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Victoria I, Queen of the United Kingdom, sat at her desk in Buckingham Palace, chewing her lower lip, deep in thoughts.
There was no one she could ask to solve the problem she had, because nobody else saw the situation as a problem at all. Whereat that wasn’t completely fair: She knew that her Prime Minster had a problem with her upcoming marriage, too. Not that he would mention it. She saw it on his face, in his eyes, whenever he thought she didn’t look. But she did.
Victoria sighed and closed her eyes. Wasn’t it ironic that she couldn’t ask the man she trusted the most about something this important?
And there was the problem: He was a man. All of them were men. The rules, the laws, the traditions – all were made by and for men. And now there was her. A Queen. Sovereign of a country in which women normally had no rights at all, at least not in politics. So, they tried the only thing they knew: Marry the problem to the first man her status who wanted her and get over with it. In case of Lord M. even at the cost of a broken heart. Rules must be obeyed.
Victoria had no illusions who was supposed to rule the country after her marriage with Prince Albert. Not that she wasn’t able to stand her ground but that would complicate her private life, too, something she didn’t like at all.
And – to complicate things even more – she loved Lord M.. She enjoyed being courted by Prince Albert, which women wouldn’t be flattered by gaining the attention of an attractive young man, but she was sure now that she didn’t want to spend her life with him. Her heart belonged to Lord M. though he never claimed it. It came naturally somehow.
She sighed again, got up and went over to the window. Some stolen kisses…his arms around her the night she fought with Albert… NO! She had no time for this now. She had promised him to make the impossible possible and that was what she would do, whether he believed her or not.
She was the Queen. There were no traditions for queens, they were not intended in the system, more a theoretical occurrence than a fact. But Victoria had studied the Great Queens of the past: Elisabeth I and her sisters, Maria Theresia, Catherine the Great.
They had been stubborn, reckless, made no compromises. They knew what they wanted and took it. And so would she – not she was planning to kill anyone, but…a little mischievous grin curled her lips. Everyone had a price.
She took a deep breath and turned to the door. Time to fight.
&&&&&
A few days later the Duke of Wellington met Lord Melbourne at the Houses of Parliament. They knew and liked each other for quite a while now, so Wellington felt the duty of telling his friend which dangerous course their queen was taking.
Lord Melbourne wasn’t as surprised as he should be yet a little shocked how reckless Victoria had started the game.
“Her Majesty is clever, William”, Wellington told him, “she is sowing doubts about Prince Albert being the right husband for her, all innocence and blue eyes. She must have heart about the discussion about selling Great Britain to the Germans with that marriage, she complains about how she has to pay for her new relatives for their kingdoms are so poor and last but not least she asked with a little touch of naivity if a man from a kingdom as minor as Prince Albert’s is really capable of ruling the British Empire, for she feared that the King of Belgium and her future husband will take over reign as soon as she is with child.”
“Her Majesty has a point there”, Lord Melbourne answered, “but there is no man in Britain with the right status. I told her that more than once.”
“She stated that with a little shrug, too, mentioning that it may be better not to marry at all. But as far as she could see that wasn’t her decision at all. Her Majesty clearly placed the ball in our part of the field now by throwing oil on the fire. Are you sure that you don’t know what she’s up to?”
“I have no idea.” ‘And I hope that I’m a better liar than Her Majesty gave me credit for…’ “I’ll talk to Her Majesty tomorrow. Maybe she tells me something.”
&&&&
But his queen invited him for dinner that very evening.
She was playing piano when he entered, a piece he never heard before. Sweet and soft but telling a story of longing and passion and she played it with all her heart, eyes closed, not seeming to notice that he sat down next to her as close as he dared.
“Chopin?” he asked after she finished, but she shook her head.
“Paul de Senneville - Mariage d'Amour”, she answered, “but most people think it’s Chopin’s ‘Spring Waltz’ and who am I to correct them.”
Victoria turned to him, looking so innocent that he had to supress a chuckle.
She leaned over to him a little closer. “May I steal a kiss?”
“We could get caught…”
“Life is so full of unexpected dangers…” She kissed his cheek and smiled.
He swallowed. “Ma’am…”
“Victoria.”
“Pardon?”
“That’s my name, Lord M.. Victoria. Just in case you forgot.”
“How could I?”
“Then call me by it, will you? As long as we are alone.”
“Victoria…” It took all of him not to embrace her to never let her go again.
“Kiss me, Lord M.. Kiss me like lovers do…” Her arms wandered around his neck…he gave in, far too easy, and his lips found hers. She had a power over him no one ever had before. If she really was married to this coxcomp his heart would shatter.
“So, you really try to make it possible? You and me?” he whispered, brushing her ear with his lips.
“Hmmm….”, she made herself comfortable in his arms, “and best of it: in the end, they will believe that it had been their own idea from the very beginning…”
“You are reckless, Victoria. And very, very cunning. It’s a dangerous game you are playing.”
"I know. But you are worth every risk I have to take. Even if it may cost me everything. I’d rather be Mrs. Melbourne somewhere in exile than being a glorious but unhappy queen.”
“Don’t say something like that. You are MEANT to be queen, Victoria. You are born for this. I’m not.”
“Neither is Albert. It’s not the blood that makes a king, Lord M. You saw that often enough…runs in my family. You always told me that Britain needs a strong monarchy. Certainly, that’s not the case once I’m married to someone with his head in the clouds because someone told him that he is born to be my husband and ruler of the greatest Empire this world has ever seen. All my Empire will get is two kids on one Thorne, bickering on money, titles and so one. Right know he is angry because he will not be King Consort after marriage…and, of course, he wants more money, always more. Really?!?” She rolled her eyes. “If we play our cards carefully, we can win.”
Victoria looked up to her Lord M., studying his face. She could read him like an open book right now after she understood the basic language of love. Hope. Doubt. Longing. She sighed. Wasn’t it ironic how much he taught her beside being a queen?
“Really, Lord M., you are so proud of having a parliament, the whole press claims that they want to have a monarchy closer to the people – but me loving a commoner and everybody is close to a heart attack. Do people EVER know what they want?”
She saw the laughter he supressed gliding over his face before he answered earnestly: “I don’t know, Ma’am. I haven’t experienced it, though. But people have to look up to the Royal Family, it’s an idol, a fairy tale, something to adore...”
“I know. Never free, never me. But I won’t accept that. A king would never be controlled like I’m.”
With that, she turned back to the piano and started to play again. Mariage d’Armour. Her fairy tale she was going to fight for. Her fairy tale she was going to sell to her people to believe in like she did.
Lord Melbourne closed his eyes, listening to the promise the music gave him, each note, each tone like a gentle touch on his skin, caressing him like she wasn’t allowed to, warming like a blanket. Her remembered the night the Baroness had let him to the screaming, crying queen, the night she made him confess his love to her. The night they kissed for the first time until she fell asleep, cradled in his arms. She had made up her mind that very night: all or nothing. She would never settle for the path of least resistance.
She finished again and let her hands sink onto her lap.
“All or nothing, Lord M.. Are you with me?” She asked, not daring to look at him.
He smiled, making up his mind that very second. His rationality had waved a last good-bye already, now the rest followed. All or nothing.
“I am”, he said.