Within the first month of the marriage between Queen Victoria and Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, the palace noticed a change in the young Queen. She noticed it herself too but, unlike the rest of the palace and perhaps the rest of the country, she could not discern the cause of her ailment.
She thought that perhaps it was stress, for she had suffered for far too long, still meeting with her Prime Minister once a fortnight when they could both spare themselves: but it didn't feel much like sparing, more persecution. He would arrive in his carriage from Brocket Hall and then he would be announced to her like any other visitor. Then, she would have to excuse herself, making everyone believe that she was upset to be sacrificing the company of her husband for the company of her Prime Minister. Surely the greatest company a woman can benefit from is that of her husband, Victoria reminded herself, prising Dash from her lap and making her way to the drawing room. She did not believe her own mind.
Seeing him waiting for her in the drawing room, weeks since she had last seen him, she could think of no greater company in all the wide world. He seemed pleased to see her. His eyes filled with light. It made her feel younger, and more beautiful, though it brought with it the most acute pain.
For those weeks when they were apart, Melbourne feared he would forget her face and so, when they were reunited, he would search her face and try to burn it into his memory, so he could hold it there.
Melbourne felt at ease when Victoria entered the room. She looked fine, but different. She no longer looked like the young girl of eighteen, learning of the ways of sovereignty. She no longer had the same naïve sparkle in her cool blue eyes. She was less full in the face, and the roses planted in her cheeks had lost their petals and wilted into a cold grey that seeped into her lips and her neck and her eyes. He was gripped with a strange desperation for her to go back to what she once was. He knew that she was a wife now, and she looked like one. A woman belonging to another, he thought, before he reminded himself of her promise: I will always be yours. He tried to find the adoration that flowed from her letter in her eyes now, but he could not. The Victoria he knew was slipping through his grasp; though he now felt that he had never truly grasped her in the beginning. He reminded himself that it was always going to be that way, and took the thought and held it at the forefront of his mind.
He also noticed something else in the Queen, in her stance or her gait, that he found familiar: though, not from Victoria herself. It made him think of Caro.
They had become adept at pretending the letter that Victoria had sent to him had never existed. Neither mentioned it, nor let the existence of it alter their natural behaviours, but let it sit in the back of their minds, smouldering away in the fire, left to dust. And, with the ash blackening the pit of his stomach, Melbourne kissed the Queen's hand, careful not to linger for a second too long. In the care he took, he pulled away far too soon.
"How is Brocket Hall, Lord Melbourne?" she asked, moving to the desk where a stack of papers lay for her to sign, approve, disapprove, disregard, regard, or simply chuckle at. She sat, and invited Lord Melbourne to sit with her as he replied,
"As beautiful as in my childhood, Ma'am," he recalled fondly in an ease of tone that struck Victoria as being almost wistful. He had never spoken of his childhood before. In fact, it was a subject that he steered clear away from, like all subjects of his past. He had occasionally indulged Victoria in a tale of his late wife or son, but these were understandably brief and agonisingly clipped. And, now, in the golden-green of his eyes, in the little morning light dissipating through the windows, she could see a million stories untold. She wished nothing more than to hear them.
"Your childhoods were spent at Brocket Hall?" Victoria pressed, gently, not to cause him distress which she knew would prompt a quick 'but no more about me' and then a swift change of the subject. He had avoided topics she wished to hear about many times through that method. His eyes did not glaze over, his mouth his not clamp shut, he remained open and dream-like, and took a long breath before speaking again.
"It was built for my grandfather who lived there, and my late father after him. I have many memories of summers there in my youth. It really was a beautiful place. It still is. It catches the light. Scatters it."
Victoria's breath quickened and, unconsciously, she leant in.
"My mother took great pride in the house, she adored it. As did the Prince Regent, when he could spare the time to grace us with his presence."
"Uncle George?" Victoria cried, a passion seizing her. She did not know Lord Melbourne to have been so well acquainted with her uncle: to have had him visiting his residence, when Melbourne was only a child? Why had he not told her before?
"Precisely," he replied, "I'm afraid your uncle wasn't the most welcome dinner guest as far as I was concerned. I am sure you can recall the sound of his chewing, and the pitch his voice reached after a few too many glasses of port!" Victoria laughed a little giddily – a result of not truly laughing in a long time. Melbourne laughed with her. Their humours melded in the air, light as a feather, and suddenly the room seemed like one they used to share. A meeting of two equal minds, harmoniously. It was a room they both missed, dearly.
"I remember it well! I always thought he sounded like a boar!" Victoria giggled. Melbourne should not have laughed at a joke so immature, and at a monarch's expense, but the observation was surprisingly accurate for a girl who must have been so young – so he chuckled. "It would be enough to put me off my dinner!"
