving him standing there silently, not even attempting to stop her.
She does not go back to the ball. It has lost all of its appeal now.
"Tomorrow I take the coronation oath. How can I promise to serve my country faithfully when my court is rank with corruption?"
"The problem with a scandal is that the mud does not always stick to the right people."
"Is that all you care about, avoiding a scandal?"
"I do know how painful and humiliating a scandal can be."
There is a moment of awkwardness and she feels terrible.
She does not know much about Lord M's earlier life – Lehzen just tells her that he has a sordid past and Emma that it is a sad one – but she knows that it was not easy, knows about his wife's affair with Lord Byron.
She also knows that he cares about far more than just avoiding a scandal. She is doing him a disservice in saying such a thing. He knows what it is like to be the subject of nasty rumours and she realises that all he is really trying to do is keep her from having to experience such a thing.
"I am sorry, Lord M," she says, "I perhaps spoke rashly."
She does not apologise usually. It is not something she is particularly comfortable with. But for him she will do it, because she knows she was wrong, knows that he deserves better.
He looks at her softly, his forgiveness instantaneous and without grudge.
"I have to know, though," she says quietly, "whatever the consequences I believe I have a duty in this case to discover the truth."
"You must do what you think is right," he tells her, "just know that whether you discover the outcome you expect or not, I will be here to help you."
She guides her horse closer to his so that she can reach out to take his hand – a brief touch unnoticed by the guards on horseback a short distance behind them – and press it quickly in thanks.
Sometimes she thinks he is a gift far above what she is worthy of.
"Ma'am. I wanted to congratulate you on your performance today. You were most regal."
She is still in her coronation gown but there is a casual air that she thinks, fleetingly, should probably not be present between a monarch and their Prime Minister.
But she will be her own queen and she likes it better this way, likes the way he praises her and instantly calms the nerves that have been building since the coronation finished and she began to worry that she had not done well enough.
She wants to ask him to stay, wants to hear his thoughts on the ceremony. She does so love to hear him talk.
But then the doctor comes about Lady Flora and the moment is gone, everything awkward as it is explained to her that the lady is seriously ill and not pregnant.
She feels like such a fool and though she knows Lord M will be sympathetic, can feel his gaze on her, she cannot look him in the eye.
He will not think her so dignified now, more an ashamed child who did not do as she was told and now suffers the consequences.
He leaves soon after the doctor does. However, on his exit he hesitates for a moment and then reaches out to touch her hand quickly but kindly.
He says nothing but his gesture means the world to her.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am, I'm afraid it couldn't wait. Flora Hastings has taken a turn for the worse."
"I should have listened when you told me to do nothing."
"It's always easier to give advice than it is to follow it, Ma'am."
"I'm afraid."
"I know, Ma'am, but I also know how much courage you have."
They stand close, voices quiet, almost clandestine despite being in full view of the rest of the room.
She is so scared to face Lady Flora, but of course he knows what to say to her – he always knows.
Propriety says she should not but of course she cannot help it – she squeezes his hand in thanks and for strength.
And then she goes to face up to her mistake.
"You must go out and you must smile. You must smile and wave, and never let them know how hard it is to bear."
He is so close, seated next to her on the piano bench.
They do not touch but he radiates warmth and hope in his very presence and his voice.
And suddenly the nasty rumours do not seem so terrible, the fear of facing the public dims.
She has Lord M on her side and she draws strength from that.
It will not be easy but he makes sure it is not so difficult.
"I followed your advice as far as I was able. I waved, although I couldn't smile. But I feel I shall smile in the future... with your help... Lord M."
It has been one of those days.
A bad day, the sort everyone suffers occasionally. No terrible disasters but nothing goes right.
It is not even dinnertime but she is already exhausted, a headache building and her temper short.
She has been rushed from engagement to engagement (a scheduling error forcing her to attend more events than could ever be considered sensible for just one day) with barely time to catch her breath.
She has eaten almost nothing all day, has endured a whole hour of her uncle Cumberland's glaring, has apologised after mixing up the names of two ambassadors, and she is worried about poor Dash, who seems quite out of sorts.
To make matters worse she has seen nothing of Lord M all day. She is sure everything would have been better if he had been there. Even if she had still needed to endure the crushing schedule at least she might have enjoyed herself a bit more with his cheering, dependable presence.
But he has been at the House all day and she cannot blame him for that, not when he has seemed on edge and worried for the past few weeks.
Her mama speaks often with her about Lord M and she is never complimentary. She tells Victoria that she is too dependent on her Prime Minister, too close to him.
