Victoria

by Daisy Goodwin

Victoria thought about her reply as they walked around the side of the lake. She was just about to invite him to Windsor, but as they came round the corner she saw her mother. The Duchess was standing at her easel, painting the summer house in watercolours. Victoria could hear her humming, and she stopped on the path and turned to go back to the house, assuming Albert would follow. But Albert had seen the Duchess too and was already walking over to her. To Victoria’s amazement he smiled at her mother as he examined her sketch. “I had no idea you had such talent, Aunt. The shading is superb.”

  Pleased, the Duchess tilted her face towards him. “I am doing my best. Of course I was never properly trained, unlike Victoria, who always had the best masters.”

  Albert leant in to examine the sketch more closely. “But talent such as yours cannot be taught, Aunt.” He pointed to the sketch. “If you will permit me to suggest a little shadow here to balance the composition.”

  The Duchess continued to gaze at him. “Thank you. You know, Albert, I am so happy you and Ernst are here.” Her voice was thick with emotion. “You remind me so much of my beloved Coburg. Even though I have lived here for so long, I am still missing my native land.”

  Victoria, who had not moved from the path, saw Albert pick up her mother’s hand and kiss it.

  When Albert rejoined her on the path, Victoria was no longer thinking about Windsor. “Did you really like Mama’s sketch?” she said, walking away from the summer house as fast as she could.

  Albert nodded. “As a matter of fact, I did,” he looked down at Victoria, “but I think I would have admired it anyway.”

  Still walking at a brisker pace than normal, Victoria said, “I am surprised. I didn’t take you for a flatterer.”

  Albert considered this remark. “I try not to say things I don’t mean, but I also try to be kind where possible.”

  The reproof in his voice made Victoria stop. Turning to him, she said, “And you think Mama needs kindness?”

  Albert looked back at her steadily. “Don’t you?”

  His certainty gave Victoria pause. She had blamed her mother for so much for so long, it felt peculiar to have the Duchess framed not as the criminal but as the victim. Victoria found that she had to look away from Albert’s candid blue stare. Finally, she said in a rush, “When I was growing up, she and Sir John Conroy—you remember him?” Albert nodded. “When we lived at Kensington they kept me under constant supervision. I was allowed no friends, no society, no life of my own. I even had to sleep in Mama’s room.”

  Albert looked thoughtful rather than sympathetic. “Perhaps she was trying to protect you, Victoria. It can’t have been easy for her, a widow in a strange country trying to bring up the heir to the throne.”

  “That’s what Mama says. But I know what it felt like.” She paused. “I was a prisoner, and she and Sir John Conroy were my gaolers!”

  She shuddered slightly, but still Albert did not relent. He looked back at the Duchess and then to Victoria. “Maybe that is how you felt, but I have seen how she looks at you, Victoria. She loves you very much.”

  Victoria stamped her foot in frustration. “You don’t know anything about it.”

  Albert shook his head. “No. That’s true.” He looked down at the ground and said quietly, “I only know what it is like not to have a mother.”

  Before Victoria could reply, Ernst and Harriet appeared from the other side of the lake, laughing about a swan that had hissed at them, and the moment passed.

  As she walked back into the palace, Victoria felt ashamed. She had forgotten that Albert’s mother was dead. She was still thinking about this as she sat with her boxes, waiting for Melbourne. The portrait of her father hung on the wall in front of her, and as she looked up at his bewhiskered face, Victoria thought she could not miss someone she had never known. It would have been so much harder to bear if she had a memory of him. She wondered how old Albert had been when his mother died, and an image came into her head of a small boy weeping by a bed.

  Victoria was lost in this reverie when Melbourne came in full of news from Afghanistan. It took her a moment to understand what he was saying; Afghanistan seemed more distant than ever. But she forced herself to concentrate and, when his meaning dawned on her, said in astonishment, “You mean the Russians are paying the Afghans to fight against our troops?”

  Melbourne nodded. “They want control of the Khyber Pass, ma’am.” He walked over to the globe that stood in the corner of the study. “If you look at the position of the pass, you can see that it is the gateway to India. Alexander the Great tried to do the same thing.”

  Glad to have something else to focus on, Victoria said, “I shall write to the Grand Duke and tell him I think it’s wicked.”

