He watched her play, a snifter of brandy in his hand, and smiled to himself. She was playing Mozart's Piano Sonata No. 14 in C Sharp Minor, and though she made periodic mistakes, her playing was perfect to Melbourne's ears.
She cast her gaze over to him from time to time and smiled, and Melbourne sipped his brandy, enjoying the sight of her and the sound of her music. They'd dined together, privately, and then she'd sketched while he sat and watched. He'd been staring at her all night, he realised, but he couldn't care.
This was bliss, Melbourne thought. Nothing could ever be better than this life, this life he'd built with Victoria.
Five weeks later, a letter came to Brocket Hall. HRH The Duchess of York, it read on the outside. Victoria brought the unopened letter into the library, where Melbourne was writing about St Chrystostom.
"I recognise this script," she said, holding up the letter. Melbourne turned in his chair and frowned.
"Who is it from, Ma'am?" He still called her that, often, purely out of habit. She never corrected him. Victoria broke the seal on the letter and said,
"It's from my Uncle Leopold."
"Ah."
She pulled out the letter inside, prepared for anything. She had only spoken to her own mother twice since marrying Melbourne, and she could only imagine what the Duchess of Kent had passed on to Leopold. Victoria unfolded the letter and began to read aloud.
"My most beloved niece, Alexandrina Victoria,
What an egregious mistake you have made. To surrender your crown for the life of a commoner - what folly! I can not pretend to understand what demon has possessed you to behave in this way, but I fear for you now. You are heavy with child, I know, and it is his child. Lord Melbourne's child. Riots in London threw you from your throne, and all because of your selfish and childish behaviour. How can I begin to impress upon you how very ridiculous all of this is? And now it is too late to fix any of it.
I am ashamed of you, Alexandrina Victoria. I am filled with shame at the thought of what you have become. My heart aches for the niece I once had. My stomach churns at the thought of your new husband.
May you be happy in the life you have chosen.
Your loving Uncle Leopold, King of the Belgians."
"He doesn't sound particularly loving," Melbourne said, raising his eyebrows, "nor especially supportive."
"No. He does not. But, then, the last time I saw my mother, she called me a Jezebel," Victoria said, primly tearing up the letter. She marched over to the fireplace, which was lit owing to the chilly day outside, and tossed Leopold's letter inside.
"Will you answer him?" Melbourne asked, and Victoria shook her head.
"No," she said. "I will not. Let them all be unhappy. I am happy. I am happy with you, William. And that is all that counts."
"Christmas," Victoria sighed contentedly, looking out onto the light snow that was dusting the gardens of Brocket Hall.
"Do you know, Ma'am, that in the 1640s, Oliver Cromwell banned Christmas entirely?" Melbourne said from beside her. He put his hand on her now-enormous belly and leaned to kiss her cheek, and he murmured, "Carols were forbidden. No merry-making was allowed at all."
"How very gloomy," complained Victoria. "I adore Christmas."
"Well," said Melbourne, "I know Emily and Lord Palmerston are looking forward to Christmas dinner. And I'm truly grateful that you thought to invite my sister."
"She's always been a friend, ever since I met her," Victoria said softly, touching at the glass. "Besides, she and Lord Palmerston are a model for me. They married for love, even when everyone told them they should not."
Melbourne was quiet for a long time then. At last he whispered,
"Shall we exchange our gifts now, Ma'am?"
"Oh, yes," she gushed, turning around and grinning at him. "I'm so very excited to give you yours. Let me go fetch it."
A few minutes later, she had fetched the parcel she'd wrapped in brown paper, and she brought it back into the drawing room, where Melbourne was waiting with a small box on his lap. She smiled weakly at him and passed over the parcel, which was large and heavy. Melbourne gratefully accepted it and then sank down onto a divan before the fireplace. He began to unwrap the package, and Victoria's heart raced. What if he didn't like it? What if he thought it was a stupid gift?
But he pulled out the marble globe she'd commissioned for him, and he twirled it on its stand in apparent awe. He studied the way every country was a different colour marble, and he murmured,
"This is magnificent."
"Do you really like it?" Victoria fretted. She knitted her hands together and worried, "I thought perhaps you might not -"
"I adore it, Victoria," said Melbourne. He set the globe aside and whispered, "Thank you. Happy Christmas."
He passed over his little box, and Victoria tore at the white paper on it. She opened the box and gasped. It was a necklace of pearls and diamonds, alternating along a strand, with a mother-of-pearl pendant surrounded by little diamonds. It was a stunning necklace, absolutely gorgeous, and Victoria found herself bereft of anything to say. She just stared down at it and then finally raised her eyes to Melbourne and choked out,
"You had this made for me?"
"I know you enjoy your pearls," he said softly, and Victoria's throat went tight. She nodded and pulled out the necklace, clasping it behind her neck and patting at her throat.
"How does it look?" she asked, and Melbourne nodded vigorously.
"You look stunning, Victoria. As always."
"Stunning!" mused Emily, reaching her gloved fingers toward Victoria's necklace. She looked to her brother and smiled. "Well done, William."
"Isn't it perfect?" Victoria asked, and Emily grinned broadly.
"My, but he does love you."
"Let's eat," said Melbourne, as though he were embarrassed by all the attention. "I'm starved."
