Chapter Text
To Melbourne’s frustration, over the next few days the queen seems to be in the company of Prince Friedrich every time he sees her. It is like Albert all over again, except without her taking comfort and refuge in Melbourne’s presence through her complicated highs and lows of emotion. Now he is an afterthought, a presence to be absently acknowledged, to be told that she has already dealt with the day’s matters, or that they can wait. Except… except that she still asks for him to be there, that she won’t dismiss him even while she seems enraptured with the prince’s presence. Again, like Albert, but this time there are more frequent glances, usually unconscious but occasionally teasing - to check where Melbourne is, if he is attending her, if he has stayed. Were she other than she is, he might have accused her of coquetry, of playing a game to incite his jealousy. But though she has always wanted his attention, he knows his queen too well to think she would play such games. She looks to see if he has stayed because she wants him there, because she perhaps doubts him.
He has stayed each time, even though he has been tempted to absent himself more than once when it seemed she had no need of him and there was no opportunity for private conversation. Still, he would never leave while she still claims to need him, so he is there to catch her eye each time, again, again.
His reward for his persistence, and he comes to believe later that it actually is a deliberate reward, is being shown into the queen’s morning room perhaps a week after he visited his sister, finding her alone and sorting through the correspondence for the day. The small smile she gives him as she looks up is genuine and uncomplicated, and he feels his heart settle a little in his breast where it has been lurching unhappily for days.
“Ma’am,” he greets her with a gentle smile of his own, and goes to kiss her hand.
“Good afternoon, Lord M.”
Somehow, today their rapport is restored in its full glory. Her wit sparkles as she teases him, he says outrageous things with a straight face and waits to see how long it will take her to find him out. The business of the day takes perhaps an hour but is made much lighter by the atmosphere between them, and his heart is happier than it has been in weeks.
Then, “What do you think of Prince Friedrich?” she asks, as he folds the final letter they have dealt with.
It is a question she has so far avoided, unlike her constant wish for discussion when it had been Albert. Melbourne has been choosing to believe it indicates a lack of any serious interest.
“The Prince?” he asks, carefully neutral. “I’m afraid I haven’t had much conversation with him.” He scans her face and sees nothing but artless curiosity in her slight frown. “What do you think of him, ma’am?”
She hesitates for a second, rearranging her shawl, and something in his stomach clenches tight. Her head raises again, and she briefly meets his eyes. “Oh, he is pleasant enough, I suppose.” Hesitates again. “He is due to leave in a week.”
“Indeed.” When more seems to be required of him, “He seems to have a great deal of conversation.”
“Yes,” she says, grasping at this gambit in a way which makes Melbourne think that she does perceive his awkwardness on the topic. “He is always talking to me of music, and of his travels. He seems to have visited so many places.” Her voice takes on a wistful tone at the last.
“Surely you are not dissatisfied with England, ma’am?” he says, and it takes effort to keep his voice light.
“No.” She gives him a quick smile. “No, of course not. It is the very best of countries. It is nice to hear of foreign lands though, and the way they do things there. You have travelled, have you not, Lord M?”
He nods and tells her of the two trips he made to France and Belgium. She listens attentively, occasionally asking questions, and before he realises it enough time has passed that she must go and dress for dinner.
“You describe things very differently from Prince Friedrich,” she says absently as she turns to go.
Unconsciously, he sets his jaw. “Oh?”
“Yes.” She appears to consider him. “I think you have a much deeper understanding of the places you have been - perhaps because you do not look at them solely as opportunities for entertainment.”
His heart leaps at that, because it is impossible to take those words as anything other than criticism of the prince. “I have noticed that the Prince does not always have… substance to his arguments,” he says carefully.
The slightest smile skims over her mouth before she suppresses it. “He is a great advisor on women’s fashion, however,” she says gravely, and Melbourne quirks an eyebrow.
“Indeed, ma’am? An invaluable skill to be sure.”
“And his comments on the presentation of meals are always very… precise.”
“Precise, ma’am?”
“And,” she continues, apparently enjoying his amusement, “He likes to talk to me of the great importance of reading. He told me that he understands women may find it difficult, but that even given the demands upon his time he has managed to finish a book he started a mere three years ago.”
