Ever After, a victoria fanfic

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.

This does not follow a particular one of my other Vicbourne stories but as many of them end with the understanding that a marriage will take place then feel free to imagine it does follow one of them if you wish to. It is a departure from my usual Victoria/Lord M works as it features them in an established relationship and it also spans almost twenty years – I'm not exactly sure how it will work out.

The poem Lord M writes for Victoria near the end of the story is not mine but is made up of lines from the wonderful song I'm Yours by The Script. Lord M was an avid reader but I've never seen any information about him having any talent for poetry – for the purposes of this story, though, he is inspired by love.

The information about Lord M's family and his views on religion do have historical basis though I have simplified it for this story – Lord M's niece Frances was both a trainbearer at Victoria's coronation and a bridesmaid for her wedding to Albert, while biographies on Lord M do state that while he was not an avid churchgoer he was interested in religion as a subject of study and also took interest in the religious appointments he made as PM.

Obviously I could not mention all the big events that happened throughout Victoria's reign because it would take far too long, but a few events / historical occurrences are mentioned, sometimes slightly AU due to the altered circumstances. I have based the look of the characters and much of their personalities on the TV show so Lord M is older than Victoria but not 40 years older (Rufus Sewell is only 49 after all) and he does not die in 1848 as he did in reality because this is an AU happy ending story.

For anyone who cares to have the information, below are the full names of Victoria & Lord M's children, their months and years of birth and information on who they were named after:

Edward Arthur Augustus – b. June 1843 – named for Victoria's father, the Duke of Wellington and Lord M's deceased son

Victoria Adelaide Elizabeth – b. November 1844 – named for Victoria, Queen Adelaide (her uncle William's wife) and Lord M's mother

William George Frederick – b. May 1847 – named for Lord M, Victoria's grandfather and Lord M's brother

Alice Emily Charlotte – b. January 1851 – named for Lord M's favourite girl's name (in real history Victoria apparently named her daughter Alice to honour Lord M), Lord M's sister and Victoria's grandmother (the name is also shared by her cousin Charlotte, who died in childbirth)

I love him, I love him, I love him.

Oh what happiness it is to be his wife, to have dearest William as my husband.

We have spent three wonderful days together and although I enjoy London I will always think this time alone with him to have been some of the best days of my life.

Marriage is delightful. He is delightful. And all these wonderful things he does now, all the ways he shows his love.

I do not know if I have truly lived before now!

Victoria closes her diary with a happy sigh.

She and William have just returned from their brief honeymoon at Brocket Hall and now she watches him sleep beside her, still not quite able to fully believe that she has her happy ending.

She has tried to convey the magnitude of her feelings in her diary but she feels she may not have truly done them justice. And there are some things she cannot bring herself to write, even in a diary no one else will see (for mama can no longer read her every thought and she knows William will never do such a thing uninvited).

So she does not write about how it felt when he touched her bare skin, or the ecstasy when he made her fall apart beneath him, or the many other ways he proved that the marriage bed does not have to be the onerous duty she was warned of. She does not write of them but she stores up the memories in her heart, the warmth and passion and love – she will remember these first few days of married life forever.

William does not tell Victoria that his brother and sister both tried to talk him out of the marriage.

She would not understand that they are only looking out for him, are just trying to protect him from another disaster like his marriage to Caro.

No, his darling Victoria would only see more people who do not want her to be happy, and he does not want her relationship with his siblings tainted before it even really begins.

They worry, he knows, that Victoria is too much like Caro.

And it is true that Victoria has a strong and lively personality, as Caro did. There are similarities between them, he admits. But Caro took everything to extreme, and while Victoria loves passionately and can be stubborn she is not as uncontrolled as Caro was.

The crux lies in the fact that Caro was like Icarus, always flying too close to the sun and then plummeting down to earth. She could be self-destructive and manic, dangerous one moment and weeping the next.

Victoria has a temper but she is not generally prone to such extremes. And though she makes mistakes she is very conscious, especially now she has ruled for a number of years, of her duty to her country and of how she must behave – she has a dignity, a regal bearing that Caro never did.

He loved Caro, extremely flawed as she was, but their marriage was not a wise thing. Their son Augustus, he thinks, was the only truly good thing that came from it.

With Victoria it is different. She makes him better and he thinks he does the same for her. It isn't as wild as his marriage to Caro but it is more in so many ways, with a deep affection and a true love.

It is hard to explain to his siblings, harder still to make them believe he has not just lost his head over a charming young woman.

He has always been fond of the company of women, and it is a facet of his personality that has caused him plenty of trouble (his friendship with Mrs Norton especially), but despite the fears of his brother and sister he knows his own mind, and he knows enough to realise that what he and Victoria have is real.

So he talks to his siblings.

He tries to verbalise everything he adores in his new wife, to explain how much she brightens his life.

It is harder than he thought. There is so much about his relationship with Victoria that cannot be put into words. It is a hand on the small of her back; a kiss on the cheek; a raised eyebrow and half smile; eyes meeting across the room; silvery laughter; two heads bent together over a book; a solid, supportive presence; limbs entangled comfortably together; kisses that take his breath away; the heady and intoxicating feeling of being truly loved.

He must manage to get some of his meaning across, because his brother smiles and his sister's eyes soften.

They agree to reserve any judgement until a proper meeting can take place, something a little more conducive to conversation than the crowded and busy (but wonderful) day that their wedding had been.

And he knows they will love Victoria. Because he loves her and she loves him.

Because she makes him happy.

On their return from their brief honeymoon there follows a number of weeks filled with dinner engagements as the highest of society visits to offer congratulations and gossip about the Queen and her new husband.

Many of the dinners are of no real bother – William knows himself to be an able (if sometimes teasing) conversationalist, and his wife has plenty of charm of her own – but others are more of a trial.

The Duke of Cumberland thankfully chose to stay in Hanover rather than attend their wedding, and all they have from him is a letter of what is allegedly congratulations but actually appears to be poorly-concealed disdain for Victoria's choice of husband.

They dine with Victoria's other surviving uncles and aunts – the Dukes of Sussex and Cambridge, Princess Mary and Princess Sophia – along with their families and the Dowager Queen Adelaide en masse. The conversation is stilted and rather awkward – his new wife scarcely knows her uncle Cambridge, her aunt Sophia is still in thrall to Sir John Conroy despite the odious man's removal to Ireland, and her aunt Adelaide is not particularly well disposed to William – but the evening is saved by William's determination not to be offended and Victoria's lively conversation with Princess Mary, her favourite aunt.

He expects nothing good from the three dinners with King Leopold and Victoria's mother that occur before Leopold returns to Belgium. Neither Victoria's uncle nor her mother are happy with their marriage, though he senses a possible thawing in the Dowager Duchess' attitude that suggests to him that she may be more amiable towards their union in future, especially once her brother has left to return to Belgium. Still, William finds that though he does not wish Prince Albert back, he would welcome Prince Ernest, whose cheerful disposition might have brought some levity to the dinners that are instead fraught with tension.

He finds himself relieved when, three weeks after they arrive back from Brocket Hall, they host a dinner for his own family.

Finally, he thinks, a set of guests who are well disposed to him. He and his family have always been close and though his time as Prime Minister and now as Victoria's husband have reduced his free time, he still finds time to enjoy their company. And when the papers picked apart every aspect of his relationship with Victoria during his time as her Prime Minister, when they erupted over the shock the followed their engagement, his family stood by him in unwavering support despite their own reservations.

But now, after a meeting with his family after he and Victoria returned from their honeymoon, he knows they like his wife. He is aware of Victoria's early fears that they would think badly of her for being the reason his name has been dragged back into the papers (as if that were true – he knows well enough that he has been causing scandal in society since before Victoria was even born), but they do not blame her for the names he has been called and the insinuations that have been made against him.

They find Victoria refreshing and sweet. They say her love for him is far more genuine than Caro's. His sister Emily has been an admirer of Victoria ever since she approved Emily's marriage to Lord Palmerston, and his niece Frances, Emily's daughter from her first marriage, was one of the bridesmaids at his wedding to Victoria.

The dinner is one of laughter and nostalgic stories and energetic conversation. They do occasionally have to check themselves, for Victoria, though open and affectionate, holds her court to a moral standard that his family are not particularly known for – it is considered an open secret, for example, that his niece Emily is the daughter of Lord Palmerston and not, in fact, his sister's first husband Lord Cowper.

After dinner William, his brother Frederick and Palmerston enjoy some brandy together while Victoria plays an enthusiastic game of cards with Emily, Frederick's wife Alexandrina and some of her ladies.

"I hear you go to church now," Frederick says with a laugh, "has Her Majesty made a believer of my irreverent brother."

William sighs. It is true that he has barely attended church for years, generally going only at Victoria's urging and on important occasions. It is not that he does not believe in God, and he does in fact have a deep interest in religion (he took great care in the appointments he made as Prime Minister), but church is not for him. He goes now for Victoria, and because he knows that the Queen's husband must be seen there.

"The things we do for love," Palmerston says with a knowing wink and an adoring look at Emily – William may not agree with some of Palmerston's politics but one thing he knows is that the man loves Emily and that is the sort of husband William believes his sister deserves.

William looks at his own new wife, laughing with the ladies around the table, and feels himself smile without any of the irony or teasing that so often accompanies his expressions, "love, yes," he says absently.

He can hear his brother and brother-in-law laughing in the background, probably at his ignoring them in favour of gazing at Victoria, but he finds he does not much care.

Victoria is exquisite and he is still not quite used to the fact that he can now call her his wife.

In a room his eyes will always look for her. There's really no hope for it.

Sir Robert Peel stands as near to the door as he can get in the ballroom, magnificently decked out for the Queen's birthday celebration. He is thankful for the respite from socialising that he has been afforded by his wife's disappearance to make some alteration to her toilette.

He is ill at ease at these sort of occasions, always wishing to be comfortable at home rather than stuck making small talk with a poor grace that will almost certainly be mocked by the Whigs at some later date.

When the invitation had arrived he had immediately considered pleading an indisposition – after all the Queen was hardly likely to miss him the way she had missed Melbourne whenever he was absent.

But of course it will not do to have rumours spread of disharmony between the Prime Minister and his Queen, especially not so early in his Ministry. And Julia, his dear wife, had been so excited at the chance to attend one of the Queen's balls that he did not have the heart to disappoint her.

So here he is, managing well enough but still wishing he could sneak off to the palace's magnificent library (filled with the very latest works, thanks to Melbourne's love of reading).

He nods to a couple of men from the House and notes his wife, now returned to the ballroom, chatting with a few other ladies.

"And how do you find the evening?" asks a voice next to him.

He turns to see the Duke of Wellington, who watches the room in exactly the same way as he might survey his troops on the battlefield.

"It is well done," he admits, "though I find little enjoyment in such things."

Wellington laughs deeply, "yes, I see you have not been dancing."

"I would not wish to embarrass my wife."
"Well she seems to be having a fine time in spite of that," Wellington says.

It is true. Julia has been pleased all evening, charming to all she has met. He was pleasantly surprised by the Queen's warmth when he introduced her, for he had worried that her coolness towards him would extend to Julia. But the Queen had asked kindly after their children and complimented Julia's dress, leaving his wife quite delighted by such an attention.

"The Queen was most gracious towards her," he tells Wellington.

"Her Majesty has great charm," Wellington says, "and I believe her husband has impressed upon her the importance of not allowing personal feelings or private political beliefs to make her ungracious towards those who do not share the same views as she does."

"She does not like me," he reminds Wellington, "even though I am no longer in competition with Melbourne."