  Melbourne’s lips twitched. “Perhaps we should keep that in reserve, ma’am. In case the military strategy fails.” He picked up the Macnaghten dispatch. “Now, if you will excuse me, ma’am, I should go back to the House.”

  He started to back out of the room, but Victoria called him back. “I will expect you for dinner tonight, Lord M, and,” she hesitated, “there will be dancing afterwards. Nothing elaborate, just a few couples.”

  Melbourne looked at her. “I thought you weren’t going to have any more balls?”

  Evading his gaze, Victoria said as carelessly as she could, “Oh, this isn’t a ball, just a very small dance. I must do something to entertain the Princes, after all.”

  “Even though you told me that Prince Albert does not care for dancing?”

  Victoria felt Melbourne’s eyes on her face and hoped she was not blushing. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to dance with him, anyway. It would be like dancing with a poker!”

  Melbourne was silent, and then he said, “Perhaps he will surprise you, ma’am,” and there was something in his tone that made her look up.

  * * *

  “The Baroness asked me to lay out the white muslin, but I thought you might prefer the blue silk, ma’am?” Skerrett was pulling the laces of Victoria’s corset tight.

  “The blue silk, definitely.” Victoria looked at herself critically in the mirror. “Can you make it a little tighter?”

  Skerrett shook her head. “Any more, ma’am, and you won’t be able to breathe.”

  “I suppose you are right. I want to be able to dance.”

  Skerrett lowered the blue moiré silk over Victoria’s head and started to hook it up at the back. “Will you wear the diamonds tonight or the pearls, ma’am?”

  “Oh, the pearls, I think. They look so pretty in the candlelight.”

  Skerrett went to answer a knock at the door. Brodie held a silver salver on which lay a spray of gardenias. He handed it to Skerrett, who said, “Melbourne?”

  Brodie nodded. “All the way from Brocket Hall.”

  Skerrett closed the door and put the flowers down in front of Victoria. “From Lord Melbourne, ma’am.”

  Victoria brought the flowers close to her face. “The scent is heavenly. What are they called?”

  “Gardenias, ma’am.”

  “Lord Melbourne always remembers.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Victoria pinned the spray of gardenias to the bodice of her dress, and leaning forward towards the mirror she bit her lips and pinched her cheeks. Her nose, she decided, looked a little shiny, and she was just dabbing it with a papier poudré when Lehzen came in through the interconnecting door.

  “Are you ready, Majesty?”

  Victoria spun around in her blue dress, the candlelight catching the patterns on the watered silk.

  “Quite ready.”

  * * *

  Although Victoria had said she only wanted a small dance, Lord Alfred decreed that a pianoforte would not be sufficient and they needed a full complement of musicians.

  “Prince Albert is so very musical,” said Alfred. “I think he will expect nothing less.”

  “But I wonder if he dances?” said Harriet. “The Queen says that the last time he was here he did not care to.”


  “It is unthinkable that a young man can reach the age of twenty without being taught how to dance, even in Germany.”

  Harriet laughed. “I am sure Prince Ernst is a very accomplished waltzer, but Prince Albert, who knows?”

  * * *

  The eyes of the household were all on Prince Albert when he entered the ballroom after dinner with his brother. Would he join the dancing?

  Lord Alfred had instructed the small orchestra to play some Highland dances to start off the evening’s entertainment, and Ernst immediately approached his cousin and begged her to instruct him. Victoria took his hand, and they were soon dancing an eightsome reel.

  But Albert did not join in. He stood at the edge of the room looking at the dancers intently as if he was trying to understand how they could be enjoying themselves. He looked uncomfortable in his skin, and indeed in his clothes; he kept pulling at his cravat as if he were trying to loosen his bonds.

  On the other side of the room, Melbourne watched the proceedings with Emma Portman. As Victoria and Ernst executed their reel, he said, “It appears that Prince Ernst, at least, enjoys the company of women.”

  “Yes, indeed. He has been flirting outrageously with Harriet Sutherland ever since he arrived. And charming too, so unlike his brother, who though handsome enough is stiff and awkward.”

  Melbourne’s eyes flickered over to where Albert stood alone and aloof on the other side of the room. “The clockwork prince.”