He takes in the absolute seriousness of her expression, the delighted shine of her eyes. “A whole book, ma’am? In only three years?”
“He is practically a scholar,” she agrees solemnly. Then, “How many books have you read in the last three years, Lord M?”
He puffs out a laugh. “Fewer than I would like, ma’am.”
“More than one?”
“Certainly more than one, ma’am. But perhaps we do the Prince a disservice; it is to be supposed that the book in question was very long?”
She cannot help the small smile that flickers over her face, and he leans down a little as she cups her hands to whisper in his ear.
He is slow to draw back, treasuring the look of bright mirth on her face in the wake of the secret she has shared. “Really, ma’am,” he says. “That is truly impressive.”
He leaves feeling… content.
No, a great deal more than content.
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The next time he sees the queen in close conference with Prince Friedrich, he forces himself to see beyond the jealous screen which clouds his vision, and accordingly observes that while she enjoys the prince’s attentions, she does not seem captivated by them. Indeed, Melbourne thinks that the duchess is more invested in the idea of this pairing than her daughter.
Melbourne joins their conversation and uses his considerable skill to gently expose the prince’s weaknesses. He does it in such a way that the prince doesn’t even realise Melbourne is teasing at his flaws, but the queen does, and she flashes looks of increasing amusement Melbourne’s way. Keeping her expression very serious, she even occasionally joins in, asking for clarification of some political or cultural point that the prince is happy to present himself as a great authority on despite being ill-informed.
Eventually the queen says that she believes another member of the party requires Friedrich’s attention, and he bows charmingly and moves across the room.
As soon as he is out of hearing range, the queen lets out a quick, high laugh. “Lord M! You should be ashamed of yourself.”
He is unrepentant. “I find his opinions very stimulating. Alas, I feel I do not get the full benefit of his charms, as he feels no need to flatter me.”
That earns him a sharp look, as the queen tries to determine if Melbourne is criticizing her. After a moment, she settles and looks out over the other people in the room. “He may not have a great deal of… depth to him, but one never doubts that he is in earnest. And I have…” She pauses. “I have been cruel, in secretly laughing at him.”
“And here I have been under the impression that secretly laughing at political bores was the only way you got through most days.” He knows it is, it is a skill he taught her. “I am sure that you laugh at me,” he adds, and a smile quirks her lips.
“Of course, Lord M – but I have the integrity to do that to your face.” Her eyebrow ticks up in challenge, and he acknowledges the hit with a mirthful twitch of his lips.
“I am honoured, ma’am, that you feel you can share your honest opinion with me.”
“I try,” she says lightly, then her face turns abruptly serious and she frowns at him distractedly. “You do make it difficult, sometimes.”
His mouth goes dry. He clasps his hands behind his back, standing a little straighter. “I am aware that I have, at times in the past, not made it easy for you to say that which you have wanted to, ma’am. I am sorry that I was not ready to hear it.”
She eyes him carefully, and he tries to keep his face as open as possible. Just as she opens her mouth to speak, he continues, “I hope that you will not mind the same honesty in return?”
“I would welcome it. As long as you do not mean to laugh at me, Lord M.”
“Never that, ma’am,” he says mock-gravely, and a moment later they are joined by the queen’s mother and their conversation is left for another day.
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In the last four days of his visit, Prince Friedrich seems to suddenly dredge up the intensity and motivation he has been lacking for the prior weeks. He has always been constantly attentive to the queen, but it was something of a game for him before, and now suddenly there is an edge to his charm. Suddenly he is serious. Given a guess, Melbourne would have to assume he has received a letter from his family forcefully querying whether he has got the queen to agree to marry him yet, and the prince has realised that since she has not yet asked, he needs to push her into it.
Where Melbourne has had to be content as a silent observer for the last weeks, now he feels he has the right to step forward once more, to be at the queen’s side and deflect some of the more persistent attempts the man makes at flirtation. Oh, the queen doesn’t mind – she, at least, still seems to be treating it as entertainment, thank God – but it has stirred Melbourne’s blood to have stood idly by for so long, and now he can finally place himself squarely in the man’s path. The prince wished to go for a ride with her? Excellent, Melbourne had been longing to get out of doors too. Another tour of the Palace? Terribly sorry, but wasn’t there a pressing matter of business that needed to be addressed, ma’am?