"Her Majesty has a long memory," Wellington admits, "and she will not soon forget her prejudices against the Tories, but she is learning, I think, and Melbourne has told me that she admits you are a very clever and able man."

The compliment buoys his spirits even as it makes him awkwardly embarrassed.

"He is good for the Queen, I think," Wellington continues, looking over at the Queen and her husband of three months dancing together, "a bad husband, or even just one who did not suit, might have ruined her, but Melbourne … Melbourne may be the making of our lovely little Queen."

Peel watches the two of them together. The careful way Melbourne holds her, the shared glances and conversations without words. They orbit each other and even when they are across a crowded room he senses that they know exactly where the other is.

It is the kind of harmony that usually does not develop until a marriage is years or decades old, not months.

Then again, Peel thinks to himself, that has always been the way of the Queen and Melbourne. As frustrating and worrying as their closeness was when Melbourne was Prime Minister there is no denying that there has always been a connection between the two of them, one that has only got stronger since their marriage.

When he first heard the Queen's announcement of her intention to marry Melbourne, Peel had been dismayed.

He was sure it could never work, sure that it might rock the very foundations of their country.

He still cannot be sure that his worst fears will not come to pass. But watching the two of them now, taking note of Wellington's words,

Peel decides that this marriage may not be as bad as he first thought.

In fact, he thinks, it may be rather a good thing.

Victoria watches as her new husband oversees the construction of a greenhouse in the grounds of the palace.

It is a small thing compared to the one in Brocket Hall but she wants him to be able to enjoy his hobby even when he is unable to visit his family estate.

He speaks enthusiastically with the garden staff and she smiles because this is an area he is comfortable in. He might be familiar with the palace, having been a frequent visitor for years, but she knows he is a little unsure of his place (though he tries not to show it) now that he is resident rather than guest, husband rather than Prime Minister. But here in the garden, talking of flowers and plants with the gardeners, he is in his element.

He looks up for a moment as if he has sensed her gaze, and his eyes find hers in seconds. He is a distance away but she can see the warm delight on his face, can sense how content he is.

She smiles to herself and walks on with her ladies.

She is glad he feels at home.

"Her Majesty the Queen and the Duke of Melbourne."

Victoria smiles happily as William escorts her in to dinner. She is so glad that none of her uncles are present to displace her husband from her side as they walk in to the dining room.

William had not wanted to accept the dukedom she had recently created and bestowed upon him days before their wedding, but parliament – even the blasted Tories – had been emphatic that if she was going to insist on marrying William then he must be a duke and not a mere viscount.

Of course they have refused her request to have him styled as 'His Royal Highness' and she is still very put out about it. She has accepted that William cannot be King Consort - "if you get the English people into the habit of making Kings," he has told her, "you may get them into the habit of unmaking them" – but she hates that he is still behind her uncles in precedence, a situation that could be remedied if he were styled as 'Royal Highness'. William himself seems not to mind, for he says that royalty is born, not made. She does not understand it, for to her it seems like an absolute insult to both of them, but he only says that being able to marry her is more than he has ever hoped for and that if all it takes to keep relative peace with her family is to walk behind her uncles then he will do so quite happily.

He is so sweet, her dear husband.

But her uncles do vex her so.

"You look as if you are thinking very hard, my darling girl," William says as they begin the first course of their meal.

She pauses a moment to answer and he smiles a little at the almost universal relief he can see on the faces of the rest of the diners around the table as they realise that they might have a few more minutes than usual to enjoy their meal, for often the Queen, who eats remarkably quickly, is finished and the plates taken away before most of them are even half done.

"Are you sure there is nothing that can be done about my uncles?" she asks, "I do feel it is very wrong that when they are here I cannot be escorted in by my own husband."

"Precedence must be observed," he reminds her, "and if it prevents arguments with your uncles then it is worth the irritation. And we always meet again soon enough at the table."

She slips her hand into his out of the sight of the rest of the room. While he may not be able to escort her in to dinner when any of the royal dukes visit she does always insist on having him sat next to her while they eat, as she always did when he dined with her as her Prime Minister.

It is kind of him, she thinks, to make no fuss about the order of precedence, something that many men would dislike. Still, she does not think it right, for he is her husband whether others like it or not. She will think of something, she decides, and it will be her surprise to her husband.

She just has to work out a plan.

About six months after their wedding, William finds his wife one evening with a pleased smile on her face as they wait to enter for dinner.

The Duke of Sussex is present and he immediately looks to Victoria, worried that she might refuse to take her uncle's arm for him to escort her in. But she still looks cheerful, almost smug, even though it is clear that she has spotted her uncle.

And then Sussex moves towards them, but he is not alone. William recognises the woman with him as Lady Cecilia Underwood and looks to his wife with confusion painted across his face – Sussex's marriage to Lady Cecilia, a contravention of the Royal Marriages Act 1772, prevents her from being presented at court.

Sussex bows to the Queen and nods to William, "may I present my wife, the Duchess of Inverness."

Victoria continues to smile, completely unsurprised, "I am very pleased to meet you, Your Grace."

"I am so delighted to be here, Your Majesty," says Lady Cecilia … or rather the Duchess, all smiles as she stands next to her contented husband.

Dinner is announced and instead of offering his arm to his niece, Sussex instead prepares to walk in with his wife.

Victoria moves to stand next to him and offers her arm with a victorious look on her face, "shall we, William?"

He takes her arm and leans down to whisper, "the Duchess of Inverness?"

"Uncle Sussex and I had a little chat," she tells him, "he is quite pleased to have his wife recognised and welcomed at court."

"You are a marvel, my darling," he tells her.

It is an elegant little solution and he is so proud of her for how she has solved her problem without any bad feeling and in a way that in fact makes her uncle Sussex positively disposed towards her.

They enter the room and she looks like a glorious queen triumphant.

As affectionate as Victoria is while she is awake, she is even more so while asleep.

She likes to drift off nestled against him and he often wakes in the middle of the night to the cool sensation of her bare feet pressed against his legs (her feet are always cold, no matter the season, but he tends to run warm so it balances out).

He wakes one morning to the pale morning light filtering through the small cracks in the bedroom curtains and wonders momentarily why he has woken so early and where on earth he is.

A minute or two clears his still sleepy brain enough for him to remember that they are not at the palace but in Brighton so that Victoria can open a hospital. He thinks of the last time he accompanied her for a similar event – the memorial for her father – and is glad that angry Chartists are not likely to be at this event, for he had been worried enough then, back when he was denying his feelings, and he knows it would be even worse now they are married.

Victoria, he realises, is not beside him and he thinks that this must be the reason he woke. He is used to another presence in his bed now, and he feels the absence of his wife next to him.

He looks around the room and spots her sitting at her dressing table, running a comb through her long hair. He smiles a little as he hears her quiet mutterings when the comb gets stuck in a knot – it is sweet of her not to call her dresser and to try and stay as quiet as possible so that he is not disturbed.

He rises from the bed as silently as he can and skirts round so that she does not spot his approach, distracted as she is by the difficult novelty of attempting to style her own hair.

She jumps a little in shock when he ducks down to press a kiss to the curve of her neck, but smiles when she realises it is him and shuffles over so that he can perch next to her on the edge of her dressing table stool.

"You are awake early," he says, pressing his lips to the corner of her mouth.

"I wanted to go down to the beach without anyone else, while it is quiet," she tells him.

It is not something she should be doing, wandering alone, but it is early enough that the section of beach they are staying by will be deserted. It should be safe.

"I will go with you, darling girl," he says, plucking the comb from her hand and running it through her hair in a far gentler manner than her own attempts.

He will alert a few of the guards too, quietly, and ensure they are on alert a little way away – a bit of privacy but some support in the unlikely event that it will be required, for he does not wish to take chances with her safety.

They go down to the beach and though the early morning is bright there is a slight chill in the air that keeps them walking quickly.

The paraphernalia of beaches and the sea is not an area of expertise for him but he knows enough to tell his wife a few interesting little facts as they walk along. Mostly, though, they just enjoy the quiet of each other's company and the pleasure of being without the constant bustle of the court.

After about half an hour of strolling across the sand, back and forth in the section close to where they are staying, Victoria gets an excited look in her eyes that makes him a little wary.

"Oh William, would it not be delightful to dip our feet in the sea, to feel the waves wash over them?"

"I believe the water will be far too chilly for such a thing at this time."

"I am sure it would be lovely," she counters, and without another word she begins to slip off her boots.

He looks away. She is his wife but it is an automatic reaction to the surprise of her actions.

"Victoria," he makes an attempt at sounding stern as he turns back to face her, but she only laughs and, leaving her boots and stockings in a pile at his feet, she darts off towards the sea.

He cannot help but smile at her. Perhaps her actions are not proper but she is so happy and how can he be angry as he watches her dart around the edges of the waves, giggling delightfully and squealing a little at the cold water.

She is so filled with energy, so very beautiful.

He does not join her, despite how she pleads, but he gladly helps her put her boots back on and hides her stockings in his pocket (she finds them too troublesome to pull onto wet feet) as they sneak back to their room without alerting the ever-watchful Baroness Lehzen.

Later, as Victoria opens the hospital with a solemn air appropriate to the occasion, he marvels at the two very different parts that make up his wife, the parts she manages to combine with a grace that does her great credit.

The Queen is regal and dignified. The woman is love and laughter and warmth and full of life, she is all the things his existence had been missing before he met her.

He loves both parts.

William finds his wife one night jumping up and down on the settee just outside their bedroom.

He laughs. Loudly.

She stops immediately and blushes furiously when she realises he has witnessed her odd behaviour.

He holds out a hand to help her hop down and, when she refuses to look him in the eye, he taps her chin gently to tilt her face up towards his.

He does not laugh now. It is a bizarre scene but he does not want to hurt Victoria's feelings further.

"What on earth is all this, my darling?" he asks gently.

She stays quiet, cheeks still flushed with embarrassment.

He doesn't push, only sits and tugs her down so that she is nestled against him.

She presses her face against the shirt he had quickly pulled on when he had got out of bed to go in search of her and when she speaks her voice is so muffled he has to strain to hear her words.

"Lehzen said it would stop me from becoming with child."

He has a moment of panic. Does Victoria not want children? Does she not want children with him? And why has she not told him? They have always tried to be truthful with each other after all.

As if she senses his turmoil, his wife moves away so that her voice is clearer, "I know we must have children … and of course I want to have them with you, dearest William … But I just wished to wait a while, to have the two of us alone, only for a year or two."

He relaxes at her words, scolds himself for doubting her. Victoria is still very young and it is quite reasonable for her to not feel ready for children – he himself had spoken to King Leopold of how she might put marriage off for a number of years so he quite understands that she wishes to wait for children.

He has to smile, though, at her methods.

He kisses her softly, "do not worry, I am not angry, my darling. There is nothing wrong with wanting to put such a matter off for a few years, and," he pauses to give her a heated glance that makes her blush even more, "I can assure you that I very much enjoy our time alone."

He pauses and gives her a gentle smile, "but I must inform you that Baroness Lehzen is telling you an old wives tale. There is no proof that such actions can do anything other than give your devoted husband some amusement."

He kisses her again to show he is only teasing.

"But dear Lehzen seemed so sure."

He has a wicked little urge to remind her that the unmarried and rather prim Lehzen is not likely to know much about any reliable contraception. But he picks his battles when it comes to Victoria's old governess – who is well-meaning and devoted to the Queen but still likes to consider her a child and William an undeserving interloper who should have no say in anything – and it is not worth possibly provoking his wife's ire by joking about Lehzen, not over this.

"It really will do no good to continue your efforts," he says instead, "there are precious few reliable methods of preventing a child, I'm afraid."