A fine thing for mama to say and denounce, considering her own foolish attachment to Sir John Conroy.
It is true that she relies on Lord M a good deal, but she needs support, is self-aware enough to know that she has not yet the knowledge and experience to make decisions without aid. But she learns more every day, thanks to Lord M.
It irks her how everyone attributes such base motives to Lord M's actions when all he is trying to do, all he has ever tried to do, is give her the tools to stand on her own two feet.
No one else has that confidence in her, that belief that every day she gets one step further in her understanding and wisdom.
Her head continues to ache and she wanders over to the window, hoping that some fresh air might help.
She casts an eye out over the palace grounds, still and silent but for the slight movements of the guards … and a carriage moving towards the palace.
She looks closer and recognises the carriage.
Lord M.
Her head still aches but she smiles despite that. A visit from Lord M is sure to end the day on a good note.
She hurries to her mirror, straightening her crooked plaits and ignoring the wrinkles in her dress caused by her earlier lolling on the sofa – Lord M is hardly likely to care about that.
"Lehzen," she calls and her old governess hurries into her room, a little surprised to see the queen up and pinching her cheeks in an attempt to appear a little less pale and peaky.
"Majesty?"
"Lord M's carriage is arriving, Lehzen. Please run down and have them send him up to me."
"In your bedroom, Majesty!"
Victoria laughs at Lehzen's scandalised cry, "of course not, dearest Lehzen, I will go to my study."
"But you were going to rest, Majesty, the kitchens are sending dinner here for you in an hour."
"I shall sit on the sofa and be quite still, I promise. And the kitchens can send dinner for two, can they not? Lord M must eat here, of course."
"Is this wise?" asks Lehzen, "to dine alone with Lord Melbourne."
"We work together unchaperoned every day and I have been perfectly safe," Victoria counters, "and he dines here often enough."
"It is different," Lehzen insists, "people will talk, Majesty."
"People are always talking," Victoria says, "and I will not let them stop me from meeting the advisor I trust above all others."
Lehzen looks like she might object further but Victoria's expression is stubborn and firm – there is no changing her mind.
The baroness goes to pass on the queen's message.
Victoria settles herself on the sofa in her study and Dash curls up on her lap, whining and wriggling, seemingly unable to get comfortable.
"Dear Dashy," she despairs after over five minutes of squirming from her dog, "I wish you could tell me what ails you."
"Perhaps he ate something that disagreed with him," says a voice from behind her and she turns to see Lord M, looking tired and worn but still good-humoured.
"Majesty," he kneels to kiss her hand, slightly awkwardly offered once she extradites it from underneath Dash's weight on her lap.
"Lord M, I thought you would still be at the House."
"The business was concluded a little earlier than expected, a rare occurrence to be sure," he explains, "and I thought you might wish to hear news of the anti-slavery bill."
He pauses and gazes intently at her face, "the baroness told me you were ill. I can return tomorrow if you wish to retire."
"A slight headache," she waves off his concern, "it has been a busy day. You must stay, Lord M, and there will be dinner at six."
"If you are quite sure, Ma'am. I would not wish for you to fall ill."
She gestures to a chair and at first he sits there, but when Dash begins to bark and twist out of her grasp once more he, after a brief hesitation, moves to sit next to her on the sofa and tugs Dash away onto his own lap, stroking his fur and scratching the dog's belly gently.
Dash calms immediately – he has always had an especial fondness for Lord M.
Victoria breathes a sigh of relief. She has been agitated by her worry over Dash, unsure as to whether his behaviour is indicative of something more dangerous than a mild irritation. But she relaxes now as her precious dog does.
She reaches out to stroke Dash and her fingers brush over Lord M's.
A jolt of electricity, a blush just burgeoning on her cheeks.
They look at each other for a moment and that glance says it all. An acknowledgement of the spark they both feel and their innate realisation that now is not yet the time to explore it.
They both look down, focus on Dash.
But she gazes at Lord M from under her lashes, remembers the feel of his skin, wonders if his hair would be as silky soft to touch as Dash's fur is.
Her headache is gone. She is not ill.
Yet she looks at him and feels feverish all the same.
"My husband said they are worried about the Jamaica Bill. There is a lot of opposition."
"Your Uncle Cumberland would like nothing better than to bring down poor William. The funny thing is, a few weeks ago he would have been delighted. He was always complaining about how tiresome it was being Prime Minister. But not anymore."
All traces of the tiredness and boredom that sitting still for her portrait have caused vanish at Emma's words.
He has said it to her before. She remembers his words about how she had given him a reason to continue.
