"Well, this is just silly," Victoria declared. She flicked her eyes from one carriage to another and said firmly, "You ought to ride with me."
"Your Majesty," hissed Melbourne from beside her, "You have already been a bit obvious today."
"But we are going to the same place!" declared Victoria. "Why take two carriages?"
"Ma'am," Melbourne said patiently, "your dresser and lady's maid are not riding with you. Why would your Prime Minister?"
"You are my host," she said, smiling at him. He shut his eyes and shook his head.
"The Duke of Wellington already knows something is afoot. How long before everyone else figures out that you and I -"
"Hush," Victoria scolded him. She glanced around furtively and then said, "Very well. I see your point. I shall see you at Brocket Hall, Lord M."
The ride to Hertfordshire seemed to take forever, though it was only a few hours. When at last Victoria saw the red brick stately manse outside the window of her carriage, she grinned broadly. This was her dear Lord M's real home. He felt comfortable here. He was happy here.
He was waiting outside the door of her carriage when the footman opened the door. Melbourne held out his hand and smirked, and Victoria felt a flutter in her chest. She put her fingers into Melbourne's leather-gloved palm and stepped out of the carriage, looking around and thinking to herself about the time she'd come here to profess herself to Melbourne. He'd rejected her outright. He'd said that he didn't love her. He'd said he wanted nothing to do with her propositions.
"Things are different now," he murmured as she stood beside him, as if he'd read her mind. She smiled at him and nodded. She brushed her fingers over her lower abdomen and repeated,
"Things are different now."
He walked with her through the great entry of the house and into its opulent foyer, with the double sweeping staircase. Victoria plucked at the fingers of her gloves and pulled them off, holding them in one hand as she removed her bonnet. A servant rushed up and curtsied, taking the bonnet and gloves. Victoria figured they would wind up with the rest of her clothes; she did not keep track of individual items.
"The burgundy suite upstairs," murmured Melbourne to his startled-looking butler. The butler bowed his head and headed outside, undoubtedly to direct Victoria's trunks of clothes. Melbourne gestured towards the staircase and said, "Ma'am, I'll show you to your rooms."
"Thank you, Lord M." Victoria put her hand over his when he held out an arm to her. She ascended the stairs with him, and they went to the left. He directed them towards a heavy door, which he pushed open. Inside was a magnificently-appointed bedchamber, with French toile on the walls and deep burgundy velvet covers on the four-poster bed. Victoria looked around, her eyes welling heavily, and she dared to ask,
"Was this her room? Caroline?"
"No." Melbourne shook his head. "It was my son's."
"Oh." Victoria felt then as though she would surely cry, and she dusted a knuckle under her eye to sweep away the tears that threatened to fall. "You kept him close to you."
"So I did," Melbourne confirmed. "My rooms are just next door."
Victoria studied his pale green eyes and seized his hands. "Soon enough you'll be a father again."
"No," he whispered. "I will not."
"You will be," Victoria insisted, "even if it is in private. And I make you this promise, Lord M. Someday our child will know the truth."
"You must be careful what you say, Ma'am," Melbourne murmured. "Even the walls have ears."
She huffed. "Your rooms are just next door?"
"Indeed, Ma'am," Melbourne confirmed. She smirked just a little at him and asked in a low voice,
"Would you answer if you heard knocking in the night?"
His throat bobbed. "Yes. I would."
"I am already with child," Victoria reminded him in an excited sort of whisper. "You can go ahead and spill yourself within me with no -"
"Consequence," Melbourne finished for her, nodding. "Yes. The Duke of Wellington said as much."
"Oh, Hell take the Duke," Victoria grumbled. Her face lit up all of a sudden, and she said, "I want to see your greenhouse."
"Do you?" Melbourne raised his eyebrows. "I wouldn't mind showing you about; I have missed my birds of paradise."
"Show me," Victoria gushed, seizing his wrist and dragging him from the room.
"My, but it is warm in here," said Victoria, and Melbourne smirked over his shoulder at her.
