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 story Victoria is 24 years old & William is 48
"Are you sure there aren't two rooms available, or even just a twin rather than a double?" William asks, trying not to look too desperate.
"I'm very sorry sir," says the customer service agent with a harassed but sympathetic look, "with this weather we're having enough trouble finding rooms for everyone in close enough hotels. This is the best I can do, I'm afraid."
"It's fine," Victoria cuts in, "we can share can't we M?"
He looks at her hurt expression and realises he has unintentionally offended her with his insistence on not having to share a room with her. She is, of course, unaware of the fact that he spends a significant amount of time reminding himself of the long list of reasons why telling her how he truly feels about her is an exceptionally bad idea. She has no idea how much he adores her and no inkling of how difficult it is going to be to share a room with her without doing or saying something to give himself away.
"Of course, that's fine thank you," he says to the woman at the counter with an apologetic smile.
After all, he cannot say anything else without looking and feeling like the biggest arse in the world.
The customer service agent hands them a slip of paper giving details of the Westin Hotel and Transit Centre, directs them to one of the exits and wishes them a Merry Christmas.
Victoria, cheerful as ever despite their predicament, returns the holiday greeting with one of her own. William says nothing and tries not to think about all of the ways this turn of events could cause disaster.
The two of them have been in Denver for a conference on some new technology that might be beneficial to Buckingham Ltd.
Travelling abroad, especially having to fly for nearly ten hours across the Atlantic Ocean, is not ideal so close to Christmas. And it is almost ridiculous that William was chosen for such a conference – Victoria uses her iPhone like it is an extension of herself but he has always been more old school. It still baffles him how he ended up going, but he thinks it is probably the fact that he and Victoria are both some of the least likely at the company to mind being away so close to Christmas Day.
He knows Victoria doesn't get on with her mother and is glad of the excuse to spend Christmas and Boxing Day only at her family home. As for himself … well he hasn't really celebrated Christmas since his son Augustus died four years ago, only participating in whatever Victoria has dragged him into (company party, Christmas meal out with Emma, the Christmas jumper day she has insisted her uncles institute) since she joined her family's company two and a half years previously.
She makes it better, makes Christmas enjoyable in a way it hasn't been in a long time.
He has been enjoying himself. The conference was more interesting than he expected and they've got some very good ideas about how to use the new technology showcased to the company's advantage. And of course having Victoria with him has made it all even more enjoyable.
But now it all seems to be going downhill. Now they're going to be in close quarters for an unknown amount of time and he's desperate to avoid anything that might make things awkward between them.
They check in easily enough, though there is a long queue of other people stranded because of the weather.
Their room isn't too far from the lobby and they take the bags there before he decides to go off and look around the hotel. He hopes to find activities they can do to keep them out of their room as much as possible.
He doesn't, unfortunately, consider how busy the hotel will be.
"Everywhere is packed," he tells her when he returns from half an hour of exploring, "I guess we were lucky to even get a room - they've got camp beds in some of the conference rooms."
He feels a bit guilty, knowing it is probably the fact that they were booked for first class on the flight and work for the world-renowned Buckingham Ltd that is the reason they managed to snag a nice hotel room, even if they do have to share.
"The dining room is full as well," he continues, "the reception desk suggested calling room service, though they said it might take about an hour or so for the food to come. I grabbed some snacks to keep us going."
He drops a pile of packets – chocolate, crisps and nuts – onto the bed and she smiles at him in thanks before showing him her phone.
There is a picture of her spaniel Dash on the screen wearing a pair of reindeer antlers and a glowing red nose. William snorts at the image, which is rather amusing if a bit ridiculous (he has never understood the idea of dressing one's pets up).
Victoria looks playfully indignant, "well I think dear Dashy looks adorable. It's so kind of Eliza to send me a picture since I won't get to see him on Christmas."
"Eliza?" he asks, trying to think if he remembers any of Victoria's friends of that name and coming up blank.
"Eliza Skerrett," she reminds him.
Ah, Miss Skerrett is Victoria's PA. He isn't actually aware of anyone outside the HR Department who know Miss Skerrett's first name (the girl is very competent and loyal but strangely mysterious about any personal details) but it doesn't surprise him that Victoria has gotten it out of her.
