La douleur exquise - the pain that comes from wanting and desiring someone you cannot have.
The rows of copper trees acted like walls on either side of her, keeping her path straight and direct as she nervously made her way further into the garden. Without the guidance of the fading trees, she might have lost her nerve entirely, and tried to turn around; but now, they were urging her onwards. She had been told Lord M was in the garden somewhere, yet she was unsure where he might be precisely tucked away within the impressive grounds. Wandering around in search for him did, however, give her time to think.
He was certain to reject her - she knew this – but, she could not go on feeling the way she did without him being aware. She was sure he had some idea, she was not exactly subtle at times about her preference for his company. However, the idea of a queen involved in any sort of relationship with her Prime Minister was absurd, and he had already made it quite clear that her safety and wellbeing was his top priority. Getting involved with him in anyway was a sure way to bring both their standings into question.
And then there was the question, the paramount question really, of if he returned her feelings. She had never had much opportunity to read the expressions and body language of men, having been kept too sheltered – but, she knew enough. Recently, she had taken a keen interest in watching his countenance in moments when he was sure no one was watching. Her Lord M was very adept at schooling his features, a byproduct of being an excellent politician, but he was not so convincing around her. Any small compliment she gave him, or indication of her partiality towards him, and he would always begin his retort with a slight, endearing stutter. He always recovered quickly from this lapse, but his face was all too telling. His eyebrows quirked up in a confused sort of surprise; and then after, he never could look her in the eye, instead staring lower – Victoria hoped it was somewhere around her lips.
She could not be sure of his affection off these signs alone, but it did not matter. Yesterday, the realization had hit her hard that she was entirely in love with the man. As absurd as even she, being considered a naïve queen, knew it to be - she could not imagine not having him with her always. Just the utter heartbreak she felt when he had almost resigned as Prime Minister was nearly enough to break her. After that, she knew for certain that no matter who her "keepers" intended for her to marry, they would not do. She had already given her heart.
As she neared the mouth of the lane, the edge of a dark figure peeked its way around an aged statue. She knew it to be Lord M immediately, his long legs and sharply carved profile gave him away as he gazed up at the flock of birds above him. Her shoes must have crunched the dead leaves loud enough to give her away, for he turned his head to look in her direction. Lifting the black veil from her face, she made sure he could tell it was her – although, he could recognize her small frame anywhere.
Instantly on his feet, his position gave Victoria the vantage point to fully take in the sight of Lord M, and he of her. The green coat and entirely casual way of keeping the collar open on his shirt was going to make this already stressful conversation that much more difficult. Her heart began to gallop along even faster.
The moment he had heard her approaching, he had known it was her – somehow, it could not have been anyone else. However, no matter how many times, or in how many circumstances he saw her, she was always a vision that immediately caused him unease. He could not quite make heads or tails of what he was more nervous about: what she would say to him, or perhaps of what he do and say to her. He could never seem to make proper decisions when she was concerned. It was a frightening thought, which he fought down an exasperated smile, his own heart caught in his throat. It felt as if it weren't beating at all.
"Ah, it is you, Ma'am," he said, finding his breath. "I couldn't tell," he added with a playful smirk. Perhaps with some lightness to the conversation, she would not notice how apprehensive he was becoming – obviously this visit was not going to be about political matters.
She gave him a nervous smile, "The butler said you would be here."
"I come here for the rooks," he said as he looked up at the dark birds upon their perches, now thankful to have an excuse to look away from her. "They're sociable animals. A gathering like this is called a 'parliament'. Altogether more civilized than their human equivalent."
Lord M knew his rambling was apparent, but something about her being here, at Brocket Hall, standing before him, made this whole thing seem so much more intimate.
But, Victoria didn't seem to notice his nerves, too distracted by her own. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Lord M," she said with a high voice. "But I had to talk to you."
"Brocket Hall is honored, Ma'am."
"I have come here incognito, of course."
He had to smirk at that, "Of course…But your presence cannot be entirely disguised."
Victoria hesitated then, willing herself to get her next words out before they dried up, "Yesterday, I realized something."
He stepped up to her, close, "Yes, Ma'am?"
"I think perhaps now I'm speaking as a woman and not as a queen," she said shakily, "At the beginning… I thought that you were the father I never had."