Most would say that this is not a conversation they should be having, that the Queen must provide heirs and should in no way seek to delay a possible pregnancy. But he loves his wife fiercely and does not want her to be unhappy.

"If you are serious about wishing to avoid pregnancy for a year or two," he tells her, "then there are a few things we might try, though I will stress again that their reliability cannot be guaranteed. For now, though, I believe it would be best to return to bed. You have a meeting with the French ambassador tomorrow morning and you must be well rested."

She nods and allows him to lead her back to bed, falling to sleep almost as soon as she has laid down.

He lies down next to her and thinks on the scene he has witnessed. Jumping up and down to prevent pregnancy, he thinks, what an odd idea. He chuckles to himself for a few moments before he wraps an arm around his delightful little wife and surrenders to a blissful sleep.

The meeting with the French ambassador goes very well, for Victoria has a sympathetic view of the French, helped largely by her warm relationship with her uncle Leopold's second wife Louise of Orléans.

The ambassador conveys an invitation from King Louis Philippe I for herself and William to visit him at Château d'Eu in Normandy, an opportunity to be the first English monarch to visit a French one since Henry VIII and Francis I of France met on the Field of the Cloth of Gold in 1520 (though Victoria hopes their trip will involve more goodwill than Henry and Francis' meeting).

There are some in parliament who are not well disposed towards the suggestion of this visit, those who are not as fond of the idea of a warmer relationship with France as Victoria is. But she gets her way, and William agrees that it is a sound political decision and a good idea to make allies of the French.

She worries a little about how William will be treated considering his lack of royal blood. But while the French reception is at first a little cool towards him, she notes that soon enough William and King Louis Philippe have found common ground. The King declares William to be a very witty and intelligent man, and his wife Queen Maria Amalia tells Victoria that she is lucky to have such a charming husband.

The two week visit is a success and they return to England with excellent news for parliament of improved relations with their French neighbours.

The papers are positive about the trip, by and large. There has of course long been a lot of bad feeling between the French and English which is not likely to soon change, but the people are pleased that there is little chance of war between them, for war might bring military glory but it also brings tax rises and death for the country's young men.

Victoria knows she has made mistakes as Queen but now, with her husband at her side and this recent diplomatic success, she feels like things are going well.

Victoria is sitting and watching a lovely musical performance (not Mozart, William notes to her, but entertaining enough) when she feels the sudden urge to vomit.

It is such an unseemly thought, a Queen being sick in front of all these people, especially when the group includes her husband, her Prime Minister Sir Robert, and the Duke of Wellington.

She stands and hopes she has not done so in too rushed a manner.

"You must excuse me," she says as they all rise with her.

She walks out of the room, though she wishes she could run. But Queens do not run, at least not in this public setting.

She finds Skerrett in her rooms and the dresser helps her immediately, even managing to ensure her dress and hair are not damaged by what she empties from her stomach almost as soon she closes the door.

"Are you quite alright, Your Majesty?" asks Skerrett and Victoria is thankful that there is only genuine concern to be heard in her voice, and that Skerrett is someone she can trust not to spread rumours of illness downstairs.

She takes the cup of water that the dresser hands to her with a grateful smile and taking careful sips.

"I feel much better now, thank you Skerrett. Perhaps I ate a little too quickly at dinner."

It is a weak excuse, for Victoria has always been a speedy eater and it has never caused her such an issue before now. But she does not wish to cause any sort of fuss, at least not until the doctor has attended her.

Victoria gulps down the second glass of water that Skerrett has procured for her, pinches her cheeks to take the paleness out of her face and then returns to her anxious husband and other guests.

She does not explain herself. She is the Queen and in this matter she feels no need to air the topic of her bodily functions. She squeezes William's hand as she sits, though, and notes the worried look in his eyes.

She will tell him more about her sudden sickness later, when they are alone.

Later that evening, when everyone is gone, Victoria explains to William the earlier onset of sickness.

There is something in his eyes when she tells him, a sort of fear and hope mixed together that she does not quite understand.

Or rather she does not understand until the doctor finishes his examination of her the next morning and gives her the news that will change her life.

She is with child.

The first few weeks after the discovery of her pregnancy are a whirlwind for Victoria. Suddenly it seems like nothing can be said or done without reference to the child that has barely begun growing within her belly.

She is not sure she likes it very much.

She is the Queen of England in her own right, the head of the English Church, a consecrated ruler of her people … yet now suddenly everyone is treating her as if she is just a vessel for an heir, the carrier of precious cargo.

But what about her?

No one thinks that she might not be ready for a child. She is not even twenty five years old and she may have been Queen since she was eighteen but she does not know if she can be a mother. What sort of example has she had, after all? A number of spinster royal aunts, and a mother who always looked to Conroy before she looked at Victoria. She has Lehzen, who has always been a sort of surrogate mother, but somehow this does not feel like something she can confide in her old governess, and Lehzen has never had to experience the indignities of pregnancy.

Advice comes from all sides, frustrating and confusing and contradictory advice that makes her head spin and her fears grow.

Her family does not have the best history of childbearing or childbirth and sometimes it seems like all anyone wants to do is tell her stories of her cousin Charlotte's death or the short-lived little girls her aunt Adelaide lost – and they seem to think they are helping, that they are encouraging her to succeed where her female relatives have failed (as if it was aunt Adelaide's fault that her daughters died too young, as if her cousin Charlotte had not followed every order her doctors gave her right to her deathbed).

William tries.

He holds her hair away from her face as she vomits into a chamber pot and rubs her aching feet. He stands right behind her, a warm and comforting presence as she listens to endless congratulations when all she really wants to do is hurry back to bed and sleep all day. He helps her with her papers, never encroaching as his critics believe he might, only ever assisting when she asks.

He is the perfect husband. The perfect father to be.

And yet sometimes she wants to scream at him.

Because he seems to be so ready to be a father while she is faltering. He wants this baby so much while she feels guilty for wishing she'd had more time before her first pregnancy.

And then he hands her some remedy he has ordered from the kitchen, gives her some piece of advice to soothe her aches and pains. And when his suggestions work her gratefulness is overcome by irrational jealousy. Because he knows these things thanks to the pregnancies of the first wife she does not like to think about. Her mind becomes paranoid, worried that he is constantly comparing her Caroline – she becomes sure that Caroline took to pregnancy as Victoria does not, is positive that William's first wife glowed where she is only pale and tired.

She is cold to her husband in a way she never has been before. She ignores the baffled hurt in his eyes and shies away from his warm embrace at night even though all that does is make her toss and turn, unable to properly sleep.

He takes it all, never complains or confronts her. Sometimes she wants him just to shout at her, to demand an explanation.

But he stays quiet. He offers a hand when she needs it, warmth when she is cold, and a smile when she needs reassurance … and every time she looks away or refuses his aid she sees the sorrow in his eyes grow.

It comes to a head about two months after the doctor confirms her pregnancy.

William finds her sobbing in their bedroom, curled up on the floor next to their bed with red eyes, a runny nose and a sopping wet handkerchief.

He does not speak, only sits down next to her and pulls her to his side.

He holds her until she speaks, until she finally voices all the fears and worries and jealousies that have made her feel so wretched.

Then he speaks back to her. He reassures and comforts, corrects her assumptions about Caroline (who, he says, despised being with child even more than Victoria does, and was not at all elegant during her pregnancies).

And things between them are mended.

There are still worries in her mind, as there surely are in the minds off all expectant parents, but they do not push to the forefront as they did before. Because she has William by her side and he makes her feel equal to any challenge.

"What would you like?" asks Victoria one morning as they lie in bed enjoying some peace for a few minutes before the day's events start to command their attention.

She does not much like being with child but William looks at her swelling belly with something like awe and delight and a sort of bittersweetness all at once. She likes it, far prefers it to the greedy, assessing eyes of her family and the court as they talk behind her back about whether she will manage a son and if she will live through the experience or perish as her poor cousin Charlotte did (though the glares dear William bestows on them when he hears such remarks makes up a little for the stress such people cause).

She looks at William as he ponders his answer. Her own, to every enquiry made since the announcement that she was with child, has been that of course she wishes for a boy – it is the only answer she can really give after all and it will, she thinks, make things far easier for them both.

She has been told by no less than half a dozen 'concerned' (or rather nosy and spiteful) ladies at court that her uncle Cumberland is making loud predictions about how weak he has been told she looks and how likely it is that she will follow her cousin's example and lose both her own life and that of her child's. This of course has sent mama into a flurry of panic that has made her lose all the momentary good sense she gained when Victoria first told her of her pregnancy – she now insists that this would not be happening if Victoria had married Albert rather than William, as if her choice of husband has any bearing on uncle Cumberland's desire to have the throne himself.

She muses for a few moments on her mama's unreasonableness and then William speaks.

"Healthy."

She is confused and it must show on her face because William clarifies.

"Boy or girl, I do not mind," he says, "but I would only hope the child is healthy."

His expression is heavy and she knows he is thinking of his son and the illness that plagued the boy for the whole of his too-short life.

She does not know quite what to say. William has always been far better than she is at comforting and it is such a delicate matter that she does not wish to say the wrong thing.

She thinks for a moment of trying to assure him that everything will be fine … but they have always tried to be honest with each other and she does not want to promise something when she knows the dangers that childbirth pose.

She cannot find the words and so she takes his hands and brings them to rest on her stomach.

They've always been able to communicate with just a gesture or a look and now is no exception.

The worries are still there, bubbling under the surface.

But for now they are forgotten for pleasanter things.

Victoria is five months pregnant when someone tries to kill her for the first (but unfortunately not the last) time.

She and William are out in an open-topped carriage, enjoying the fresh air and the park scenery while gaging the mood of the public towards their monarch, which has a tendency to fluctuate rather wildly.

It is not too bad now. No great cheers like there were right at the beginning, no jubilation like there was on the holiday the country received when she and William married almost a year ago … but also none of the jeers that haunted her after the Flora Hastings scandal, nor the whispers that abounded following the announcement of her engagement to William, a man with no royal blood and a scandalous past.

William spots the shooter just seconds before the man's gun goes off, and it probably saves her life because when he pushes her down into the small amount of cover that the carriage provides she swears she feels the bullet whizzing above her, right in the spot her body was just a moment previously.

And then everything is chaos.

William barks orders at the soldiers surrounding them as she remembers he did when the Chartists caused trouble at the unveiling of the memorial to her father.

The noise of the crowd rises as people panic and scatter from the area even as the soldiers try to keep them all in place to prevent the shooter from escaping.

William talks in a low voice to the men around them but keeps one hand around her waist, curving his own body so as to shield her as much as he can. She wants to tell him to get down too, that he might also be in danger, but she knows he will not listen, knows he will always protect her before himself.

She stops that train of thought. She does not want to ponder what life would be if William stepped in front of a bullet for her.

She is afraid. She tries not to show it but she knows William can feel her trembling even as she attempts to be brave.

Minutes pass.

William talks and rubs soothing circles on her arms. Shadows surround her as soldiers stand around her carriage and block the light.

Then the carriage begins to move again, far faster than usual.

William tells her softly to keep her head down and she hears the worry in his voice, feels how tense he is and how he relaxes only a little when they reach Buckingham Palace.

They enter to her mama in hysterics and Sir Robert Peel's awkward enquiries after her health and Lehzen's fussing and three different doctors all insisting that she lie down and stay in bed for a week as if she is some invalid … as if the bullet had actually hit her.

And then there is William, marvellous William who holds her in his warm embrace while he answers Sir Robert's questions and shoos away the doctors and sends Lehzen on an errand for tea (because her old governess needs to feel useful) and quietly asks mama's ladies to take the Duchess back to her rooms for some rest.