"Do you mind if I remove my coat, Ma'am?"
"I shall never mind if you take off any article of clothing," she japed, and his smile grew broad. He peeled off his black coat and hung it on the row of hooks near the greenhouse door. She looked around the greenhouse, and Melbourne held out his arms.
"These are my plants," he said. "Would you like a tour?"
"I would," Victoria nodded. Melbourne walked towards her and gently took her hand in his. She squeezed his fingers and walked with him over to an arrangement of tropical plants beside the waterfall that had been built in here. Melbourne paused before his chenille plants - a colourful bush that had grown nearly as tall as Melbourne, with bright red cattails. He breathed in, absorbing the floral scent that filled the space, and he felt Victoria's hand warm inside of his own. He licked his lips and said to her,
"Acalypha hispida. Chenille plants. Terribly poisonous for animals. There are distinct male and female specimens of the species."
"So, is this a gentleman plant or a lady plant?" Victoria laughed, and Melbourne chuckled in response.
"This one is a she."
"Show me more plants. What is this here?" Victoria gestured to his bright pink-red hibiscus.
"These," Melbourne said, "are among my most finicky flowers. The hibiscus. A beautiful tropical plant which succumbs quickly and easily to a drop in temperature. I've started over five or six times with these, since occasionally the temperature will fall just a little and they'll perish."
"How tragic," Victoria said, rubbing her thumb over Melbourne's hand, "for them to be so delicate."
"Sometimes the most delicate things are the prettiest," Melbourne sighed. "On the other hand, strong plants are lovely in their resilience. Shall I show you my roses?"
"Oh, please do," said Victoria. Melbourne led her away from the tropical area and over towards the part of his greenhouse where he had a winding path, a wrought iron bench, and bushes of rose varieties. He gestured to the bench, and Victoria sank down onto it. Melbourne sat beside her, and suddenly he felt very, very happy. He was in love, and so sitting with the woman he adored in his greenhouse was a profound moment. He shut his eyes and felt them burn, and he whispered,
"I love you, Victoria."
"As I love you, William." Her voice sounded thick, and when he opened his eyes and looked at her, she murmured, "Kiss me, please."
He did not hesitate now, the way he'd hesitated when she'd first come to him complaining that she'd fallen out of love with Albert. He took her face in his hands and leaned towards her, brushing his lips against hers. She snared her fingernails up into his hair, which felt so good that he grunted softly and kissed her again, harder this time. He breathed in, smelling his roses, and her skin felt soft and smooth beneath his hands. He finally pulled back and mumbled against her lips,
"How ill have you been, really?"
"Hardly at all," Victoria said. "I have been slightly exaggerating the symptoms of pregnancy."
She pulled farther back and admitted,
"I want people to think I'm further along than I really am."
Melbourne nodded. "Yes, because Albert put a child on you before he became ill."
"They may think that, but I know what happened up against the wall in Dover House," Victoria whispered. Her eyes grew wet and red. "I know who my child's father is."
"We'll never be a family," Melbourne noted. "I will never even hold the child."
"Oh, yes, you will," Victoria assured him. She began to cry then, tears streaming quickly down her cheeks as she croaked out, "My Prime Minister will visit to see how I am doing after childbirth, and I will ask him if he wants to hold the Princess Royal or the Prince of Wales. And my Prime Minister will take the child in his arms and cradle the baby, staring into little pale green eyes."
"What if the baby does look like me?" Melbourne asked. "I've rather a distinctive face, and so did Albert. It may be very evident, upon looking on the child, who the father is."
"No one will ever be able to prove anything," Victoria said stoutly. "I was married when I conceived."
That was true enough, Melbourne thought. She had still been Albert's wife when Melbourne had put a child on her. He pinched his lips into a line and said,
"Perhaps this was all a grave error."
"On the contrary, Lord M; this is the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me. I am still so afraid of childbirth, but…" Victoria stared at the roses. She shook her head. "It is your child, and so perhaps I am not so afraid as I might be. Your roses are lovely, Lord M. All of your flowers are beautiful. I can see why this is your paradise."
