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.
Each section of this fic alters between Victoria and Melbourne's points of view, showing each of their views on the same / similar events which means there may be some repetition of lines.
'There's a million reasons why I should give you up
But the heart wants what it wants.'
The Heart Wants What It Wants - Selena Gomez
He doesn't think it will be easy, saying no to the queen.
And yet … it still takes him by surprise, the pain in his heart, the way he wants to reach out as she walks away.
He can see the tears and he wants to wipe them away, to caress her cheeks and make her smile again.
But he cannot, he must not, he should not.
She is a queen and he is only her Prime Minister; he is old and she is so very young; she is the future and he is a fading politician.
There are a hundred, a thousand, a million reasons against them.
But what does reason matter to the heart?
He cannot stop loving her, no matter what he says out loud.
Despite what people say about her, despite the gossip, Victoria takes her role as queen very seriously. She is exceptionally aware of the duty she has to her people and her country. She wants to do her best, wants to make her poor dear papa proud.
But she cannot help how she feels, cannot help that Lord M is the only man she wants.
She does not like to think of the many reasons why a liaison with her Prime Minister is a bad idea. In fact until Brocket Hall she refuses to consider them. She ignores her mother's pleas and Sir John's chastisement and her uncle Leopold's disapproval. She turns away from the whispered rumours that follow whenever she and Lord M are together.
He is her friend, her ally, her confidante, her champion. He is the man she loves
She has always been free in expressing how glad she is to have him, has never shied away from letting him know how devastating his absence is to her.
So when she remembers the smiles he brings to her face, the unwavering faith he has in her and the night she cried herself to sleep when he temporarily resigned, she knows that friendship is no longer enough for her, knows she has to tell him how she feels, to know if he feels the same. She wants to spend forever with him.
And it is no teenage impulse. She can be rash with her words and actions but not with this. She knows her heart.
So she goes to him, opens herself up.
"I believe when you give your heart it will be without hesitation. But you cannot give it to me."
"I think you have it already."
"No, you must keep it intact for someone else. For I have no use for it, you see. Like a rook, I mate for life."
"I see. Then I am sorry to have disturbed you, Lord Melbourne."
She is rejected.
For a moment she cannot breathe, cannot think.
But no rejection has ever been so tender, she is sure. He takes her hands and looks at her like she is the sun and moon and stars all at once. His words say he cannot accept her but his eyes, and the tremble in his voice, say that he cares.
Despite his words about his wife she is so sure he cares.
She leaves and feels the tears pour down her face but she does not turn, will not look back at him.
It will only hurt too much.
He knows what a bad idea it is to dress as Leicester to the queen's Elizabeth, knows the talk it will cause, but he finds he cannot bear to have her think he is indifferent to her.
And the parallels are there. It is a perfect way to explain to the queen the reality of their situation.
"It would be unkind for Elizabeth to refuse her Leicester."
"Leicester was her companion?"
"He was. 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."
And he can see that she understands, can see in her expression that she finally realises that it does not matter what they feel, in this world they can never show it, not properly.
He leaves after their dance, unable to watch her sorrowful face.
He goes home to Dover House and puts his head in his hands and wishes in vain that things could be different.
The day goes on and she begins to doubt herself.
Lord M was so very sincere about his wife, so very distraught at the memory of her.
Victoria thinks perhaps she is deluding herself into thinking he cares about her. Perhaps she is nothing to him.
"What beautiful flowers."
"They're orchids."
"Where did they come from?"
"Brocket Hall."
"But I thought William had closed the greenhouses after Caro... He must have opened them again for you."
"I do not think he would do anything for me."
"Do you know how hard it is to grow orchids? You misjudge him, Ma'am."
"He cares only for the memory of his wife."
"Is that what he told you? Then that is what he wants you to believe. These flowers, Ma'am... Well..."
Then Emma – lovely Emma who smiles when she sees the two of them together and never tries to make Victoria feel wrong for how she feels – gives her hope and her heart soars once more.
But reality has entered her soul, just a little, and she is so very cautious about hoping.
Yet there he is at the ball, looking at her so intently, dressed as the Leicester to her Elizabeth.
Then they are dancing and he is explaining and she understands … finally, truly understands what he has been trying to say to her.
And all is right because she loves him and he loves her.
The rest is just detail.
"You need a husband... to love you... honour you, cherish you."
"But there is no-one I care for."
"I do not think you have really looked."