"I'm so glad she's still able to keep Dash over Christmas. I'd hate to think of him having to go to mama – he always barks whenever she or that horrid John Conroy are near … I've always said he is such an excellent judge of character.
William cannot stop his lips twitching into the tiniest smile at her words – Dash is always pleased to see him after all.
They make their way through the pile of snacks quickly, having not eaten in hours, and send off various emails to notify friends, family and work of the delay.
He lets Victoria deal with notifying work – the head of their department is, after all, one of her uncles – and since she also has a litany of uncles, aunts, cousins and friends to update (in long emails that sometimes spend two paragraphs on just the weather, three on describing the hotel and six on the conference itself) while he has only his brother, sister and Emma to send short, to-the-point messages to, he is finished far quicker than she is.
He finds himself watching her as she sits typing, looking adorable as she scrunches her nose up, smiles to herself or tilts her head as she decides what to write depending on how much she likes the relative she is writing to – her uncle Cumberland gets an email as short and concise as Victoria can manage (which is still far longer than his emails), her aunt Adelaide receives plenty of description about the area they have been staying in, and her uncle Leopold is sent a detailed account of the conference and its usefulness).
"Shall we play cards?" she asks when she has finally finished sending all her emails.
He nods, probably more eagerly than such a suggestion warrants. A card game is a good idea, something to take his mind off what might happen later when it comes time to go to bed.
He'll insist on sleeping in the armchair, she'll refuse to accept that and he'll end up sharing a bed with the woman he is trying very hard to forget he loves …
He needs to get his mind away from those dangerous thoughts.
They both produce decks of cards from their carry-on bags – they've done a lot of train journeys and waiting around since they began working together and always carry cards as a way to prevent boredom.
He thinks about Albert Gotha's disapproval when he watches them laughing and playing cards – Victoria's way of keeping calm and unstressed) ten minutes before a presentation. It makes him angry that so many people do not see how hard Victoria works. The long days perfecting reports, sleepless nights learning names and facts for meetings, and the lunchtimes they spend going over their notes … but all everyone else ever sees is a frivolous girl who got her job by being related to the directors.
Did they never watch her verbally eviscerate Robert Peel, director of their competitor Wellington, Peel & Co, the time he tried to suggest she was unprepared for a meeting? Have they not seen her face down businessmen with a steely glare and a dignity that seems almost too great for her tiny five foot frame? How do they not see it? She is young and impulsive, stubborn and with a temper … but she is hard-working and determined and bright and oh so magnificent.
And he is, once again, letting his thoughts run away with him.
He moves his focus to the cards Victoria is laying out on the bed (their side table is far too small) and looks at the cards he has been dealt. He smiles – it is a good hand.
And for a little while he allows his mind to be simply occupied by the game and not his inappropriate feelings for the woman in front of him.
They play three games of Solitaire, two of Baccarat and one very childishly enthusiastic game of Snap that results in very sore hands and fingers, and the occupant of their neighbouring room banging on the ball and telling them to keep it down.
Once they've put the scattered cards away (Victoria is very excited about her win) Victoria pulls out her phone and gestures to him.
He raises a questioning eyebrow and she rolls her eyes, "a photo M, we have to commemorate our Christmas Eve."
It is a terrible idea of course, a sure fire way for him to get even higher on Leopold Coburg's most hated list (not that he has much competition in that area as it is). He is almost positive that Victoria will not have mentioned to her uncle that they are sharing a room – she probably hasn't even omitted it knowingly, just instinctively knows it is a bad idea. Leopold has been pushing for Victoria to consider dating his protégé Albert for almost as long as she has been working at Buckingham Ltd and he perceives her friendship with William to be the biggest obstacle (William is not sure whether that is laughable, flattering or a bit of both).
If Victoria takes a photo of the two of them he knows that Leopold – with his keen eye for noticing anything that might affect his plans – will probably have him sent to the tiny little office Buckingham Ltd has in Canada no matter what Victoria might say about that.
"Maybe not right now," he says, trying not to feel like a terrible person when she frowns, "perhaps later, when we get the chance to take one outside or by the big Christmas tree downstairs – a better background than beige walls."
She brightens and he breathes a small sigh of relief.
He spends ten minutes on the phone trying to get through to the kitchens so that the can order dinner.
