He watched her fall in love with him, keeping his distance, keeping his face stoic and steady in her presence. One day, he looked out the window and saw her riding out alone with Albert, and he thought he would be sick on the floor. Then she announced she would marry the German boy, and Melbourne's heart ached like it hadn't done in decades.
It wouldn't have hurt so very badly to watch her descend into the depths of true love if he hasn't loved her so deeply himself. But here they all were.
She wore white Honiton lace. She wore delicate satin slippers. She had orange blossoms in her hair. She had a sapphire brooch that her beloved Albert had given her. And when she came walking down the aisle, Melbourne had felt his chest clutch. She was so beautiful, he'd thought. She was so lovely, but she was marrying someone else. She belonged not only to England now, but to Prince Albert. She was his. She would have no more need of her Lord M after the wedding.
Later that night, he'd gently kissed her cheek, and she'd told him that she would always remember the things that had passed between them. The riding out. The conversations in a warm drawing-room whilst rain pattered outside. The meetings between Queen and Prime Minister. The times she'd shown off her artwork to him with the pride of a child.
She'd show her artwork to Albert now.
Victoria and Albert went to Windsor for their honeymoon, and whilst they were gone, all Melbourne could think of was that German boy putting his hands on the Queen. He'd do worse than put his hands on her. It hurt, deeply, profoundly, to contemplate the physical relationship between Victoria and Albert. Melbourne knew he ought not think about it at all. What Her Majesty did with Prince Albert was none of his business. It was not his place to think of that.
When Caroline had been with Byron, Melbourne had found himself imagining all the things the other man was doing to his wife. Now he found himself in the same predicament with the Queen. But the Queen was not his wife. She wasn't even his…
She was his sovereign. She was his monarch. That was all. He was her Prime Minister. Nothing more.
One night, not long after Victoria's wedding, Lord Melbourne lay in his bed at Dover House and stared at the ceiling, wondering what it would have felt like to kiss her lips instead of kissing her cheek. He wondered what it would have felt like to put his hand to the small of her back, to cup her jaw in his hand, and to lower his mouth to hers.
Then he realised he was a complete fool for her, and he realised there was no time or space to be a fool. He had a job to do, and so did she. And she had a husband.
She had a husband.
He was in love with her. He knew that now. He'd been in love for quite some time. But she had a husband now. So Melbourne shut his eyes and inhaled deeply, wishing her happiness.
"Albert! Look at the drawing I've done. What do you think?"
Victoria rose from the divan upon which she'd been sitting with an easel and sketch paper. Albert had come into the drawing room, and he smiled a little at her.
"More drawings," he said tightly. "You do like to draw."
"I drew you!" Victoria exclaimed. "I've done it from memory."
She thrust her drawing at Albert, who took the sketch and sighed. His dark brows furrowed, and he told Victoria,
"My eyes are a bit too far apart. And my nose… it isn't quite…"
"I did my best," Victoria scoffed. "It was from memory."
"Yes, yes. Of course, it's quite good," Albert assured her, but he was still frowning deeply. "You're a gifted artist, Victoria."
"You're mocking me!" Victoria raised her eyebrows, and Albert pursed his lips.
"I would never mock you. I critiqued your art when I ought not to have done so. I do apologise. Forgive me, I beg you."
"All is forgotten," Victoria grumbled. She took the drawing back and tore it up. "It was not a good likeness, anyhow."
"Victoria…" Albert huffed. He appeared to pivot then, changing his tack to put her in a better mood. "What would you like to do today?"
"There is a cold rain," Victoria noted. "We shan't be able to ride out."
"No, I suppose not," Albert said. He cleared his throat and asked, "Have you asked for anything specific for dinner tonight? Perhaps that would make you happy."
"I've already been shown the menu for tonight," Victoria said. "Poached eggs, chicken soup, fried sole, roast beef with asparagus, vol-au-vents with grilled eggs and sauce, and apricot pudding."
"Victoria." Albert touched his fingertips to his forehead and whispered, "You mustn't keep eating like this."
Her eyes went wide. "You're the one who just told me to arrange for my favourite foods for dinner!"
"Yes, but be reasonable, Victoria," Albert said sharply. "A soup, a fish, a meat, and a dessert. Is that not sufficient to nourish the body?"
"Eating is an enjoyable experience," Victoria said, cocking up a brow, "and I shall enjoy myself when I partake in food. The more of it there is, the merrier I feel at the dinner table."
"Then you shall become quite fat," Albert said plainly. Victoria put her hands on her waist and heaved out an angry breath.
"You sound just like Uncle Leopold," she complained. "He used to tell me that I ate too much and too quickly."
"Perhaps Uncle Leopold was simply looking out for your best interests," Albert suggested, and Victoria narrowed her eyes at him.