She looks sharply at him, "I do not wish to look, Lord M, I have all I need right in front of me."
He smiles. Softly. Sadly.
"I do not want to hold you back, Ma'am, to keep you from having a family."
"I can be a queen without a husband," she insists, "it has been done before," she reminds him as they both look up at the portrait of Queen Elizabeth that she is copying.
"You may be lonely."
"I have you," she says, "and my ladies and Dash. Do not try and persuade me otherwise, Lord M – anyone else would think that you wanted me to get married."
He sighs. His strong sense of duty weights down on him. And he worries she will rue her decision in the end, not marrying. The last thing he wants is to be the cause of any of he regrets.
"I only wish for you to be happy, Ma'am."
"And I am," she puts down her brush and reaches over to grasp his hands in her own, "I am happy with you, Lord M."
And what else can he say to that, what else can he do but bring her hands to his lips to kiss reverently.
"I am happy too," he says.
He does not seem able to comprehend that she will never want another, that marriage and a family mean nothing to her if it is not he who is her partner.
It frustrates her, to have him try and be so sensible and dutiful when it comes to a matter where the heart rules.
She wants to be a good queen and she always takes an interest in her papers, reads them carefully and discusses her concerns. She knows she is a far more diligent monarch than either of her uncles were.
Yet no one thinks her duty done until she produces an heir. So many of them consider her as just a vessel for a future king, believing a woman incapable of ruling.
Well she will show them all, will prove that she can rule just as well as – no, better than – a man. And she will do it on her terms.
She cannot rule wisely without advice, and Lord M is her most trusted advisor. She cannot rule well if she lacks emotional support, and Lord M is her steadying half, always.
She knows her dear Prime Minister only wants what is best for her. She just wishes he would see that he is that best thing.
"I only wish for you to be happy, Ma'am," he says.
"And I am," she tries to make him understand and reaches over to clasp his strong hands in her delicate ones, "I am happy with you, Lord M."
She waits a moment. He kisses her hands. Her heart is content.
"I am happy too," he says.
She brightens like the sun and is so very pleased.
Of course she initiates their first kiss.
He still can't quite believe she wants him and he does not dare to do anything more than kiss her hand, terrified of the repercussions.
But she is more impulsive than he is, more heedless of propriety and of the distance that should be maintained between them but is not.
It is a rainy day and they have not been able to enjoy their usual ride. He has tried to pepper the dull paperwork with some diversions to keep the queen lively but now, at three in the afternoon, her attention is wandering and he knows they will get no more work done.
So they stand by the window and watch the rain fall in companionable silence.
"Are you worried about the visit?" he asks, because despite the queen's refusal to offer an invitation to her cousins the two Coburg princes are coming.
"I am angry with uncle Leopold," she tells him with a vexed look on her face, "I expressly informed him not to invite them. It is just going to give mama false hope – she cannot accept that I am more than happy as I am."
"Perhaps you will like the princes."
She glares at him and he can only shrug – he is her advisor and whether he (or she) likes it or not sometimes he must play devil's advocate.
"Perhaps I will like the princes, but I shall not love either of them, not as I do you."
Her hand grips his and he marvels in the feeling – she is wearing no gloves and her skin is so very soft – though he cannot help but look around for those who might see their easy affection and spread damaging rumours.
There is no one but them, though. Everyone, even the queen's faithful Lehzen, have long given up trying to insist on chaperones for the queen's time with him.
He holds her hand and enjoys it but does not expect her to suddenly lean up and press her lips gently against his.
It is brief, really only a peck, but it gives him a blissful feeling just the same.
He looks down at her, at her faint blush and wide eyes and that little playful smirk on her face that shows how pleased she is.
The second time he is the one to kiss her.
It is a longer kiss and far less chaste, leaving both of them ruffled when they finally break apart.
She is so beautiful, he thinks, with her hair a little mussed, her cheeks pink and her lips the tiniest bit swollen.
He kisses her again. Now that he has let go of his control he realises it is difficult to find it again.
"Dear Lord M," she murmurs, "what would I do without you?"
The real question, he thinks, is what would he do without her?
She kisses him because she wants to, because she should not have to hide how she feels for the sake of those who would see her lose her crown over the man she loves.
She's never kissed anyone before but she finds the experience exhilarating, especially when her shy first attempt is followed by an enthusiastic response from Lord M.
She loves to see him lose his control, it happens so rarely after all. And she enjoys the benefits too, of course.
She thinks she could be content kissing him forever, this amazing man.