As he waits, listening to an irritating ringtone with a decreasing amount of patience, he watches Victoria text with a small smile on her face.
"Albert says he hopes we aren't stuck here too long. He wants to sit in on the meeting with uncle Leopold to discuss the conference when we're back at work."
William grits his teeth at her words and hates himself for it.
Albert Gotha is a genius with numbers, a walking encyclopaedia of facts about artists like Michelangelo and da Vinci, an avid technology enthusiast, a hard worker and involved in a dozen charities.
He is also stern and unforgiving, cold and controlling, judgemental and rude (admittedly some of these are side-effects of shyness but that doesn't excuse them), and he would probably be unable to recognise a joke if it danced naked in front of him.
The rumour mill at the office (Emma and Harriet) say that Victoria slapped him on their second date. He's never managed to get out of her what exactly the man said to upset her so much but he has it on good authority (Emma again) that Albert had insulted both the project Victoria had been leading at the time (which had in fact been a great success) and her friendship with William himself.
Not that she seems angry with Albert anymore.
He is a good man, William knows, but that doesn't mean he much likes him, nor does it mean he is immune from the jealousy that is rising now.
But he cannot show his. If Albert is the one to make her happy then he will accept that.
All he has ever wanted is for her to be happy.
A voice speaks at the other end of the phone and he is distracted in dictating their room service order.
He tries to push all thoughts of Albert to the back of his mind.
As they eat he entertains her with stories about office Christmas parties of the past at Buckingham Ltd.
He has worked for the company for over twenty-five years and she loves, he knows, to hear tales of her father, aunts and uncles in their younger days, as well as of the grandparents who died when she was a child. And there are no shortage of stories to tell – her family has an interesting reputation and thanks largely to his friendship with Emma, who has been at Buckingham Ltd almost as long as he has, William always knows the good gossip.
"Did uncle William really stand up on the table and sing sea shanties?" she asks with more than a little scepticism.
"You cannot be surprised," he laughs, "you have seen his office, with all its navy and sailing memorabilia – and he was even worse about it ten years ago."
"I suppose he does talk an awful lot about the sea, and he does get loud when he's had a drink … when I think of my eighteenth birthday – he shouted for a full ten minutes at mama and it was so mortifying. I guess a few sea shanties is tame compared to that."
"Oh it was more than a few," William smiles at the memory, "he went on for at least an hour. And of course no one wanted to stop him."
"I sometimes wonder, M, that you ever agreed to help me when I first started working at Buckingham Ltd – after so long dealing with the antics of my family I dread to think what you expected."
"I cannot recall what I expected," he says, "but what I found was far beyond any expectations I might have possessed. You were a breath of fresh air, Victoria, and you started to make me look forward to work in a way I hadn't done in years."
It is an honest answer, perhaps too honest in threatening to give away more of his feelings than is sensible. But she deserves honesty, and to know just how important her arrival was to him.
She reaches over her plate to squeeze his hand quickly, with a small but sincere smile, and he cannot regret his words, not when they have made her happy.
"Music," Victoria says cheerfully once their food is finished and their plates are piled to the side, "we need Christmas music."
He's never been fond of much music except Mozart (or Victoria's piano playing, whispers his treacherous mind) but it is Christmas Eve and he cannot deny her this.
Victoria grabs her laptop and soon there is the sound of her Christmas playlist in the air. She sings along to all the tunes and he watches her with a fond look on his face.
"Remember our Christmas karaoke last year, M?" she asks as she sways from side to side in time with Wonderful Christmas Time.
"Vividly," he says with a grimace.
He still has no idea how she managed to talk him into it, nor how she managed to persuade her uncles into allowing a karaoke machine at the company Christmas party.
"Oh it wasn't that bad, M – you have a good voice, you know."
He appreciates the compliment but he doesn't think it quite makes up for the fact that of all the songs she could have chosen for them to sing together she had to pick The Chipmunk Song (Christmas Don't Be Late) with Wombling Merry Christmas as the encore demanded by some of their (very, very drunk) colleagues, with that demand led of course by Emma, who never ceases trying to (a) embarrass him or (b) push him towards Victoria, and who considers it a significant victory when she manages to do both simultaneously.