And she has taken those words to heart, has used them to sustain herself when things have been difficult and frustrating.
But she has always, in the back of her mind, believed that maybe he was just trying to cheer her up. She knows Lord M to be very honest but she has always thought that perhaps he was exaggerating how she had helped him in order to give her the confidence she required at the time.
But now Emma has said it, has told her that she has helped Lord M has rediscovered his passion for politics.
Victoria is pleased. He does so much for her and never seems to get anything in return but opposition and insults.
She is glad that she can help give him this, can help him rediscover his love for government.
She wants him to be happy.
"I... I must... tell you, Ma'am, the Jamaica Bill passed by only five votes this evening. And that means I can no longer lead the Whigs in government."
"But if the bill passed, why should you resign?"
"The Tories are like hyenas, Ma'am. Once they scent a man is down, they circle looking for weaknesses. The next vote we would certainly lose. I'd rather leave now."
"This cannot be. How can I...? How will I...? Do you really mean to forsake me?"
"I have no choice, Ma'am."
She flees the room. She cannot breathe, cannot think.
What will she do without him?
Prime Ministers come and go, she knows this. But Lord M is different. He is so vital to her that she cannot comprehend how she will carry on without him.
No one understands her like he does
No one believes in her as he does.
The only consolation is the memory of his face, of his anguish, a sorrow that mirrors hers.
He feels it too, she knows, feels the loss.
But it is poor comfort to her, for he is still to resign, still to leave her.
She will not let her ladies enter her room, only sobs as she thinks of a life without the sparkle and steadiness of Lord M's presence.
When he sends her a letter the next day her heart leaps at the sight of his handwriting and she eagerly opens the m missive, hoping desperately for news that he has changed his mind.
But instead he tells her to speak with the Duke of Wellington and sorrow mixes with anger now – why will he not fight to stay?
A thought occurs to her – does he not wish to be her Prime Minister?
It is too horrid to contemplate.
She goes to Dover House and can scarcely concentrate.
He is disarrayed in the most pleasing of manners and she finds herself quite warm at the sight.
It is probably considered unbecoming of a queen to be flustered by a handsome man but she is only human after all.
He guides her to a seat and it feels so cosy and right between them.
She explains it all, tries to make him see that there is nothing else to be done, that he must return to her.
But he will not be moved. He tells her that she must speak to Sir Robert Peel, that the constitution must be upheld, that he cannot be at the palace so much now.
"Why not? I think if you are not my Prime Minister, you are still my friend?"
"I think you must know why."
There is something in his eyes then, something dark and primal and sad and covetous all at once.
She wants to stay, wants to explore the meaning of what his eyes are saying.
There are so many hidden messages in his face and in his words. She knows she does not understand them all, but she wants to, wants to know it all.
She has been gone from the palace too long already though.
She departs, feeling like she is leaving a part of herself behind.
"I have missed you."
"It's been all of a day and a half. And whilst I salute your tenacity, Ma'am, I must tell you that if I were to return as Prime Minister, it would not be in your interests."
"Not in my interests? But it is all that I desire in the world."
How can he not see?
Does he truly not realise how much she values him, needs him, wants him?
She does not know how it cannot be in her interests to have him stay. Sir Robert Peel is not only a Tory bur also a man she has no liking or respect for – surely there is no comparison, not between him and dear Lord M.
And she misses him so much. It may have been only a day and a half but that is far too long. There have been so many things she has wanted to tell him – funny little stories she knows he will laugh at, questions she is sure he will know the answer to.
She has to make him see that for her to lose him will be a disaster.
"Your Majesty, surely you understand what is at stake here?"
"Lord Melbourne, you forget yourself!"
He pleads with her.
She shouts back.
Never has it been like this with them, never has there been true, heated anger between them.
But she is so emotional, so desperate. She needs him to stay.
"Don't you want to be my Prime Minister?"
"Not in these circumstances. The relationship between Crown and Parliament is a sacred one and I will not allow you to put it in danger."
It is the most devastating thing he has ever said to her.
They are all watching her fail.
And she can see the sneers on some of the faces in front of her, can see the worry of her ladies.
She is so tired. A disastrous birthday, a plot to make her seem mad, no Lord M.
She tugs again. Nothing happens.
Then he appears, a true knight in shining armour.
"May I be of assistance, Ma'am?"
"I should be most grateful. It seems I can't manage unaided."
"Then it will be my pleasure to serve you, Ma'am."
"Do you mean...?"
"If you do me the honour of asking me to form a ministry, Ma'am, then I would accept."