"Dear Lord M," she murmurs, "what would I do without you?"
He holds her tighter and she finds she has never been so contented.
"As to tomorrow, Lord Melbourne and I have a great deal of business to attend to. Don't we, Lord M?"
"Oh, yes, Ma'am. The dispatches from Afghanistan will require your complete attention."
He should not lie to the whole room but what else can he do? He cannot say no to the queen and if she wishes to avoid spending time with her newly arrived cousins then even he – always giving her the option to step away from whatever one would call their relationship – will not make her do so.
King Leopold glares at him and Prince Albert looks sullen but he does not care. What matters to him is the queen and her welfare.
She thanks him with her smile and he knows he has done the right thing.
Most people would say it was a chancy gambit in front of a room full of people, to request her Prime Minister's cooperation in her lie with only a sentence and a look.
But of course there is nothing usual about them. She and Lord M communicate without words, with just a smile or a twitch of the mouth or a raised eyebrow. He reads her mood like no other and instinctively knows what she needs.
And he does it now. He smoothly goes along with what she says with not even a raise of his eyebrow.
No one who knows them will question it. They spend hours together every day, riding and talking and going through papers. And the work of government does not ever stop, not even for visits from princes.
She can see Albert's irritation, her uncle's disappointment, and her mother's resignation. But they know she does not desire to have cousin Albert thrown at her as a suitor, know that she did not wish for the princes to be asked to visit. Why should they be surprised when she refuses to abandon her duties as queen to waste a whole day with uninvited guests?
Besides she is sure there will be plenty of business to be attended to. They are expecting the Afghanistan dispatches and if Lord M has mentioned them then they have probably arrived.
Between a day with her cousins looking at art she does not understand and a day with her Lord M she will choose Lord M every time.
He sends her a flower. It seems to be becoming a habit of his.
It is a way of showing her how much she means to him. She can get expensive jewels and other such gifts easily so he offers her difficult to grow blooms in the hope that she will understand the messages he sends through them.
Like the white orchids on the night of the ball when they dressed as Leicester and Elizabeth. White orchids, representing reverence and humility, innocence and purity, elegance and beauty. And love of course.
Some things are hard to say out loud, dangerous to verbalise. But the language of flowers offers him one more way to remind the queen of just how much she means to him.
There is a ball tonight, one he knows King Leopold is hoping will bring the queen and Prince Albert closer together.
He has mixed feelings about it. He knows the queen loves to dance and he wants her to have the opportunity to enjoy herself, but he also still fears she will come to consider the prince a better match for her than he is.
And he will not blame her if that is the case, because he wants her to be happy whether or not he is involved in that happiness.
But he thinks it might break him to lose her, so he hopes – against logic and against society's rules – that he might be by her side for the rest of his life.
It is more than a little selfish, certainly quite rash.
But he loves her.
"With Lord Melbourne's compliments, Ma'am."
She smiles as she pins the flower to her dress, gently stroking the petals and thinking of dear Lord M, who always knows how to make her smile.
Skerrett adds the diamond pins to her hair and she surveys herself in the mirror, finding that she is more than satisfied by what she sees.
She hopes Lord M will think her beautiful.
"Do you think Lord Melbourne handsome?" she asks Skerrett as the girl puts the final touches to her hair.
It is probably not appropriate to ask servants for their opinions on the looks of her Prime Minister but she likes Skerrett and she doesn't really have anyone else to ask, not if she wants to avoid gossip (she has learnt by now which servants can be trusted to be discrete and Skerrett is certainly one of them).
The girl looks thoughtful for only a moment, "yes Ma'am," she says, "I believe Lord Melbourne is very handsome."
Victoria grins.
She thanks him for the flower with much sincerity and a clasping of his hands that makes him want to hold her close regardless of the crowded room.
He sees Prince Albert coming up behind her, clearly about to ask her to dance, and he feels his heart sink a little because she will not refuse if the prince asks her, not with her uncle hovering and glaring.
He goes to take a step back but she does not let go of his hands, "you will dance with me?" she asks as the first strains of a waltz begin.
And he cannot say no, not when dancing with her is the closest they can ever be under the scrutiny of the public's prying eyes.
He nods, and determinedly refuses to look at the disappointed and angry prince, "it would be my honour, Ma'am."
How glorious it is to dance with Lord M.
She loves to dance but she rarely finds satisfactory partners. Some put their hands too low for her comfort, others are stiff and awkward, and usually their conversation is dull.