William who, when she announces that she will freshen up and have a brief lunch before going back out in her carriage, does not protest or shout or forbid (even though she knows that the last thing he wants is for her to put herself at risk) but only clasps her hands tightly and accepts that her people need to see her safe and well. He is her husband but he has also been a politician and he knows, as Victoria does, what a Queen owes to her country.

Rumours circulate constantly about the shooter.

Chartist, foreign, radical, Republican, assassin sent by her uncle Cumberland, mad.

She has no idea really. Sir Robert, whose police force are conducting what he assures her is a very thorough investigation, have not yet found any concrete evidence to suggest the identity of the perpetrator.

Victoria tries not to think on who wishes her dead. William tells her that all it will do is worry her, reminds her that it is the crown that such people hate, not her. He stays near her, though, because it makes them both feel better.

Mama insists it is uncle Cumberland who is responsible, but Victoria does not agree. Her uncle is exceptionally unpleasant and would, she knows, be delighted to have the throne pass to him. But she does not think he would go so far as treason.

When they finally find the man – Edward Oxford – he is tried for high treason but found not guilty on the grounds of insanity and committed to an insane asylum.

Victoria finds herself relieved that the issue has been resolved. While her mama maintains that uncle Cumberland has had some hand in the affair, Victoria and William are content with the verdict. And some good comes from the incident, for public support soars and everyone praises her for refusing to let the shooter push her into seclusion – the people love such a show of bravery.

To the world she is perfectly at ease when the trial is over. And if sometimes she falters, if she occasionally has nightmares where the shooter does not miss, then she has William by her side to comfort her and chase away the bad dreams.

Sir Robert Peel's visit to William one morning is something of a surprise.

He does not dislike the man who has replaced him as Prime Minister – Peel is a good politician even if he is a Tory – but, for the sake of Victoria's reputation and preventing further incendiary arguments in the House, William tries to keep his distance from Peel, meeting him only on social or state occasions and never in private – it doesn't do for people to think he is trying to rule in his wife's stead. Peel approves of this approach so William thinks it must be a difficult topic that has him requesting a private audience while Victoria is undergoing an examination by her doctors.

"I imagine you have an idea as to why I am here," says Peel once they are seated.

"I have some thoughts," William replies, though he does not say out loud that such thoughts are only just forming in his mind.

An urgent and serious matter, difficult for Peel to find a solution to. Since he has chosen to come and visit William it almost certainly involves Victoria. And with his wife in a late stage of pregnancy …

"The Regency provisions?"

Peel nods tiredly, "Her Majesty has asked me to put before parliament the choice of yourself. And I mean no offence, Your Grace, but …"

"But of course that is not wise," William finishes, "do not worry, Sir Robert, I know Parliament would never stand for a sole Regent without royal blood, and I would not have anyone say I wished to set myself up as king."

"I guessed you would answer like that," Peel says – he will probably never like Victoria and William's marriage but he knows and accepts that it is a love match and not some grasp for power by the former Prime Minister.

"I imagine," says William, "that the Queen was …" he searches for the right word to describe Victoria's temper when she does not get her way in matters dear to her but cannot quite find the right one, so he settles instead for a polite, "displeased, when you explained the difficulty to be found in an attempt to have me appointed as sole Regent if the unhappy occasion that it becomes necessary should ever arise."

Unhappy is far too weak a word for the devastation he would feel if he lost his wife, but he refuses to think on that.

"She was," Peel admits, "most displeased."

The look on the man's face suggests that there had been a great deal of shouting and anger on Victoria's side. William finds himself feeling rather sorry for Peel, whose talents do not generally include the ability to charm the fairer sex into a less volatile mood.

"I will talk to her," he promises the Prime Minister, "and try to explain the difficulties. I must remind you, though, that the Queen has a strong mind and will of her own."

He sighs, "it would be much easier if there were a suitable alternative – but no one really likes Cumberland and he has a dangerous preference for an absolute monarchy. There is always Sussex, of course, or Cambridge, but …"

He need say no more. Peel knows well enough that a country with the Duke of Sussex at its head would not inspire confidence. And as for Cambridge – he has some experience, having being viceroy of Hanover on behalf of George IV and William IV, but his long absence from England makes him an undesirable candidate.

"We will find someone Her Majesty approves of," Peel says with a grim determination that William admires, "even if it does have to be Sussex or Cambridge."

Not Cumberland. They both agree on that.

"Just as long as you do so before King Leopold catches wind of the situation and tries to have his say," William tells him with a roll of his eyes that shows just how tiresome he currently considers the King of the Belgians to be, "he has lost his chance of marrying his nephew to the Queen but he will look for influence anywhere he can get it."

Peel nods, "but it will have to be done quickly," he tells William, "we need a choice before Cumberland tries to interfere."

They both sigh as they think of the difficulties the Regency issue is sure to cause.

He doesn't particularly wish to broach the topic straight away – Victoria is always a little stressed when the doctor has visited, for she hates to be told all the things she should not do due to her advancing pregnancy.

He does not like to bring her displeasing news either. He has the best of intentions in wishing to avoid distressing her but he has learnt from experience (the Flora Hastings scandal being an incident that he remembers vividly) that he must sometimes try to make her see that her current course of action is not feasible or sensible. He hasn't done much good in that department of course, for they are married despite the trouble it has caused her.

The heart wants what it wants, though. Even a heart that had grown as cynical as his had before he met her.

But he is procrastinating with these thoughts and the topic really must be discussed. It will not be pleasant but he may as well get the whole disagreeable thing done now, when Victoria's day has already been disturbed by irritating doctors, so that at least tomorrow they may have a better day.

He brings it up as carefully as he can, mentions to her that he has had a visit from Sir Robert and that she must consider a choice of Regent.

Then, as gently as he can, he explains that her choice should not be him.

As expected, his wife does not take the news well.

"You are my husband, this child's father," Victoria says with a fierce look on her face and fire in her heart, "why can you not be Regent? I can think of no one better."

And she believes what she says. To her he is quite the cleverest and most charming man she knows, and devoted to the service of his country.

"You flatter me, my darling," William says, "but surely you must see what Sir Robert has explained – parliament will not approve the appointment of myself as Regent. They will insist on someone with royal blood."

"Not uncle Cumberland," she says, fury rising in her chest, "I do not trust him."

After all, she thinks, even if one ignores the most scandalous stories surrounding uncle Cumberland, one is still left with an unpleasant, despotic sort of man.

"The Duke of Cumberland is not popular," William concurs, "but I must confess that if it come down to him or myself then I fear it would not end in the outcome you wish for."

He speaks calmly, as if it is nothing important, as if it is not an insult to both her and to him. She loves him but sometimes she wishes he were not quite so relaxed about the issues that infuriate her so.

"I cannot believe it can happen like this," she says, "I am the Queen – can I not order that you are to be the Regent?"

"My darling," says her husband, taking her hands and rubbing comforting circles on them, "you know parliament must give approval."

And of course she does know. William has taught her well and she is aware of all she can and cannot do. It is just that sometimes she wants it to be different.

"Perhaps," he suggests, "you might consider the Duke of Sussex."

"Uncle Sussex!" she exclaims, "the last time I saw him, he was wearing a skullcap and rouge."

William gives her a rueful smile, "he is a little more … unusual … than one might wish … but you may be able to persuade Sir Robert to propose a dual appointment of your uncle Sussex and myself. Or there is always your uncle Cambridge."

"I hardly know him," Victoria admits, "and can one really trust the judgement of the man who is the father of my ridiculous cousin George? I still haven't forgiven George for what he said at the costume ball."

"Do not think on that," William says, "I have very fond memories of that ball."

He gives her a look that makes her blush and it reminds her of the dance they shared as Elizabeth and her Leicester, of his admission (however veiled) that he loved her.

"I should also remind you," he adds, "that we cannot judge parents on their children or vice versa, as you know well."

She thinks of mama's interference and admits his point.

"Perhaps uncle Sussex," Victoria concedes.

She worries, though, on how to present the idea to her Prime Minister. William does better in such exercises in persuasion than she, but she wants to prove that she can do this, to see that pride on her husband's face, the same pride he showed when she found her ingenious solution to the order of precedence issue with her uncle.

"I suppose uncle Sussex will agree," she tells him, "he has been especially solicitous lately, since his wife's elevation to Duchess of Inverness."

"And besides," she states with a sigh as she looks over her morning papers (for work with Sir Robert is not nearly so interesting as it was when William was her Prime Minister), "I am sure it will all be for naught anyway – I am far too busy to die."

He laughs then, and his eyes hold that sparkling warmth that is just for her.

He leans down to brush his lips against hers and all concerns about the Regency provisions melt away for a while.

In the end the choice of Regent, in the event that one is required, is decided for them.

The Duke of Sussex passes away on the 21st April 1843, just three days after William and Victoria's conversation regarding his possible appointment. There is a measure of mourning in the country – Sussex was odd but more well-liked than many of his siblings – and Victoria makes a number of personal visits to his distraught widow, but most are a little more preoccupied by the anticipated birth of the heir to the throne, which doctors say should take place in less than two months.

Sir Robert Peel puts before parliament the suggestion of a joint Regency in the event of the Queen's death – the Duke of Cambridge and William himself. There is a week of fierce debate before the appointment is agreed and while Victoria still wishes her husband could have been appointed solely, she is pleased that he is included in the joint appointment.

At least, she thinks to herself, it is not her uncle Cumberland.

She cannot escape trouble from uncle Cumberland for long, though.

He arrives in England at the beginning of June, as her confinement draws ever nearer.

He says it is so he is able to greet the new heir to the throne as both a great uncle and as King of Hanover. William, however, likes to mutter under his breath that her uncle wants to ensure he can get his hands on her crown, should the worst happen, before the public have a chance to revolt and remove the monarchy as the better alternative to being ruled by Cumberland.

He never threatens her in the way her mama seems to believe he plans to. But he talks constantly of her poor cousin Charlotte's death and of how it will be such a shame if the same fate should befall her.

She takes to her rooms, pleading sickness, to avoid her uncle and his cronies.

William sympathises, and tries to cheer her by reminding her that she is healthy and the doctors have no concerns.

Victoria has nightmares of uncle Cumberland wearing her crown and vows to herself that she will make it through her delivery with both herself and her child safe.

As she labours to give birth to her first child Victoria realises that she has never known real physical pain until now.

No one has given her any accurate information about the process of childbirth. Lehzen has never experienced it; mama tries to tell her that it is just a pinch and, besides, why should she care about the pain when she is bringing the heir to the throne of this great country into the world; and her doctors are men who are, she thinks, rather afraid to give her bad news. Perhaps Harriet or Emma might have been able to give her a better picture, but they both chose to resign their roles as her ladies before her wedding to assist with the transition to a Tory government under Sir Robert Peel and to allow two Tory ladies to take their places.

William, dearest William, tries so hard to offer some comfort. But he was never allowed to be in the room when his poor son and fragile, short-lived daughter were born. He also says that Caro's recollections of the experience, made to him after each birth, are not necessarily to be trusted due to the fragile state of her mind at the time.

So Victoria enters her confinement with only a vague idea of what she will experience and a foreboding she tries to hide.

The pain is severe and it is an undignified, messy business that she dislikes immensely. She has heard that some women go through the experience of giving birth with serene smiles and glowing faces but she is sure her expression is more of a pained grimace and the only glow she has comes from the sweat pouring from her brow because of the effort it takes to finally push her child into the world.

It is a boy, a Prince of Wales that is sure to make the country feel secure and happy.

If only she was not too tired and aching to truly enjoy her triumph.

