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Chapter Text

“I will, of course, manage your affairs as your private secretary.”

Sir John and her mother stood in front of her, confronting Alexandrina with a seemingly insurmountable barrier. Her heart was still beating fast from the rush of being woken, from the news that her uncle was dead.

That she was queen.

“I think perhaps -” she began quietly, but her voice was drowned out.

“My little Drina, how wonderful things shall be now that you are queen!”

Her mother reached out and took her hand, clasping it tightly. The touch set off a familiar spark, leaving her feeling as though there wasn't enough air in the room to breathe. They would suffocate her, she knew; this chilling pathway of her mother and Sir John controlling and manipulating her whole life going forward.

She carefully drew her hand away.

Ignoring Alexandrina entirely, Sir John turned to her mother and said, “There are a great many things to arrange; I must go immediately to begin discussions.” Her mother was already nodding, already agreeing, but-

“Perhaps I shall choose someone else as my private secretary.”

Both of them turned to stare at her in astonishment.

“Nonsense, Drina-”

“After all, Sir John is part of your household, Mama. I could not expect you to give him up.”

“I would not be giving him up-” her mother started, just as Sir John said “This is more important,” and then they paused to look at each other. Sir John gestured for the Duchess to continue.

“Meine geliebte Tochter-” At Alexandrina's frown her mother switched to English. “We have discussed this many times before. You know you will be lost without Sir John to guide you.” Chiding. Condescending. “He is very experienced, and will advise you well.”

Sir John waited a moment - waited until her head swung back to him and he was sure of her full attention. Then, very deliberately, “You are not ready to handle so much responsibility.”

The severity of Sir John sharpened her dislike to a knife's edge, because it was on his orders - at his insistence - that she had been kept here and not educated on anything of use. Still, a cold fist tightened around her stomach because she feared his words were true. Sometimes she felt as though the only way she had managed to navigate her life thus far was by using her talent. And that had its limitations.

“Dear Drina,” her mother said. “You are so young! No one will take notice of you unless Sir John is there to make them.”

Hatred and fear swirled in her in equal measure. It was entirely possible that they were right, that she did not have the knowledge to be queen.

“Let me advise you,” he pressed.

Another spark at the words, a hundred splintering routes of misery fluttering into and out of existence.

“It is kind of you to offer, Sir John,” she said with tight control. “I shall consider it, of course.”

“We should decide how you should style yourself,” Sir John announced. With a look at her mother that suggested they had previously discussed the matter, he continued, “Alexandrina is too foreign, and Victoria is not a royal name.”

“Then you should have named me something different, Mama,” Alexandrina said sharply.

It was as if she had not spoken. “No, you must have a name that will be respected. Elizabeth. Elizabeth the second.”

A very muted spark, this time; not worth any consideration at all.

She looked at Sir John, then at her mother. “I must get dressed,” she said, and it was such a sensible suggestion that they had to agree.

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“The Prime Minister is arriving, Your Majesty.”

Alexandrina turned, still struggling to adapt to the idea of 'Your Majesty.' Coming from the lips of her governess, strict and dour, it was stranger still.

“Thank you, Baroness Sauer.”

“I suppose, now that you are queen you shall not be needing a governess?”

The woman's face was unreadable, as cold and foreign to Alexandrina as it always had been.

“Indeed. I am grateful for your years of service.” And very little else. On impulse, she reached out and pressed the woman's hand for a moment, but received almost nothing from her at all.

The Baroness bowed her head in momentary obeisance.

“I will stay with you as chaperone.”

“No.” Alexandrina shook her head. “The monarch always meets the prime minister alone.”

“Your Majesty!” Her governess sounded absolutely scandalized. It was a radical departure, it had to be admitted, from Alexandrina's routine thus far in life. She had never been alone in a room with a man outside of her immediate family. She shared her mother's bedchamber every night. “This man, Lord Melbourne,” the baroness continued in a hushed tone. “He is very disreputable!”

Alexandrina's pulse quickened with anxiety again. Was she making a mistake? She knew Sir John would criticise her. But just because she knew Sir John would not like something did not make it wrong.

“Nonetheless,” she said firmly, and moved to the window. She saw a tall, dark-haired man greeting Sir John on the driveway. Dread filled her at the thought of what they might be saying, at how Sir John was probably telling the prime minister that she was too unstable and young to be able to rule effectively. Not outright, no. He would phrase it slyly. “I shall meet the Prime Minister alone.”