The curtain falls and there is applause. Yet she does not care about that, only smiles at the feel of him next to her, by her side as he should be.
She wants to hug him, to throw her arms around him and never let go.
She settles for seeing him smile and grinning in return.
Something shifts between them then.
Perhaps it is the fact that his resignation, however short-lived, shows them how hard it is to be apart.
Now there is something in the air, a knowledge between them of just how important they have become to one another.
They do not speak of it but they feel it … and show it.
She calls for him even more often than before. Sometimes she just wants his company, makes up a story about needing to know more about this war or that treaty just so she can have his company and escape her mama's hints about marriage.
She has never been so well informed about current affairs.
He accompanies her to the opera, stands by her side as she speaks with her subjects, rides out with her and assists with her piles of paperwork.
They spend hours together every day and she never finds a second of her time with him boring.
She hopes (believes, knows) he enjoys it too.
"Do you think she was lonely?"
"I believe... she... found companions."
It has been building since they met, this thing between them, but now it all comes to a head as she begins to understand the feelings that have bewildered and delighted her in turn.
She loves him.
She has to let him know it, for she cannot hide her feelings, not anymore.
"An English marriage would be very popular."
"An English marriage?"
"Would go down very well."
"I shall bear that in mind, Lord M."
"I feel, I know... that you are the only companion I could ever desire."
"I believe when you give your heart it will be without hesitation. But you cannot give it to me."
"I think you have it already."
"No, you must keep it intact for someone else."
She confesses and is rejected.
But it is still there, the spark between them, the heavy weight of their feelings.
And his eyes show such pain and misery, his hands clasp hers so gently.
She leans down to kiss his knuckles, just a brush of her lips, and he trembles like a leaf in the wind.
"I am sorry to have disturbed you, Lord Melbourne."
She turns and as she walks away tears fill her eyes.
But she feels him watching her, knows his sharp, piercing gaze follows her as she leaves.
Her heart is very nearly broken – but she knows somewhere, deep down, her soul recognises that his rejection is not the truth, that at his heart he feels the same.
And a spark of hope stays burning inside her.
A ball. Elizabeth and her Leicester.
The truth veiled in a story of past lovers.
That beautiful truth she knew was there.
"But even though he was free, they never married."
"I think both he and the Queen understood they were not in a position to marry … Whatever their inclination."
He steps away from her and looks so sad.
She cannot abide it. She follows him as he exits the ballroom, uncaring that eyes are upon them both and people will talk.
The corridor is empty. She uses her opportunity.
"We are not Elizabeth and Leicester," she says and watches him stiffen at her voice and turn to face her.
"Ma'am?"
"We are like them in many ways, but we do not have to share the fate they did."
"Ma'am," he pleads, "you do not know what you are saying."
"I know exactly what I mean, Lord M."
She strides forward until they are nearly touching.
Then she glances round, sees no one and, so quickly he cannot hope to stop her, she stands on her tiptoes and pulls him down to kiss him fiercely.
He is too shocked at first to move, but he soon responds to her.
And the feeling is glorious, the culmination of looks heavy with meaning and a connection so very special.
She has never been kissed before but she is so sure no one could ever kiss her like he does, like she is his salvation and his joy all at once.
It is magical.
A few moments pass with his lips slanted over hers and then they break apart, both flushed and panting.
He starts to look terrified and she is almost offended before she remembers his stubbornly noble, stubbornly dutiful mind-set.
There is a noise behind them, a crowd of voices getting closer.
"I will make my own destiny," she tells him, "with whomever I choose."
Then she hurries back to the party, smoothing her hair as she goes and wondering if her lips will ever stop tingling.
If his short period of resignation shifts things between them then her kiss pushes them wildly askew.
At first they do not know how to act.
She wishes to kiss him again. He wishes to keep her free from scandal. She wants to take his hand openly. He thinks himself far below her. In short she wishes to follow her heart and he tries to use his head.
They cannot stay apart too long though. They are drawn to each other in a way that will not be denied.
He refuses just two dinner invitations and one day's ride before he yields.
And then it is as it was before. They talk and ride and laugh and work.
But it is more too. The electricity is more palpable, the urge to be close far stronger.
They do not stand against it. What are societal scruples, after all, in the face of the deepest desires of their hearts?
Hands clasp, arms touch, and lips meet.
Society might condemn them but she will not lose him, not this man she adores so very much.
"I am not sure that this is quite what the duchess imagined when you told her that we would be busy all day with work."
"Don't scold, Lord M," she says, chewing her lip and scrunching up her nose in concentration (making, in short, an adorable picture), "this is work."
