Lord Melbourne watched as the casket of Prince Albert was processed up the centre aisle of St George's Chapel at Windsor. He glanced about to see all the most high-ranking politicians and aristocracy lining the chapel, and he sighed. The organ was playing a mournful tune as the procession made its way forward, and everyone stood in silence. In accordance with wishes Albert had made manifest around the time of his wedding, his funeral was as plain and private as possible for the husband of the monarch. There would be no lying in state. His remains would stay here at Windsor.
From early this morning, the great bell of Windsor Castle had chimed out periodically, a clang ringing out that sent shivers down the spines of those who heard it. Death, it chimed, and then a while later, death again. Parish churches at Clewer and St John's held services in honour of the fallen prince early in the morning.
The procession was devoid of the grand pomposity that might have been expected for the husband of the monarch. The guests who had been invited to come and mourn arrived by train from Paddington, where carriages brought them to Windsor Castle. The town around the Castle had completely shut down for the funeral. Every shop had shut and every street was deserted. Only inside this Chapel Royal was there the lonely sound of the organ, and nothing more. On top of it all, it was raining.
Throughout the funeral, Melbourne kept his eyes on Victoria. She was regal in her mourning, despite her small size. She wore black silk and a black veil, and she stood as though she were a foot taller than she really was. Victoria was every inch a queen today.
The country, Melbourne found out later, mourned only as sincerely as it could given that it had barely known the new prince. Albert had been German, and his marriage to Victoria had been brief. It was only right and appropriate to show mourning, but England bore no real sentiment towards Albert of Saxe-Coburg. His death meant only one thing - no heir for the Queen. And, so, Melbourne thought perhaps Victoria had been right that there would be terrible pressure for her to move on quickly. Melbourne kept his distance from Victoria since the funeral. It was inappropriate, he'd thought, to be too near to her during this time of grief.
He had stayed at Windsor after the funeral, for that was where Victoria wanted him. He had his own quarters in the castle, and he stayed in them except for dinner, when he joined the sombre party who ate in quiet contemplation.
On the Wednesday after Albert was buried, Melbourne sat in an armchair in his drawing room, reading a book about tropical flowers. He studied the botanist's sketch of heliconias, dusting his fingertips over the ink.
Heliconia plants are almost exclusively pollinated by hummingbirds. However, in some areas, bat pollination has been observed. The heliconia pollinated by the bat flowers at night, with nocturnal pollination.
There was knocking on the door of the drawing room, and Melbourne frowned deeply. He set down his open book on the table beside his armchair and rose, walking towards the door. He opened it, and then his mouth fell open. There she was - Victoria - standing before him in a black taffeta gown.
"Good morning, Lord M," said Victoria quietly. He nodded and bowed, almost forgetting himself.
"Good morning, Your Majesty."
"May I come in, please?" Victoria asked, raising her brows. Melbourne stepped aside and cleared his throat.
"Yes, Ma'am. Of course. I… erm… I was just reading."
"Were you? What were you reading about?" Victoria asked primly. Melbourne walked over to the table beside his armchair and picked up the book, handing it to Victoria with a little smirk.
"Tropical flowers," Victoria smiled. She shut her eyes and whispered, "How I long to see your flowers at Brocket Hall."
His stomach ached at that, to hear her speak to him like that. She had a black onyx comb tucked into her hair, which had been pulled back into an uncharacteristic low chignon. She stared at the pages of Melbourne's book and read aloud,
"The water-filled floral bracts of heliconias provide shelter for myriad insects. Beetles, including those of the Chrys.. Chryso…"
She went red-cheeked and gulped, and Melbourne said gently,
"Chrysomelidae. Leaf beetles, Ma'am. So many of them have served as pests for my beautiful plants." He took the book from her and shut it, setting it down. He stared down at her and asked plainly, "Why have you come here, to my private quarters, Victoria?"
"Because," she whispered, "We are very nearly out of time."
"It would be too late now, Ma'am," Melbourne informed her. He shook his head vigorously. "If I put a child on you today, precisely no one would believe you that it was Albert's. You would already need to… it would need to have happened already."
"Oh." Victoria pinched her lips. "I was hoping to try one more time."
Melbourne smiled just a little and whispered, "That would be quite a thing, wouldn't it? Alas."
