"I have said it before, and I will say it again, Mama. I do not want a silly boy like Albert."

She was sat between her mother and her uncle - who were stood - like a common criminal being scrutinised by a pair of foul judges in the courtroom. It was not befitting of the Queen of England, the commander of the world's greatest empire, and Victoria was becoming increasingly impatient.

"Albert is the best match for you, Victoria."

"No, Uncle, he is not."

"But we have come all this way for you to marry Albert."

"But I tell you I will not be marrying Albert."

"You cannot so refuse him! What will people think?"

"I do not care what people will think."

"Something happened when you were out walking, didn't it? Drina, you cannot judge Albert on one mistake."

"What Albert has done," Victoria cried, her manners failing her in a moment's passion, "is no one's concern but mine. All you need to know is that I will not be asking Albert to marry me. As far as I am concerned, the sooner he goes back to Coburg, the better." Her lips pursed shut, as if blocking the path of more angry words that threatened to spill from her mouth, and her eyes flitted between her magistrates, who both looked equally shocked.

Her mother's mouth opened and closed, like a guppy, but she said nothing. Her uncle's face was contorted into what Victoria assumed was a frown – but in reality it was something altogether more daft.

She could feel the beginnings of a blush come upon her cheeks. She was wont to show any weakness in front of her jurors, so excused herself and briskly departed the room.

She walked further than she needed to, and did not falter in her speed until she had reached her private chamber, at which point she gasped, as if being in the presence of her family was like being underwater. She breathed deeply for a minute or so, wanting nothing more than to rip her corset off so she could take full breaths rather than the little huffs she could muster. In and out. In and out. In and out.

Everything was becoming so confusing. She felt very hot, but she knew that the room was cool, for she could see the window had been pushed open and the muslin curtains were being brushed by the breeze that was coming in. Lehzen always insisted that her windows were opened during the day. She always seemed frightfully concerned that the Queen was locking herself inside too often – and that it was not healthy for her, so she must have some form of fresh air. Victoria thought she was being fussy, but did not mind.

But, today, she could not feel the fresh air in the room. It was stale and hot. It was hard to think straight.

Victoria, beginning to feel a little faint, hurried to the window and pushed it further open. A wave of chill air hit her, and she breathed it in deeply through her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. Her legs felt a little unsteady, and her skin was tingling, but her head was beginning to calm again, and her sense trickled back into her, like a stream of clear water.

It was not at all fair. She had always believed that, as Queen, her thoughts and feelings were paramount. But they were not. And that was unfair. Why does no one listen to her? It would not matter if her entire kingdom wanted her to marry Albert: she would not do it. Sir John would have called this herstubborn nature but Victoria saw it as headstrong - which she did not consider a bad thing at all. And, yet, despite her inclination, everyone insisted that it was in her best interests.

Yesterday, her answer may have been different. For a brief while, she had thought herself quite besotted with her cousin. In fact, she would have proposed yesterday, had things been different. She was quite convinced she would: she had considered what she would wear, what she would say. She had fantasised about the way he would smile at her, the sound of his voice uttering the word 'yes', the skin on their lips catching as they brushed together. She would have said she loved him. The flash of skin when he cut his shirt open had made her breath hitch. His hands holding her as he helped her down off her horse had made her heart beat a little faster. She had scarcely breathed when she thought he would kiss her in the forest. His lips were so intoxicating.

She was attracted to Albert. To deny that would be foolish. But she was attracted to what she wanted Albert to be, not what he was.

What Albert was in reality, Victoria concluded, was childish. For she now believed that she was right about Albert from the very beginning, he was a silly little boy. He was rude, for a start. Victoria could not abide bad manners in her palace. He did not smile when everyone else smiled. He did not care as much for dancing as she. He was rather humourless, and that would not do at all.

And he had cast aside her friend, her oldest and most precious friend, like he was nothing. Like he was one of her childhood dolls. Like he was a simple flower, a token. The way his boots snapped the twigs underneath his feet, he had crushed the very idea of Lord Melbourne. He knew nothing about her, and pretended he did. He did not know about her desperate loneliness at Kensington. He did not know how Lord Melbourne was the first one to treat her like a woman. He did not know how she tried, every day, to be a Queen. He did not know Lord M's gentleness, his kindness, his feeling.

But he assumed he knew it all.

And, besides, Albert would probably insist that they walk around forests together on the daily – something that would be impossible. She was far too busy for a companion like Albert. No. He would not do. Buckingham Palace did not have the forests that Albert so desired. Looking into the garden, feeling her strength returning to her muscles, she saw all of the things that Albert would not like.

