"The little widow has escaped to Brocket Hall."
"With Melbourne?"
"Who else?"
"Apparently they are conducting an affair!"
"Elizabeth, you are so naïve, of course they are! Melbourne's the only man Her Majesty has ever loved."
"She's replaced Caro in his eyes anyway."
"I think them well suited. The Queen deserves some happiness after that horrid ordeal."
"With the Prime Minister though! I say she rigged the election!"
Such was the conversation in one and every drawing room throughout London and indeed throughout the country.
Victoria and Lord Melbourne had indeed travelled to Brocket Hall, she in her grief unconcerned with her reputation, he blinded by love, his reputation in tatters for over two decades. They were accompanied by Lehzen and a bevy of staff, of course, but the couple saw none but themselves. In any case, they hoped to make their announcement soon enough, provided that enough politicians could be placated. And so they travelled to Brocket Hall, in separate carriages, their last separation of the week.
Strolling arm in arm through the gardens, Victoria and her Lord M were perfectly content, both in silence and conversation.
"I do love it here!" She announced, surveying the idyllic scene before her, the trees, lake and sea of flowers. "If only we could stay forever!"
Lord M grinned, gazing adoringly at his love. "Now you know why I detested London for so long. So crowded, dusty and noisy."
"You never seemed unhappy."
"Oh I was, before I met you. But then, that morning in Kensington, that horrid place, a tiny glimmer of hope entered my life. And then I saw London through your eyes, as a place of wonder and excitement."
"How long ago that was. We were so young!"
Scoffing, Melbourne squeezed her hand. "You are still young, I, on the other hand, have never been young."
Victoria's beautiful blue eyes possessed a mischievous glint as she detached her arm from his.
"Well, my dear Lord M, it is never too late to act as though you are." Giggling maniacally, or so it seemed to him, Victoria pushed him into the lake and followed him in, her white linen dress billowing around her waist. They splashed one another, screeching and laughing, acting like the children they had never been allowed to be.
Soggy and blissfully happy, Melbourne caught her, pulling her towards him and kissing her deeply.
"I suppose this is some consolation for the fact that we are not young anymore."
"Indeed, our consolation prize!"
The remainder of the week passed in a similar fashion. They strolled in the gardens, read in the library, and ate dinner just the two of them. The news of their liaison had reached London. Melbourne had been involved in a scandal such as this, but never the Queen, never the monarch of the greatest empire on Earth.
Everything had seemed so perfect in their little world of Brocket Hall, but that was before the satirists waged war.
Victoria sat crying on the floor of her bedroom, surrounded by the pamphlets when Lord Melbourne burst through the doors, followed swiftly by Lehzen who chastised him. However, the look in his eyes drove her away.
"You've seen them then." He gestured towards the pamphlets wearing a look of extreme disgust.
"Do you hate me for it?" She sobbed, her face red and blotchy.
"For what? You didn't write them." He knelt on the floor on front of her and longed to kiss away her tears.
"They'll ruin you, and then, then," her small body was wracked with sobs, her words barely audible. "You'll leave me again."
He moved beside her, their backs against the hard wood of the foot of her bed.
"Let them ruin me, Ma'am. They've tried and failed to before. But they will never drive me away from you."
She leant her head against his strong shoulder and closed her eyes.
"If you think about it, some of them are quite funny." He retrieved a particular pamphlet which depicted him on his knees, holding his heart out for an evidently smitten Victoria.
"What can be done about it?" Her small voice entreated him, pleaded with him. Oh, how he wanted to shield her from the world, to hide her away from all of the pain and anguish. Pulling her close and kissing the top of her head, he sighed.
"Did I ever tell you about the pamphlets during the whole business with Caro and Byron?" He continued once she shook her small head in the negative. "It was particularly horrid back then, no censorship to be seen. At least there are certain rules nowadays. But they did not hold back. I was depicted as a sheep, as a smitten child, as the village idiot. It hurt, yes, and I felt as though I could not even walk the streets. As bad as it was for me, however, poor Caro was the worst affected and she tried to kill herself." Looking down at Victoria's pale hand in his, he was reminded of the blood streaming down his late wife's slender wrist, the screams of pain and heartbreak. "I got there just in time. But she was so sensitive, so wounded, that she allowed other people, these satirists, to destroy her. She was never the same."
Victoria moved to kneel before him, nodding and stroking his cheek as a single tear wove its way down.
"But you, Victoria, are strong enough to see past this. And I will be here for you. Always."
"And I for you. I for you, my love."
Standing slowly, Melbourne gave her his hand and they exited her room together, smiling conspiratorially.
After all, the people were already talking.
Let them talk.