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Lord Melbourne was shown in some minutes later, and she turned from her position by the desk. In an effort to stop her fingers trembling, she smoothed down her skirts. He gave a small bow, and she said to herself, do not curtsey, you are queen, and held out her hand instead.

The few steps it took him to reach her were enough for her to revise her estimation to very tall, at least as tall as Sir John, and handsome. He went down smoothly onto one knee, and she had just enough time to think, oh dear God, they're all going to be doing this, before he took her hand in his warm one and his lips brushed over the back of her knuckles.

It hit her as nothing had before, so confined had been her experiences. It was dizziness and warmth and rightness and yes, this way.

“Your Majesty?”

His voice drew her out, and she blinked down at him to find curious green eyes flecked with amber examining her face.

“Your Majesty?” he said again after a moment, and with a surge of embarrassment she realised that she had curled her fingers around his hand. That she had no idea how long they had been standing there until his words had recalled her to herself.

She released him immediately, and drew her hand back as if burned.

“Lord Melbourne,” she managed to say after a moment, and he rose back to his feet.

She had touched perhaps ten people ungloved in her whole life thus far, and none of them had ever given such an impression as that.

Showing no apparent discomfiture over her strange behaviour, he said, “May I offer you my condolences on the death of your uncle, Your Majesty?”

He appeared to genuinely mean it; the first person in the palace, barring Lady Flora, to express any grief over the death of the king.

“Thank you,” she said, unexpectedly moved. “He was always very kind to me. Though he did have some rather strange ideas about whom I should marry,” she added, voice turning dry. That was a path she had seen very clearly when she had last spoken with the king – a miserable and ridiculous marriage.

Lord Melbourne gave a half smile and quirked an eyebrow; just slightly, but enough to make her feel that he was interested and inviting her to elaborate. She opened her mouth, and then Sir John's vehement strictures about watching her tongue in company resounded in her mind. This man was her prime minister; he would judge her and her fitness to rule at every opportunity. And he had already talked to Sir John.

At her continued silence, Lord Melbourne glanced around the room. It showed signs of hasty tidying, and she followed his gaze to find one of her dolls had been missed by Sauer earlier and was half poking out from the corner of her discarded shawl on the sofa.

You are a queen now, her governess had said, you cannot play with childish things.

Doubtless, Sir John would say that Alexandrina should have consulted him before dismissing any member of the household, but she had to admit to great satisfaction in doing so.

Lord Melbourne took a step towards the doll as though to pick it up, and she suppressed the urge to move defensively in front of it.

“What's her name?” he asked, retrieving her from under the shawl. He turned the doll carefully in his hands, examining the face and the small, perfect crown.

“Alexandrina,” said Alexandrina, somewhat defensively.

He studied the doll, and then studied her just as carefully. “Ah, yes. I see the resemblance.”

She rather thought he was teasing her. “Mama named her. She gave her to me for my eleventh birthday.”

“She must be special, then.”

“Yes,” Alexandrina said, and folded her hands at the front of her dress.

That day stood out in her memory. Her mother had cupped her face, told her what a wonderful little girl she was, and Alexandrina had briefly seen a thread where her mother loved only her and was proud of her. She had chased it for weeks, the perfect model child, until it abruptly ended for no reason she could determine. For years afterwards, she had wished she could go back and try again, thinking that she must have missed some critical turning, some small point.

Now, she rather thought if it had been such a fragile future then it had not been worth chasing.

“She reminds me of how my mother sees me,” she added, and reached to take the doll from him.

“And how is that?” he asked neutrally, head cocked to one side.

She didn't answer, but looked down at the doll and rubbed her thumb over the fabric forming the crown.

As a child. As a figure to be moved around in Sir John's games.

“I believe you are acquainted with my mother's advisor, Sir John Conroy,” she said, and his attention was successfully diverted.

“We have... met, Your Majesty. I would not say we are acquaintances.”

She searched his face uncertainly. “You sound as though you do not approve of him?” she asked, heart in her mouth.

He was slow to answer. “No, Your Majesty. I merely do not know him very well.”

“Surely that is what an acquaintance is? Someone that you know to greet on sight, but are not familiar enough with to be friends.”