There were very few trees. Albert would want more. There were rows upon rows of vibrant flowers, all in different colours. Albert would think that unnecessary. There were strict regimented paths. Albert would find them restrictive. There was Lord Melbourne's carriage.

Lord Melbourne's carriage.

Her heart flipped, and all the vigour that she had lost in a moment's faintness suddenly coursed through her, sending her small body crashing through the palace.

"Who sent for Lord-?"

Victoria had burst into the room expecting to find her mother, or her cousins, or one of her ladies, or at least a servant or two, and she was quite confident that she would find one of the above.

"Lord M."

Lord Melbourne was stood in the corner of the drawing room, a little taken aback by the Queen's entrance, but still possessing the ease of manner that had become so fundamental to his presence in the palace. A lightness breathed itself into her. A ghost of a smile flickered across her face, and the dull light in the room made stars of her eyes.

"Ma'am," he replied, bowing his head slightly, a smirk playing on his lips in reaction to her hasty entrance. She was still panting. Her cheeks had gone from damask to ruddy in her exercise. Victoria could have felt angry, that he mocked her so, but there was a sympathy in those green eyes that smoothed down her roughness.

"I am sorry, Lord M. I did not expect to find you here."

Lord M's ease of manner drained from him, taking all his colour with it. He clenched his fists, without knowing it.

"I was called for, Ma'am. Were you not aware?"

"No."

His fists were white.

"Ah," Lord M said, a creeping sense of discomfort seizing him, "perhaps, I – I should go?" He began to make for the door.

"No!" Victoria cried. Lord M turned on his heels. "No, Lord M, I am glad you are here. I am finding everything quite unbearable today."

Melbourne's face now faded into concern. Victoria did not look at him, for she felt she could not, but walked to a seat and perched herself on it. The Queen could not hear it, but Melbourne's heart began to call out. A sound so small, but Lord Melbourne could feel it clearly. It ached.

"Ma'am?"

"I am tired of everyone insisting that I marry Albert. I have decided that I do not want to marry Albert. A marriage to Albert is the last thing I would want, but no one listens to me, Lord M," sighed Victoria, letting her hands fall helplessly into her lap and her shoulders slump forward. It was not regal of her, but she did not care.

"You do not want to marry Albert?" Lord M asked, approaching her seat hesitantly. He had the thought to reach out and touch her. To let his hand fall over hers, his thumb stroking the soft part of her palm. How would she react? What if he touched her hair? He could take a strand of it between two fingers, and pull it free from the bun. It would fall by the side of her face, over her eye perhaps, and he thought of how pretty it would look. He could trace a finger along her collarbone, and feel her shudder.

It would be treason, of course.

"No, I don't want to marry Albert!" Lord M was brought cascading back down to earth. "He is arrogant, and childish, and silly."

"But, Ma'am, have you considered-?"

"I have considered everything. I am decided."

"Yes, Ma'am, but I think you should take your time to think about this. Albert is-"

"Lord Melbourne, I thought you would be my friend in this."

Lord M was about to say something else regarding Albert's eloquence, his suitability, his status, or the Queen's need to marry, but her voice sliced into him, and silenced him. She was glaring at him now, her eyes looking colder than ever, like the most distant, loneliest stars in the night. He shifted where he stood, his heard aching a little more now, and he opened his mouth. It took a few moments for him to say anything. He did not look at her.

"If you are sure, Ma'am."

Perhaps the aching that Melbourne felt was his heart being torn in two. Or a rupture of some sort. He was called to Buckingham Palace with a job to do. He had been told that the Queen was set on rejecting Albert and, knowing the influence that he held over the Queen, he was asked to persuade her to rethink. When he was leaning over his desk, fingers rapping on a glass of brandy, the order had made perfect sense. It was only on the carriage over that he began to consider the prospect of her not marrying Albert.

It was foolish. And selfish. And he tried to dismiss the thoughts as quickly as they had arrived – but that was easier said than done. He knew that he had rejected her. He could not expect anything more to develop between himself and his Queen now. No. That had ended that autumn's morning at Brocket Hall. Her heart, like the lonely stars, was out of reach. It was better that way.

And, yet, there was a flicker of something hot inside him. It could have been anger. It could have been jealousy. It was most certainly passion. And that flicker was catching. He actively wanted Victoria to reject Albert.

His words, encouraging Victoria to reconsider, fell bitterly from his lips.

"I am sure, Lord Melbourne."

The fact was met with relief and guilt.

Was it him that was holding her back? Was she still waiting for him?

No, the thought was arrogance.