The queen could have crucified him for any one of these interferences, had she been inclined to, had she really wanted to spend time with the man, but she doesn’t. She smiles and says, “Oh yes, Lord M has an excellent seat, I do love to see him ahorse,” and, “Of course, Lord M, we should attend to it at once. My sitting room?”
He glories at being back in her favour – it is wondrous, to have her little smiles directed his way, to have her unconsciously look to him every time something amuses or puzzles her. She is wondrous.
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“I wonder if you remember, ma’am,” he starts, as he walks her to the prince’s farewell ball. The need to talk to her again, to impress his sincerity, has been pressing at him for days. Alas, revising in front of his mirror has provided no inspiration on what to say.
Tell her how you feel, his sister had said.
“Yes, Lord M?”
His silence had been too long, the queen is gazing at him in puzzlement, having detected his odd mood. He gives a brief smile to assuage any worry that something is wrong, and then clears his throat.
“I wonder if you remember my inquiry about whether it was permissible for me to be truly honest with you, ma’am?”
They have stopped in the corridor, the glow of candles and the distant laughter of guests their only accompaniment.
“Yes,” she says simply.
He takes a breath. “Then may I start by saying again how truly lovely you look tonight, ma’am. Beautiful.”
She does. Her face is flushed and happy with anticipation for the ball, and her eyes sparkle. Small flowers adorn her hair, and her gown is deep blue brushed silk, twinkling with tiny gems studded in the skirt like the night sky. Her shoulders are bare, and he longs to run his fingers over them, to cup their fragile strength in his hands and hold her to him.
“Thank you, Lord M.”
“I wanted to tell you,” he clears his throat, and waits for a footman to pass. In the servant’s wake a hush seems to fall, as though the world is holding its breath. “I wanted…” It is hard, to finally speak of this. It has been so long since he declared his love for Caro, he’s rather out of practice. “Ma’am. I hope you know how highly I think of you.”
He moves the slightest bit closer, as if to shut out the outside world, and her head tilts back a little more.
“I’m not sure you do,” he murmurs, after scanning her face. “Sometimes you have understood me very well, I think, better than I have understood myself. But I was afraid, afraid for you and perhaps for myself.”
Her smile trembles a little, her expression becoming uncertain.
“I love you, ma’am,” he says simply, and watches the shock of it wash over her face. “I always have. I always will. I have tried to protect you from it, thinking to hurt only myself, and I am sorry that I have failed you in this so badly.”
“In protecting me from it?” she asks after a moment, and oh, she sounds so fragile to his well-tuned ears.
He smiles slightly, looking down at her with unabashed fondness. “No,” he says, and reaches to adjust one of the small white flowers in her hair, allowing the side of his hand to just brush her face. Her lips part, and his gaze drops to them. “In persisting once I realised how much it was hurting you. In not allowing you an equal say.”
Her eyes rise from his mouth to study his face. “In not allowing me to follow my heart, you said?”
“Yes.”
She looks away, flustered, desperately reaching for composure. “I still do not understand why you are saying this now.”
Ah, and he cannot be surprised that she is still wary of his change of heart. “I am sorry that I have given you such cause to doubt me,” he says seriously. “In all honesty, ma’am, it was when you said something to me about learning from previous mistakes - I became unconscionably aware that I was not learning at all. I am not saying,” he says slowly, “that my reasons were invalid. I wanted you to marry someone worthy of you, ma’am, someone who would cement your reign politically as well as being able to support and love you.”
“And now?”
“And now…” He huffs a self-deprecating laugh. “I tried to tell myself I should be happy if you married Prince Friedrich.” His eyes catch hers. “But I found myself unable to be. I was as caught up in petty jealousy as any man and found it impossible not to try.”
“To try?”
“To try to win you, ma’am. To prove myself, if it is not too late.”
“Lord M,” she says in a small, hushed voice.
“I think perhaps you know, but… I am yours, ma’am. Completely.” The honesty of his own words shakes him a little, and he pauses before continuing. “I thought perhaps it was time I told you so.” He tries to smile, but the strain of the moment twists it. He is anxious – more so than he thought he would be. “I have to say, ma’am,” he says in a conspiratorial manner, leaning his head slightly closer, “that honesty turns out to be rather terrifying.”
