A/N: I have not written a fanfic for a few years, but I found the fictional relationship between Victoria and Lord Melbourne fascinating, mostly because Jenna Coleman and Rufus Sewell imbued their roles with so much passion and angst. What's not to love! Not sure how long this story will go, but its definitely going to heat up in more ways than one. I also love history so I've borrowed from the real relationships that Victoria would have had with other aristocratic families in Europe and I've thrown in a few historical events to spice it up, though clearly this is 100% pure fantasy. Let me know what you think, your comments do inspire.

Chapter 1 – Awakening

Late September 1839, London

Victoria sat up in bed, with her hands behind propping her up. Her sleep had been restless. Her nightgown felt damp. She had barely slept at all. "Odd" she thought, it felt late in the morning. Baroness Lehzen should have awaken her. "Where is…" She moved to get out of bed, slowly rising to stand. She tried to take a step but suddenly a wooden panel blocked her way. To her left another panel prevented a turn, then another appeared to her right and then behind her. "Where was…" she couldn't move. She was enveloped by darkness. She couldn't see nor could she escape. "Why had…?" Her palms banged on the walls attempting to push them open. She couldn't breathe. Trapped. Again. "Why…!?" she gasped…

"Your majesty, your majesty," a faint voice called out.

"Why…!?", Victoria gasped and sat up in bed, with her hands behind propping her up. Through the thick brocade curtains, a sliver of faint sunlight cut across the wall of her bedchamber. It was early morning.

"Your majesty!" exclaimed Baroness Lehzen. "You were having a bad dream, oh thank goodness you are awake."

Victoria was chasing her breath trying to catch it. She was afraid of moving for fear of being trapped in the paneled room, in that horrible closet again. "Where…?" she asked in a haze and glanced fleetingly around the room. Her knees folded up as she recoiled.

"Your majesty, you are here, you are at the palace," assured the Baroness to try to calm her despondent charge. She looked so small and vulnerable trapped in the large bed. Lehzen felt fiercely protective.

Victoria's nightgown felt damp, she had apparently broken out in a night sweat. She had barely slept at all. Her head fell back. She gazed at the underside of the bed's canopy trying to focus, to compose herself in order to find her bearings and force the panic to subside. Her chest pounded fiercely.

Her mind raced through vestiges of her dream before it faded from memory. It was a dark dream, chocked full of waves of panic that only nightmares can churn. It was a dream she couldn't shake nor could she decipher. She had had it again last night. It had vexed her for the past few weeks. Was it just a dream? Was it a fragment of something long buried in the depths of her memory? Was it some harrowing moment of her childhood? She did not know. The fact that it continually resurfaced in her sleep did not bode well.

Victoria raised her hand to her neck and rolled her head. She then placed her hand on her forehead to see if she was feverish in light of her damp nightgown.

"Your majesty, shall I call for the royal physician, are you ill?" inquired the Baroness with deep concern for her young charge, who was now the ruler of a powerful empire, and a queen who would soon be married. As with any governess, Lehzen understood that she would soon no longer be needed, but nonetheless she cared very deeply for this young woman. "Perhaps you should spend the day getting bed rest, we could say that you are merely indisposed?" Lehzen suggested with the best of intentions, "a day away from court, away from your duties might do you a world of good."

"Lehzen, I do not think I am ill and I cannot disregard my duties," reassured Victoria, her brows furrowed as she still tried to come to terms with her dream.

The Baroness, while at times overbearing in her attentiveness, had been more of a maternal presence in her life than her own mother the Duchess of Kent. Sadly, her mother's machinations to form a regency had compelled the Duchess to join forces with the reptilian Sir John Conroy. Together the two had conducted themselves not as parental figures with the future monarch's best interests at heart, but rather as handlers of an exotic animal that they deliberately caged in order to subdue and eventually control. Victoria found their alliance an utter betrayal.

"Are you sure? Your cheeks are flushed," Lehzen observed of her stubborn young monarch, who was now so pale that she was almost translucent, slight dark circles arced below her eyes. "It would appear you did not get much sleep."

Lehzen knew she was one of the few in the palace who could pressure the Queen to change her mind. But alas, this time she conceded that the battle had been lost as Victoria swung her legs to the edge of the bed. The Queen was eager to begin her routine.

Victoria by now keenly understood that every move she made was under scrutiny and sent a signal to her people. She did not want anyone, particularly her enemies, to believe she had fallen ill.

"No need to raise alarms," Victoria remarked as she tried to find her footing, thinking of the day's work ahead with her prime minister.

Thoughts of Lord M. steadied her for the moment, he had that power over her. As her advisor, he could be stern and correcting. As her dear friend, he could be witty and incisive. But also at times with her, he could be gentle and vulnerable, a side of tall distinguished viscount and politician that she suspected he rarely shared with others. While not fully aware of what was happening to her, she knew instinctively that he was in part the source of this anxiety but also the source of something awakening deep inside her soul. "I am hungry and must get dressed. I'm to meet Lord Melbourne at half past ten to review the latest dispatches from India and France."