"You wish for a lithe, svelte wife. And yet I am expected to bear children, a feat which almost always enlarges a woman."
"No need to further enlarge oneself with exorbitant eating habits, though, hm?" Albert seemed quite serious, and Victoria choked out a garbled noise of disbelief. She brushed by him, and he called from after her,
"Forgive me, Victoria; I -"
"Forgive me, Victoria," she repeated, whirling around and glaring at him. "You've asked that of me twice today."
Albert licked his lips and said cautiously, "I am still learning to be a husband."
"Well, I suggest you utilise today's disagreements as an opportunity for study," Victoria said sharply. "I shall see you at dinner."
She stamped out of the room rather ungracefully, leaving Albert behind.
"Your Majesty!"
Melbourne immediately bowed as Queen Victoria came into the small parlour where he'd been waiting for her. He'd come to Buckingham Palace to discuss China, but he could see at once that her mind was not set for politics.
"Lord M." Victoria pinched her lips and strode right up to him. He raised his eyes and searched hers, his stomach aching. Then she snapped at him,
"Am I fat?"
Now Melbourne's eyes went wide and round, and he shook his head wildly.
"Wherever would you get such an idea as that, Ma'am?"
"From my husband." She folded her hands before her stomach - her flat stomach - and she gnawed hard on her lip in a somewhat uncharacteristic display of stress. Her eyes welled then, and she wondered aloud, "Do I eat too much?"
"You are the queen," Melbourne reminded her gently, "and if you wish for six-course dinners every night, then you must -"
"You have not answered my question, Lord M." Victoria knitted her fingers together anxiously. "Do I eat too much?"
"I do think," Melbourne said quite carefully, "that if you were to continue with the sort of extravagant dinners that are regular occurrences here at the palace, you might find yourself growing a bit larger than you'd like. It might do, perhaps, to cut a course here or there. Or to only partake in a few bites of each. Then you might find yourself maintaining a size that pleases you. But it is your opinion on this that matters. Not mine, and, with all due respect, not His Royal Highness', either."
"Albert says Uncle Leopold was right when he told me I stuffed myself. Leopold told me that when I was a child, and Albert says Uncle Leopold was right."
"Your Majesty," Melbourne pronounced, "the very last thing I wish to do is to come between a husband and a wife on the matter of a disagreement. Least of all when one party is my sovereign. Though, of course, you know I'll always take your side."
She laughed a little then, and he tried to smirk at her. But his eyes seared as he listened to her laughter, and his chest thudded as he took in the sight of her. She had on a beautiful lilac-coloured gown of fine silk. Her hair was neatly tied into pendant braids. She had on an amethyst and diamond necklace, and her face was like porcelain. She was achingly beautiful, he thought.
"No, Ma'am," he said softly. "You are not fat."
"I shall have them take the vol-au-vents off the menu for tonight," Victoria said. Then she perked up a little and asked, "You'll join us, won't you? For dinner?"
"You and…" Melbourne let his voice die. You and Albert? And me? He shook his head a little and said, "I think you must treasure this time with your new husband and dine alone with him."
"Oh, but we aren't dining alone tonight. The honeymoon has passed," Victoria said. "My ladies will be there, and so will my mother, so it's not… you would not be out of place. Your presence at dinner is deeply desired, Lord M."
He blinked. "If you want me there, Ma'am, then I shall be there."
She grinned and reached for his hand. "Thank you."
She ate sparingly, Melbourne noticed. She enjoyed eating. He knew that of her. He knew that she liked the taste of food, the feel of it in her mouth. She'd told him as much one time when they'd been riding out. But tonight she had two bites of poached egg before she just sat there with her fork in her hand. She only had a little bit of fish; her soup went mostly uneaten. Melbourne found himself frowning at the way she was depriving herself; ought she not make herself happy? Then he saw Albert lean over and whisper something to her, and when Victoria subsequently set down her knife and fork, Melbourne felt his cheeks go hot. Albert was driving Victoria like a carriage, he thought, and he didn't care for it. Not one bit.
"How are you doing these days, William?" asked Emma Portman from Melbourne's left. He turned his face to her and gave her a smile that he knew did not reach his eyes. He murmured,
"I'm so glad she's found happiness."
"That is a very peculiar response," Emma noted, spooning dessert into her mouth. "Are you happy tonight, William?"
"You pry, Emma," Melbourne said testily. "You know I do not like it when you pry."
"Perhaps if you did not keep yourself so very closed off from your friends," Emma retorted. She sighed deeply and glanced towards the queen. "She seems unhappy these last few days. Has something happened?"
"How would I know?" Melbourne demanded gruffly. "I am not her friend, not now that she is a married woman."