But with Lord M it is different. He dances well and holds her securely and they always have the most delightful talks.
She still means what she said at the Coronation Ball – she wishes she could dance with him every night.
And with him there she does not care that cousin Albert looks disapprovingly at her dance with Lord M, does not notice the frustrated looks traded by her uncle Leopold and her mother, and cannot bring herself to mind that tomorrow will surely bring more talk about what everyone considers her scandalous relationship with the Prime Minister.
Why should she care, when her Lord M is holding her in his arms.
The princes go home.
He rejoices inside though of course he worries over the trouble that may arise from the queen's refusal to marry.
Especially because he knows he is a major reason – everyone else knows too.
But the queen is not one to be dictated to. She refuses to limit the time they spend together, will not pretend that she does not find his company infinitely preferable to most others.
People continue to talk and insinuate, they continue to suggest the crown may be better fitted to someone not so young, or female, or stubborn.
But the queen stays strong. She listens to his advice (although she does not always follow it) and while she makes mistakes she also works well and works hard. If nothing else the people have to admire her diligence.
She calls him William now, when they are alone, and insists that he call her Victoria.
She kisses him, tenderly sometimes but with wild abandon when the mood strikes.
They ride out almost every day and walk in the gardens surrounding the palace. He tells her stories and rejoices when he makes her laugh.
He goes to Brocket Hall only to tend to the greenhouses he takes so much care over, now that they have a purpose once more. And during his stays there, always short, she comes to visit. Incognito, she says, though he personally believes her presence – so bright and entrancing – can never be truly concealed.
It is 1840 and he knows his time as Prime Minister will soon be up. He thinks she knows too, though she does not like to speak of it and frowns whenever he mentions Robert Peel, his likely successor.
He worries about what will happen when he retires, knows that their relationship will court even more scandal if they continue as they are now once he has left his ministerial post.
But he cannot have dark thoughts when she is near, for her mere presence brings him to life.
They will manage, he hopes, and for now their life together (however limited by circumstances) is all he can desire.
She is not sorry to see the princes go.
They are better men than she once believed but Albert will never be more to her than a cousin and perhaps a friend. She likes some of his ideas for assisting the poor and will correspond regularly with him as she seeks to use the power she has to set such reforms in motion. Nevertheless, he is no more than that to her, far too different to suit her – a bit too serious, too scolding.
Her uncle is furious but she has spent most of her life being told what to do and she will not be forced into a marriage in which she would be unhappy.
She ignores renewed rumours with the grace of the great queen she tries to be. And she smiles a secret little smile when she hears herself referred to as Mrs Melbourne. For her it is no insult, but a compliment.
She and Lord M continue on as they always have, enjoying their time together and the opportunities for holding hands and snatching kisses that she always finds so thrilling.
He stays mostly in London but when he visits Brocket Hall she is never far behind, enjoying the privacy the place affords them and the chance to pretend, for a while, that she is an ordinary woman and he is an ordinary man.
She asks him to call her Victoria in private and feels a tingle inside her every time he says her Christian name. She calls him William when they are alone and adores the intimacy it suggests.
She refuses to think on the future even as he tries to make her consider it. She knows there will come a time when she will have to meet Sir Robert Peel as a queen to her Prime Minister but the thought is unsavoury to her and she will not consider it until she absolutely has to.
She just enjoys being with him, her most devoted Lord M.
And she hopes it will never end.
It is August 1841. He has retired.
"You do not seem sorry that you are no longer my Prime Minister," she says, almost sternly.
"I admit it is of some relief," he tells her, "these past months at the House have been fraught with problems and tension."
"I do not like Sir Robert Peel."
"Everyone must sometimes see those they do not like," he reminds her, "especially if they are the Queen of England. Peel is not such a bad fellow, as I told you once before."
"He is not you," she says softly.
"I will be here for you as long as you require me."
It is a change from his words to her years previously, when he had told her that a new Prime Minister would prevent him from being with her as often. So much has changed since then and they both know they cannot do without each other, nor do they wish to.
"I will always need you, will always want you."
He reaches out for her hand and leans down to kiss her gently. No words are needed between them.
He is no longer Prime Minister but they will not be separated.
Though they know the pressure will mount for the queen to marry she is determined to remain as she is with her dearest companion by her side.
There are still a million reasons their love is a bad idea but they cannot bring themselves to care.
After all, the heart wants what it wants.
Always.