He raises an eyebrow but she persists in her stance, "I am working very hard, Lord M, to make sure your eyes are done just right."
"I will never say you should work all day, Ma'am, but we do have a number of dispatches that really should be looked at soon."
She pouts a little and puts down her pencil, "it is entirely your fault, Lord M. I was so sure you would be an easier subject than Dash – you can sit still, at least – but I just cannot get the expression in your eyes quite right and you will keep ruining my concentration by starting to laugh so often."
At her words his mouth does, of course, begin to twitch into a laugh, "it can't be helped, Ma'am," he tells her, "you make the most amusing faces while you work and Dash does seem determined to copy them."
She cannot be irked when he says such things, "well I promise we will look at the dispatches once I have finished, so now you must try to be still."
He obediently rearranges his expression back into the one she is trying to capture and she picks up her pencil to continue.
But as she looks at him she finds herself distracted. She is used to his good looks now but sometimes she just enjoys to drink him in – the laugh lines on his face, the eyes that always seem to hold so much emotion, the mouth that kisses her with such love.
"Victoria," he says, and the sound of his voice jerks her out of her musings.
He looks amused and a little smug too, as if he knows exactly what has diverted her attention.
"I believe that to finish you will need to put pencil to paper," he reminds her wryly.
She sticks her tongue out at him playfully and he smiles widely.
And there it is, the brightness in his eyes that she has been trying to capture in her drawing.
She starts to sketch quickly.
Her uncle and mama try to persuade her to send an invitation to her cousins.
She refuses, has no need for them.
Her uncle calls for them anyway, much to her displeasure.
Albert and Ernest arrive.
Lord M tries to persuade her to give Albert a chance. She sees how hard it is for him to do, acknowledges that he is trying to ensure she is happy and secure and safe.
Then she attempts to make him understand, make him see that it does not matter what trials she has to face with her country and government as long as she has him by her side.
What is Albert to her when compared with Lord M, who has been there for her since the beginning, who has taken every pain to help and guide and believe in her?
Albert is a good man but he has a lot of growing up to do. And he is so critical, so stern.
She cannot help it. She always compares him to Lord M.
Perhaps she could be happy with him, given time, but she also knows she will be happier with Lord M.
Besides, she thinks that Albert, whatever his faults, does not deserve an indifferent wife who is always wishing he was someone else.
On the fourth day of Albert and Ernest's visit Lord Melbourne begs off their regular ride and does not come as usual to assist with her papers.
Brocket Hall, he tells her in a note Skerrett hands over when she comes in the morning to dress her, is where he will be. Just a day trip but he will not make it back in time for dinner.
She thinks of the day ahead. Her paperwork is done and the only reports left to look at are both non-urgent and also requiring Lord M's presence to explain the finer points. She does not wish to stay at the palace all day and have mama force her into Albert's company in the futile hope that she will magically change her mind about him.
So she borrows Emma's unmarked coach, dons her hat, veil and plainest coat, and heads for Brocket Hall.
She finds him in the greenhouses, coat tossed to the side, shirt sleeves rolled up and stained with mud.
He looks beautiful to her.
Of course he is surprised to see her, and a little scolding that she has snuck out of the palace to visit him while she has guests. But he cannot hide his smile and she knows he is pleased that she is there.
"The butler directed me here," she says as she looks around, fascinated, "he said you weren't to be disturbed but I so wanted to see you and he was kind enough to tell me where you were."
His butler, Melbourne thinks, needs a raise. The queen can, he knows, be more than a little imperious when she feels the need.
He is thankful for his servants, especially now. He has a small staff at Brocket Hall and they are all reliable and loyal, useful when the queen will insist on making imprudent (though never unwelcome) visits.
"I am delighted to see you, Ma'am," he says, "but what has brought on this trip. It is perhaps unwise to be making visits here while the princes are your guests."
"Well it was uncle Leopold who invited them, not me. And I did not wish to stay at the palace all day," she tells him, "I cannot have mama and uncle Leopold always telling me of my duty and how I must marry and produce an heir. I am the Queen of England, not a brood mare!"
"I am sure they do not mean to make you feel that way, Ma'am."
"It does not matter what they mean, Lord M, the fact is that they do make me feel like that."
She looks down, "no one ever sees me, they only see the heirs – the sons – I can give once I am married. They want a king, not me, I am sure of it."
She smiles sadly at him, "that is why I come to you, Lord M … William," she says his name like a caress, "because you see me when you look, not my potential sons."