Victoria waddled rather ungracefully towards the dining room, followed by the others. Melbourne pulled out her chair at the head of the table, and Victoria marveled to see him do so instead of a servant. She sat, holding her belly and huffing a breath. As the others sat, she felt a strong contraction, and she winced.
"Are you all right, Victoria?" asked Melbourne cautiously.
"Yes," she seethed between clenched teeth. "It's just a… cramp…"
Emily stared at her brother for a long moment, and Lord Palmerston looked uncomfortable. Victoria blinked a few times until her vision steadied, and she recovered from the sharp, stinging pain of the contraction. She watched as carrot soup was served at the table, and she picked up her spoon. It shook in her hand, but she managed to bring a spoonful between her lips.
Then, suddenly, she felt a flush of soaking wet heat between her legs, and her eyes went round as saucers. The flow didn't stop; it was as though Victoria was wetting herself. She gasped and looked to Emily, who gazed at her in amazement.
"Emily," Victoria squeaked, "may I speak to you in the corridor?"
"Of course, Your Royal Highness," Emily said gravely. She came to Victoria's chair and helped her out, and Melbourne fretted,
"Whatever is wrong, Victo - oh."
He seemed to see that she'd soaked through her skirts sitting down, and then there was silence at the table. Emily guided Victoria out into the corridor and asked furtively,
"How many contractions have you had today?"
"More than usual," Victoria said tightly. She held onto her belly then, for another crippling contraction had flooded over her. She leaned heavily onto Emily, who rubbed at Victoria's arm and said softly,
"Breathe, Your Royal Highness. It is your time. We'll send for the doctor at once."
Victoria felt fear strike her through. She did not want to die in childbirth like Charlotte had done. She wanted to live, to go on happily with her Lord M. So she broke into terrified tears as Emily called out for Melbourne, and as the two of them helped her upstairs, into Augustus' old room.
Melbourne paced outside the bedroom as Victoria screamed. She let out a cry, and then there was silence, and he could hear the doctor murmuring to her. Melbourne stayed in the corridor in anxious silence for an hour of the yelling and moaning, and then he decided he'd had enough of waiting away from her. He hadn't been with Caroline for her births, but this was different. He was so very madly in love with Victoria, and he knew that she was afraid. So he pushed open the door to the bedroom, and he ignored the doctor, who indignantly exclaimed,
"My Lord! Wait outside, if you please."
"I wish to be with my wife," Melbourne said stoutly. Victoria was sobbing on the bed, her hair pulled into a messy braid over one shoulder. She held out a shaking, sweaty arm and muttered to Melbourne,
"Oh, Lord M, you've come."
"Of course I have, Ma'am," he said in return. He pulled up a chair alongside the bed and took her hand in his. "Of course I have."
"I need to push! Now!" Victoria cried out. But the doctor shook his head and said,
"Not yet, Your Royal Highness. You are in transition, and you -"
"Now!" Victoria seethed. "I need to push now. Agggh!"
She squeezed roughly at Melbourne's hand as a contraction ripped through her. Melbourne thought distantly about the way Emily and Lord Palmerston had gracefully gone to their guest quarters once Victoria had entered active labour. Now it was early morning, and Victoria had undoubtedly kept Emily and her husband awake. His sister wouldn't mind, Melbourne knew.
"Victoria. You are doing so well," he mused, petting at her hair. He turned to the maid who was in the room and demanded, "A damp cloth, please."
The maid instantly curtsied and walked over to a bowl of water. She dipped a washcloth into it and wrung it out, handing it to Melbourne. The water was cold, for it was winter. That would feel good on Victoria's head, he thought. He touched it to her cheeks and her forehead, and she whimpered as her eyes fluttered shut.
"I need to push," she said again, weakly, and Melbourne insisted to the doctor,
"If she feels it, then let her try."
"Yes, My Lord. Your Royal Highness, during your next contraction, bear down with all of your might." The doctor stood stiffly at the foot of the bed. The maids came up beside Victoria and helped her adjust her legs and arms to push. Melbourne helped push up the hem of her nightgown and held her hand more firmly than ever.
"Three, two, one," he murmured, for he could see that a contraction had taken Victoria over. "Push."
She gritted her teeth and groaned as she pushed. She did it with the next contraction, and the next, and the one after that. She was red-faced and soaked with sweat soon enough, and Melbourne couldn't stop thinking about what they'd discussed - a daughter called Sarah. Would she birth him a little girl called Sarah? Or would it be -
There was screaming all of a sudden, a delightful sound that simultaneously struck tremulous amazement and joy through Melbourne's heart. The sound of a baby. Victoria had birthed a baby. Their baby.
"It is a boy," said the doctor, holding the bloodied infant in his arms. He cut the umbilical cord, and the maids hurried to clean off the baby. Victoria collapsed back against the pillows as they wrapped up the baby in a neat white cloth, and she huffed and puffed as she cradled the infant against her chest.
"A boy," Melbourne said, and then he broke out into sudden sobs. He lowered his face down to Victoria's and kissed her lips gently, whispering in an almost frantic voice, "We have a little boy, Victoria."
"Henry Alexander," she whispered hoarsely, and he kissed the baby's head and murmured against his son's skin,
"Henry Alexander."
Author's Note: Thank you so much for your patience with my updating. I have been in the hospital for four days, but I'm home now. I appreciate you reading and reviewing.