(Emma can never, ever find out that he and Victoria are sharing a room while they wait for a new flight – he'll never hear the end of it).
"I cannot say," he tells her, "that I am sorry there was no karaoke at the party this year."
She sticks her tongue out at him and pouts, "it was so unfair of uncle Leopold to say no – he can be very dull sometimes. He says it's because it is unbecoming of a company like ours to have such juvenile entertainment but Christmas is supposed to be fun. What must Albert and Ernest have thought of us with such a solemn party?"
"Oh I rather think Albert enjoyed it," William admits, "I heard him say it was very dignified."
He tries not to let irritation colour his tone. He is all for hard work when required and seriousness when warranted but he has little patience for those with no sense of fun.
Victoria harrumphs and his mouth twitches into a smile.
"Albert goes to bed at ten o'clock and always looks so grave – I think it was the sort of serious party he likes. I suppose it is grown up of him, though he is a few months younger than me and can be very immature about some things. Ernest is maybe not quite as studious or hard working but he understands the allure of a more exciting party."
Perhaps a bit too much, William thinks as he remembers that in spite of the lack of the more lively Christmas tunes, and the combined glares of Leopold and Albert, Ernest still had still proceeded to get completely drunk and whirl a laughing Harriet Sutherland around the room in an attempt at dancing that made everyone watching extremely dizzy.
"We should dance now," Victoria says excitedly as Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree starts to play, "we never got the chance at the party with all those boring songs Albert and uncle Leopold insisted on and you left before Ernest managed to take control of the music and play something that was actually from the past fifty years."
A refusal is on the tip of his tongue (his mind screams that it's a bad idea) but she looks at him with such hopeful eyes and this isn't like the photo she wanted to take earlier, this won't ever be seen by people who will frown and judge.
And he wants to dance with her, he enjoys it. She's talked him into karaoke, skydiving for charity and countless other things but she doesn't have to talk him into this.
He twirls her in the small space in their room that is free of furniture, through Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree and Jingle Bell Rock, and his heart feels light and he's so delighted just to be enjoying this with her.
Then Victoria turns a little too fast towards the end of Jingle Bell Rock and trips. He has to lurch forward to grab her round the waist so that she won't bash her head on the side table but he loses his own balance in the process and they both end up landing in a tangle of limbs on the bed.
There is a little awkwardness as they extricate themselves but they both freeze when, as they are manoeuvring away from each other, their hands brush and they realise their faces are mere inches apart.
William takes in every detail of her face. Delicate eyelashes, eyes so very blue, her dark silky hair, the shape of her nose and her lips so close to his own, so tantalisingly near.
They both shift closer almost unconsciously. Her hand settles on top of his own, and her hair tickles the side of his face.
The air is charged, the tension and feelings heavy in the air.
It is the sort of moment he has only dreamed about.
There are a few seconds of stillness.
And then the silence is broken by the simultaneous beeps of their phones.
They both jump in surprise, diving for their phones with red faces.
What has he been thinking, how close has he just come to making such a huge mistake, to potentially ruining the life of the person that means the most to him?
He checks his phone. It is a mass text from the airline to all stranded passengers heading for Heathrow. The weather is still bad and it looks like they won't be flying out until Boxing Day at the earliest.
Oh god, he thinks. At least two nights together. And after what almost happened just now he's sure she won't want to look him in the eye.
What might have happened, he wonders, without the chime of their phones bringing them both back to reality?
He doesn't know whether he's relieved or frustrated.
Probably both.
And in the background, Mariah Carey's All I Want for Christmas is You begins to play.
Story of his bloody life.
As he puts his phone away William notes that Victoria is still looking at hers. He takes the opportunity to grab Plato's Republic, which he is part way through re-reading, out of his bag.
The awkwardness is stifling and he hates it. In all the time he and Victoria have known each other he has never been quite so uncomfortable and off-balance in her presence.
He wants to fix it but he has no idea what to say – he, the man with a quote for every occasion and never short of things to talk about with Victoria, cannot find the right words.
So maybe if he buries his head in a book she will not try and speak to him just yet. She might take up her own book or use her laptop or sketch for a while, just until they've both found their heads again.
An hour or two and they will both laugh without blushing over how they fell over so closely entangled. They will get back to normal and laugh over each other's stories or look through Victoria's sketches from their trip.