She takes his hands, entwines her fingers with his, "that is all I have ever really wanted in life. To be seen not as a princess or an heir or a pawn or a queen … to be seen as a woman, for someone to look at me and just see Victoria. I have waited a long time and I think you are the only one who has ever truly looked at me like that."
There is real truth in her words. To mama she is a daughter but also a chess piece to be carefully moulded and moved. To Lehzen she knows she is dear but also that to her she will forever be a child, never quite a woman. And to everyone else she is a road to power, a prize to be won, a pawn to be manipulated.
But not with Lord M. He has always seen her, the real heart of her.
He looks at her closely and seems to understand, as he always does.
He shifts left a little so she can move to stand by his side and, without further enquiry, he begins to explain to her what he is doing and points out the various flowers growing around them.
She lets his voice wash over her and she feels a calm settling in her soul. It feels right to be here with him, to enjoy the beauty and fragrance of the flowers.
Her life is a whirlwind and that is usually the way she likes it. But even she needs peace sometimes, and she finds it always with him.
He lets her help him, cutting and watering and all while learning the names and meanings, the language of flowers.
There is just a hint of redness, a brief blush, on his face when he tells her the meaning of a white orchid, the flower he had sent her that night they dressed as Elizabeth and Leicester.
Reverence and humility. Innocence and purity. Elegance and beauty.
Love.
She gets distracted, gazing at him, and a thorn slices her finger. It is nothing to worry about but there is a small bubble of blood and she finds after a one-handed search that she has forgotten her handkerchief.
The pain is minimal, her wince barely audible, but he notices all the same and hurries over from the flowers he has been tending on the other side of the greenhouse to examine her finger.
Holding her hand up to the light he pulls out a handkerchief of his own to wipe away the blood and dirt on her finger.
He is gentle but thorough and when he is done he keeps her hand in his, drawing it higher and placing a gentle kiss on her sore fingertip.
Victoria gasps. She cannot help it.
She does not think of how her mama would react if she saw them now, nor what her Privy Council would say if they witnessed this scene.
She only thinks of the intimacy of it all and how it does not feel at all wrong, only good and right.
She looks at him, at the emotion in his eyes. It is so clear, how much he cares. She delights in that, appreciates and treasures it.
She hopes he knows that his care is returned, hopes he realises just how much she adores him.
He steps back.
He is uncertain, she notices. Even when he shows her affection he always seems to worry that she will change her mind, will upbraid him as she does Sir John Conroy.
"I love you," she says the words out loud to try and impress them onto his mind, "dearest William. You do know, do you not?"
He looks at her so tenderly, "I would never doubt you. But my concern is your welfare and I do not want to be a reason for it to be endangered."
"You are the only one I have ever felt truly safe with," she tells him, "you are the reason I still have a crown, the reason why my horrid uncle Cumberland and that wretched Sir John Conroy did not succeed in their plan to declare me mad and force a regency. I am stronger with you."
"As I am more alive with you," he confesses softly.
She closes the gap between them, lays her cheek against the softness of his shirt and the solid comfort of his chest.
His lips ghost over her head and she sighs.
"Why must it be so hard? It is the easiest thing in the world between us yet everyone stands in our way."
"It is the burden of royalty, the price of power," he tells her, "people will consider you to be degrading yourself if you marry beneath you."
"Is not Albert beneath me?" she asks bitterly, "he is after all only the prince of an impoverished duchy. I believe my uncle Leopold only promotes it for the advantages such a marriage would bring to him and his family. No one considers my feelings … nor Albert's. I do not much like him but I do feel a little sorry for him, or I would if he were not so sullen all the time."
"It is hard for him too," Melbourne reminds her, "a new country, a hostile population."
"An uninterested potential bride," Victoria adds, "… yes, I see the difficulty he faces. He's clever and well-meaning, to be sure, though I have seen little charm in him so far. Perhaps it is possible that we might have been happy together. But I have known you, dearest Lord M, and you suit me far more than Albert, know and understand me far better than I think he ever would have."
"You flatter me."
"Not in this case," she says softly, "in this I speak only the truth."
She buries her head further against him, relishes the feeling as one of his arms wraps securely around her.
"Sometimes I wish we could just stay here together always, no Parliament, no crown, nothing between us."
There is quiet, a moment's peace before he speaks, whispers so quietly she can barely hear him, "sometimes I wish the same."
When she returns to the palace after her day in the greenhouses there is quite the scene with her mama and uncle Leopold.
They question her about her whereabouts as if she is a child not a queen.
She will not be bullied, not even by family who believe they are doing what is best for her.
"I do not want Albert," she tells them, "it does not matter what you believe you know. I am very well acquainted with my own heart and mind, and I believe I can choose my own husband."
