There were crowds outside Buckingham Palace.
On the morning that Victoria got into a carriage with Melbourne to depart for Brocket Hall, a great swell of cheering could be heard. Melbourne sat in the carriage with Victoria and stared out the window in wonder as they passed throngs of ordinary people.
"God save the Queen!" they screamed.
"Shame on those who tore Her Majesty from the throne!"
"Peace be with you, Your Majesty!"
Victoria waved, her gloved hand visibly shaking as she looked out one side and then the other of the carriage.
"They still call me Your Majesty," she murmured, and Melbourne shifted on his bench.
"Just because the Tories and the rioters disapproved doesn't mean everybody did, Ma'am."
Victoria was silent then. She waved to a child they passed, who held up flowers fruitlessly, for the carriage was moving at a brisk pace.
"God save Her Majesty Queen Victoria!" exclaimed a man, and a great cheer went up.
"You don't suppose my cousin George will have any troubles?" asked Victoria, and Melbourne tipped his head.
"Are you suggesting that our child will spark a civil war, Victoria?"
"Well, I certainly hope not," she fretted. Melbourne gulped and shook his head.
"His Majesty will be fine. As I've told you, the English are a riotous but not a revolutionary people. Parliament, on the other hand…"
"God bless your marriage!"
"Happiness upon Lord Melbourne and Her Majesty!"
Victoria waved again, smiling a little. Ordinarily, riding in a carriage through crowds, she would have a crown upon her head. But she'd only kept a few tiaras as a Duchess. In fact, she'd had to rid herself of most of her belongings, for Brocket Hall was not big enough to house everything she'd acquired as Queen.
"Are you certain, Victoria?" Melbourne prompted, and she blinked at him.
"It is a bit late now to be uncertain," she said. "George is already King."
"I mean to say," Melbourne said cautiously, "are you certain you wish to live at Brocket Hall?"
"It is where you find your peace and tranquility," Victoria pointed out, "and so I shall be very happy there with you, I think."
They cleared the crowds and rode on for several hours until they reached Hertfordshire. Victoria stared out the window for most of the ride, and Melbourne thought that she seemed quite thoughtful. He wished, suddenly, that he could read her mind. What was she thinking? Was she contemplating that she'd given up what had been promised as a long and glorious reign as Queen in order to live in a country house with a minor lord?
"Victoria," Melbourne said at last as they neared Brocket Hall, and when she turned her face to him, he sucked in air hard through his nose. "You are so beautiful."
"Even with my puffy face?" Victoria worried. She touched at her cheeks and nervously said, "I've noticed in the mirror. My face is swollen."
"You are with child - with our child - and so you are more beautiful now than you have ever been," Melbourne assured her. She smiled a little at him and patted her own cheeks. Then she rubbed her gloved hand over her belly and said,
"The baby moves all the time now."
"May I try and feel?" Melbourne asked. She reached for his hand and pulled him across the middle of the carriage. She touched his hand to her belly, but there were so many layers between them. His leather gloves, her cotton day dress, her corset, her shift… Victoria felt a light flutter in her abdomen, and she grinned. But Melbourne shook his head and complained,
"Too much fabric."
"You can feel tonight," Victoria promised him, "in our bedroom."
"Do you mean to sleep with me every night?" Melbourne raised his eyebrows, and Victoria nodded.
"Of course I do."
"You may have your own space," Melbourne assured her. "It's not a -"
"I wish to wake every morning beside you," Victoria said. She was thoughtful again then, and she said quietly,
"Before we left, my cousin George told me, 'They were wicked to you in your childhood. You have earned happiness, cousin.' Do you suppose he meant it, or do you suppose he is just glad to be King?"
"Regardless of his sincerity, he is right," Melbourne said. "Sir John and your mother were wretched throughout your upbringing. I do not mean to speak ill of your family, but… it enrages me when I think on it. I dislike Sir John Conroy more than just about any man."
Perhaps beside Byron, he thought, blinking quickly. Victoria stared at him and asked,
"Have I really earned it? Happiness? What have I done to earn it?"
"We have fallen in love," Melbourne said simply, "and love deserves happiness. Still, I mourn your reign. I feel… remarkably responsible for all of this."