It will be fine. It has to be. He does not want to lose her.
What is it that song says, the one from the Disney movie Victoria talked about for months – undeniably catchy though he'll take that admission to his grave.
Conceal, don't feel, don't let it show.
That's it.
Because whatever he feels he is sure it will not be returned, sometimes he thinks that it should not be (because he's too old, too broken, too cynical).
And he won't let his feelings ruin the most precious relationship he has. Not if he can help it.
"You know," she says to him quietly, just as he is beginning to think his plan to let the quiet diffuse the tension in the room might actually be working, "you're the first person who ever said I'd be good at my job."
"About a month after I joined the company," she continues after a moment's pause, "you said my report was well researched and that I had presented it very well at the meeting. You told me that I had a talent for the work."
He thinks for a moment to recollect the day she means. It had been the first time he'd really seen her in action and he had been very impressed. Most of their new recruits took months to become even half as steady as she was at presenting and they were often sloppy with their research – Victoria's work was detailed and informative and well presented.
He had been a little worried she would turn out like her cousins, who worked at Buckingham Ltd because it was a guaranteed job but never put much real effort into their work. She had proved his assumptions wrong and he was from that moment her advocate with any colleague who tried to dismiss her because of the fact that she was related to the directors.
"It was true," he tells her, "you did extremely well considering you had to present in front of all the directors and department heads after only a month working at the office."
It was even more impressive, he thinks, that she did not falter under the pressure of having everyone judging her to a higher standard because they assumed she had practically grown up in the company (though the reality, she had later told him, was that her mother had never allowed her to have anything to do with it until she was an adult, and even then she had needed to prioritise her university work over learning more about her family's company).
"It meant a lot," she admits, "I admire you so much and when you said I had done well it felt like all the panic and worry had been worth it. My family always just expected me to join the company because that's what my family does … they never suggested I might be an asset or have some skill in what I do, it was just what always happened. You … well you made me believe that I could be valued for myself and my own contributions, not just for my name."
He reaches out for her hand without even thinking about it.
He can never regret Victoria working for Buckingham Ltd as it allowed them to meet, but sometimes he thinks it so very unfair that she should have no real choice. Oh she could leave, but Buckingham Ltd have a far reach and he has no doubt that they would put a great deal of obstacles in her way if she tried to strike out on her own. Her family is powerful and clever but there is a streak of ruthlessness too, especially in Leopold Coburg.
They sit for a few minutes, hands entwined and not speaking. But he soon thinks he should move away lest he betray his feelings.
When he shifts, though, Victoria's hand holds tighter to his.
He looks at her and sees she is studying him intently, "why do you always pull away?" she asks him.
He feigns ignorance, for this is not a conversation he is ready to have.
"I'm afraid I do not know what you mean, Victoria."
"You always step back," she says with a look that tells him that she knows he understands her no matter how much he might act otherwise, "every time. If we're hugging, if our hands brush, even if we stand close together. It's like you forget yourself for a moment and lean in, but it never lasts and you always pull away. Every. Single. Time."
He knows what she means, of course he does. He is so hyper-aware of her presence … but also very aware of the age difference, his own colourful past, the shadow of his wife (though she has been dead for six years), and her position as a close relation to the directors.
She's everything he wants but nothing he deserves. And that is always at the forefront of his mind.
She squeezes his hand tighter, "why, M … William?"
He looks at her softly, tries to make her understand, "I think you know why."
And he truly thinks she does. So much is unspoken with them. In between the laughter and long conversations and working on reports together there are the moments of understanding, the quirk of lips into a smile, the deep feelings shown only in the expressions on their faces, the silent support. He knows she cares deeply for him, knows that perhaps she even feels for him as he does for her, but it is one of the few things they never discuss – one of the things he thinks they should not discuss.
But Victoria is expressive and warm in her affections. She will only stay quiet for so long.
"I love you," it almost slips out of her mouth and she looks momentarily surprised when she realises she has actually said it out loud.
But then she repeats herself, firmly and with a determined glint in her eyes.
"I love you."
What those words evoke in him is hard to adequately describe.
Joy, fear, delight, worry, inadequacy, love, wonder … and so much more.
His mind cannot decide what emotion to settle on. His heart feels like it will burst out of his chest.