Lord William Melbourne rode along his now daily route across the City of Westminster. Even in middle age, he struck a handsome figure in his fitted maroon coat and tall hat.

The day was overcast and grey, mirroring his solemn mood. His horse trotted methodically up the familiar bridle path through the park, a fortunate circumstance since his master was thoroughly distracted. William's mind was absorbed with a myriad of thoughts divided between concerns for the Whig's hold on power and for the welfare of his queen.

The recent votes in the House signaled a loss of confidence and that the tide was turning against the Whigs once again. He wasn't sure whether he had the wherewithal for another protracted battle with the unrelenting Tory onslaught. "Oh, tis all a bother," he lamented out loud to himself. "Why not retire to his study at Brocket Hall? Spend the days perusing the pile of books and papers awaiting his undivided attention, a fine glass a madeira at hand?" he thought. But he was loyal to his queen and believed he was best serving her majesty by stewarding her through these early years of her reign.

And it was the Queen—Victoria who filled the rest of his thoughts. She could be strong-willed, stubborn even, but her instincts on what was good and true for the nation always prevailed. She was an astute judge of character and possessed the aptitude for learning the minutiae and arcane duties of the monarchy. Her predecessor King William had found these matters tedious, but young Victoria, William felt, was wise beyond her years, a gift that few recognized because they had not had the pleasure of working directly with the Queen. Many infantilized the Queen because of her stature, but William immediately discerned that she would be a formidable monarch, capable of steering the nation toward greatness.

Nearing the grounds of Buckingham Palace, a slight wind rustled the leaves that were waiting for a blustery cold night to spark their autumnal transformation. Along with these matters of politics, his mind had to also contend with matters of the heart. Victoria was not only bright but also spirited, which made her youthful beauty even more beguiling. She had a joy for life that was infectious. Her vitality often filled the glaring absences of intimacy in his own life. While she had travelled very little, she hungered to know more about everything and anyone, and ravaged him daily for any piece of news that bespoke of the world beyond the palace gates. They could sit for hours talking about many subjects—from the terms of a policy on the price cotton in India to the latest court gossip or sometimes saying nothing at all, but merely enjoying each other's company as a welcome break in the routines of duty.

He felt utterly embarrassed by his feelings for Victoria and worked at great length to keep them in check. It was improper as well as dangerous. He could not bear the prospect of another highly public scandal. He was far too old for her or to be dallying with these maddening youthful emotions. He had only loved two women in his life and was totally surprised by this rekindling of his heart.

But the Queen must choose a husband to help her lead—even though he knew she was more than capable of governing alone. He believed that perhaps one of the young Germans would fill that role aplomb. The brooding Albert would be the most likely choice. And the young prince's recent visit had certainly captured the interest and perhaps heart of the young queen. William was not completely sure of the latter, but was confident that she would eventually propose. That was the trajectory he knew history must follow. What he felt for her or what he believed she felt for him—she had confessed as much in one impromptu appearance at Brocket Hall a few weeks ago—could never be realized.

In total, it all put a damper on his mood. But William would rally his spirits to conduct the day's business with his queen, his Victoria. He steered his horse through the Marble Arch to the palace and dismounted. He grabbed his pouch containing the day's business and climbed the stairs.

"Your majesty," said William as he dutifully bowed and gently kissed the Queen's delicate hand. She wore dark blue, a color that always enhanced her regal presence. As he stood up, he noticed she looked a bit worn and tired. But she had had several recent public engagements after the departure of the Saxe-Coburg cohort, so perhaps she was in need of a brief respite. He would try to complete their work before tea and would use the excuse of House business to refuse her invitation to dinner.

"Good day Lord M.," Victoria perked up as she gazed up at her prime minister and friend. In the late morning light, his piercing green eyes proved instantly comforting. Any trace of anxiety dissipated and her body relaxed to be near him again.

"We have much to review today," offered William. "So I hope you are well fortified from your breakfast, ma'am," he warned amusingly. His mood brightened a tad as he always found her faint scent of violets intoxicating.

He followed her to the library, box of dispatches and letters in hand. Each took their respective seats at the desk where this daily ritual of review had served as the foundation of their growing friendship-cum-romance. They sat across from one another passing documents back and forth, asking questions and making suggestions as the protocol between monarch and minister dictated. The conversation focused squarely on work, never once deviating into personal terrain.

Delving into the routine review had somewhat lifted his spirits by the prospect that their relationship might rediscover some semblance of balance. "One last matter," said William as Victoria sat hands folded, clearly still tired from her restless night.

"I believe I shall need a reinvigorating ride," replied Victoria staring out of the tall palace window to take stock of the weather.

"But first, before you go, we have one more item to discuss," said William trying to stay focused on the topic at hand and not be drawn into a more social, hence personal conversation.

"I will give you my full attention, if you agree to come riding with me," Victoria negotiated, fully aware that in order to keep a respectful distance they had not gone for their customary ride together after her Brocket Hall appearance and the arrival of her entourage of male cousins.

