Lord Melbourne sat on a velvet bench in the centre of a large drawing room in Apsley House, the London townhome of the Duke of Wellington. The walls were lined with art piece after art piece; the Duke was passionate about paintings and sculpture. But Melbourne couldn't focus on any of the displayed works. He was far too anxious. He sat with his hands clenched together, his eyes searing as he realised just what he and Victoria had done to themselves.

He'd called her by her name, which had been an awful mistake. But then she'd taken it so far. She had screamed at her mother at the dinner table. She'd announced their engagement! He'd called her a child, and he felt a bit guilty about that, but her behaviour had been absurd. He could try as much as he wanted to blame it on the mood swings of pregnancy, but then he thought back to their meeting earlier in the day, when she'd asked multiple times if he was certain he'd marry her, no matter what. And then he thought to himself that she'd been planning on making some sort of announcement, whether Melbourne wanted it or not.

"Melbourne."

He rose to his feet as the Duke of Wellington came striding into the drawing room. The elder statesman raised his grey brows and said,

"I don't suppose you're here about chimney sweeps."

"No, I am not here about chimney sweeps." Melbourne rubbed his hands together as Wellington approached. Melbourne chewed his lip for a moment and said, "Tonight at dinner, Her Majesty made an announcement which, I am sure, will spark a horrid scandal."

Wellington's face hardened. "What sort of announcement?"

Melbourne blinked rapidly and then said, "She and I are to be married."

Wellington narrowed his eyes. "Because you are the father of her child."

"N-No," Melbourne insisted. "It's… it is so complicated, sir. It really is."

"How complicated could it be?" snapped Wellington. "You and that girl -"

"That girl is our sovereign," Melbourne reminded Wellington, who sighed and nodded,

"Her Majesty has been quite attached to you since before her coronation."

"You and the Duchess of Kent seem to be on the same line of thought," Melbourne huffed, "and the Duchess of Kent has been banished from court."

"Then Her Majesty is acting foolishly," Wellington snarled. "To banish her own mother for speaking the truth. We all know the truth."

"You don't." Melbourne shook his head. Then he murmured, "You and Kitty… you sought out other comfort."

"How dare you bring my marriage into this, Melbourne?" Wellington looked abashed. He began to pace with his hands behind his back and then walked over to a statue, which he stared at as he pointed out, "My marriage to Kitty was not the union of a monarch and a consort, with the need to produce an heir to the throne. My disdain for Kitty, and my own private business outside of marriage, has nothing to do with the Prime Minister engaging in criminal conversation with the Queen."

"Criminal conversation," scoffed Melbourne. "Are you really and truly suggesting that His Royal Highness' heir -"

"Are you really denying that you have never been with Her Majesty in that way?" Wellington countered. Melbourne gulped, feeling his face go hot.

"I do deny it, sir."

"You are the colour of a rose; your cheeks betray you," Wellington chuckled. Then he shook his head and scratched at his hair. "Let us not perseverate on what has already happened. You say you mean to marry her."

"She proposed marriage to me," Melbourne affirmed, "and I agreed."

"I'm certain that was a difficult decision for you," Wellington taunted. He stepped back towards Melbourne and asked, "When is this marriage to take place?"

"That is… we have not quite agreed upon that bit," Melbourne admitted. "She wants to marry as soon as possible, but I -"

"Of course she wants to marry as soon as possible," spat Wellington. "She longs for you. It's been obvious for ages."

"But I," Melbourne said calmly, "have insisted that she first give birth to the Princess Royal or the Prince of Wales, then allow a gracious amount of time before we wed."

"You will resign as Prime Minister," Wellington said, "and she will choose Robert Peel. We'll need a Tory Prime Minister if the consort of the queen is a Whig, and a lowly one at that."

Melbourne sighed. "Of course I will resign, immediately. And I will encourage her to ask Sir Robert to form a government. I still think we ought to wait."

"No," said Wellington, shocking Melbourne. He stared at the elder man, the man who had won at Waterloo and had seen all sorts of glory in his life. Wellington told Melbourne, "You must marry her as soon as possible. You are fooling no one. Everyone at court knows your truth now. The worst thing you could do is carry on out of wedlock with her."

"And the Prince's child?" Melbourne asked, raising his eyebrows. Wellington scoffed.

"Congratulations, Melbourne. Your child will be the heir to the British throne. Now, if there is nothing else, it is quite late, and I've got letters to write to my Tory friends about this."

"Right," Melbourne said. He bowed his head. "For the sake of Britain, I ask your help in containing this."

"This is already a wildfire burning beyond your control, Melbourne," Wellington said, shaking his head, "but I will do my best to keep the government stable and the Queen on her throne. As for you, you'll never be anything but the monarch's toy. Know that. You will not be made a prince; you will merely be the morganatic spouse of the monarch. Any children you have with her will be out of the line of succession. Your legacy is ruined."

"On the contrary, sir. If I am her husband, my legacy will be wondrous," Melbourne said. Wellington stared at Melbourne and asked tightly,

"You love her, then?"

"More than anything, sir," Melbourne confirmed. He met the Duke's eyes. "More than anything."

"Then," Wellington sighed, "Congratulations on your engagement. Go see Peel. I'll write to members of the House of Lords."

Victoria stared at the cartoon in the newspaper as her eyes watered. There was an illustration of Victoria, swollen with child, and Melbourne was kissing her cheek, saying, Fair play to Albert for getting out of the way.

She balled up the newspaper page and tossed it onto the ground near her desk. She buried her face in her hands and huffed a breath. This last week, since news had spread of her engagement to Melbourne, had been a living hell. Victoria had met with Whig and Tory politicians. Melbourne had resigned. Sir Robert Peel had been asked to form a new government and had agreed. But there had been whispers about Melbourne and Victoria, and the whispers had grown now into shouting.