"I would argue with you, your Majesty, but I can remember my own food being left on the plate," he said. Victoria chortled at the thought of a young Lord Melbourne leaving food on his plate. It seemed to childish, so unlike him, but she knew of course that he was a child too once. What an amusing thought it was!
"I hope I will never eat quite so much as him, or drink quite so much!" Victoria stated, straightening up and choking back more giggles that threatened to burst from her. Melbourne was more composed with his laughter, but he thought there must have been something in the air, for he was becoming quite uncontrollable upon a subject which his sense understood to be mildly amusing at best.
"I am sure, Ma'am, that you are proving to be a far more responsible monarch than those before you!"
"I certainly hope so. However, I cannot say I had the wisest start! I cannot believe how I acted at my Coronation Ball!" Her voice fluttered with her laughter. It was the most beautiful noise to Melbourne's ears. "Do you remember, Lord M?" Melbourne's face flushed. He could remember every moment. With hardly enough breath in his lungs to put voice to his words, he uttered,
"I remember."
Melbourne's eyes caught hers and she felt her body, heavy, suddenly, falling towards his as if put to sleep. She was waking dreaming, and lost in those eyes which had her captive. She could feel her desires come creeping up on her. She had felt this way before, when she was drunk at the ball, and that same feeling clasped her now, doping her, and making her stomach twist. She swallowed the dryness down her throat and, dismissing the folly of her heart and the blushing of her cheeks, she straightened herself up again. She was a married woman, now.
Melbourne's pulse took longer to return to normal. His desires creeped more slowly than hers.
Knowing that the subject must be changed, Victoria giggled again – uncomfortably – and asked,
"Why did the Prince Regent attend dinners at Brocket Hall?"
Suddenly, as if a fever had been brought upon him by an omnipotent force, his eyes glazed over and his mouth clamped shut and Victoria's lull turned to dread as she thought she was losing him. His face clouded over with thought. Feeling diminished. She wanted to reach out a hand and clasp him by the shoulder, tighten her grip until it brought him pain, beg him not to change the subject, beg him to tell her more: about his childhood, his ambitions, the dinners with her uncle, what he thought of him, what his mother was like, what his father was like, how Brocket Hall has changed, how he has changed. But, of course, such actions would be improper. Not the actions of a Queen to her Prime Minister, she reminded herself.
Her heart wept as she could feel the moment passing away: that small window they shared, glimpsing into a past lost that once held many more moments like that one; they would have laughed just the same, and Victoria felt again what it was like to be a young, unmarried Queen, with only her Prime Minister to guide her, her dearest friend at her side, those eyes on her.
But, just as she was despairing, he opened his mouth and began to speak, hesitantly, "My mother had a very… particular… relationship with King George." He did not know why he chose to spoke, when he knew quietness would be easier for him.
"What kind of relationship?" Victoria asked, desperate to continue the conversation. So rapid was her speech that it was almost inaudible, and so hushed.
Melbourne had always wished and, as far as he knew, had well-practised an open and honest conference with the Queen. He did not lie to her, or obscure the truth and tried to always be succinct and clear with her. He believed that men who waffle with women are the kind of men who are so deeply insecure of their own masculinity that they fear a woman's knowledge will rid them of it. He knew Victoria to be quick, and fiercely intelligent, and wished to treat her as such. He had occasionally informed her on subjects of a sexual nature, when necessary, where many of the Queen's party would shy away. He did not believe that, simply because she was a Queen, she had no need to know of such things. In fact, he believed that – as a Queen – it is necessary for her to understand the world she governs. The world, as Melbourne understood it, was full of ambition, death, and sex. Three things he knew the Queen needed to learn of. His sense told him that this was simply one of those lessons he hoped to enrich her with. But there was something about the closeness of this matter to himself that made his heart obstinate and his skin cold.
He could remember lazy summer days at Eton, gasping in the heat of a classroom and the clamouring bodies of boys all pressing on him, depriving him of air, and having the rumour of his brother, George, being the illegitimate son of George IV making fire in his mind, catching on the drums of his ears and making him nauseated. It made him remember at the times he'd seen his mother fawn over the Prince Regent, and his touching of her. It summoned questions of his own legitimacy. It made him feel wretched. It made him angry.
And, now, seeing his sweet Victoria – wide-eyed and attentive, with all the wondrous interest of a young girl in her studies – he felt obliged to unfurl a story that had haunted him for many years. He'd bundled it up and left it to the cobwebs. He took a breath before dusting it off in the clearing of his throat, and speaking to her in a low voice,
"I believe, and there is evidence to support my belief, that my mother was George IV's mistress."