Her eyes are still locked with his, and at this they warm with sympathy. “Yes,” she says, and he is given to remember that she has experienced this exact situation in reverse. It would certainly serve him right if she rejected him utterly now. “Still,” she says suddenly, “I find I rather like it.”
“Ma’am?” he says, at a loss.
“Your honesty,” she says, and oh, her face is so earnest. “About this matter in particular.” She hesitates, and for a moment he thinks she will say something more.
After a moment’s silence, he gives the slightest nod of his head. “I shall always attempt to be so from now on, ma’am.”
“They will be waiting for me,” she says, with the slightest gesture towards the end of the corridor, though her eyes don’t leave his.
“Well,” he says, and his eyes crease as he smiles, “By all means, let us not keep them waiting, ma’am.”
He holds out his arm, and, still looking disarmed, she delicately skims her fingers along the top of it before curling them around. Her hold is so light he might almost not have felt it, except that the small points of contact seem to radiate heat, and as they walk his mouth twitches again and again with the effort of holding in his smile.
Once she is safely delivered to her seat, he respectfully retreats to one side, staying near enough for his presence to be felt but not intrusive. In contrast, various subjects and ministers approach to vie for attention, frequently pushing her into irritation or boredom with their insincere flattery or condescension. She is getting better at hiding it, at least, his queen, but –
Just as he thinks it, he sees her brow arch with true impatience, and as she opens her mouth to launch a cutting remark he is moving, intercepting the situation. “Lord Banbury,” he says. “Forgive me for interrupting, but I was hoping you would have a moment to discuss....”
Some half an hour later, he asks for a dance with her and is graciously accepted. “As a reward for saving me from that dreadful bore,” she whispers from the side of her mouth, otherwise seeming completely composed.
“Oh,” he murmurs back. “Were you not enjoying your conversation? And there I felt quite guilty about stealing someone who had you looking so animated.”
She snorts quietly, then quickly glances around to see if anyone noted the lack of queen-like behaviour. Luckily, the efforts of the musicians render their conversation inaudible to those watching them move to the dance floor. “The man thinks I cannot have a single thought inside my silly head, and that he must inform me of the correct opinions on every current topic of interest in the country. Correct indeed!”
She is still fuming a little as they face each other, and he lifts his brows in mild inquiry as he offers her his hand. She sighs, gives a little nod to indicate she is letting the matter go, and then gracefully slips her hand into his. His other hand very properly rests just below her shoulder blades, the fine material of her dress slipping against his fingers.
She glances up at him and gives a smile, and they dance.
Unlike his last dance with her, there is no tension here, and they don’t speak. Her skirt brushes and swirls around his legs as he guides her around the room, and there is nothing but the timing of the music and the gentle press of her hand, the small glow of her smiles. Dancing with her is always a pleasure, and this time particularly so – to feel so in accord with her, to know that she knows his feelings and intentions and is favouring him like this. It has the air of promise to it, and his heart is alternatively content and fraught with anticipation.
Afterwards he makes his way around the room, making small talk and empty gestures and finding that all of the fancy decorations and subtle politicking can’t hold his attentions. Frequently he is inattentive in conversation and has to excuse himself and ask people to repeat themselves, because his eyes have strayed in the direction of the queen, wondering what she is thinking.
Perhaps an hour later, he has steered himself back to the queen’s side just in time to watch as she steals off into a small side room - ‘for a bit of air’ she says to her ladies - and he, despite knowing how it might look if their combined absence were to be noted, follows.
She is idly circling the dim room, delicate fingers trailing over a chairback here, a writing desk there. She stops with her back to him, pretending to examine a dark tapestry with great industry, but he knows from the line of her body that she is aware of his presence. He takes a few steps further into the room, going from uncertainty over his welcome to sudden surety, and then comes to rest with his hands clasped at the small of his back.
“Surely you are not bored of the party, ma’am?”
“No.” She sounds pensive, and for a moment does not turn. Then, when she does, “But I found I could not speak with the person I most wished to.”
“Indeed, ma’am?” A small smile plays over his lips. “The French ambassador?” A moment’s pause. “But of course, you mean Prince Friedrich,” he says more seriously.