William hurries in as soon as the doctors allow it, pressing his lips to her forehead, her cheeks, her lips.

"Are you well, my darling?" he asks.

"It was a most disagreeable experience," she admits, "but I feel a little better now, I am only very tired.

Someone, she cannot see who, hands him the baby and she watches with a little awe as he cradles the boy expertly and holds him up for her to see.

"He is very red and wrinkled," she says, scrunching her nose and tilting her head to see if her son looks a little better from another angle (he doesn't).

William laughs, "all babies are like this to begin with, but soon enough we shall be able to tell who he might take after."

Victoria hopes he will take after William, at least with his height – it is hard enough being so short as a woman and she imagines it would be even worse for a man.

"What shall we call him?" asks William, stroking their son's cheek with a reverent look in his eyes that makes her momentarily jealous before she reprimands herself for such ridiculous thoughts.

"William," she suggests, "after the best of men."

He smiles at her, soft and loving, but disagrees, "perhaps not for the Prince of Wales," he says gently.

She understands his hesitations. Rumours do persist – nasty, unfounded rumours – that William married her so that he might be a king in all but name, and to name the Prince of Wales after her husband would only remind people of such rumours. But she does not like it – William is a name with royal history and she so wishes to honour the man who has loved and helped and supported her so well since she became Queen.

"Edward," he suggests after a moment, "for your father."

"Edward is a fine name," she agrees, "and maybe …" she pauses hesitantly for a moment before continuing, "maybe also Augustus … for … for his brother."

She can see tears fill his eyes at her suggested tribute to his son and she worries she has upset him. But he kisses her then, and murmurs his thanks against her lips.

In the end they decide on Edward Arthur Augustus, picking the second name to honour one of their chosen godfathers. The Duke of Wellington can be a prickly man, and he is a Tory, but both of them admire him and they do not forget the support he offered them when Victoria announced her engagement to the Privy Council.

Mama weeps when she sees the baby but Victoria finds that she is not as annoyed as she would once have been by such a display. She is glad mama has taken to her grandson and that she has some good advice for Victoria, who finds herself rather clueless about motherhood but who does not wish to appear completely hopeless in front of her more experienced husband.

Uncle Cumberland, with an even more pronounced frown than usual, tells her grudgingly that the baby appears healthy and makes plans to return to Hanover.

The Privy Council consider the new prince's name to be very well chosen, though she does scowl when she hears a few of them whispering about their relief that the name William was not chosen for her first son.

The Duke of Wellington is touched by their invitation for him to stand godfather, and by the compliment paid to him with the choice of Arthur as a middle name. His genuine pleasure and sincere good wishes make her feel very warmly towards him and for the time being she completely forgets how much of a thorn in her side he can sometimes be in Privy Council meetings.

The announcement of the birth is greeted with widespread rejoicing from the population, many of whom had feared a repeat of the events of so many years previously, when her cousin Charlotte and Charlotte's son had been lost in childbirth.

Bells ring out to celebrate and parties are held up and down the country.

Victoria, meanwhile, spends the large part of the next few days sleeping the deep slumber of one who is exhausted, relieved and pleased.

Victoria does not quite know what to do with her new-born son.

William seems to be a natural father, though she is not sure whether it is something he just knows or if it comes from years of practice with the son he still grieves. Victoria struggles, however, unsure as to how to hold the tiny squirming creature they put into her arms, afraid of hurting him and scared of his crying.

He stays red-faced and wrinkled for days after he is born, nothing like the miniature William she had pictured during moments of her pregnancy, and she finds she cannot quite bond with him the way she knows she should.

She thinks there might be something wrong with her, that she cannot connect with Edward the way a mother is supposed to. Doctors and nurses and her mama and Lehzen all give her contrary, confusing advice and sometimes she just cries because it was supposed to be easier than this.

William is patient with her, never pushing or scolding, only coaxing her to hold Edward rather than letting the wet-nurse and other nursery staff look after him all the time.

It takes time. There is no sudden change of opinion within her.

But over time as little Edward's face becomes less red and skin becomes silky smooth, as he grows and dark hair sprouts up to cover his previously bald head, she realises that her son is quite sweet, that she can trace both William's features and her own in her his delicate little face.

And when he smiles for the first time she realises that, without her really noticing, she has come to love her son fiercely.

With Edward's birth Victoria finds that she has never been so popular.

Everyone is delighted with the birth of a prince, with the beginnings of a secured succession.

There are wars to fight abroad and laws squabbled over in parliament, as there always are, but she finds everything so much easier when she at least has peace in the area of her own personal life and family.

People love their handsome, happy little prince and the Queen who has shown that she, unlike her uncles, is not likely to cause the possibility of a succession crisis.

It is a good time to be Queen.

When Edward is six months old Prince Albert and Prince Ernest come to England for a visit.

They both come to see the heir to the throne – despite Victoria's rejection of Albert and the awkwardness of that situation the Queen of England is still their cousin and both princes are fond of her.

Ernest also clearly hopes to catch a glimpse of Harriet Sutherland, but the Duchess is gone from Victoria's ladies (at least until the next Whig government) and so he must be content with Tory ladies and longing looks exchanged across the room with Harriet at the two balls Victoria holds to celebrate her cousins' visit.

She worries at first that there may be some unpleasantness with Albert, but while he clearly holds few friendly feelings towards William, he is not openly rude and is cheerful enough (or as cheerful as Albert ever gets) with her and little Edward.

Albert spends his days looking at art and admiring the new trains with Sir Robert Peel. She still has little interest in the art he likes, though she maintains her love of drawing. As for the trains, at first she is quite wary of them, but soon enough the enthusiasm of her Prime Minister and cousin makes her see that perhaps trains are a little more interesting than she first thought.

It is a pleasant enough visit, and she thinks that Albert has improved a little for he is rather less stiff than before and not as liable to criticise.

Still, she likes it best when she can curl up in bed or on a sofa with her husband, talking quietly and just being together.

She is still fond of society but she also enjoys the intimate moments alone with her family, for even with her cousins she must still play a part and be the Queen they expect – with William, though, there is no acting, for he loves Victoria and every facet of her personality as no one ever has before.

William does not particularly like the new trains. He is not a big supporter of the industrialism sweeping the country and at times like this he is glad he no longer sits in Parliament as they debate and approve laws that entrench industrialism further into the country.

It is not that he doesn't want England to progress, only that he is from a different sort of era to the one emerging now and he is inherently distrustful of radical changes in the country. He finds himself relieved that the monarchy, at least, is an institution that still maintains traditions.

But while he shies away from industrialisation because he does not like it, he refuses to begrudge Victoria's growing interest, even if it is sparked by Prince Albert.

He is not jealous of the prince, for the most part, and really such feelings are not attractive in a man of his age who should know better. Sometimes, though, in darker moments, he wonders if Victoria might have preferred to be married to Albert. But then he reminds himself that the two truly did not suit, and while he knows he himself is not what she deserves he thinks he can be reasonably sure that he makes her happy … she tells him this often after all, and it is not in Victoria's nature to be deceitful.

Still, the petty part of him is a little glad when the princes return home. And when they receive a letter about a month after the visit ends with news of Prince Albert's engagement to a German heiress, he can admit to himself that his congratulations are perhaps tinged with more relief than he cares to admit.

He is only human, after all.

When Victoria truly dislikes a person or an idea then it is hard for anyone, even William, to talk her round.

After all, it takes years of William's coaxing while he is her Prime Minister to persuade Victoria to be mildly amiable towards the idea of Sir Robert Peel as Prime Minister, and that only comes after she has received the Tory politician's reluctant agreement to support her marriage to William in Parliament.

She sees the good and useful points in Sir Robert now, but she never will truly forget her previous dislike.
Victoria has strong opinions, ones she tenaciously holds on to and is reluctant to change.

In some ways it is good and in other ways it can be a problem. No one wants a monarch who always backs down because it shows weakness, but neither is it preferable to have a Queen who usually refuses to change her mind, even when it is probably the best course.

William and Victoria rarely argue, but this is one of the main causes of disharmony between them. William knows the importance of compromise and is also well aware of how vital it is that the Queen remains as impartial as she can and generally approves parliamentary decisions unless there is a significant reason why she should not.

The Bedchamber Crisis lives on in Victoria's memory as a triumph over those who would have seen her separated from her dearest William. It remains at the forefront of William's mind, however, as a warning to be heeded, for it had, along with the Flora Hastings incident, led to an unpopularity that had not truly abated for Victoria until after Edward's birth.

William is known to be the most successful at soothing the Queen's temper and he performs that role with all the care that can be expected of one who loves her and wishes for her to be safe and secure on her throne.

But even he cannot escape Victoria's temper entirely. Sometimes he is a little too laissez-faire for her taste, or he will insist that she does not snub this duke or that countess because they have been heard to speak rudely about William or herself.

The arguments never last long – Victoria is exceptionally affectionate with those she loves and cannot stay angry for more than a day or two (and very often she comes to him, tears in her eyes and upset at their having quarrelled, after barely an hour).

Sometimes it is his fault, for he is far from perfect no matter what Victoria likes to say sometimes. And in those times he will scarcely let the argument finish before he is seeking her forgiveness – he can bear her bad opinion if it is in the process of something he knows will help her (like his insistence that she try to like Sir Robert Peel) but he cannot have her cross with him over his own errors – he is not often one to face what distresses him but Victoria is the exception and for her he will always swallow his pride.

But for the most part they live in a harmony that is enviable to many of the unhappily married couples at court.

They soften each other's edges. He calms her and she stirs him from the ennui that sometimes takes hold now he does not have his parliamentary duties to keep him busy.

There is a feeling in the palace that has been missing for decades. The presence of a monarch with a spouse she loves, the small prince babbling happily at visitors, the lessened tension between the Queen and her mother … it all has an almost magical effect on the place that has been the scene of so much distress and uncertainty.

Things are going well.

Victoria's second pregnancy is both better and worse than the first. It is better because she knows more now of what to expect, but worse because she is constantly sick and always aching.

When she gives birth to her daughter her first feeling is one of relief that the whole dreadful experience of pregnancy is over.

Her daughter is as red and wrinkled as little Edward had been as a newborn but she is a good, healthy size and her cries (while loud and constant) are, the doctors say, a positive sign of excellent health.

William adores his second child as much as he does the first and Victoria watches with indulgent pleasure as her husband admires the baby. Victoria herself cradles the little girl with more skill and affection than she had done with Edward. She had been so clueless and confused with her first child that she admits she rather neglected him for a while, though William more than made up for it – but now she understands more about motherhood, and though she believes she will be more attached to her daughter when her face looks a little less like a tomato, she thinks the baby very sweet (if rather noisy).

They name their daughter Victoria Adelaide Elizabeth and decide they will call her Vicky.

The papers offer congratulations, though there are some condolences on the sex of the child. Victoria finds herself quite indignant.

"After all," she says to a sympathetic William, "I have a Prince of Wales, which is more than any of my uncles ever managed. And besides, who is to say a woman cannot rule just as well as a man … or even better, for I am sure the papers are always saying that my uncles were quite hopeless."

"People will always complain," is William's answer, "and the best thing is to ignore it and go on as you believe to be right. Do not let them upset you, my darling."

She sighs. She knows William is right but she does so wish that people were not always criticising and scrutinising her every move.

William reads her bad mood and changes the subject by telling her some amusing parliamentary stories – he does not go to the House much anymore but he has many years of stories from his time as politician and Prime Minister to entertain her with.

Soon enough she is laughing, having quite forgotten her irritation with the country's newspapers.

After all, she has endured far worse stories and she will not let her happiness be spoiled by such trifles.

