A/N: I have to say I was immediately sucked into the implied attraction between Victoria and Lord Melbourne. So sucked in that it inspired me to write my first fanfic in quite a few years. Obviously I do not own this story line, or the script that I took from the show. But I had to create a little self-fulfillment. Also I do feel odd writing of romantic happening of a past monarch, as this is obviously historically inaccurate. I think Rufus Sewell just inspires some pretty crazy fantasies. Anyway, this was more for my benefit but figured I would post in case anyone else thought the Elizabeth/Leicester costumes should have incited a little more fun ;)
The crisp autumn wind cut through the air rather sharply as he watched the small stature of her majesty Queen Victoria disappear down the lane. A woman of such disproportional confidence and personality did not seem to correlate with the petite form that had now disappeared from view. She continually surprised him with her ability to say what was on her mind without fear of judgment of rebuttal. Victoria had all the confidence of an much more experienced queen… but all the reckless abandon of a young woman in love.
Yesterday I realized something…. I think perhaps now I'm speaking as a woman and not as a Queen.
Lord William Melbourne ran a hand over his face and through his thinning hair – a reminder of the age difference that added to the pause he gave concerning Victoria. Twenty-five years or so was not such an unapproachable difference between the common folk in these times. Twenty-five years and an entire monarchy… well, she was not yet made so cynical by a lifetime of trials and disappointments, but he felt the bitter sting of reality.
He could not see a scenario where their union would be uncomplicated or widely accepted. The hardest thing he had ever done was to tell a young woman he would not have her while every inch of him struggled to reach out and confess his fervent reciprocation.
I believe when you give your heart it will be without hesitation. But you cannot give it to me…. No, you must keep it intact for someone else. For I have no use for it, you see.
She had awoken something in him that he had not realized he was capable of anymore. Many years had passed since he lost his wife to the hands of another, and any interest he expressed in a woman since was nothing but fulfilling the basest needs. Small moments in dark rooms filled with nothing but the mingled feeling of empty satisfaction, regret and self-loathing. As prime minister these trysts were few and far between, and really only became ways to pass the time.
That was, until a girl of a mere eighteen years ascended a throne surrounded by a crowd manipulators and self-servers. He reflected on the doll he had picked up from a small chair with a handmade crown atop its head. Doll 123, she had informed him, and he wondered who this girl would become with the responsibility of a monarchy to mold the rest of her life.
The slow realization he acquired regarding the neglect and near abuse she had experienced at the hands of her caregivers enraged him. Throughout their acquaintance and eventual friendship he observed her mother, sir John, her uncles and various other players try and move her about a chessboard designed for their own gain. Yet she surpassed even his expectations. The young woman took charge the moment the power shifted unto her. Many would have crumbled under such a childhood. She took her lifetime of being told she wasn't enough and that she would always be incapable and turned it into a fierce determination to prove the naysayers wrong – to be a Queen the country could be proud of.
Perhaps it was witnessing this development that was the initial spark to the flame that smoldered between the two of them. He could not place a certain day or time or occurrence that made him fall in love with a much younger woman. But he found himself with a fierce need to protect her, to watch over her and carefully guide her towards being the Queen she was destined to be. He must not stand in the way of that, and it was for that reason he denied her what they both so desperately wanted.
He thought of the way she said "Lord M," like it was such a special secret between them and smiled sadly. There would not be much more of that, he expected. Lord Melbourne sighed and turned down the path that would take him in the opposite direction of Victoria, towards the Greenhouses.
A while later he entered Brocket Hall, gloomy as ever. "Brandy," he muttered to the first person he saw. The queen had long since been gone, no doubt to comfort herself at Buckingham Palace. Perhaps she would retaliate by inducing some scandal with cousin George or that presumptuous Russian Duke. Neither of those men appreciated Victoria for all that she was.
William tossed back the offered glass of brandy, handed it to the man and muttered "another." The stem of a single white orchid protruded from his clenched, white knuckled fist. He was not sure at first if he was going to go through with this gesture, but despite all he had said to her about not wanting her heart, the thought of those other boys accepting it brought him almost to an irrational blind rage.
"Mrs. James!" He called out, waiting mere seconds for the fragile figure of his elderly housekeeper to emerge. He handed her the flower. "Wrap the stem in ribbon, send it to Buckingham palace for Her Majesty."
"What would you like the note to say, sir?"
He contemplated everything he would like to say. An apology, an acceptance of her previously refused offer of her heart on a silver platter. That would not do, and could never be done. He had no words, and no words would suffice.
"Just the orchid."
"I hope the Queen has saved a dance for you." Emma said, as they watched Victoria glide across the room. She had not made eye contact with William all night, an impressive feat as he had hardly been able to take his eyes from her.
"She's busy tonight," he responded shortly. He felt positively foolish in his choice of costume, not to mention costume balls were not an event he routinely found enjoyable. Victoria's recent interest in her idol, an unmarried Queen, made him almost certain she would model her costume after Queen Elizabeth.