He was matter-of-fact when he unfolded the demon to her that had followed him since childhood. Victoria turned red, and leant back quickly, exclaiming in a noise that could not be interpreted as a word at all, or at least not a word in the dictionary. She could not look at Lord Melbourne, but bore her gaze into her skirt. She could feel the flesh in her cheeks burning. Her throat clenched. This was not right. Not at all. She wished she hadn't prodded so inelegantly. She wished she hadn't been so damned curious. She recognised the hurt in his tone.
A creeping feeling of being responsible ran into her blood. She knew, of course, that she was not at all responsible for this eventuality of the meeting of Lord Melbourne's mother and her uncle but the fact that it was her uncle that had caused Melbourne distress wounded her. She felt compelled to apologise to him for it, but understood that he would only see that as foolish. Lord Melbourne knew that Victoria was nothing like her uncle; he did not need her to remind him. He could see it in her face. Feel it inside him.
"Do… all men of status have mistresses?" Victoria asked. It was unprecedented, and the question fell heavy into the conversation, and weighed down the air on their shoulders. Victoria had asked it in pure innocence, curiosity, and Melbourne understood that so, after swallowing his pride, he took the time to try to explain to her.
"Not all men, Ma'am," he coughed. Victoria was not satisfied with the answer. She felt he was not being concise, or forward, or matter-of-fact, or open, or honest with her. It could have made her angry but she understood that she must not feel angry with her Prime Minister, as these short meetings once or twice a month were their only contact. She was, however, firm with him. Melbourne recognised when she was being firm: her face hardened, her blue eyes turned steely, her voice became clipped like a monarch rather than soft like a friend. It made his heart flutter.
"But most men?"
Melbourne sighed,
"You understand, Ma'am, that men have certain… needs that often cannot be ignored. Many very busy men find they must relieve their stress through recreation. Some men turn to tobacco, some to alcohol, some to gambling," he said to her, feeling the intensity of his close proximity to her constricting around his ribcage. He struggled not to make his breathing sound laboured. Soft and slow. In and out. "Many men of wealth or status who are in a position to acquire a mistress find the prospect very inviting."
Nodding, slowly, to show her understanding, but face hard as slate, she asked,
"Does Albert have a mistress?"
Melbourne spluttered. Victoria remained still and serious. The gravity of her voice disturbed him. He hoped she was joking. She was not.
"I cannot say it is information I am privy too, Ma'am. If it is worrying your Majesty, I suggest you raise the subject with him."
"But do you think he does?" Victoria was insistent.
"I'm afraid I cannot say, Ma'am."
"Please, Lord Melbourne, be frank with me."
Afraid of the consequence of his restraint, he swallowed his pride and replied,
"It would not surprise me if he did, your Majesty. As I said, many men do."
The coagulate air thickened still between them and Melbourne was sure that if he decided to reach out a hand to touch the Queen, it would move slowly as if fighting through tar. The breath, coming fast through each of their mouths, made the air hotter. Perhaps drugged by the heaviness and thickness of the air, or inspired by some deep longing inside her, the Queen spoke,
"Do you have a mistress?"
Melbourne almost choked on air. Victoria's voice was hushed into a whisper that pierced Melbourne, making him shiver. He looked to her, right in the eye, and held that gaze for a length of time he could not discern, unable to tear it away. The look on his eye was peculiar, and Victoria had never seen an expression like it before. Confused and afraid, but passionate, blisteringly intense. His mouth did not move but his eyes told her what she needed to know. She felt bile rising in her throat and her head begin to spin. She took a long breath through her nose and closed her eyes, trying to stop the world from reeling. She felt sick. Her stomach clenched and a pain scraped at her.
"In the past, Ma'am, I have."
Victoria rose suddenly to her feet and, garbling an apology, she fled the room, and threw up in a vase on the way from the drawing room to Lehzen.
Melbourne was standing, looking at the door where the Queen had flown from, which was now shut. He had heard her scuffling down the hall, but could not hear it any longer. His heart was kicking up a marching beat that his feet were insensitive to. He had considered running after her, but knew it was improper, so remained still, staring at the door, heart pounding and cheeks still burning. Had it been so distressing for her, to hear of his private affairs? He did not know whether he should feel offended at her visceral reaction. Or, perhaps.
A few moments later, Lehzen entered the room,
"I am sorry, Lord Melbourne, but the Queen has fallen ill."