"You and I are friends," Emma pointed out, setting down her spoon, "and I am married, and you have never so much as laid a finger upon me, William. So, do tell me how she has managed to so swiftly abandon the life preserver to whom she clung for so long. I do not think it possible. In fact, I presume you know exactly what is troubling our queen."
"She worries," Melbourne said with caution, "that she overindulges at meals. She does not wish to become… she does not wish for her appearance to morph in a manner that displeases her."
"What a very diplomatic way of saying that she thinks she's going to get fat," Emma laughed. Melbourne scowled.
"I find no humour in the insecurity of a young woman, much less the insecurity of a newly-married monarch."
"You're quite right, of course." Emma nodded. "She is lucky to have you during this time of… insecurity."
"In many other ways, however, she is quite secure," Melbourne said. "I know she loves her Prince deeply. I am happy for her, that she has managed a marriage of love."
"Then you are a good man, William Lamb," Emma said, and she turned to talk to her husband.
"Enter." Victoria sat up in her bed and watched as the door to the room opened. In walked Albert, wearing a fine dressing gown over his nightshirt. He shut the door and said,
"I have come to lie with you, my dear wife."
"Well, when you put it that way," Victoria scoffed. She smiled crookedly and nodded. Albert climbed up onto the bed and knelt as he shucked his dressing gown. He peeled his nightshirt off over his head, and Victoria's stomach suddenly churned.
She had thoroughly enjoyed their wedding night and the nights on their honeymoon. But now, with Albert naked before her, she found herself…
Repulsed.
She shut her eyes and tried to figure the source of her revulsion. Had it been their arguments about her drawing, about eating? Yes, she thought. That was part of it. And then there was the way that Albert tapped his lips together after sipping wine. There was the way that Albert climbed so awkwardly into his saddle when they rode out. There was his obsession with mechanical objects and the way he spoke rather condescendingly to Victoria about things she'd never had the opportunity to study.
He irked her, she thought. She opened her eyes and stared at him, and his face was troubled.
"What is wrong?" he asked gently. He reached for her face, and when his hand touched her cheek, Victoria shook her head.
"Nothing is wrong. Let me… erm…" She reached down under the blankets and nudged up her nightgown. She removed it and then muttered, "It's going to be a colossal mess. My monthly bleeding started this morning, you know, and -"
"Wait." Albert held up a hand, and Victoria froze with her nightgown halfway off. Albert shook his head. "You can't make a child when you're bleeding, Victoria."
"Oh." She felt her cheeks go hot. "I wouldn't know."
"No. You wouldn't. They hardly taught you anything. Poor Victoria." Albert shook his head, and Victoria felt shame wash over her. She was ignorant, she thought, and Albert liked to point that out. She pulled her nightgown back on and cleared her throat.
"You've informed me that a woman might bring her husband pleasure during 'inopportune times.' Is this one of the times you were referencing?"
"Yes, of course, but you needn't touch me," Albert insisted. "It is a waste, I think. I shall be with you again once you are no longer indisposed. And, I should tell you, Victoria, that your bleeding means we did not conceive a child on our honeymoon."
"Oh. Well. There's loads of time," Victoria said dismissively, waving a hand. Albert nodded.
"Of course, my darling queen. Lots of time. I shall leave you to sleep in peace."
"I think I'll read," Victoria said, suddenly very aware of and self conscious of her lack of knowledge. "I was reading Shakespeare this morning; perhaps I'll read something else tonight."
"Shakespeare." Albert curled up half his mouth. "You do enjoy your Shakespeare."
"Yes, I do," Victoria said a bit defensively. "And my opera. I quite like my little follies."
"I am glad you have your Shakespeare, and your opera, and your drawing," said Albert. "I am glad you have those little things to make you happy."
Happy. Victoria's eyes burned as she thought to herself that this marriage had been intended to make both parties happy. But she didn't feel very happy, and she wasn't sure quite why. Little things about Albert annoyed her, but that ought not be enough to strike down her happiness.
Then a face came into her mind, along with the whispered word - happy. It was Lord M. He made her happy, she thought. Or, at least, he'd made her happy when she'd spent all of her time in his presence. They'd been inseparable, the two of them, and she had been happy. Her Lord M had made her happy.
Now she looked to where Albert was pulling on his nightshirt and sliding his dressing gown over his arms, and she thought that perhaps she'd expected too much of him. He was a prince, and she'd been pressured to marry him, and she'd convinced herself that her life with him would be as happy as her time with Lord M had been.
But that was impossible, Victoria thought as Albert climbed off of her bed. No one could make her as happy as Lord M had done. No one, including Albert, ever would.
Author's Note: Your readership and reviews are greatly appreciated.