"She will have to marry one day, William," Emma remarked with a raised brow. He was annoyed at this obvious information, responding with a irritated "Yes, she will." He tried to hide his feelings on the matter, though he counted Emma as a friend, as close to a friend as he had at any rate. Pausing for a second as he glanced briefly away from the topic of conversation to the Duke, he added, "I just hope her husband will appreciate her."
More time passed, Victoria danced with more people, William drank another glass of brandy. He really knew better than to indulge too much, but his nerves were fraying, and he felt that some dulling of the senses was needed as he watched her smile at yet another young man as that man placed a hand on her waist and they whirled about the room. The red of her wig and gilt of her crown was near mesmerizing. And he found himself crossing the room to her, wanting his turn to be with her, if only for a few moments.
He encountered her walking briskly, a crease prominent between her brows indicating her displeasure. Not far behind he witnessed her uncle and cousin George watching her with mingled irritation and regret. He, on the other hand was pleased at her obvious annoyance with her cousin.
"May I have the pleasure," he asked as he stepped in front of her, breaking her out of whatever thoughts plagued her racing mind. "Ma'am," he added with a small smile.
One eyebrow raised as an expression of almost comical aloofness crossed her face. She was trying to show him she was not affected by his previous rejection, and he was most certainly not convinced. "I think this one is free," she chimed after careful examination of her dance card.
The music struck up a waltz as he brought her close, his gaze caught by the orchid mounted to her bodice. He barely suppressed a smile. "Have you danced with George yet?" He inquired, more towards what he thought he may have witnessed.
Victoria scoffed, looking past William at anything, so long as she did not have to look at him. "He wants to dance with a Queen, no necessarily with me."
Ah. As he had suspected her throne was more the object of his advances, and not so much the amazing woman who occupied it. Idiot, he thought to himself, as he looked at the mesmerizing person in his arms. "Than he's more of a fool than I suspected," he responded. Were he in a position to proposition her, he would not hesitate. He was more than content to be her mere companion as she competently ruled her empire, her cousin and family wanted to rule for her.
A brief pause, and then "I wasn't sure if I would dance with you tonight,"
The hand on her waist tightened impulsively. "It would be unkind for Elizabeth to refuse her Leicester."
Her inquiring glance met his, and their gaze held intimately for a moment as she realized his costume and all it implicated, before she broke the trance with "Leicester was her companion?"
"He was," William responded with a small smile. "He did have a wife, but then she died. But even though he was free, they never married. I think both he and the Queen understood they were not in a position to marry. Whatever their inclination," He added softly. An eternity was held in the moment they shared on the ball room floor, moving in a whirl of skirts and costumed men. When the song was over, he bowed dutifully to her and moved away across the hall to clear his head and attempt to further dampen his senses, which blazed like never before. The amber liquid burned it way down to his core with the satisfying paradoxical sensation of dousing a fire. It would not be enough now, but it would have to do.
Similarly, across the room, Victoria plucked a champagne flute from the tray of a passing manservant as Sir John freed her from his lecherous grasp, and disposed of it with one hearty gulp.
As the ball for Victoria's uncle Leopold wound down to a few straggling members utilizing every moment they could, William found himself wandering down a long hall filled with portraits of important people long since forgotten. He wondered if he could someday count himself as one to be added to these walls; a Prime Minister of no great accomplishment, except to quietly break the heart of a young monarch.
Eventually, he thought sadly, the whispers of a romance between himself and Victoria would die away and she would replace them with a marriage to a king or duke or prince, over romanticized by common people who want to believe in something bigger than themselves.
The palace gradually grew quieter, and he supposed he should return to the ball and say his goodbyes. He sighed and placed another empty glass on the closest surface he could find and made his way down the hall. William had indulged in just enough brandy to make his feelings manageable and small in the back of his mind.
Soon he became aware of approaching footsteps coming towards him. Most likely a servant, as he had strayed far from the crowd of guests and not many other people would presume to go so far.
But fate was playing a cruel joke on him as a very familiar, small figure appeared in front of him.
"Oh, Lord Melbourne it is you," Victoria said with an air of indifferent surprise. William bowed, noting the careful way she did not address him as 'Lord M.' He also noted, with no small amount of mixed amusement and exasperation, how she extended an arm to the archway she currently stood beneath to support her less than stable legs.
"Your majesty," he replied, unable to keep the more formal way he addressed her without ironic tone. "Forgive me, I was exploring your rather confusing halls when I lost track of time. I was on my way back to wish you good night."
She shrugged, her chin tilting up haughtily. "I thought you had already gone. Most of the guests have left, those that remain are unable to keep their legs enough to make it to their carriages." Her composure held barely another second before she giggled. "I cannot remember his name, but one man fell into poor Lehzen and made such a terrible scene when trying to leave with his wife. I believe we are accommodating him for the night." She giggled even more, before meeting Lord Melbourne's eyes.