He has never expected this. For as long as he has loved her (more time than he will admit) he has done so with no serious thought of that love being returned, with a determination to be happy and content in their friendship and nothing more.
Now all he wants to do is hold her and kiss her and tell her that he loves her too. His heart cries out for that path. His head reminds him of everything that is against them.
William turns to face her, tries to find the best thing to say.
"I believe … I know … that when you give your heart it will be without hesitation, but you cannot give it to me."
For a moment her eyes begin to fill with tears and he panics, but she wipes them away almost angrily.
"I think you have my heart already," she says almost defiantly.
"No," he almost chokes on the words, "you must save it for somebody else. I … I …"
He thinks of saying he has no use for her heart, thinks of trying to suggest that his own heart is still with his wife.
But he cannot do that, cannot hurt her in that way. She knows – from office gossip and the little he has let slip to her – that his marriage was over a long time before his wife died. How can he insult her by lying to her about this?
"I do not deserve it," he finishes with a sigh.
He finally manages to pull away and turns to face the window instead of her.
This is not quite what he has been fearing. He has never expected her to confess to such feelings herself, has only worried that he will accidentally reveal his own. And it makes it so much harder to keep his distance now he knows that his feelings are requited.
But surely nothing can happen between them, surely his list of reasons still stands whether or not she loves him in return?
His resolve is slipping but he must not let it.
He stares out of the window at the flurries of snow still falling.
He does not hear her stand, does not realise she has moved until suddenly her arms are wrapped around him from behind, her face pressed against his back.
He can feel the warmth of her lips and cheek through the fabric of his shirt.
She holds on to him, her hands splaying across his chest. It feels nice, comfortable … like home.
"We can't, Victoria," he almost whispers.
She lifts her face away from his shirt, though her hands stay where they are.
"Why? Why are we not allowed to be happy?"
He grasps her hands and lifts them away so he can turn to face her, "you deserve someone young, someone without my past, someone that doesn't have rumours following them."
"But I want you," she tells him fiercely, "you aren't old and I don't care about whatever stupid gossip says because I know you, the real you, and you are a good man, William … a great man. I want you because you make me smile and laugh, you support me and help me learn from my mistakes. And you believe in me, more than anyone else ever has. I love you and that's not going to change because you can't see just how amazing you are."
He lifts his hand to her cheek, lets his fingers caress her soft skin.
She looks up at his face and then tilts her face further up with a smile.
He follows her gaze to see a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling lamp.
She has a playful little grin on her face, "I put it up earlier when you were looking round the hotel."
He raises an eyebrow and laughs.
She blushes slightly, "I was going to work up to it but then we were dancing and I forgot it was even there."
"Well," he says, voice a little hoarse, "I'm not one to ignore such a tradition."
Her eyes widen slightly in shock as he leans down slowly and slants his lips across hers.
Kissing Victoria … well it's everything he has ever dreamed it might be and so much more.
He forgets everything else, every worry and uncertainty, and focuses only on Victoria and the kiss and how amazing it all feels.
Her surprise doesn't last long and she kisses him back fiercely, with all the enthusiasm he is so fond of.
One hand cups the back of her head and the other settles around her waist, tugging her closer.
He knows he won't be able to deny her now, knows that if she will have him then he will stay by her side for the rest of his life.
When they break apart he can see she is smiling and he knows he is probably beaming like a lunatic.
He doesn't care.
He is so happy, so ecstatic to have her in his arms, to know that she loves him.
It is the best Christmas present he could ever have.
"I love you, William," she repeats her earlier words.
There is no hesitation now in his answer, "I love you too."
In the end they do not manage to get onto a flight home until the 28th December.
The delay means they're showered with complimentary gifts and tickets by the airline but they almost feel like they aren't entitled to them – the delay has given inconvenience to most but it has given them an opportunity, has resulted in a romantic relationship that is exceptionally serious and important to them despite its newness.
They don't mind the delay. They do, after all, have a brand new relationship they have had a few days to explore without inquisitive or overbearing friends and family.
They may be spending Christmas in an airport hotel in America, but they are together.
Their shared room turns out to be a very good thing in the end rather than the awkward difficulty he at first feared it would be.
And it is an extremely Merry Christmas indeed.