Melbourne nodded. It was not like the Queen to have such a delicate constitution. It was uncharacteristic. Surely his words had not brought it on. She had heard of similar things before, and never fallen ill as a result of it. It was almost as if she was-
"I suggest you-"
"Has the Queen been ill for a while, Baroness?" Melbourne asked. Lehzen seemed indignant at the Prime Minister's questioning into the private matters of the palace, but she answered in a voice as hard as stone, and as cold.
"She has suffered certain spells recently. But nothing I cannot handle, I assure you."
"When you say recently?"
"The past week."
After a long-suffering sigh that met Melbourne's years more than any other aspect of him, there was a long pause as he selected his words with care. He was careful not to be too forward, knowing that – particularly now with the Prince in residence – he was a guest in this palace, not a firm friend. The Baroness was growing impatient, and Lord Melbourne knew that she was not particularly fond of him at the best of times. He gathered his words in tentative tone, and spoke them with care,
"I trust that the Queen and the Prince consummated their marriage, Baroness?"
Lehzen practically gasped at the question, almost staggering backwards into a bust sculpture, and knocking it clear of the podium and on to the ground to smash into a million shards. She huffed, and pushed her skirt down as she mumbled,
"I do not think such matters are of anyone else's interest but the Queen and her husband, Lord Melbourne! I think it would be best if you-"
"If the Queen is pregnant, Baroness Lehzen, it is in the interest of the Prime Minister!" he cried, the loss of patient causing him to advance on the Baroness. It was not in his character to speak so forcefully, or to lose his patience so, or to advance so swiftly on a lady. The force of his words staggered Lehzen almost as much as the question he had previously asked, and the realisation that the pregnancy of the Queen was a possibility, and not just a possibility but an incoming threat. Surely not. Surely Victoria would have realised by now, and told her. She surely couldn't be keeping it from her. Baroness Lehzen felt a horrible coldness rising in her.
"Pregnant?" she whispered, as if Victoria could overhear it from her chamber where she had retired. Melbourne face did not waver for a second, nor his resolve falter.
"Has no one realised before now? I noticed something different about her from the moment she walked in!" Melbourne exclaimed, rubbing his forehead, brow knotted in a weave of creases. "I do not believe the Queen knows, but I suggest a doctor is called for." He spoke like a Prime Minister now, urbane, and full of the sense that is required to lead the government of the most powerful nation on the globe. It did not matter how his heart ached to think of the Queen and her husband's child. He knew he would never father a child of hers, and it was a foolish thing to have ever desired. All that mattered now was the safety of the Queen and her heir. The safety of his monarch. The monarch of Great Britain. Less the friend, more the sovereign. That was the duty of the Prime Minister and he was fulfilling it with potent resolve.
"Of course, Lord Melbourne," was Lehzen's reply. His Prime Ministerial manner had the desired effect: one that he often wished the Tories would give. Lehzen curtsied reluctantly and turned to leave the room. Melbourne was still stood. He noticed he was shaking, and clenched his fist, willing the shaking to stop. Dash pattered into the room a few moments later through the door that Lehzen had left open in her fluster, and the little dog approached Melbourne, and began to lick at his shoes – an impromptu shoe-shine. It forced a smile from him.
He did not know at first whether he should leave, but after a while in which he was unattended, he gathered his coat and slinked from the palace with not a single person noticing he had left. Save, of course, Victoria: who watched his carriage leave through the window of her chamber, feeling more sick than she had been before. She wished to call from the window. She did not.
It turned out that the Queen was pregnant. The first child to come of the marriage between Alexandrina Victoria and Albert of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha. The heir to the throne.
The news was met with wondrous joy by most. Her mother cried when she was told the news exclaiming that she was 'so proud of her little Drina!'. Uncle Leopold congratulated Albert with a swift pat on the back: job well done. Victoria's ladies feigned their excitement, but knew too well of the Queen's true desires, and so their congratulations were interluded with sad looks exchanged between them when no one else was looking. Emma Portman was too aware of the damage this would cause to the pair of them. Harriet Sutherland could feel it, too, in Emma's masked sighs and tired eyes.
They looked to the Queen, holding her stomach tightly, being fawned over and swooned over by many different faces, not a single one a friend to her, and they could see the tightness of her jaw, and the tears sitting behind her eyes. They could hear Melbourne's sighs from miles away.
Melbourne had wished that they had told the Queen whilst he was at the palace, but such an expectation was an unrealistic one. It was arrogant, too. He wished to be the first person to congratulate the Queen on the good news. As he read about it in the newspaper from the chill of Brocket Hall, he imagined how she must be glowing.
He knew that, in two weeks' time, the congratulation he would give would mean nothing to her – as she would have heard a hundred just like it before.