"Besides," she tells her uncle, "what is it to you who the Queen of England chooses as her husband. A nostalgic affection for Charlotte and a familial concern for me and mama, I can understand, but beyond that you have no say in all of this."
"I am only concerned for you, Victoria," he tells her, "and I believe that Albert – such an estimable young man – is just what you need right now. You think too much of your Lord M and he will not be around forever."
He will if she has anything to say about it. Whether he is her Prime Minister or not she knows she wants him with her. She will not say this to her uncle, however, because she knows that if she gives him even a hint that her feelings for dearest William are as strong as they are that he will do all he can to prevent what is between them.
Better he goes home with her cousins and learns to live with the disappointment before he learns of the depth of her feelings for her Prime Minister and her determination to have no other husband but he.
"The future is irrelevant, uncle," she says with steely determination that will not be countered, "I will never marry Albert and you must accept it."
"Drina," her mother tries to intervene but Victoria will not have it.
"No mama, you cannot change my mind. I am not a little girl under your control any more. I am the Queen of England. I am my own person. And I will marry only when I choose and only to a man I truly love. That man is not, and never shall be, cousin Albert."
And then she leaves them, refusing to let them waste more of their time in fruitless endeavours.
She only hopes they finally get the message.
Her mama and uncle do not listen to her.
They insist on a trip to Windsor so that Albert can see the forests he so loves. She does not like Windsor but she is so tired of arguing that she agrees to go, hoping that her continued indifference to Albert will be the thing to convince them of the futility of their plans.
And she ensures that Lord M comes too. He is hesitant, wary of her uncle's displeasure, but she needs him there, cannot bear the idea of an evening with mama and uncle Leopold's attempts to persuade her towards Albert. At least with Lord M there she will have a true ally, an escape from her family and someone whose company she truly enjoys.
She is somehow talked into a ride into the woods with Albert, Ernest and Lord Alfred.
Ernest and Lord Alfred, likely under orders from uncle Leopold, leave her and Albert alone.
It ends badly.
They have a pleasant conversation to begin with, but somehow the talk turns to Lord M and Albert is less than complimentary.
She snaps back at him. She has never been able to bear criticism of her beloved Lord M and she hates that it comes from Albert, who barely knows him, who assumes and insults and tells her she is a fool to place so much stock in him.
What does Albert know? He has been in England only a week and has barely spoken to Lord M. Why does he assume that he knows Lord M better than she does, that he knows what her people need better?
He infuriates her with the superiority in his tone.
He has ideas. Some good ideas. But he does not know how to present them to her, only offers insults and rudeness.
How can her family expect her to marry someone like that, someone who seems to consider her to be a weak-willed girl controlled by her Prime Minister and indifferent to her people?
Victoria rides off and leaves Albert alone, unable to bear any longer in his company.
She returns and finds Lord M waiting for her, a sympathetic smile to soothe her anger and a reassuring presence for her to gather strength from.
Then she goes to her uncle, tells him that he and the princes have overstayed their welcome. It is not quite proper behaviour but she will not stand it any longer.
Her uncle and cousins must go and she has no compunction any more about telling them that.
Uncle Leopold, Albert and Ernest leave in the evening and she decides to stay the night at Windsor. She still does not like Windsor much but the logistics of beginning the journey back to Buckingham Palace so late would not be easy and she just wants to rest, to breathe now that the princes and her uncle are gone.
She persuades Lord M to stay too. He is reluctant, well aware of the rumours that will almost certainly spread, but she is insistent – the night looks like it will be stormy and she thinks it unsafe for him to go.
She does not want him to go.
She wakes in the middle of the night when the thunder and lightning are at their worst, jerks awake with a soft cry.
A nightmare.
After only a few seconds the images of the nightmare begin to slip away, but the feelings remain.
Loneliness, fear, darkness.
She slips out of bed almost without realising it, tugs on a robe and tiptoes out through her rooms and into the corridor.
She has chosen his room well – a beautiful view, not too far from her own and a good distance away from the other guests.
It is almost as if she knew she would need him.
She pauses outside his door. So much has passed between them but this is a step further, so close to crossing the line they often dangerously skirt.
But her head is still full of shadows and she knows he is the only one who will be able to banish the darkness.
Victoria pushes his door open and slips in. When she closes it softly she is enveloped in darkness – the moon is not full and is also obscured by thunder clouds.
She moves forward until she can see his outline on the bed, his eyes closed and breathing even.