One Tory politician had even suggested in the House of Lords itself that Victoria's child was Melbourne's and not Albert's. He'd been shouted down by the Whigs, with multiple Lords insisting it was out of line to question the paternity of the Queen's baby. But the newspapers had been relentless; columns and cartoons ridiculed the situation every single day. Two days earlier, a small crowd had gathered outside the gates of Buckingham Palace and had chanted, "Shame! Shame! Shame on Her Majesty! Shame on Lord Melbourne!"

"The Right Honourable Lord Melbourne," announced the page suddenly, and Victoria looked up to see Melbourne appear in the doorway of the room. She stood from her desk and walked towards him. The door shut, and she reached immediately for his face.

"William," she said frantically, "I did not know it would be as bad as all this."

"I tried to warn you, Ma'am," Melbourne said. He sighed and reminded her, "Wellington says we must marry quickly; people will not tolerate the idea of us coupling whilst we aren't married. And they all know… no one is oblivious to…"

"Yes, I know," Victoria said, pinching her lips. "The wedding must be terribly small, then."

"Not an affair of state by any stretch of the imagination," Melbourne confirmed. "We should marry in a private ceremony at St George's Chapel and honeymoon for a few days only at Windsor before returning here."

"I won't have a new gown made," Victoria said stoutly. "I shall marry in something I already own."

"I don't think any details should be publicised," Melbourne said. "We will need two witnesses. I suggest the Duke of Wellington and Sir Robert Peel."

Victoria scowled. "What?"

"I suggest," Melbourne said calmly, "that we have two Tory witnesses and the Archbishop of Canterbury. And then we should take three days to ourselves before coming back here. There should be the bare minimum of pomp and circumstance, Victoria."

"Well, I suppose I shall ask the Duke and Sir Robert if they will come," Victoria said, "but we need a date."

"Saturday next," Melbourne said at once, and Victoria's eyes went round.

"Less than a week! Have you gone mad, William? That doesn't give me any time to prepare -"

"Your dressers can come and fix you up nicely," he said. "Your ladies should stay here. There is nothing to prepare. This is going to be the most solemn and small wedding in royal history."

"Very well," Victoria huffed. She gulped and said, "I wished for more for us."

Melbourne tipped his head and stepped up to her. He planted his hand over her swollen belly and kissed her lips gently.

"You bear my child in your womb and I am to marry you," he said. "How could I possibly want more?"

"But you are disgraced," Victoria said, taking a step back. She looked as though she would cry then. "You have resigned as Prime Minister, and -"

"With all due respect, Ma'am, I was grateful for the excuse to do so," Melbourne smirked. Victoria puffed a breath and pointed out,

"The newspapers mock us. People have shouted at me through the windows. They question us in Parliament."

"It is as the Duke of Wellington himself told me," Melbourne said in a warm tone. "Scandal has always been a part of my life. I am a scandalous man. You have chosen, Victoria, to embroil us in scandal. And, as we walk forward together, we must embrace whatever comes towards us."

"Very well," Victoria said. "Saturday next, then. At Windsor."

"Your Majesty, I think this style suits you beautifully."

"I am so glad you are well again, Miss Skerrett," Victoria said, looking in the mirror in her dressing room at Windsor. Skerrett smiled weakly and said,

"I did see a doctor, Ma'am. He says it is the flowers and the hay. It happens every year."

"Well, I am relieved to see you recovered," Victoria said. She paused as Skerrett pushed pins into her elaborate, braided style and then asked, "Does everyone know?"

Skerrett's hands froze on Victoria's hair. She cleared her throat roughly and said, "A great many people suspect a great many things, Your Majesty. Only you and His Royal Highness would know the truth. And God."

"And Lord Melbourne," Victoria nodded. She swallowed the knot in her throat and asked, "Do you think this a suitable gown for a wedding? Even a wedding like this?"

"Oh, I think it's a lovely choice, Ma'am," Skerrett said. Mrs Jenkins, who was preparing Victoria's gloves, said,

"The pink is perfectly womanly for a marriage, Ma'am."

Victoria pinched her lips and looked at the pearls around her neck in the mirror. This was the exact ensemble she'd been wearing when Albert had told her that it didn't suit a queen. She looked too immature in pink and pearls, Albert had said. It had caused an argument. And now Victoria was wearing the dress and the pearls to marry her Lord M.

"These roses are beautiful; I've never seen this shade of pink before," mused Mrs Jenkins, holding up Victoria's small bouquet. Victoria smiled a little and said,

"Lord Melbourne grew them in his greenhouse at Brocket Hall."

"If I may speak plainly for a moment, Ma'am?" Skerrett said carefully, and Victoria turned around to meet her eyes.

"Yes?"

Skerrett's voice was soft then as she said, "For every voice being cruel about all of this, Your Majesty, there are ten whispers in your favour."

Victoria blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Most of your subjects are happy for you, Ma'am," Mrs Jenkins insisted. "People know that you felt enormous pressure to marry soon after your Coronation. And people have… well, if we're honest, people have known of your fondness for Lord Melbourne for quite some time. And so now they see that you carry His Royal Highness' heir, and that you are marrying for love, and they're happy for you. We are happy for you."

Victoria's eyes boiled over with tears at once, and she whispered,

"Thank you both. Now, we must go, or I shall leave Lord M waiting. My gloves, if you please, Mrs Jenkins, and my roses."

Author's Note: Whew. So, Wellington is kind of understanding the situation, but of course Victoria and Melbourne are facing an enormous amount of resistance. Now, let's see this private wedding and the brief honeymoon… shall we?

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