"I wish you would at least allow me to…" Victoria trailed off, her eyes drifting downward. She stared at her hands and murmured, "How I long for you, William."
"You are in mourning," he reminded the both of them, but she said back,
"I did not love him. I do love you."
"Why don't you tell me what you would do, Ma'am, if we had free reign over ourselves?" Melbourne asked. "It can be fun to just pretend."
She stared up at him, wide-eyed, and then said seriously, "You would have arrived at Buckingham Palace, having ridden quickly on horseback to come to me."
He tingled all of a sudden, realising they were going to make-believe right here in his drawing room. His throat felt tight as he moved closer to Victoria and said,
"I'd have muddy boots; I would have come dashing upstairs to you as quickly as I could."
"You would smell of horses and I wouldn't care," Victoria hummed. She planted her hands on Melbourne's chest and fingered the buttons of his shirt. She stared at his sternum and murmured, "It would be nighttime, and I would already be in my nightgown. You would follow me into my bedchamber."
"And what would I do to you in there, Ma'am?" Melbourne asked. He threaded a hand around Victoria and pressed his palm to the small of her back. He rubbed up and down a few times. She kept staring straight ahead as she blinked and said,
"You would undress. You'd take off your coat, and then your cravat. Your waistcoat, your shirt, your muddy boots and your breeches. It would all come off, one piece at a time, and I'd watch you remove it all."
"How would that make you feel, Victoria?" asked Melbourne, leaning down and brushing his lips against her forehead. "How would it make you feel to see me naked?"
"It would make me feel like taking off my nightgown," she informed him. "I'd climb up onto my bed, and you would follow me. And then you would take me."
"How would I take you, Victoria?" Melbourne asked, his lips grazing her forehead. "Would I sway gently above you, kissing your lips as I enter you? Or would I be rough from behind whilst you kneel? Would we tangle up like vines on our sides, or would we -"
Victoria moaned softly and complained,
"Lord M, I am quite activated by all this talk." She raised her eyes to him and whispered helplessly, "I'm soaked between my legs, thinking about all of this."
Melbourne gulped hard and whispered, "I confess myself aroused, Victoria."
"I need you," she said desperately. "I need you now."
Suddenly he had no idea what was happening. Melbourne was dragging Victoria by her waist, leading her to the armchair where he'd been reading earlier. He was sitting and pulling her down atop her, and she was yanking up her skirts around her waist. Her hands delved between them and moved quickly to unbutton his breeches, and Melbourne gasped when he felt his cock pulled out by her little hands. He was achingly hard, worked up by their talk.
She crashed forward, her mouth pressing hard against his, and when he opened his lips, she pushed her tongue in. His hands worked with hers to line everything up, and before Melbourne could stop her, she was sinking down onto him. He hissed; she was so warm and so tight, and enveloping embrace around his manhood. She was right about being soaked, too, and that made him all the more aroused.
"Victoria," he croaked, tipping his head back. Then he gasped, because she latched her mouth onto his neck and kissed him hard, so hard that a distant part of his mind worried there would be marks. But he wanted more; he wanted her to mark him up. He could hide it with a cravat, he thought. So he whispered frantically, "More of that."
She moaned wantonly, her hands grasping his biceps as his own fingers sank into her backside and urged her to pump herself up and down atop him. She pulled the skin of his neck between her teeth and suckled, and Melbourne felt a fresh surge of blood in his cock. He stiffened so badly that he knew he was on the verge of finishing, and he mumbled,
"No, we mustn't…"
"It isn't too late," she insisted into his ear, nibbling on the lobe before ravishing his neck again. Suddenly her mouth went still, and her hips slowed, and Melbourne felt contractions around his member. She panted onto his neck, and her grip tightened on his biceps, and she said in a helpless sort of wisp,
"Oh, it feels so good."
"Please…" Melbourne begged her, using his hands on the backside of her drawers to cycle her hips forward and down, forward and down. She kept going, and then he lost himself. He came so quickly after her that she was still recovering from her own peak as Melbourne reached his. He felt his seed shoot up into her body, felt everything tight and hot as his ears rang and he saw spots. He moved his hands to Victoria's back and perceived the heaving breaths she was taking. He shut his eyes and brought the fingers of his left hand to his forehead.