Baroness Lehzen leaves to return to Hanover at the beginning of 1845, a few months after Vicky is born.

No matter what people might say (and they say rather a lot) William does not force Victoria to send her away.

He does not resent the woman, but rather is thankful for the years of support she has given Victoria, and for her part in turning the young girl controlled by her mother and Sir John Conroy into the Queen who stands on her own two feet and knows her own mind.

William would have accepted Lehzen as a permanent fixture in his and Victoria's life. He would not have always enjoyed it, but he would have borne it well enough.

But the Baroness has never liked him. Victoria long ago told him how her old governess had called him disreputable and he does not fault her for that because it is part of his reputation (even if some of the rumours are false and the names they call him undeserved) and there is no wrong in her being protective of the young charge she adores. What he cannot ignore so easily is the Baroness' constant attempts to convince Victoria that he should not have her good opinion – he knows he is not worthy of her, knows that she would perhaps have been better off with a young prince rather than a jaded politician decades her senior, but he does love her (fiercely, devotedly) and has always tried to do what is right for her.

His marriage to Victoria was the first real crack in Victoria's relationship with the Baroness, who spent hours trying to convince the Queen that it was a foolish idea to marry him. He is not personally offended, for he knows Lehzen believes no one to be good enough for her old charge, but her harsh words push Victoria into a temper that takes nearly a week to fully abate.

William advises her to forgive Lehzen, though he never receives thanks for it from the Baroness herself, but something is broken then and never quite fixed right – when he insists that Lehzen move from her current room, which has an interconnecting door into Victoria's (because he endured enough humiliation in his marriage to Caroline and he does not wish to constantly be in fear of being interrupted by the Baroness in a state of undress), his new wife agrees without argument.

The second crack comes with Victoria's first pregnancy. Not only is it, to Lehzen, tangible proof that Victoria's marriage is both successful and unable to be undone, but it is also the time that Victoria begins to repair her relationship with her mother.

William does not particularly care for the Duchess, who has given him trouble throughout his term as Prime Minister and especially since he and Victoria announced their engagement, but she is Victoria's mother and it is far easier to have a relatively peaceful relationship between the two than an acrimonious one that they must try to make the public believe is amicable.

The pregnancy is a bonding experience and the prospect of a grandchild makes the Duchess largely forget the distaste she feels for her son-in-law. But this makes the gap grow wider between Victoria and Lehzen, who will always despise the Duchess.

The third and final crack is care of Edward and, almost a year and a half later, of Vicky too.

The Baroness assumes, he thinks, that she will be the one to organise things for the children, but while Victoria is ignorant in matters of childcare, William is not. And though the memory of his poor son is bittersweet he is determined to be a fully involved father to his children with Victoria, despite the numerous nursery staff that will be employed.

He listens to Lehzen's suggestions but he does not follow most of them, especially when she mentions Sir James Clark (discredited by his involvement in the scandal relating to Lady Flora Hastings).

So he has reason but William does not push Lehzen out, nor does he manipulate Victoria into doing so.

He does not hide his frustration with the Baroness – he has always tried to be open with Victoria after all – but it is his wife who makes the decision to send Lehzen back to Hanover for her retirement.

For her health and so that she might see her family. There is some truth in Victoria's official reasoning, but William knows she is also run down by Lehzen's constant criticisms of their marriage and the way she refuses to see Victoria as an adult capable of her own decisions. She loves the Baroness still, but the English court has no place for her as she is now. Perhaps if she treated Victoria less like a child and accepted the changes that are inevitable when marriage occurs, then she might still have been happy at the palace with them. But Lehzen's current negativity is no good for Victoria and William knows his wife does not want to taint the old, happy memories with Lehzen's current refusal to accept her choices.

Lehzen leaves with little fanfare and a promise from Victoria that she will write faithfully. William does not see her off – he respects her enough to give her a farewell with Victoria alone.

But when she is gone he cannot help but feel a little relief.

After little Vicky is born Victoria finds she cannot stop drawing her daughter.

She feels somewhat bad about it, for while there are a number of official portraits of Edward as a baby (both alone and with herself and William) there are none in her own hand of her son in his first years. She had just been so consumed during that first year or so with the overwhelming panic of first-time motherhood and the fear that she would never bond with her child as William did.

She is more relaxed now, with Vicky, more at ease. And so she sketches and paints as she has always loved to do. Her daughter is a favourite subject, with eyes so like William's right down to the warmth and intelligence there (Vicky is only a baby but Victoria knows, somehow, that she will be marvellously clever).

She starts to draw Edward too, a little while after Vicky's birth, at first to make up for her earlier neglect but soon enough because she finds it gives her joy to trace the features he shares with herself and William in the same way it does when she draws Vicky.

And as she sketches she finds the features that are unique to her children, and learns in bits and pieces some of the delightful and amusing aspects of their personalities.

The way Vicky scrunches her nose grumpily when she is hungry. How Edward's laughter rings around the room when he is happy. The way Vicky's eyes alight on her parents when one of them enters the room, and how her arms stretch up as much as her small body allows in a clear sign that she wishes to be held. Edward's charm, the way he melts even the hardest of hearts with his winning smiles.

Victoria quite agrees with those who say how handsome her husband looks, how well behaved her children appear, in the official portrait of her family of four, painted when Vicky is not yet two months old.

But nothing shows their personalities more than Victoria's works. Her favourite is one sketched in pencil one afternoon on a day blissfully free of official engagements, and coloured later from memory, depicting her husband and two children. William sits in his favourite armchair with Edward in his lap as he animatedly tells their son the exciting tales of ancient Greece and Rome. The smile on William's face is the genuine one she loves rather than the slightly mocking courtier's mask he often uses with others. Edward is engrossed – he adores stories and his father's engaging way of telling them, for William has always had a talent for making even dry details interesting. And then there is Vicky, laying in her cradle next to them, her chubby little arms waving happily and her eyes darting around the room, fascinated by it all and far more aware of her surroundings than most babies.

Official portraits are for the public and posterity but Victoria's sketches are for her family. And it is those she loves most of all.

Edward and Vicky learn rather like their mother and father respectively.

Edward is hard-working but he often finds details and tedious facts dull. He also likes to balance his work with play and sports as much as possible. His father often tells him stories interspersed with the information he needs to know to help the boy find interest in his learning, much the same way as he once did while teaching the newly crowned Victoria how to rule.

Vicky devours books like her father does. She reads voraciously about every topic under the sun and her excellent memory means she retains what she learns far more easily than her brother. She is a bright child, always delighting her governess with how quickly she learns.

Victoria worries for her son sometimes, wonders if they should push him harder or be stricter, but William always talks her out of it. Children, he tells her, learn differently, and that their son and daughter have different approaches to learning is no problem at all.

Besides, while Edward is not quite as intellectually inclined as his sister he certainly has the full force of his mother and father's significant charm combined, able even at a young age to converse with all manner of visitors and leave every one of them smiling. Vicky is precocious and a little prone to tantrums if she does not get her way, and so despite her intellectual prowess she is often the one Victoria and William worry about more at social engagements.

Thankfully there is generally harmony between her children.

Edward can be a little jealous of Vicky's cleverness, especially on the occasions that their daughter teases her older brother about the difference in their educational progress. He is generally too good natured, though, to be angry for long, and even the sometimes petulant Vicky cannot resist her brother's happy grins.

In 1846 Sir Robert Peel resigns as Prime Minister after a repeal of the Corn Laws – supported by himself, some of his party, the Whigs and Victoria herself – passes only narrowly.

He is replaced by Lord John Russell, a Whig, and while Victoria is glad to have her favoured party back in power she finds that she almost misses Peel. The five years of his ministry have taught her that he might be awkward but he is a capable man too who has done much good for the country.

She is not troubled by Lord Russell himself, but she finds that problems do arise with his ministry and especially with Lord Palmerston, his choice of Foreign Secretary. Victoria gets along well with Palmerston socially, and as he is William's brother-in-law they see rather a lot of each other. But Palmerston does cause some political problems in his role, often acting without consulting Lord Russell, the Cabinet or herself.

Lord Russell's Whig ministry lasts, though, despite her irritation with certain aspects. As William is always telling her, there will always be things she wishes she can change, but she must sometimes accept what she does not like and try to do the best for her country.

The new Whig government brings a more welcome event in the return of Emma Portman and Harriet Sutherland to her ladies.

She has found that she likes her Tory ladies more than she expected and that they are not quite the horrid spies she once feared they might be, but though she is friendly with them they are never close friends.

Emma and Harriet were dear friends and allies, the two she trusted most in the early years of her reign barring William and Lehzen. They knew of her feelings for William and yet they never betrayed her, instead doing their best to help (Emma especially).

To have them back, especially now Lehzen is gone from England, is a comfort. And as mothers closer to her own age than many of the ladies she sees they are a great help with Edward and Vicky as Victoria tries to balance her royal duties with motherhood.

It is a little odd, though. Once she thought that the return of the Whigs to the government would be one of the best things in the world, but now she greets it with mixed feelings.

She has varying views now – on some issues she sympathises with the Whigs and on others she supports the Tories. William does not take it personally, and he even confesses that he too has agreed with the Tories on a number of issues even if his connections, politics and lifestyle are generally Whig.

Her attachment to her first Ministry had been borne largely out of a fear of change and even more from a fear of losing William. Her behaviour during the Bedchamber Crisis was not as it probably should have been, she knows now, and she hopes she has learnt from it. With William by her side now as her husband she no longer worries about being parted from him by a change in government, and it makes her, she thinks, more impartial than she once was.

She thinks this is what truly growing up feels like.

There is rejoicing in the country when, in May 1847, Victoria's third pregnancy results in a second prince – William George Frederick, Duke of Edinburgh. As they have done with Vicky, to avoid confusion, they choose to call their son Will in private.

He is not a fussy baby. Victoria wonders if her pregnancy – still hard but easier than with her elder two children – and relatively easy delivery should have been an indication that Will would be a little less energetic and stubborn than his older siblings.

But the ease of Will's birth is followed by a period of panic when Victoria falls ill about a month after her son's birth.

The doctors believe it may be a delayed result of childbirth, although Victoria does not see how that can be the case as she remembers clearly that the doctors had described it as an uncomplicated delivery.

The papers, oddly enough, do not report on her four day illness and the week long convalescence that follows. Normally they take every cough or tired look as the sign of some dangerous disease ravaging her body, but perhaps they believe her to be spending time with her new-born son for no reports reach the general population about her illness.

The fever makes her tired and achy, sends her alternately hot and cold.

But the worst part is the hallucinations that occur on the second day of her confinement to bed. She sees her uncle Cumberland, come to take her crown away; her uncle Leopold berating her and insisting she marry Albert; and worst of all is Sir John Conroy looking hard and controlling, calling her a silly little girl.

She cries out at Conroy's appearance, and lost in the fever she cannot quite tell what is real. She fears Conroy has returned, or that her whole life for the past few years, her wonderful marriage with William, is all a dream that she is now being forced to wake from.

William grounds her then. He ignores the worries of the doctors concerning contagion and sits next to her as she lies in bed, holding her hand and comforting her with the knowledge that he is real, this (their marriage, their family) is real.

He is like a light guiding her out of the darkness, bringing her back to reality.

When the fever breaks and she begins to recover the first thing she sees when she opens her eyes is his handsome face with his warm eyes and her favourite half-smile.

And, rumpled and exhausted as he is, she thinks her William the most beautiful thing in the world.

Less than a year after Will's birth they receive news of a revolution in France and the abdication of King Louis Philippe. The government advises them to travel away from the capital for a few weeks to ensure that no revolutionary fever will enter into the English people.