"It is more perfect than usual today," Melbourne told her, brushing a thumb under her eye, "thanks to the beautiful queen who graces it."
She smiled through her tears then, reaching up to cup his jaw, bringing him near her for another kiss.
"Mrs Jenkins," said Victoria as her dresser combed out her long hair, "Do you see Miss Skerrett before we left Buckingham Palace?"
"I did, Ma'am," Mrs Jenkins confirmed. "She thinks that cough of hers is from the blooming flowers. They make her sneeze, she says. They make her eyes water."
"How could one be so negatively affected by flowers?" Victoria demanded, thinking of Melbourne's greenhouse.
"It is not altogether unusual, Ma'am," Mrs Jenkins said. "Could be from the fresh hay in the stables and the like. Hay Fever, they call it."
"She is not coughing blood or anything so alarming as that?" Victoria demanded. "Albert was coughing up blood before he… you know, before he deteriorated."
"No, Ma'am; I do not think it's anything as serious as that." Mrs Jenkins finished with Victoria's hair and brought it behind her shoulders.
"Goodnight, Mrs Jenkins."
"Goodnight, Ma'am," Mrs Jenkins said, curtsying and backing out of the dressing room. Victoria rose and went into her own bedroom. She went to the wash table and poured a little water into a small bowl. She pulled her boar-bristle toothbrush out of her enameled dental hygiene kit and pulled the lid off the container of tooth powder. She dipped the brush into the water, then the powder, and she scrubbed at her teeth. Once they felt clean and fresh, she spit into the little bowl of water and rinsed her brush. She used a washcloth and dragged it over her face, though she'd bathed earlier. Her hair was still a little damp, in fact.
Victoria climbed up into the burgundy bed and settled herself beneath the blankets. This bed had belonged to Lord M's son, Augustus. He'd been troubled with all manner of health problems, Victoria knew. But Melbourne had never given up on him. He had not sent his son away to a sanitorium like so many would have done. Instead, he'd kept his child close and had held him at nighttime. He'd cradled his son.
Victoria touched at her lower belly and shut her eyes. She would birth this child, which would be declared the legitimate heir of the Queen by her late husband Albert. Melbourne would have to stand by and watch as Victoria held the child up as a true royal. But a sudden vision filled Victoria's mind - Melbourne, holding the hand of a small girl, showing her the flowers in his greenhouse here at Brocket Hall. It would never happen, Victoria thought sadly. He would never really be a father to his child.
She stared at the ceiling, contemplating the sorrowful reality of all this, until at last she realised that she was at Brocket Hall and Melbourne was next door. She could have him here, she thought. It had been foolhardy and rash to come here, she knew. The Duke of Wellington already suspected what was happening. But she needed her Lord M right now. She needed William Lamb.
Victoria climbed out of bed and very slowly opened the door that led from her bedchamber into the corridor. She peered out and looked from left to right. No one. She opened the door and rushed out into the corridor, pulling the door shut behind her. She tiptoed down the corridor, but there was a squeaky board in the polished wooden floor. Victoria winced and hurried along, going to the next large doorway. She let out a shaking sigh and raised her fist, knocking softly.
At first there was no answer, and Victoria contemplated going back to her own rooms, because she did not dare knock more loudly. But then the door creaked open, and Melbourne stood there before her, wearing nothing but a nightshirt.
He reached for her hand, pulled her into his room, shut the door behind her, and turned the lock. Then he wrapped his arms around Victoria and tangled his fingers into her loose hair, crushing her mouth with a feverish kiss.
Author's Note: Well, that was fluffy. But now they're in his bedroom in nothing but pajamas. And she's already pregnant with his child. I think we all know what's coming next… ;)
I just want to say thank you so very much for reading and for all the feedback I've gotten on this story. It truly means so much and I hope you are enjoying reading it half as much as I'm enjoying writing it.