Her dazzling smile slipped from her face almost as fast as it had appeared as they made eye contact. She took a deep breath, "I find myself incapable of maintaining composure when I am alone with you, Lord M. I think it best I leave." Her soft voice barely carried itself the few feet that separated them. She dropped her supporting arm from the wall and made to exit, stumbling over her own feet.
He knew he should have sought out someone else to escort her back to her rooms, as she was clearly in need of support. But before that thought had halfway glanced through his mind, he found himself quickly covering the space between them and placing a firm but gentle had on her arm. "I think, ma'am that you have proven yourself unequal to the balancing act that is drinking champagne tonight."
She stopped quickly and pulled her arm from his grasp as if she was electrocuted. "I can manage." Her breath caught as he placed his hand on her again, this time at the small of her back. "I insist." He responded.
She turned to face him with a blazing indignant look on her face, determined to reprimand him and put him in his place in typical Victoria fashion, no doubt. The sudden movement placed them mere inches from each other, however. And though they have danced this close together before, the dimming light of exhausted candles and stifling silence of being alone made this an entirely different experience.
Lord Melbourne immediately regretted the countless drinks he consumed to dull the effect on him that was Victoria. For in this moment it only stoked the fire in his heart and blissfully clouded his mind with excuses and beautiful ideas only previously indulged by his nighttime dreams.
Her breathing was short and staccato, contrasting the thunderous beats in his chest. Her hand moved slowly to rest against his breastbone, no doubt feeling his heart attempting to place itself at her feet.
He took a deep breath. "Victoria," He whispered warningly. Some part of his mind registered the informal use of her name for the first time, though she did not seem to mind. He made to remove her hand from his chest, but when he touched those small fingers he only enclosed them in his.
"I think Queen Elizabeth must have been sad," she whispered, eyes moving to meet his, "to have to be content with only Leicester's companionship, and never his love."
He closed his eyes and willed himself to find strength somewhere within himself to deny her again. "It was not enough," he agreed, "but it was better than nothing."
She nodded, looking sad. It took her a moment to respond, looking contemplative.
"I am young," she conceded, perhaps in response to a remembered conversation, "but I know what I want." Determination lit up her face. Her tone had changed to one of regal commanding. "I am the Queen, Lord Melbourne, and I will have the truth. I have been honest with you and you will be a decent man and be honest in return. Do you love me?"
His eyes searched hers pleadingly. To admit it would be his downfall. They would both be lost in a whirl of scandal and grief. She could lose everything, and he would not be responsible for it. "I cannot answer that." He whispered.
They were admittedly words of concession, though he prayed she would not interpret them as such. But she took a step towards him, their breath mingling in a space too small to be considered proper. "I order you to kiss me, Lord M."
His breath left as if knocked out of him, and in that moment he was entirely lost to this small woman of half his age. He wondered what judgment awaited him after this life as he closed the inches between them. Her lips were soft and warm, sweet from the hint of champagne. They were motionless at first, as her inexperience struggled to reconcile with her desire for more. And then they parted infinitesimally.
His hands gripped her waist, hers moved slowly to the nape of his neck. She pressed herself tightly to him, silently begging him for something she could not name. He found himself backing her into the same archway she had sought out for support moments before. Her skirts an annoyance of added space between them, he pushed a knee insistently between her legs as she broke free for a strangled gasp of air.
It wasn't until his lips were on her neck when she made a soft moan that broke into his consciousness and shattered the beautiful moment into a million tiny little pieces.
He pushed himself away from her to the opposite side of the hall so quickly she was left looking quite dazed for a moment. "I…" He started with no particular intent. Her fingers passed over her lips wonderingly, her eyes shining and unfocused. And then, she looked up at him. "Why did you stop?"
He stared at her in amazement and then incredibly found himself starting to laugh, albeit humorously. "Because soon, ma'am, I would not have been able to." He was all too much aware of the discomfort in his trousers. Staring at her, flushed and out of breath because of him, was not helping in that matter. He wondered how much her mother had actually enlightened her to what transpired between a man and a woman; how children came into the world, and how much power a woman could hold over a man. She was not ignorant of her own fault, she was the product of her mother grasping for more power as directed by the puppeteers pulling on the duchess' strings.
The Queen of England, however, was not satisfied with that answer, and her expression quite reflected it. "I did not want you to stop." It was a simple statement of fact, but a statement that reflected her youth, nonetheless.
Lord Melbourne, heart and breath still racing, bowed to her once more, intending to make his exit. "If only it was that simple ma'am."
"Victoria." She corrected, giving him pause.
He smiled, walking towards her. Placing a hand softly on her cheek, he hesitated shortly, before dipping his head to kiss her for the last time. This was a different type of kiss, tender and lingering, and laced with an unspoken goodbye. "This cannot happen again." He whispered with more than a little hint of sorrow. "Goodnight… Victoria." And with one last sad look shared between them, Lord Melbourne made his exit.