Now it was his turn to look curiously at her. “Ah, but you leave a space unfilled. What of people one is familiar enough with to be more than acquaintances, but does not like well enough to be friends?”

“Surely those are one's family?” she said whimsically, with a slight laugh. He did not laugh too, merely watching her quietly, and she regretted the moment of easiness instantly.

“Sir John expressed a desire to become your private secretary,” he offered after a moment.

“He has mentioned it to me.” She set the doll aside, clasped her hands in front of her and dug her thumbnail slightly into her palm.

On no further response, he added, “There will be a good deal of business to be attended to. Dispatches requiring your signature, and many things to organise. You will need someone.”

She would need someone. Said so simply, but so true.

But Sir John?

“Do you think Sir John a good choice?” she asked. The words emerged from her mouth without her permission, and, once they had, she half expected him to ridicule her for asking.

Instead he seemed to give the matter serious thought. “It is a very personal matter, Your Majesty. If you feel that he will serve you well as-”

“I asked what you thought,” she said sharply.

He stopped, analysing her calmly. She envied that calm, and despised it a little too.

“I think him capable, Your Majesty. But I meant that I do not know if he would be a good private secretary for you.”

The words struck her forcefully, and she examined his face again.

“What do you mean?”

He shifted on his feet; clasped his hands behind his back. “May I be frank, Your Majesty?”

She nodded.

“Sir John is well known as someone with influence. He is also known as someone who... seeks more of it. I suppose I might wonder if he would view the position as more a means to that end than to help you, Your Majesty.”

A warmth stirred in her at the kindness of his eyes. Someone had noticed, she thought. Someone had seen that Sir John's motives were not for her protection, as her mother insisted. For her betterment.

She nodded again.

“He has... been with your family a long time, I believe?”

“Yes. Yes, he has been Mama's advisor for as long as I can remember. He was with my father before that. He is-” She made a gesture, but could not easily voice her thoughts.

Lord Melbourne did not speak, waiting.

“How does one go about engaging a private secretary anyway?” she asked after a moment. “Do I have to sign something?”

“Your Majesty?”

“What would be required? I had understood previously that I would need to sign some documents.” A brief glance to the side, and she unfolded her hands to brush imaginary dust from her skirts.

Sir John had tried to pressure her again that morning, once she was dressed. It brought back abysmal memories of him and her mother trying to get her to sign such papers a year ago, when she had been very sick; brought back the horror of nearly giving in out of sheer weakness from illness and the constant threatening pressure of a miserable future.

She hated him.

When she gathered enough courage to meet his eyes, Lord Melbourne seemed puzzled. “You may of course engage someone to take on the duties of a private secretary immediately, Your Majesty – at your own discretion. Nothing more is necessary.”

“I see,” she said.

He hesitated for a moment, then, “Might I suggest that if you are uncertain of whom you wish to occupy the position, then there is no harm in beginning by taking unofficial advice?”

“Would that be unusual?”

“It is mainly an office to make your life easier – to act as a channel of communication with government and to organise your political affairs. There is no obligation on your part to have such a person, however.” On seeing her thoughtful look, he added, “There was no real need for such a position at all until recent years. The ministers used to keep the monarch informed. I would be happy to do so, if it would be of use to you?”

It seemed to be a genuine offer of service. Certainly she would trust the prime minister to fill her in on the state of government far more than she would trust Sir John, but then she had no knowledge or understanding of his motives.

“Perhaps,” she said, and, on instinct, extended her hand. He took the two steps necessary to reach her and bow over it, and again there was the strong sensation of rightness, a faint tingling, and this time the thread of a pathway which suggested... something she couldn't quite name. And happiness too, perhaps. “Thank you,” she added.

Seeming to understand that this was an end to the conversation, he smiled and bowed. “It has been an honour meeting you, Your Majesty.”

It had been an odd interview, but a strangely satisfying one.

Chapter Text

Lord Melbourne dined that evening with his sister, as she had sent him a note saying her husband was feeling ill and she was in dire need of entertainment.

“She has been very sheltered, I think,” he said when pressed about his meeting with the new queen. “It's well known that they kept her away from court, of course, but it's more than that.” He frowned into his soup course.