At once, a shard of ice lodged itself into his chest. He knew it was absurd – he should want her to regard his as a father, but somehow just the thought of that dynamic between them left him in agony. But she went on to interrupt those feelings, only to make way for ones much worse.
"But now I feel, I know…that…you are the only companion I could ever desire."
His world seemed to crack around the edges. Everything that he dreaded was now fully realized; and, yet, the very desire that he hadn't dared put into words or thoughts before was also known. A humming, one that had steadily grown louder in his brain, reached a crescendo. He knew he had very little time left to recover, but he could not seem to dislodge the disbelieving heart from his throat. As fast as the bizarre mix of alarm and elation had come, the wave of agony came on strong. How endearing it was to have the heart of this girl, and yet how terrifying. But, it could not be between them – ever – and that is what he must make clear to her. He would have to break her heart now, and end up stomping upon his own in the process.
But, he struggled with the words even he did not want to hear, and instead slowly took her gloved hands in his own. Never before had he felt as miserable, yet humbled, as he did now with her large blue eyes taking in every detail of his face – excruciatingly trusting.
"Did you know that…that rooks mate for life?" he began with a pained smile. He tried to look at her in the eyes, but it was proving easier to look down at their joined hands instead. "Every year, they…they build their nests together…renew all those little civilities that make a marriage sparkle," he croaked, "I think we could learn…much from them…If I had just spent more time watching the rooks…my wife would have felt more attended to- "
"She should never have left you," Victoria interrupted. He turned his head to finally look at her, pleading with her silently to understand, but she went on, "I would never do such a thing."
At this, he studied her and saw, unsurprisingly, her sincerity. "No… I believe when you give your heart it will be without hesitation," he said, "But you cannot give it to me."
"I think you have it already," Victoria said earnestly, paining him further.
"No, you must keep it intact for someone else," he replied, only able to speak at her lips, "For I have no use for it, you see."
Liar, he thought, but willed himself on for the final lie, and the ending blow, by releasing her hands.
"Like a rook, I mate for life."
"I see…"
Lord M could feel the small, fake smile plastered onto his face, as if there were anything gentle or pleasant about what he had just done. But, he knew he could not manage anything else, lest he crack and take it all back. Just looking into her eyes to see her process his words was enough to make him burn.
"Then I am sorry to have disturbed you, Lord Melbourne," Victoria finished.
Steeling herself not to cry until she had turned away, she promptly left embarrassed and broken. As she quietly stepped away, she could feel his eyes on her, but she left with as much decorum as she could muster.
He knew she was crying as he watched her narrow form stride away. You're a Bastard, he thought. The temptation to call out to her, to run after her like some teenager was stronger than he had feared, but he kept himself still. Lord M looked up at the trees once more, looking at nothing.
He had to do what he just did – no matter his own feelings, and no matter hers.
He did not know when he had started to feel in such a way for her; perhaps it had come on slowly. Perhaps it was the many rides out they had shared, the strolls around the palace together, the countless visits, the daily letters, and the way she had not let him go when he had almost resigned his position. He had slowly grown fond of her, fonder than he should have, and now he was here in this mess along with her. The papers and his Tory opponents had all read the signs correctly it seemed, calling her "Mrs. Melbourne", but he had of course dismissed it as no more than talk. He had not been blind, however, to what was happening within his own heart; just too frightened and panicked to acknowledge it.
The nagging desire to open his greenhouses again had been a clue. As had the sleepless nights thinking of nothing but her. But, he had been sure it was one sided; him being much more her senior, he was quite assured that the young queen thought of him as nothing more than a fatherly mentor. It was incomprehensible to think that, moments ago, she had bravely come to him and poured out her heart at his feet - returned his affections. And to repay her, he had stomped on her heart in a panic. Try as he had to have been gentle, rejection of love was never a gentle business; especially when none of what he said had been true.
Lord M stayed out in the garden for an hour longer, turning over thoughts until his mind was raw. When the light had begun to fade, and the temperature had gone quite cold, he retreated back inside. As he made his way in, he half wished Victoria would still be there, obstinately remaining at his door, ready to reason with him again. But, no carriage was to be seen out on the lane, just cobblestones speckled with moss. They looked as gloomy as he felt under the greying light. No, she was not here any longer, but thoughts of her would not be leaving him any time soon.