Buckingham Palace, 1936
Victoria and Melbourne talk at the end of the third book. Melbourne tells her he thinks she should entertain the prospect of marrying Albert and is inclined to kiss her.
Her blue eyes looked stale, like all the life and giddiness that usually filled them had been sucked out, only leaving her shell - barely a queen - trying hard to compose herself and the shred of dignity that she had left. Victoria had made herself vulnerable, poured her feelings out in front of him like a fresh spring fountain, granting him access to the depths of her heart only for him to bluntly refuse her. He knew the hurt she must be feeling as he had felt the same many times before in his life but Melbourne clung onto the thought of sparing her from making a mistake, of saving the crown, and in the end rendering her happy. Thoughts of losing her and everything they had crept in, but Melbourne ignored them, soothing his conscious with words of reassurance as he usually did when he felt himself losing control over his emotion; not letting his guard down, hiding behind the hurtful reality that Victoria was facing. Her head was filled with images of what was to come, recalling his every word: ' I'll better be leaving now Ma'am! I wish you the best of luck! I am sure you will find joy in him as you do in so many things in life!' Hearing those words made her heart sting with a sensation she had seldom felt before. She lifted her chin only slightly, as much as she could muster, and looked him straight in the eyes. He had humiliated her, a queen, refused her, and left her hanging and still, he looked as handsome as ever; she couldn't deny that. She looked out over his right shoulder as the last rays of sunlight touched his face smoothing out all of the small wrinkles that age had blessed him with, making him look even more dashing - almost younger and full of life. The way he had looked at her often when they, on rare occasions, were caught alone doing their boxes or walking alongside the fields of lushes flowers lining the outer rims of the gardens of Buckingham Palace.
'I guess that would be for the best! ... and I do not think I should need luck!'
' I am sure you don't Ma'am! Every man to refuse you would be a fool'
Talking was something that came easy to her. Victoria was usually a woman of many words, but in that very moment every syllable cost her the most effort; she felt almost lost for words. There was so much she had to say to him still, so much to asked and inquire. The wealth of sensations left her utterly speechless, a feeling entirely new to the young Queen. Everything had always felt light and easy between her and Melbourne, she did not have to think about what to say and his presence had felt intuitive as though they had known each other all her life. But her heart couldn't muster up the courage to speak: to ask why he had refused her when she had given herself to him (which he had surely not done with other women, from what she had heard Melbourne had been rather open, allowing for female company whenever he pleased. But he never acted like that when he was with her). Maybe he didn't desire her as he had desired those women, she thought. Her petite height made her look rather plump on occasions, which her mother and Conroy did not fail to point out.
The weather was beautiful out and the flowers were bowing their heads towards the sunlight making them look tall and tidy, almost as beautiful as Lord M's orchids at Brocket Hall. She had taken after him and started spending her afternoon, on which Melbourne was busy, reading up on plants and instructing her gardeners on how to rearrange the vast beds that lined the west of the gardens. The day she returned from her first visit there, the day she had proposed to Melbourne, she was close to having the flowers removed again; now she was glad that she hadn't gone through with it. Today was an almost summery day, very unusual for London. On such an occasion, she would have taken great enjoyment in being outside, taken pleasure in reading a book on the garden porch, taking a stroll out before lunch, and going out to ride with her beloved Lord M; but not now. The beauty of it all made her even more melancholic, reminding her of how beautiful life could be and how stale the cage of her duty was: regency. Victoria had always taken pride in dedicating her life to the crown. She had felt very powerful on the day she was coronated, and when she answered her first boxes with Melbourne, treating her like she was on par with him. But in this very moment, she did not feel like she was ruling her country at all but rather like her subjects were ruling her. She did not follow her heart nor go by her innate conviction. She had to go by what Mamma wanted, what looked good on headlines, and what a few old and grumpy men thought was best. Drowning in self-pity, Victoria had totally forgotten Melbourne's presence, who was still standing in front of her stiff, stern-looking, trying not to meet her gaze. In the past, she had usually just turned around and left, ran away, hiding behind her responsibility as a regent or wallowing in thoughts of self-compassion. But now, she decided she wouldn't do that. She was, after all, the queen. She could not order Melbourne to love her, and if he decided that he would rather preoccupy himself with thoughts of righteousness and virtue, he may very well do so. As Victoria saw decades of her life running by in front of her inner-eyes: years spent in misery with her mother and Conroy tormenting her, ordering her around like a naughty schoolgirl, she got the shivers. Even thinking about it stung, as it had before, but she knew that she could not let her happiness depend entirely upon another person, even if that person was her beloved Lord M. Not only for herself but also for her country for she had not been as attentive with her work lately, letting herself slide when it came to doing boxes, taking rides outside the castle walls, and presenting herself to her subjects in order to spend more time engaging in lively conversation with her Lord M. No, she was rather embarrassed about how she had let herself behave of late, almost reminding her of how her own Mother acted around Conroy. Victoria let out an audible scuff as she turned to face the Prime Minister.
'Lord Melbourne' Her voice sounded very in check and monotonous as that of a monarch speaking to one of her subjects she knew little and cared for even less. He could not remember when she had last called him by his full name, maybe on their first meeting, if ever. Hearing her address him in so distanced a manner hurt, even worse than he had anticipated. He did not protest or defend his reasons - stayed quiet in his usual fashion - which he felt she must understand surely, but as it seemed she did not.
'Ma'am?'
' I have offered myself to you twice, as I feel no woman that has a sense of dignity, certainly not a queen, should, but you have refused me. For my own wellbeing, understand that I must put my crown and subjects first and that entails being able to find joy in my duties as a monarch and the people at my court. If you refuse to be a part of that, I will have to find support elsewhere. I hope you will find someone to assist who will appreciate what you have to offer more than I have. Goodbye Lord M.' '... and will you let Sir Thomas know I will be expecting him tomorrow to discuss further proceedings concerning the new government' He knew her to have a strong mind but he did not expect her to be so secure in her standing.
' Why do you never call me Victoria?'
He watched her hover for a moment, anticipating him to speak, explain himself, even protest but he couldn't find the strength in him to do so as he was sure that them parting was for the best.