Emily regarded him with interest, and, when he looked up at her, said, “Everyone is so very curious about her. Even when the Duchess of Kent and her pet advisor have come out in company they've given very little away – aside from their recent comments that she is rather unstable. Indeed, they usually manage very little other than giving offence everywhere they go.”

From his sister, who tended to be kind even under duress, this was a damning statement.

“Emily-”

“Well, imagine suggesting that Lord Palmerston was an oversexed man of loose morals!” Melbourne said nothing, but his lips tugged in a smile, and after a moment she put down her spoon and laughed. “Well, I know, but imagine saying it!”

He shook his head at her, and finished his soup.

As the dishes were cleared away, she said, “But come, tell me what is she like? The queen?”

“She is... just as short as they say. But dignified.” He tipped his head, remembering. “She has quite a presence, Emily. And she is curious, I think. Quick. There may be a sense of humour there, if it hasn't been crushed yet.”

“That will do nicely – you always get on better with people that can laugh.”

He gave her a quick smile. “I'm not much longer for politics, you know that.”

“So you keep saying,” she said, with a touch of mischief. “These many years now. Besides, now we have a new monarch! Aren't you at all curious to see how her rule will unfold - from the royal box, as it were?”

“Perhaps,” he admitted, and leant back as a new dish was set in front of him. “I've offered to give her some tutelage in politics, I think.”

She laughed. “Of course you have.”

“I suspect she may need it,” he said, voice turning serious. “I'm worried, Emily.” She looked askance at him. “She's only eighteen, of course, but I'm not sure she has been prepared as well as she could have been.”

His sister's was too good at interpreting him, as always. “Sheltered, you said,” she murmured, and he gave a half smile.

“We shall see, I suppose. She has enough spirit in her at least.”

Emily waited as her wine glass was refilled, then took a sip. “Perhaps she just needs the right guidance.”

“Mmm,” he agreed, unthinking, then raised his eyes to her. “No,” he said warningly.

“What?” she protested, mock-innocent. “You said you were going to tutor her in politics!”

“The basics! Enough to let her get by, while she arranges for an advisor. Good God, as long as she doesn't pick Conroy for her private secretary – God knows what poison the man will drip in her ear. She was meeting with Baron Stockmar today, at least – I saw him on my way out. Hopefully he will argue against it.”

“On the other hand, we all know why he is here,” his sister said dryly. “I heard the King of the Belgians has been planning that marriage since their infancy.”

“I am not sure the Queen will be so easily led when it comes to marriage,” Melbourne said. He considered the matter a moment longer. “She said something about disapproving of other people's choices for her husband – I forget.”

“Well, you'd better tutor her well, William, otherwise whoever she chooses as husband might have too easy a time getting the upper hand.”

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes.”

They ate for a few minutes in silence, as he turned the encounter with the queen over again in his mind.

“It was the funniest thing,” he said abruptly, his brow creasing in a frown.

“What was the funniest thing, William?” she prompted after a few moments.

“What? Oh. Nothing. Just...” She was about to chastise him for being unnecessarily elusive when he said, “I was thinking about Mother.”

“Mother?”

“The queen reminded me of her for some reason, and I have been reminiscing all afternoon.”

His sister's face softened. “I think of her often too, William. I confess there are few people in the world I have ever felt I could confide in so easily.”

“She was a marvel,” he agreed, thoughts distant. “How she always seemed to understand.” They sat in peaceful silence for a moment, meal forgotten, and then he roused himself. “Do you remember that expression she used to get - when she took your hand and saw straight through you?”

“Oh yes.” Emily laughed. “I confess that's one talent I never envied. Useful as it might sometimes be to know how someone is feeling, I'd rather not have everyone's problems thrust upon me!”

“Rather be a far-seer, hmm?”

She turned up her nose a little. “Nonsense, brother. That's what I have my network of spies for!”

“How was your party on Saturday?” he asked dutifully, and she laughed.

“Since you have been so obliging as to ask, I shall tell you. In great detail.”

He groaned, as was his role, and settled in to enjoy the rest of the evening.

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The next day dawned bright and clear, and thrummed with activity as everyone made ready for the country to meet their queen. Lord Melbourne already felt tired of the day's politics by the time the Privy Council assembled at Kensington Palace, but the mutterings and dubious faces were enough to straighten his back and lend him strength. He would be at least one friendly face in the crowd.