They spend a tense month in Brocket Hall. Victoria worries incessantly despite William giving her assurances, as he had done when the issues with the Chartists arose during his tenure as Prime Minister, that the British are not revolutionary enough for such action. She still thinks on revolutions of the past, though, and on the fate that met Louis XVI of France and Marie Antoinette less than sixty years previously.

The relief she feels when the government sends news that the minor unrest has settled cannot quite be expressed in words. William understands, for he shares her worries, especially for their children, during this time and he sees the tears she desperately tries to hide.

When they return to London it is to meet with King Louis Philippe and his family, who are seeking refuge in England. Victoria accepts them enthusiastically and has soon renewed her friendships with both he and his wife. The deposed French king and his wife live mostly away from court but Victoria and her family visit and she is happy to see her children perfecting their French and learning a great deal about French history.

In 1849 and 1850 Victoria twice faces further assassination attempts, with both perpetrators sentenced to seven years transportation.

William is frantic on both occasions, but she appreciates how he tries to remain calm and offer support rather. As was the case after the first assassination attempt, she knows he wishes he could keep her inside and safe but he also knows that she must still do her duty to her people.

He holds her at night, though, as she puzzles over why these men want her dead. They are believed to be insane, of course, and William reminds her of this, but those years are unsettling ones for her.

Alice, their youngest child, is born on a cold January morning in 1851.

She is a tiny thing, small and quiet enough to worry both her parents despite the doctor's assurances that she is quite healthy.

Victoria feels that Alice will be their last child - her family feels complete now. Though William will laugh and remind her that even queens cannot control such things Victoria feels like she is right.

The years since Will's birth have been rather urbulent, filled with assassination attempts and revolutionary feeling that has made Victoria even more uneasy than she was during the difficult years at the beginning of her reign, when she felt like the whole world was against her and William was her only ally. Now, Alice's birth brings her hope that things will turn around.

Palmerston resigns as Foreign Secretary the same year Alice is born, after announcing the British government's approval of President Louis-Napoleon's coup in France without consulting the Prime Minister. Victoria is furious with him, for she is very fond of the French royals and the events in France have the horrible effect of making her feel a mixture of anger, fear and sorrow.

William, who dislikes the thought of revolutions as much as she does, is similarly angry – he and Palmerston do not speak for six months, despite Emily's attempts to reconcile her brother and husband.

They are all friends again, eventually, but political tensions remain. Palmerston is, William tells her, soon sure to be back in some position in the government. He is a popular man with the people, if not with many politicians, and though he and Victoria disagree in regards to what exactly the royal role in foreign policy should be, she will agree (or rather William will explain and debate with her until she admits) that he is talented in the area of foreign affairs.

For the moment, though, there is a period of relative calm in the government.

They do not get much chance to travel together to Brocket Hall now. With lively children and Victoria's duties as Queen there is just not much time for such a journey.

William goes by himself sometimes, to tend to his greenhouses and visit the rooks, but the house gets more use from his brother, sister and their respective families, who have more leisure for reminiscing in their childhood home.

Now, though, they all go.

William, Victoria and all the children, even baby Alice. It won't be quite like being alone – it never really is for royalty – but they have tried to reduce the staff needed so that they can feel a little more cosy and ordinary together.

Three days. Not much but a real little holiday for them.

The children are excited. They've heard so much about their father's family home, about the rooks and all the good hiding spots and wide open spaces for games. Only Edward has ever been to Brocket Hall before – a brief visit at the beginning of Victoria's second pregnancy – and he has no memory of the visit as he had only been a baby at the time.

Victoria thinks the fresh air is an excellent idea for the children. Though they are only at Brocket Hall for a few days she feels they all look healthier after games outside and exploring the grounds with their parents.

William has a story for every spot, funny little tales of his childhood that make their children giggle and William himself smile at the memories.

Victoria loves it, takes in every piece of William's history that he gives. She knows him so well now but there is always more to discover and she delights in it.

And, when the children are busy – probably coercing the cook into teaching them how to bake their favourite biscuits, or charming the guards into playing hide and seek with them – Victoria and William stroll arm in arm down towards that spot that features so vividly in their history together.

They watch the rooks together and Victoria thinks of William's words on that day so long ago.

"I thought you were talking about Caroline, that day when you told me rooks mated for life."

He looks at her, his eyes sad as he relieves the moment he refused her and broke both their hearts in the process.

They were mended, of course, but the pain of that day is still memorable.

"At the time I wanted you to believe that I meant Caro. No, though. I loved her, once upon a time," he tells her, "but she and I were not a pair of rooks."

"I wish you had told me then," she whispers.

"You must understand why I did not."

She understands. Dear William and his sense of duty, his belief that she would be happier and better off with someone else. He can be a fool sometimes, her clever husband.

"I could not even keep to that resolve in the end," he continues, "I hated to upset you and I thought the Leicester and Elizabeth idea might help you understand."

"It gave me hope," she says, though she knows that at the time he had been trying desperately to show that nothing could ever happen between them, "it let me know that you felt something too."

"It was rather more than something," he admits with a half-smile that makes her grin with delight.

He leans down to kiss her gently, breaking away only when they hear the playful shouts of their children in the distance.

They all come into focus. Edward with Will toddling after him, and Vicky pushing Alice in her pram with surprising strength despite her small stature.

It is an interruption, but not an unwelcome one.

William sweeps Will up into his arms as Edward begins to chatter happily about the biscuits they have baked and the small fire Vicky caused that he assures them the cook put out almost immediately.

Victoria goes to confront her daughter but cannot bring herself to scold when she sees Vicky making funny faces at her gurgling little sister to amuse her – she does not want to ruin the cheerful mood.

Instead she just watches them all and smiles like she's bursting with happiness.

Because this is her family and she adores them.

"Miss Davies has left us," Victoria announces one evening to William.

Edward looks sad, for she knows her son enjoys the energy that the youthful Miss Davies can employ in games and exercises. Will and little Alice do not take much notice – they are engrossed in a game and, besides, Edward and Vicky were Miss Davies' charges and she is of little consequence to the two younger children.

Vicky looks triumphant.

Her eldest daughter tries to hide it, and she does a credible job for one of only ten years, but Victoria spots the glee under her attempt at a solemn demeanour.

"Vicky," she says with a warning in her voice, "do you perhaps know why Miss Davies has so suddenly decided to return home to her family in Suffolk?"

"No mama," Vicky answers quickly … too quickly.

William sighs next to her. He has caught the dishonesty in Vicky's voice but he dislikes that they must discipline her. Dear William, he never does like to argue with the children – he is the most excellent father to them but Victoria finds she must usually be the harder parent

"Victoria Adelaide Elizabeth," she says, "you will tell me the truth immediately or you will not be allowed out to ride for the next two weeks."

Her daughter frowns angrily. Vicky is a difficult child to discipline. She has an extremely stubborn personality (inherited, Victoria will sometimes admit, if only to William, from her) and as many of her great enjoyments (reading, drawing, music and her studies) are educational and therefore unsuitable to be taken away from her when she has misbehaved – often all they can do is threaten to remove her riding privileges, for she loves riding as her parents do.

Victoria dreads the day when Vicky is shrewd enough to realise that there is only so much time that her parents can keep her from riding, for it is such good exercise for her. She and William delight in the Princess Royal's cleverness and they do not want to stifle her personality (Victoria always remembers how her mother tried to control her) but sometimes their wilful daughter can be rather a trial.

Today, thankfully, Vicky decides to admit the truth to them.

"She wasn't very nice at all."

"Yes she was," Edward interrupts his sister, "she always played games with me."

Vicky gives her brother the sort of withering, long-suffering look that makes Victoria want to laugh out loud. She cannot, of course, for what sort of example would that set to the children?

"She said that I should not be reading such big books because I was a girl," Vicky tells them sullenly, "but she never says anything to Edward about how he should be working rather than playing all the time, and she always lets him get away with everything."

Victoria looks at William, who appears rather angry. He is a voracious reader who has always managed to keep up with the latest works even while he was run off his feet as Prime Minister. He has always advocated for an extensive study of literature – both fiction and non-fiction – for their children, and he is terribly good at finding the sort of books that suit each child's different interests and strengths.

"Miss Davies should not have said such a thing," Victoria tells her daughter, "your papa and I are very proud of your reading, Vicky. You must not be rude about your brother, though. Edward has different interests but he studies hard too."

It is no lie. Her older son does not like to work around his sister, for he feels a mixture of envy and embarrassment that he is not as academically quick as she is. But he does work – he has a good memory for topics he enjoys (history especially) and his social skills are truly outstanding – he has the kind of charm and tact that are invaluable for royalty.

Victoria turns her attention back to her daughter, "so will you explain exactly what happened to Miss Davies?"

"There were frogs in her bed," Vicky mumbles.

"How many?" asks Victoria with a little trepidation.

"Twelve."

She can hear William stifling his laughter but she feels she must be firm, despite the amusing imagery Vicky's admission suggests.

"Anything else?"

"A pigeon in her bedroom."

Victoria thinks about demanding that Vicky tell her how she managed such a feat, but she decides it is best not to ask.

"Do you believe this was behaviour appropriate for the eldest daughter of the Queen of England?" she asks instead.

"No," Vicky answers, a little sullenly but also somewhat abashed.

"We will see about having Miss Davies replaced with someone more suited to your educational requirements," Victoria told her children, "but in the meantime you must promise me that you will behave for Baroness Lyttelton."

The children all nod eagerly. Sarah Lyttelton, Baroness Lyttelton, is well loved as the head governess for her children and Victoria knows she will be able to command their respect enough that any pranks or silliness will be irregular and not too serious.

She only hopes that the next assistant they hire will prove more successful than Miss Davies.

"Oh dear," Victoria says a little later to William once the children have all been taken off to bed, "I do hope Miss Davies will not cause any trouble. One never knows what people might say to the papers."

"Why would she admit that she had been driven from a lucrative position within the Queen's household by the relatively harmless games of a child?" asks William with a smile, "I would say we are well rid of her, my darling."

"But still," she says with a worried look, "what would people say if such a story got out."

"We have faced far worse stories," William reminds her, "from people far more powerful than Miss Davies. No matter what happens – and I am quite sure nothing will – we will get through it, together."

Yes, she thinks, for that is how they have always been, how they have weathered storms that would have knocked a shakier pair off course.

Together.

Alice is a quiet child. Neither of her parents are entirely sure where she gets this trait from, for William's relatives are both cheerful and loud, Victoria's noisy (and often argumentative), and both she and William are fond of lively conversation.

Alice is quiet, though. Not so much in a shy way but more as if she weighs her thoughts carefully before speaking – all her siblings have a tendency to sometimes use ten words where one or two might suffice, but not Alice.

She is like her parents in other ways though. She has some of Victoria's talent for drawing and music, just like Vicky, though she does not take quite as much enjoyment in it as her mother and sister do. Her real passion, though, is botany and she is the only one of their four children who truly takes an interest in William's love of flowers – to go to Brocket Hall with her father for a few days exploring the greenhouses is a delightful treat for the youngest princess. And she has Victoria's heart, her ability to feel and love deeply.

Victoria knows William does not have favourites among his children and that he loves them all for their different talents and personalities, but she is also aware that he does have a soft spot for Alice.

She likes to watch the two of them together, curled up in a chair as William teaches Alice the names and meanings of all the flowers they can find in the grounds of their various residences.

The two of them tilt their heads in the exact same way as they study pictures of their favourite flowers and her hands itch to sketch, to capture the charm of their cheerful little conversations onto paper.