She is suddenly aware that her nightgown and robe are really quite flimsy, and it dawns on her that she has no idea what men wear to bed – will it be little … will it be nothing at all?
She steps forward once more and the floor creaks.
He stirs.
"William," she whispers, moving closer and crouching down by the side of the bed.
His eyes flutter for a few seconds and then open, widening when he realises who is in front of him.
"You cannot be in here," he tells her frantically, voice still hoarse with sleep, "if you are seen then it will be the end of everything."
"I could not sleep," she says, "I had a dream, a horrible nightmare I cannot shake the memory of. I did not know who else to come to."
He looks at her, notices the tear tracks and the pale face and the way her hands are ever so slightly shaking.
He shifts to the other side of the bed and she takes the invitation he offers, climbing up next to him and scrambling under the covers (she is starting to feel the chill in the air).
One of her feet brushes against his and she cannot help but press her sole against the warmth of his leg. He does not shiver at her cold foot, only moves a little so she can place her other foot against his warm skin too.
She burrows into him. She does not ask permission for she knows that no matter his own feelings he will try to be proper … as proper as one can be when sharing a bed at least.
He is wearing soft trousers but his chest is bare and she turns to face him, her hand tracing patters on his skin.
He groans quietly and her hand stills – it is not a sound that she has heard from him before but almost pained, and yet how can she have hurt him?
He must see the confused worry on her face, even though the room is nearly pitch black and lit only by the flashes of lightning, because he reassures her.
"I am not in pain … it is only that sometimes … sometimes a pleasurable feeling can cause someone to cry out as if in pain."
His voice is less assured than normal, almost embarrassed, and she senses that this is an area she is ignorant about. She has heard lewd rumours but her mama and Lehzen have always tried to keep what they can from her.
What she feels for Lord M has taught her much about what her body can desire but she is still woefully naïve.
Suddenly she feels foolish, a little girl playing at being a grown woman.
What must he think, the man next to her? He of a romantic and passionate era, of such great experience.
He feels her mind slip away into negativity but he brings her back with a brush of his lips on hers.
He tells her a lot in that brief kiss – tells her not to be afraid or ashamed or embarrassed.
She relaxes, and her hands begin to trace lines across his chest once more.
She briefly wonders what it would be like to be together with no barriers, just skin on skin as husband and wife.
Her body tingles at the thought.
Yet she knows he will not let her give that gift to him, not now. He is so noble, frustratingly so, and she hates that he is always preparing for her to leave him.
She will never leave him.
She can wait, she thinks, for the mysteries of the marriage bed. She knows it will be worth it – she has heard whispered horror stories of cruel or selfish men but she knows her William, knows that it will never be anything but wonderful with him.
Societal rules would tell her that what is between them is wrong. But she cannot think that – madness it might be but it is heaven too.
The feelings left over from her nightmare are gone now, banished by the light she always finds in his presence.
She entwines her hands with his, presses feather-light kisses against his chest.
She is tired now, the comfort of his embrace starting to lull her towards sleep, but there are still things to be talked about, thoughts that have been weighing on her mind.
"Perhaps I might see Sir Robert Peel on my return," she says quietly, "I believe I shall soon be requiring a new government and I suppose he must be the one to form it, unless I can persuade the Duke of Wellington to change his mind."
He laughs, a sound of joy and anticipation and amusement.
He understands her meaning, understands the beginnings of her proposal.
"I think you are right," he tells her, "I do believe your current Prime Minister is looking to retire from government."
"Yes, he is contemplating marriage again, I hear."
His smile matches hers, broad and delighted, "if she will have him then he will accept with great pleasure."
It is a ridiculous thing, her proposal. Lacking the formality it should, taking place as they both share a bed clandestinely, and without even saying the words straightforwardly.
But it is their proposal, the culmination of something that has been unspoken between them for so long and not some affair of royal pomp. Why does it matter what it is as long as the two of them understand the meaning?
She kisses him then, enthusiastically and passionately and with so much love she is surprised she doesn't explode.
"I love you … I love you … I love you," she murmurs it like a prayer against his lips.
They have never been so happy.
This fic was a lot about Victoria and Lord M's physical relationship and I did consider having them take that final step at the end. But it didn't feel right for this story. Lord M's mind-set here is he loves her and knows she loves him but he also wants what is best for her and for her to happy, and he'd let her go (though it would hurt like hell and break his heart) if she chose that. But do not fear, my head-canon is that they definitely get married and have a very satisfying and fulfilling relationship. Still, if you are looking for an excellent (if bittersweet at times) fic where the two of them do take that final step I would have to recommend 'Once' by laurielove.