"Oh, what have I done?"
Victoria pulled back as he slid out of her, and he thought that his breeches would be a disaster after this. She slowly climbed off of him and put her skirts to rights, and as Melbourne stood, he noticed their fluids mixed all over the fabric of his breeches. He hurried, rather embarrassed, to tuck himself away and button himself up, but there was no hiding the mess. He'd have to change as soon as she left, he thought. And she should leave immediately. His face felt hot as he looked at her, but then he felt his own features soften as she gazed at him like he was the most wonderful person on Earth.
"You know that I love you, William," she said, echoing his own words to her. He shut his eyes and nodded.
"Sometimes it physically hurts, Victoria. The way I love you."
She brushed her knuckles over his jaw and brought his face down to hers. They kissed, just once, and she declared,
"I don't want to hurt you."
He just sighed and stood upright, telling her,
"It will have been too late."
"Perhaps it worked the first time," Victoria shrugged, "and this will have just been a silly dalliance."
"A silly dalliance three days after your husband's funeral," Melbourne said tightly. Victoria narrowed her eyes at him and demanded,
"Lord Melbourne, are you dictating the terms of mourning to your monarch?"
"No, Ma'am," he said softly. "I could never dictate anything to you."
She huffed. "I did not love him. I thought I did, but I was quite wrong about that. It was you I loved all the while."
"I think," he said gently, "that I ought to go change clothes. And perhaps I shall see you at dinner."
"Yes," Victoria agreed. She picked up the book on tropical flowers and studied the cover for a moment. She set it back down and tipped her head. "I am sorry to have interrupted your reading."
"You'll never have to be sorry," he said. "Not to me."
"I shall leave you," she said, "but only with the promise that I shall see you again tonight, and tomorrow morning, and every day thereafter."
"Every day." Melbourne smirked. "Wouldn't that be grand?"
"It will be grand," Victoria said stoutly, "because it is what I want."
"Well," Melbourne said with a little smile, "You must always have what you want. Until dinner, then, Ma'am."
He kissed her once more, gently, and she turned to go.
At dinner four days later, Melbourne stood as Victoria took her seat. He sank down into her chair along with her, and as she led the dinner party in a prayer of remembrance for Albert, he folded his hands on the table. Then she said to those who had gathered,
"I confess my stomach is a bit unstable tonight. Kindly do not wait for me to eat."
He frowned at the break in protocol, and he watched Harriet Sutherland give Emma Portman a grave look. Clam stew was brought out, and Victoria just stared at it. She looked unwell, Melbourne thought; she looked queasy. She finally took one bite and then set her spoon down. He cleared his throat and asked gently,
"Have you taken ill, Your Majesty?"
She stared at him, then glanced down the table to be certain that the others were engaged in conversation before she returned her eyes to Melbourne. A little smile crossed her lips, and Melbourne's heart fluttered. He whispered in a low voice,
"It worked, then?"
She nodded frantically, tears filling her eyes. She spoke so quietly then that he could barely hear her.
"I am nine days late."
"Well," he said, feeling as though he himself would cry right there at the table, "May I be excused, please, Ma'am?"
She looked a little confused, but she nodded. Melbourne rose and set his napkin down. He bowed to Victoria, then to the table, and choked out,
"Pardon me for a moment."
He rushed beyond Victoria and exited the dining room when the doors were held open for him. He stopped in the corridor outside the dining room and leaned heavily on a mantle. He covered his eyes with his hands and contemplated what this meant.
Victoria would not have to marry someone she did not love. She would not have to bear a child to her cousin George. She was… she was with child. With his child.
No, he thought then. It was Albert's. This child would always be Albert's. This would be the Princess Royal or the Prince of Wales. This would be her legitimate heir, the child of her dead husband.
But he knew the truth. He had fathered Victoria's child, the same way he'd fathered children with Caroline. It was his baby that grew now in Victoria's womb.
He felt tears stream down his cheeks beneath his hand, and it took him fifteen minutes before he could gather himself, eyes still rimmed red and swollen, to go back into the dining room.
Author's Note: Oh, my. So, she's pregnant. With Lord M's baby. But the announcement will be that she conceived with Albert before he died. What now?
Thank you so very much for reading and especially for reviewing.