Author's Note & Disclaimer: This story has been posted on AO3 for a while but thought I might start posting it over here as well. #Vicbourne4eva
As always, this is a work of fanfiction and any lines/scenes/characterizations that seem familiar have been borrowed from Victoria on ITV…and also, you know, history. Obviously. Speaking of history, it's certainly not on our side with this ship, is it? But do we care? I'm afraid we do not. ;)
Victoria
I don't remember the moment I decided I didn't want to be Queen. Not exactly. It must have been simmering in my head for some time, despite all those grand ideas of my childhood, and my more recent notions of duty before inclination.
Blame my youth, blame my passionate nature. I don't care. Not anymore. I may have lived only two decades but it's enough to know that I can't spend the remaining five or six living a pantomime life, with forced smiles and demure nods.
I should never have gone to Brocket Hall. Or maybe, I should never have left. Not after he said those words to me.
But you cannot give it to me.
He said it with such finality and pushed my hand, the one he had held captive and caressed so gently, away. When he released me I felt in free fall, tumbling into a black void that would swallow me whole. Stars must feel the same, as they fall from the heavens, burning and screaming all the way down.
The unlikeliness of the attraction, the incompatibility of our vastly different ranks, ages and histories, the unsuitability of it all, my clandestine visit to Brocket Hall being the latest in a long line…any of this might have been the reason why he pushed me away. Maybe all. He made those same old excuses, clinging to them as he clung to me at the ball for Uncle Leopold, where he played Leister and I played Elizabeth.
But I know better now. As soon as Emma told me that he'd opened the glasshouses at Brocket Hall, I knew the truth. He feared my passing affection. I was too young to know myself or my feelings. They would prove me false. And leave him alone and broken all over again. That's what he thought. I could read it plainly in his painfully familiar features.
You were happy too?
You know I was.
Discontent is a wild weed, and it flourished within me in the weeks after, twisting up within my soul and choking out all the flowers that might be found there. My cousins made their inevitable appearance. My uncle continued to lecture me on duty. Mama and Sir John schemed and bided their time. The others whispered that the Crown must be secure. An heir must be produced. The monarchy depended upon it.
And I didn't care. I had grown so tired of it all.
Albert was a good piano player, he had strong opinions and I suppose he was as good a match as I, Alexandrina Victoria, could ever hope for. It was expected. It was the right thing to do. But sitting across from the German prince at dinner, looking at his handsome, boyish face, listening to him explain how Schubert meant his music to sound, I saw my life play out in calm, domestic tranquility.
And I didn't want it. Not one second of it.
Mama could have the crown if she wanted it. Or Sir John. If he could manage it, he might as well wear the thing outright. He's spent most of his life pursuing it. I would respect him more if he just admitted that he wanted it, that it meant everything in the world to him, that he loved it over everything else. And that he could not be happy accepting a more suitable choice.
See what you've done to me, Lord M? I thought to myself, risking a small glance at my Prime Minister, across the dance floor, standing with Emma. I'm empathizing with the villain of my life.
They all think that I'm clay, ready to be molded. Youth is a curse. From Kensington to Buckingham, I've known my own mind. I've been sure in certain things and forced to learn others, because that knowledge was withheld from me. And maybe in all of this I was too like a child, too passionate, too reckless in showing my feelings. But for better or worse, that's me. And I cannot be anyone else.
Of all the men and women in my life, he's the only one who's ever understood that. Absently, I touched the white petals of the gardenia I wore at my breast.
And now, even he's forsaken me. Standing over there, with Emma, likely speaking so civilly over the inevitable connection between me and the German prince which must sever all ties between him and I. Damn duty, damn propriety and damn him for his stubborn nobility in seeing them appeased.
He was a fool. In putting his wants and desires aside, for the country's sake, for my sake, he only made me love him more. It was a terrible miscalculation on his part. One that was impossible not to forgive. He thought me better than I was. A better queen would put the country's needs above her own. A better woman would take it in stride, put aside all notions of inclination and accept her fate. With a smile on her face.
But I could not smile. I could not force myself to accept a life I knew, in the depths of my soul, would be a lie. The weeds of discontent could not be hacked down. They grew stronger and more numerous as I danced, spinning and spinning around, with an endless parade of dignified, political partners, all expecting, wanting, waiting for me to make the correct choice.
Oh, how I wish someday a dance could be just that. A dance.
Cousin Ernest was a wonderful dancer. I could nearly forget as he spun me around, my mind filled, so briefly, with nothing but music and movement. I smiled and felt the smile linger on my lips. But even he couldn't just let it alone. Dance with Albert, he said as the dance ended. Get him to dance a waltz with you.
My smile turned terse. It was expected. It was the right thing to do.
Impulsively, I caught Lord M's eye. He couldn't refuse me, despite his efforts. He wandered over offering me his hands, which I took gladly.
I spoke some little pleasantries which he returned in kind. The music began again. A waltz this time. At Ernest's insistence, I'm sure.
Lord M was asking me to dance but he stopped abruptly. My cousin Albert, the eternally suitable German prince, was walking across the dance floor to claim my hand, my heart and the rest of my story for his own. I turned and saw my future laid out before me in red and gold trim.
I felt Lord M's hands slip away from mine. He receded into the background. It was not my doing and I would have reached out and seized them back if I were braver. I would be brave soon.
"May I have the pleasure?" Albert asked, holding his hand out with confidence and finality that was palpable.
The candles cast a golden glow on the scene and pleasant music serenaded the moment in time. The German prince with his hand outstretched. My Prime Minister, willingly stepping aside and banished to the shadows behind me. All the other players fixed and motionless as marble statues. This was a moment that would never come again. A moment that would change everything. Forever.
"No," I answered breathlessly. I shook my head as I walked past poor Albert, unable to stay in that room another minute, my newfound self-awareness drowning out any regrets, "No, you may not."