William raised his brows. She was absolutely relentless in her efforts to draw him closer. She was clearly chipping at his resolve not to venture across that dangerous emotional divide. It also didn't help that the afternoon sun bathed her in a radiant glow and her mood was clearly flirtatious. "If you insist ma'am I will join you," he sighed and surrendered—for now. He tried to regain focus, "but, first we must address the matter of the Egyptian treaty."*

To hold Victoria's focus William explained the problem as a lesson in geography: in order for Britain to keep the vital overland mail route between Southampton to Calcutta viable, a safe passage through Egypt had to be ensured. He sketched a map of all the countries jockeying for power in the region. To do this a new treaty between the Ottoman Empire, who controlled Egypt, and several European allies, many who were some relation to the queen, had been drafted. This would to assure that the great Egyptian Pasha Muhammad Ali remained friendly to England.

"This all seems reasonable, do whatever is necessary," said Victoria, her mind filled with orientalist visions of the sumptuous courts of Ottoman rulers. "I wonder if someday I will see the great architecture of Constantinople," mumbled Victoria again averting her gaze to the window yearning to be outdoors, to be out of this stuffy palace.

"Except there is one grand obstacle," replied William affecting a French accent with the last two words.

"And what would that be?"

"It would appear that France wants to protect its interests and is refusing to sign the treaty," said William. "I believe a diplomatic mission is needed to persuade the King of the French to sign."

"One country could stop the mail?

"It would seem so ma'am."

"Well that cannot happen. I'm sure Uncle Louis can be easily persuaded," said Victoria. "Just flatter him in some manner, he absolutely adores surprises."

"You know the King, Louis-Phillipe?", William asked, calculating that she would not have been born when the young King lived in exile in England after the Revolution.

"Yes of course, you may remember that he and my father were quite close. He almost married my aunt—Princess Elizabeth. But as you know the House would never allow a papist near the throne," said Victoria hinting at the untrue rumors circulating about Albert's religious affiliations.

"That as you know has a long and difficult past."

"But Uncle Louis did find a lovely wife, a princess from Sicily, who was always very kind to me as a little girl." She fondly recalled the manicured gardens at the family's summer chateau. She remembered dashing between the magical topiary trimmed in the shape of exotic animals on her only visit to France.

"Then I may seek counsel on his character, if you do not mind ma'am" asked William. "I'm to leave for France next week, to persuade the King to sign."

"Of course Lord M., whatever you may need. But right now, I believe I need to go for a ride. Come," Victoria insisted a little annoyed that her prime minister will be away from her for at least a week.

Victoria stood up from the desk to change into her riding habit. When she returned William dutifully followed his queen to the royal stables.

The two mounted their horses and walked them out into the Queen's Garden encircling Buckingham Palace. The early autumn sun was beginning to hang lower in the sky, casting long shadows along their routine path. Neither spoke much. Each enjoyed the fresh air—a salve for their moods and wounded hearts.

William rode deep in thought. The prospect of leaving England for even a short period would be therapeutic. Time away from Victoria, while he would miss her, would give her time to be less dependent on his advice. She would also grow accustomed to his absence, necessary for what everyone knew would be an impending marriage to Albert or some other young royal.

Victoria stopped her horse and turned around to gaze down the long path that they had just traversed—the palace receding in the distance. She took a deep breath, last night's dream no longer haunted her emotions. While she understood her duties as queen and was committed to serving the nation, the royal residence was akin to a small village where everyday life, courtly life, and political life all took place. It felt liberating to be out of the palace, to be away from the scrutiny and expectations.

She thought about the fact that she had never really travelled. Because she was a woman she dare not venture the Grand Tour of France, Italy, Greece, and beyond that young men were privileged to take; where they learned the arts—painting, sculpture, architecture, music, antiquities and even about the arts of love. The mention of the Ottoman Empire, of France, ignited her curiosity. It reminded her just how provincial her worldview in fact was, even as queen. She knew nothing of the world and in turn began to feel she knew nothing of herself. And yet, she was charged with ruling a nation and a people, and was being pressured to choose a husband, a mate for life.

Certainly, she felt a youthful giddiness with Albert, but was that love? And this man next to her, for whom she happily depended on for everything, was she already in love with him? Victoria realized she barely knew what life was like beyond these palace grounds.

"Lord M.," Victoria tugged the reins and turned back around.

"Yes ma'am."

"I shall accompany you to France, to aid in your diplomatic mission with my Uncle Louis—I will be his surprise!"

Flabbergasted by the suggestion, one that would be a logistical and emotional feat, William squirmed in his saddle. He stuttered a reply, "A surprise, yes, yes, a surprise, um, indeed ma'am!"

Up Next: A Chateau…

*The treaty was Convention of London signed in 1840.

**Victoria's father the Duke of Kent was a friend of Louis Philippe. She would offer him and his wife exile in England after he abdicated in 1848.