The Duchess of Kent
I was unsure. Sir John said it was the only way. But he had said that before and Drina had proved him wrong many times. I shouldn't feel pride at that, I know. She's twenty-one now, but still a child in need of our guidance.
Yet, she's my child and I cannot say that seeing her, young and impulsive as she is, embraced by her people at her grand coronation did not tease a smile from my lips. Of course, she has made so many mistakes since then but…my feelings are conflicted. And Sir John says this is the only way.
"It's time for a regency," Sir John insisted, from behind the desk he had long ago claimed as his own, in my set of rooms in the north wing, piled high with letters to Drina's ministers and politicians, already sealed and ready to be sent out.
"A co-regency," the Duke of Cumberland grumbled brusquely, from where he stood by the nearby window, looking out on the northern grounds with an ever critical eye. There were grey clouds rolling in from the north, promising a downpour in the next few hours.
I was reminded again of that day that Drina wandered aimlessly in a rainstorm, fretting and weeping over her prime minister's abrupt departure like a part of her soul had been torn away. I tried to comfort her, as best I could, suppressing all those words on my tongue that would have said "but I warned you, Drina" and "you cannot give your heart so easily, Drina." There was a moment when I thought she finally understood. I thought she finally saw, in her girlish grief, the obvious danger and painful consequence of allowing that man first position in her affections.
Bitte, Drina.
She embraced me and for a moment, deluded by a mother's hope, I thought we finally understood each other. But too soon, Lord Melbourne returned and Drina was only further swept under his influence.
"But, of course," Sir John replied immediately, nodding to the Duke. "I misstated the term, my apologies. A shared regency between yourself and the Duchess is the best and most prudent way forward. The monarchy has suffered a significant blow and we must inspire confidence if we are to save it."
"The people are ready for a change," Cumberland agreed, in his morose, blunt manner. "They've had enough. Her youthful exuberance may have charmed them in the beginning but each new scandal shows her inexperience and her failure to handle the vast responsibilities of the Crown. Her mind, too—there's a feebleness there that cannot be denied."
"Not feebleness, sir," I countered, my curls shaking with the sharp movement of my head.
"Influence, then?" he tried. "Melbourne has been whispering in her ear for years. Her thoughts are not her own."
With regret, I nodded my assent. I would not let them blame Drina for the actions of her mentor. She was a child, she needed a guiding hand. And she had chosen the wrong one but…she was my daughter. It was not her mind that was soft, only her heart.
Oh, Drina. Meine tochter…
"Yet, in influencing her so, Melbourne has created a puppet. Her thoughts are her own. No, Duchess, I don't mean that she is to blame for this madness that has infected her mind…but we are left with the stark fact that Victoria's thoughts and actions have been molded into something unsteady and built on corrupted sand. Even when she acts without Melbourne, she now emulates his ideas and his philosophies, without knowing it," Sir John mused. "There's a feebleness in that."
I was still so unsure. But Sir John knows more about politics than I do and he's never steered me wrong before. I was tempted to return to Coburg again, as I had at the beginning, when Drina so cruelly severed our prior intimacy, exiling me to the north wing of her new palace with such little regard for her mother's feelings.
The unfairness of her actions, after all I'd done, after all Sir John had done, to make sure she was respectable and prepared for her duties and obligations as the Queen of the greatest empire of the world—the sour taste in my mouth lingered. Every once in a while, Gott vergib mir, I was tempted to hate her. My own child.
But I recalled, as Sir John had kindly said, this was not my dear Drina's fault.
This was Lord Melbourne's doing. All of it. Horrible man. He had stolen my Drina from me and now? Oh, we had no choice. Sir John was right, as always.
I nodded my consent, finally, begrudgingly. Sir John gathered up his missives, sworn statements from me, my ladies-in-waiting and a few others in the household detailing Drina's descent into insanity, which if not true now, would certainly become true in the near future.
We would send them out today. Sir John's friends in the house, my dear Flora's brother among them, would bring forth a motion for co-regency by the end of the week.