She frowns at him, a quick darting expression before her face clears again. “Quite wrong, Lord M. If you are so unable to perceive matters of importance, I wonder that I should allow you to advise me on matters of state.”
Clearing his throat with mock-gravity, he shifts his stance and adopts a sober mien. “Forgive me, ma’am, I had not realised the import of your question. Now that I know what is at stake, I shall of course give the matter the most serious attention.”
“As it should be,” she says coolly while her eyes reflect amusement. “So then, at the risk of my displeasure-”
“A grave consequence indeed,” he murmurs.
“-you must tell me who in the ballroom I most wished to speak to.”
He takes a slow step towards her, then another, watching how her eyes fix on him as she moves an unconscious step closer in turn. “I am not sure I can answer, ma’am, without incriminating myself.”
“Oh?” She arches an eyebrow, and this time walks forward deliberately, until she is standing a mere two feet away.
“Why, I believe the person you most wished to speak to, to be myself. I fear, however, that my opinion is merely a reflection of my own desires, since I found that I had no interest in anything in the room except for you.” His voice has dropped low as he speaks, and he can’t help but note the effect it has on her, the flush that comes to her cheeks. He has never deliberately attempted to influence the queen in such a manner, but now he is tempted – now he wishes to seduce, to provoke, to engage her interest as thoroughly as she has innocently garnered his.
“Not anything, Lord M?” she counters him in turn. “Then you can hardly have been doing your duties, can you?”
“I had understood my duties were to attend and serve you, ma’am,” he says. “But, in all seriousness, I am afraid I was rather unable to help myself.”
“Oh?”
“I find you utterly transfixing, ma’am,” he murmurs, and she flushes again. She is close enough that he can see himself reflected in the shine of her eye, and his words are true, absolutely true, not flattery at all.
“Lord M-”
“I always have, though I have at times been better at hiding it than others.”
There is a strange feeling to being again so utterly honest with her – it is painful even as it is freeing.
She is quiet for a minute, and he allows her to think. When she speaks again, her voice is very serious. “Lord M,” she says. “I wonder if you have thought through the ramifications of the path you seem to be suggesting?”
“Ma’am?”
Their eyes meet. “You say you love me,” she says bravely. “That-” A pause. “Well, following such feelings would be-” Another pause. “There would be many disadvantages to overcome.”
He is about to reassure her, when she continues. She lays out every objection he has ever thought of to their alliance, except she does it entirely with regard to the inconvenience he might experience. How he will be perceived by the public, by the government, by the world. The things he would be obliged to give up.
He stands gobsmacked, unable to interject due to pure astonishment. Admittedly, he has occasionally seen her be thoughtful with regard to him, seen that she cares for his wellbeing in itself and not just in how it affects her, but even so it still strikes him how much she has grown, over the years. That she truly does love him and this is not just an infatuation.
“So you see,” she finishes, “that there are more difficulties than you, yourself, have claimed.”
It is a test. It shames him that it is not an unwarranted one.
“Please believe me,” he begins slowly, “when I say that any concerns have been for the success of your reign and your happiness, and not my own. Ma’am, I –“ He halts, swallows, desperately trying to find the words he needs.
“I think I stand before you,” he says after a few seconds, “as a man in front of a woman, and not a prime minister in front of his queen.”
He sees her practically stop breathing.
“I have found in you,” he continues, “everything I have ever desired in a companion, in a friend-”
“Lord M,” she says in a hushed voice.
“- and in a wife. I said to you once that you have given me a reason to continue – it holds true, to this very day. At times I feel so close to you that we are of one mind, of one being. I can think of no one else…” For a moment he is unsure how to finish his sentence, his voice failing him, then he smiles gently, almost sadly. “There is no one else for me. Only you.”
It is the closest he can get to proposing to her.
She stares at him now, his queen, lips slightly parted and eyes glistening with emotion. “Lord M,” she says, and her voice is completely steady. “I wonder if you would do me the great honour of becoming my husband?”
“I would be delighted, ma’am,” he says simply, and she lets out a choked breath that is almost a sob, hand flying up to cover her mouth. “You have made me the happiest of men,” he adds, and finally reaches to take her small hand in his own, to gently clasp her fingers in promise and see her face shift to pure joy.
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The End