"Well, of course you are responsible," Victoria scoffed. "But that scarcely means you must feel guilt. You have brought me more bliss, Lord M, than any person ever has. And I mean to grow old with you."
His breath hitched at that. By the time he was a crinkled, wizened old man, she would still be young and beautiful. He licked his lips and tried to tell her that it was too late, that he was too old for her, but instead he just whispered,
"I love you."
"Oh, we are here!" she suddenly exclaimed, and Melbourne looked out the window to see his home sprawled before them. It was their home now. Frederick and Emily had agreed to visit often, especially now that Melbourne was married to a former queen and not 'the little beast' - the nickname they'd bestowed upon Caroline.
The carriage pulled up in front of Brocket Hall, and Melbourne let the coachman open the door before crawling out. He held out his hand for Victoria, who struggled to get out of the carriage door. Melbourne instinctively put his hands on Victoria's hips and lifted her out, and she giggled as he set her down. He took her face in his hands and kissed her lips carefully, right there in front of everyone, and he said in a gentle voice,
"Welcome home, Victoria."
"Do you remember what you told me here?" Victoria asked as they walked along the path on Brocket Hall's extensive grounds. "Do you remember when I came to you as a woman, and not as a queen, and you told me that you could never love me?"
Melbourne's eyes watered a little, but he choked out, "That is not exactly what I said."
"You rejected me," Victoria pointed out.
"How could I possibly have accepted what you wanted of me?" Melbourne demanded, keeping his voice steady. "You wanted, as Queen of England, to marry me in a morganatic marriage in which our children would never accede to the throne."
"And look at us now," Victoria pointed out. "Married. Me with child. Us here at Brocket Hall to live."
"Not at all what God had planned for you," Melbourne said sorrowfully, but Victoria shook her head and insisted,
"On the contrary, William. This seems divinely ordained."
"Do you miss him?" Melbourne asked, and when Victoria gave him a confused look, he specified, "Prince Albert."
"Only a little," Victoria confessed. "It is difficult to miss him when I am so happy now."
Melbourne coughed out a bitter laugh, and Victoria scowled at him. "What is so funny?"
He sighed. "You have abdicated the throne and have come to live in my little house. How could you be so very happy?"
"Because," she said simply, staring right into his eyes, "I have you. And our child."
An hour later, they meandered over to the greenhouse, for Melbourne said he had work to do. Victoria decided to come watch, and when they walked inside, she fanned herself and immediately untied her bonnet. She pulled it off and hung it by the door, and she dragged her hands down over her day dress of blue and white damask.
"Is this what the jungle feels like?" asked Victoria, and Melbourne smiled as he rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt.
"That is what we are attempting to reproduce," he said. "Oh, how I have missed my orchids."
"May I see?" Victoria asked, and Melbourne gestured for her to follow him. He walked past his waterfall and over to where he had orchids growing in abundance. He turned to Victoria and explained,
"Orchids are remarkably temperamental. They require a great deal of humidity and heat, but the temperature of the greenhouse must drop at night. The air must be kept fresh, and the lighting must be well-controlled."
"They sound like babies," Victoria mused, "with all the care they need."
"They have been rather like family to me," Melbourne said softly, "for a long while now. That sounds silly, to speak that way about plants."
"It is not silly," Victoria insisted. Melbourne smirked a bit and said,
"One does not pot orchids in soil. Instead, they grow in a mix of peat, bark, and other materials."
"How interesting," Victoria said. She pointed to a large purple orchid plant and breathed, "Those are so lovely."
"These…" Melbourne said, brushing his fingertip around the pot. "Phalaenopsis."
"You are a scholar of plants," Victoria said. Melbourne shook his head and insisted,
"I am not a scholar of much of anything, much to my chagrin. Do you know, the wrong amount of water makes these orchids' leaves fall off? Too much water… no leaves. Too little water… the same result. The peat moss must be watered when the top two inches dry out."
He took a watering can and went to the pump in the corner, filling it. He came back to his orchids and touched at the peat tops, feeling for dryness. He began to put a precise amount of water into each pot, and when he'd finished, he turned around and looked at Victoria.
"It must be terribly dull," he said, "watching an old man water his flowers."
"On the contrary, Lord M," Victoria said, sounding a little breathless, "it is a wondrous thing to see."