One which was needed, apparently, as the councillors stirred and threw the queen off her game during her speech. She stood tall, but he could see her nervousness. She made it through the speech, sat down, and he thought, thank God, the worst is over.

But then came the first of her councillors taking his knee in front of her, and her smooth, blank expression.

Oh God, he thought. Oh God in heaven.

The moment stretched, the queen clearly not knowing what words to speak.

Just in front and to one side of him was Sir John Conroy, and Melbourne could easily make out the unforgiving disdain on the man's face, the proud bearing. It served Sir John well to have left her unprepared, to make her look weak. Incompetent. To strengthen the claim he had made to Melbourne only the day before: that she could not manage and needed him as her private secretary. The hint that she might even need a regent.

The queen didn't look up, didn't see Sir John awaiting her notice. It was as though she were denying reality.

Or as though she were lost, Melbourne thought suddenly, in the touch of a hand.

He had stepped forward before he was even aware of his course of action, settling just behind and to her left. She did not move.

He bent forward slightly. Murmured, “Lord Ilchester.”

He saw the slightest start, the smallest intake of breath. Then, “Lord Ilchester,” she managed, and perhaps the words were staccato and strained but they were said. Lord Melbourne had the satisfaction of seeing Sir John’s expression settle into a steely mask.

The next name, said low and quiet, and she repeated it, and again. Each time someone new took her hand he saw the same stiffness come over her, the same frozen moment which was dispelled as he said the next name.

If his suspicions were right... How little experience she must have. How overwhelming everything must be. But they had never heard anything of it at court, and surely if the heir had a talent it would have been touted from the rooftops?

He watched her from the corner of his eye until the last supplicant, the Duke of Cumberland, was dealt with.

“I believe there's quite a crowd outside waiting to hear the proclamation. Perhaps now would be a good time to show yourself on the balcony?”

She turned to him and rose, leading the way out of the council chamber. He followed a pace behind, and her walk was stately and composed; no sign of her recent near-embarrassment.

Had she been unaware of what had passed? If so, they would have to be careful. Gloves, perhaps, for visiting dignitaries. If he wasn't mistaken; wasn't seeing more than was there. Shyness and inexperience could easily lead to the same effect.

She stopped a few yards short of the exit to the balcony, turning to him. “Thank you,” she said abruptly, and her eyes shone with sincerity.

He confined himself to bowing his head. “Your Majesty.”

There was a long moment of silence, but he kept his head down until she suddenly said, “He was punishing me,” and then he looked up with inquiring eyes. She did not elaborate as to who. “I would not listen when he wished me to sign some papers, yesterday.”

He hesitated. It was certainly not Conroy's place to insist she do anything, but it was possible that he had merely been presenting things that she did need to sign. “Papers, Your Majesty?”

She considered him gravely. “I mentioned them to you,” she said, and he was bewildered, because they hadn't talked about any matters of state during his visit, nor of signing anything except...

He cleared his throat. “Most men would be honoured to served their queen however they could.” Because dear God, let her not think that man representative of the species.

She studied him for a moment longer. There was an abortive movement, and then a smooth one as she extended a delicate hand towards him. He had not knelt before her with the rest of the Privy Council. He did so now, feeling the symbolic rightness of the action, though the cold marble floor was not kind to his knee. His large hand carefully took her small fingers, and in an echo of the day before her fingertips immediately curled around the edge of it. He didn't move to kiss her hand, instead watching her face, and saw a slight furrow appear between her eyebrows, saw the way the corner of her mouth twitched down and her eyes became unfocused.

Her chest rose and fell in a shallow breath, then suddenly she blinked and looked straight at him again. This time she did not remove her hand immediately, the way she had yesterday.

“Lord Melbourne,” she said. “In the proclamation I am referred to as Alexandrina Victoria. But I do not like the name Alexandrina. From now on, I wish to be called Victoria.”

He bent and barely brushed his lips across her knuckles. As he pulled back, he looked up and pronounced, “Queen Victoria.”

Her gaze turned briefly inwards, then her hand pulled away. “Yes,” she murmured, as though to herself, and went forward to the balcony to wave at the crowd.

His queen was most interesting, he reflected as he straightened again. Perhaps his sister was right, and this was no time to retire from politics after all.