Victoria fills sketchbook after sketchbook with such images, along with drawings of the rest of her family. It has become even more of a habit these past few years as the realisation comes over her that people will not be with her forever.

Her uncles and aunts are mostly gone now. The Duke of Wellington no longer adds his insightful wisdom to the Privy Council. Even Sir Robert Peel is missed, though his work on the industrialisation of England is a lasting legacy to him. And Lehzen is far away in Hanover, writing faithfully but still absent. She has immortalised them all in pen and ink, though, even uncle Cumberland, a tribute she hopes might be a little more realistic, capture a bit more of their personalities than the many official portraits.

She paints mama a lot. Mama who is so frail these days but with whom she has never been more comfortable with, who adores her four grandchildren and no longer insults William.

Time is marching on. Her children are growing and both she and William show the signs of their maturing years.

There is a bittersweetness about their lives sometimes – so much happiness tempered by the losses that have become a part of her life.

However, she can never stay melancholy long. Not when she sees her beautiful children and her darling husband, when she presides over an empire so great.

She does not think she would trade her life as it is for anything.

Victoria's popularity is fairly consistent now. There are ups and downs as one might expect but with two sons and two daughters, all healthy, even her detractors must admit that the Queen is a symbol of stability for the country.

So many of them give all the credit for her maturity to having birthed children. They believe that to be her purpose, to hold the throne as a caretaker for her son rather than a Queen who tries to do the best for her people and who is capable of achievements of her own.

Few give her husband the credit he deserves as the one who has constantly supported and helped her, as well as always believing her capable of ruling.

And fewer still give her credit for her own personal growth, for learning from her mistakes and standing tall against those who try to push her down.

William does, though. He has always believed in her even when no one else did.

And she loves him for it, for everything he is to her. Oh how she loves him.

On the day that the Queen married Lord Melbourne, Skerrett watched with Mrs Jenkins from the rafters and found herself unable to stop herself from shedding a happy tear or two as the two were bound together in holy matrimony. She knew she had never seen such a beautiful wedding – not because of the expensive dress, the grand location or the royal guests, but because even from high above it was clear to her that the new husband and wife were sincerely in love.

Now, years into their marriage, Skerrett has never had cause to doubt that conclusion. Through the births of four children, a succession of prime ministers, assassination attempts, and a number of ups and downs in both foreign and domestic policy, the bond between the Queen and her husband has never been seriously shaken.

They have their arguments, as all married couples do, but they never last and soon enough Skerrett will overhear an emotional and passionate apology from the Queen, or a soft, earnest one from Lord Melbourne (for he is always Lord Melbourne to most, despite the dukedom he received on his marriage).

And the arguments are mostly insignificant when Skerrett thinks of everything else …

The books the Queen will add to the palace library if her husband mentions something he wishes to read that they do not already own. The orchids and gardenias and colourful little bouquets that appear regularly on the Queen's dressing table. The occasional mornings she finds them curled up together in bed when she comes in to dress the Queen (on those days she always backs out quietly with a little smile on her face). How they laugh together and give each other strength, the way they always find each other even in a crowded room. The way they brush hands as they pass or how she sometimes arrives at the Queen's rooms to prepare her for bed and finds Lord Melbourne brushing out his wife's long hair as he tells her funny stories about the politicians he has known.

Skerrett knows she only sees a little of what passes between them the Queen and Lord Melbourne, but as a dresser she feels she sees more of the real Queen than many others do, in the mornings and evenings when tiredness makes the Queen a little more honest and a little less guarded.

Some of the servants do not approve of Lord Melbourne, though after so many years and so much proof that he is not trying to rule for his wife, the feeling is generally more positive than it once was.

There are still those, however, who believe Lord Melbourne never had any business marrying so far above his station, but Skerrett knows it is a love match and admires the Queen all the more for the way she has made such a marriage successful despite the opposition.

Skerrett remembers the uproar that had occurred when the engagement was announced, the fuss from the Duchess of Kent and King Leopold, the Queen's uncles, Baroness Lehzen, and parliament. The Queen has proved them all wrong, though, and has survived the turbulent time before the Prince of Wales' birth and minor troubles since to show that marriage to the man she loves (and who loves her in return) has not been the disaster people foretold but the beginning of a stability the monarchy long searched for during the reigns of the Queen's grandfather and uncles.

The sound of laughter startles Skerrett from her reverie and she moves towards the Queen's bedroom – the source of the noise – to check whether the Queen is ready to be dressed for bed or if (as Skerrett suspects) her husband will be helping her instead.

She peeks in through a small gap in the door, keeping silent so as not to disturb, and finds herself smiling at the scene before her.

There is no music but the Queen and Lord Melbourne are dancing together.

She is wearing only her long white nightgown, while he looks casually rumpled in the simple trousers, shirt and waistcoat he is often wearing when he returns to the Queen's rooms (their rooms, really, for he never uses his own bedchamber for sleeping) from his greenhouse. The Queen's feet are bare and Lord Melbourne is wearing only socks (one of which has an obvious hole in it that makes Skerrett want to giggle).

They twirl around the room in a pattern that seems to encompass about half a dozen different dances, talking and laughing together as they manoeuvre around the room's furniture. The Queen's hand leaves her husband's every few seconds to reverently stroke the white orchid tucked into her braid (a brilliant contrast with her dark hair).

They look as delighted as they did on their wedding day so many years ago.

The Queen is somewhat plumper (the effects of four pregnancies, Skerrett supposes) and Lord Melbourne's hair is rather more silver than dark, while his face has a number of pronounced lines that show his age. Yet they are still a handsome couple, still look into each other's eyes with all the fierce devotion of their early relationship alongside the warm, easy love that the maturing of their marriage has brought them.

Skerrett slips away then, leaves them to their charming dance.

She thinks for a moment of her own love, of the husband she married not long after the Queen's own wedding.

She keeps her own name for her work at the palace, and with the hours they both work she does not see her husband as much as she would like, but she thinks they are as happy as the Queen and Lord Melbourne, for they too married for love – Eliza Skerrett (but Nancy to her husband, for he deserves her real name) and Charles Elmé Francatelli.

At times she thought it would never happen, and maybe she even self-sabotaged for a while, thinking she never could be happy. But she is, and she looks forward to Sunday, when she will see him again.

Skerrett isn't a Queen, and her husband is no Duke (though he is a famous cook, as he always wished to be) but Skerrett feels like she's got her fairytale ending as surely as the Queen has.

Victoria has many Prime Ministers throughout the years.

She likes some more than others but she tries to remember what William taught her and to keep her temper even when they irk her. She does not always manage – age never dulls her stubborn, passionate nature – but she tries and she is never involved in anything like the Bedchamber Crisis again.

The men who serve her as Prime Minister are a varied group and she comes to accept that many of them are far better suited to the role than William was. He admits it too, freely tells her that he was surprised himself that his tenure lasted so long. Sometimes she even thinks she prefers the more proactive policies of those such as Sir Robert to the wait and see attitude William usually adopted as Prime Minister.

But none of those other Prime Ministers ever make the impact upon her that William does. Because he is the one who taught her to believe in herself, who helped her realise that she could succeed as Queen ever when everyone else doubted her. William is the one who taught her about parliament and her role in government, who supported her when the people turned against her.

He may not have affected policy in the way other Prime Ministers have, but William did (does) more for her than any other Prime Minister ever has or will. He has saved her, loved her, stood by her side through thick and thin.

Maybe history will not remember him as a Prime Minister of any note. But if history remembers her then she hopes people will know that so much of what she has achieved she owes to what William has taught her.

On the morning of her fortieth birthday Victoria wakes to an empty spot on the bed where William normally lies.

She is not worried. She knows he will be with their children, helping put the last touches to her birthday celebrations.

There is a ball for her birthday every year but the personal, family celebrations for her birthday, and for William's and the children's, are always low-key.

They all have so much that the presents are often handmade or personally designed, rarely extravagant and always thoughtful.

There will be flowers, she knows, and little things from the children that are sure to delight. Perhaps there will be something a bit more expensive this year, it being a milestone birthday, but she does not mind if there is not – she is so blessed in her life with a loving husband and her four children and nothing ever compares to them.

She takes her time getting out of bed, knowing that Skerrett is not due to come and dress her for another half hour, and spots the flowers almost immediately.

Orchids, in all manner of colours. She tries to remember William's lessons on orchids and notes the meanings of the flowers displayed. Pink for femininity and happiness; purple for royalty and admiration; red for desire (she blushes at that one); white for beauty; yellow for joy; and green for life and good fortune. And there are even two blue toned orchids – she remembers a conversation with an enthusiastic Alice just a few weeks ago about how true blue orchids do not exist but that blue toned ones do, though they are rare – and she grins because of course dear William would manage to grow such rare orchids for her.

She picks up his card to her, which depicts two rooks in front of the background of a heart, and reads his message to her.

Victoria,

You fill the shadows in my life with light, you have my heart in your safe keeping, you are my home.

Happy Birthday to you, my darling girl.

All my love,

William

Her eyes soften at his words and she cannot stop smiling as she rereads the message and admires the package sat next to it.

A beautiful sapphire brooch set in silver, with the image of a rook engraved on the back and the letters V and W entwined together.

There is one more thing, another sheet of paper only half filled with William's handwriting. She realises as she looks at it that it is a poem, and she reads with trembling hands.

For Victoria,

You touch these tired eyes of mine
And map my face out line by line
And somehow growing old feels fine

You healed these scars over time
Embraced my soul
You loved my mind
You're the only angel in my life

And though my edges may be rough
And never feel I'm quite enough
Though I may not look like much
I'm yours

William finds her with tears dripping down her face, but they are happy tears and she cannot stop grinning.

"It is wonderful," she tells him as he sits down next to her, "the most beautiful thing I have ever read. You never told me you wrote poetry, William."

"I do not," he says, "but I was inspired."

She blushes. He envelopes her in his arms.

She feels so loved.

William is old now, probably too old to have children as young as some of his are. He does not usually feel it, though, because his children make him feel young just as his darling wife has ever since their first meeting.

He maintains his habit of falling asleep in the middle of a conversation and he often rises late, but he always has the time and energy for his family, even if he cannot walk as quickly as he used to or ride as often as he would like.

And every day it brings him unending joy to hear his children's laughter, and to see the smiling faces whose features are a beautiful blend of his own and Victoria's that remind him of how lucky he is to have had the chance to marry the woman he loves despite the obstacles they have faced.

Vicky is engaged now, to Prince Frederick of Prussia. He is thirty to her sixteen, but what right has William to complain about such an age difference when his own beloved wife is so much younger than he is. And besides, though the pairing has political benefits it is also a love match and William does not want to deny his daughter that.

They are considering a bride for Edward too. Some of the Danish royal family will be visiting soon and among them is to be Princess Alexandra, the daughter of the heir to the Danish throne Prince Christian and just a year and a half younger than Edward. She is said to be charming, affectionate and dignified, and both himself and Victoria are hopeful for a match, though they are content to wait until the couple in question have met and got to know each other a little before considering if any formal arrangements should be discussed. After all they have both seen the dangers of a bad marriage and have no desire to inflict such a thing on their beloved children, even for political gain.

It seems like a dream sometimes, this life of his with Victoria and their children, even after nearly twenty years of marriage. Almost laughable to be the husband of the Queen of England, to have a daughter engaged to be married and a son approaching it. He does not like to think of how Vicky will move so far away and he is thankful that she will not marry until she is eighteen, for it gives him some time to get used to the idea of being parted from her.

But he is so happy.

He is not the most devout man but he gives thanks to God every day for what he has been given. And he will continue to do so until the day he dies.

Because this life, this love with Victoria, this family he adores … this is his idea of true joy.

Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.