He walked towards her and put his arms around her shoulders. She stared up at him and rubbed gently at her belly. He blinked down at her, still in wonder that she had given up so very much to be with him here.
"How I adore you," he murmured, and she whispered back,
"You are the only one who understands me. And, I think, you are the only one who ever will."
"Emily and Lord Palmerston will be here for dinner tonight, you'll recall," Melbourne said, and Victoria chuckled.
"What time are they meant to arrive?"
"Around three, I think," Melbourne said, his own smirk growing. Victoria raised her eyebrows.
"Your sister is so perpetually late that I should think we'll be lucky if they are here by six."
Melbourne laughed, taking Victoria's hand in his and kissing her knuckles. Then he bent and whispered against her lips,
"You can be a cruel creature when you want to be."
"We shall see," Victoria teased, "What time Lord Palmerston's carriage rolls up."
Then she kissed him back, much harder this time.
She was right, as it turned out. Emily didn't arrive until half-past five, and by then Victoria was growing impatient. She paced in the grand foyer of Brocket Hall until at last the doors opened and the butler announced,
"Lord and Lady Palmerston."
"Oh!" Victoria exclaimed. "Emily. How good to see you."
Emily and Lord Palmerston dipped into obeisances at once. Emily murmured gently,
"Your Royal Highness."
"Oh, Emily. We are sisters now!" Victoria exclaimed. She walked up to the lady she'd known for a good while now and snared her arm through the other woman's. Emily smiled broadly and whispered,
"Sisters."
"Indeed," boomed Lord Palmerston, clapping Melbourne on the shoulder, "It is a good thing to marry for love. There could be no better thing at all, could there?"
Emily and Lord Palmerston would know, Victoria thought. She had personally granted permission for them to marry - both of them in their fifties, Emily a widow, Lord Palmerston a known charmer who had fallen hard for Emily. They made one another quite happy, Victoria knew.
At dinner, Victoria was seated at the head of the table, as the highest-ranking person in the room. The others waited for her to pick up her spoon when soup was served, but Victoria laughed and insisted,
"I am not Queen anymore; those rules no longer apply."
"It feels strange to me," Emily complained, "For you to be here as a Duchess, Ma'am. I hope you have been able to derive some happiness from the situation."
"The situation?" Victoria sipped from her glass and set it down. "The situation, Lady Palmerston, is that I am very much in love with your brother. The people could not accept it."
"Many, many people could," Lord Palmerston said gravely. "If only the rioters hadn't -"
"Yes, but the rioters did," Victoria cut in. She pinched her lips and reminded the others, "They were burning down innocent shops and houses. They beat a few of my supporters to death. And they screamed, at the top of their lungs, that the Queen bore a bastard who would never ascend to the throne."
"I believe the riots would have died down with time," Melbourne said in a hush, swirling his spoon in his soup, "but not the sentiment against Victoria. Once she and I… once we decided… it was too late. I'd already ruined her reign by the time the whispers started."
"William, the whispers started before her coronation," Emily pointed out. She chewed her lip and glanced at her husband. Lord Palmerston huffed a breath and asked,
"What birds have been about this time of year? Besides your rooks?"
"We saw a sparrowhawk on our walk earlier today," Victoria said, and Emily tipped her head and said lightly,
"Ah! A sparrowhawk. I pray it was not in the process of hunting when you saw it?"
"It swept up a mouse and flew away," Melbourne smirked, and the others laughed as the topics of conversation stayed mercifully off of Victoria's abdication.
Once they had settled in for the night, Victoria sat up in bed and waited for Melbourne to finish at the washing stand. He turned towards the bed and began walking, but she whispered,
"Stop."
He did, frowning, and she continued,
"Take the nightshirt off, will you?"
Melbourne stripped it off and held it out, letting it fall to the ground. Victoria stared at his body, at his lean and sinewy muscles, at his greying hair and his manhood. And then she said to him,
"Tonight will not be slow or easy or gentle, Lord M. Please come here."
Author's Note: Hate to leave you hanging, but I want to give this some good space. So Victoria is happy in her abdication, and people still love her, but Melbourne is wracked with guilt. How shocking!
Thank you as always for reading and reviewing.