  This pointed remark made Emma look at Melbourne. It was most uncharacteristic for him to say anything so unkind. She saw that underneath his outward composure, he was struggling to contain his emotions. To renounce Victoria had been his duty, but she reflected that knowing one had done the noble thing did not make it any easier to watch another man take his place. Of course the Prince might not succeed in winning the Queen’s heart, but if not, Emma felt certain it would be someone else. Victoria was the sort of woman who flowered in male company, and it was inevitable that she would marry sooner rather than later. Emma knew William had accepted this in his head, but seeing the muscles in his jaw clench as he regarded Albert, she was afraid that his heart did not agree.

  Gently she tested him. “But look at how he is gazing at the Queen, William. I think he is a man of real sensibility.”

  “Yes, but what is he looking at?” said Melbourne with asperity. “A woman? Or the most eligible match in Europe?”

  Emma pretended not to hear the bitterness in his tone. “Surely the Queen is both? If he is to marry her, then he must care for the woman and acknowledge her position. She is not some ordinary girl.”

  Melbourne’s gaze shifted to Victoria, who was laughing with Ernst. “No, indeed she is not.”

  There was such bleakness in his voice that Emma did not have the heart to say any more.

  * * *

  In the centre of the room, Victoria was out of breath from being whirled around in a figure of eight by Ernst. “You have learnt the dance very quickly. I can hardly believe this was your first time.”

  Ernst smiled. “That is because I have an excellent teacher. I like your Gay Gordons very much, what a vigorous dance.” Then he said in a lower voice, “But nothing compares to a waltz. Should they play a waltz you must dance with Albert. He would benefit greatly from a lesson from someone as graceful as you!”

  Victoria looked doubtful. “I can’t imagine Albert waltzing.”

  “No? That is because you do not know him as I do,” Ernst said, and smiled at her, showing his teeth. “I think all Albert needs to waltz is the right partner.”

  When the reel finished, Ernst sought out Alfred Paget, who was standing by the musicians, acting as master of the revels. “I think, Lord Alfred, that it is time for something a little more … intime.”

  Alfred did not have the blood of eighteen generations of courtiers in his veins for nothing. “A waltz, perhaps?”

  “Precisely so.”

  As Alfred conferred with the musicians, Ernst circled the room to stand next to his brother, who was still on his own with his gaze fixed on Victoria. “It’s time you stopped loitering on the sidelines, Albert. The next one is a waltz. And there is nothing like it if you want to get to know a woman.”

  Albert tugged at his cravat and looked down at the floor. “I think she would much rather dance with you.” He paused. “Or with Lord Melbourne.”

  Ernst shook his head. “Nonsense, Albert. Look at her!”

  Lifting his head slowly, Albert saw that Victoria was smiling at him across the ballroom. Still he hesitated, but Ernst persisted. “She is waiting for you, Albert.” Ernst put a hand on his shoulder and turned him to face the Queen.

  On the other side of the room, Melbourne saw the Queen without a partner and decided to take advantage of her solitude. He stepped in front of her and had the pleasure of seeing her eyes light up. “Lord M! Thank you for the flowers. They are as beautiful as ever…”

  Melbourne bowed. “The glasshouses of Brocket Hall are at your service, ma’am. Perhaps I could have the pleasure of—” he said, but as he straightened up, he saw that Victoria was no longer looking at him. Without looking round, he knew she was looking at Albert. “Of seeing you wear them, ma’am,” he said in a lower voice, then moved to one side so that Albert could reach Victoria unimpeded.

  Albert stood in front of Victoria, magnificent in his gold-frogged jacket, white breeches, and red-topped boots. His eyes met hers, and with a stiff nod he said, “May I have the pleasure?”

  Victoria held out her hand. Taking it, he moved toward her and put his hand lightly on her waist. Lord Alfred, who had been waiting for this moment, gave the conductor the signal to start playing.

  For a moment Victoria thought that Albert would not move, and then to her relief his hand tightened round her waist and together they moved off in time to the music. She realised that he had been waiting for the beat.

  For a minute they danced in silence. To her surprise, Victoria found that Albert was an excellent dancer; it was she who had to keep herself from stumbling. Finally, after they had completed a circuit of the room, Victoria dared to look up and say, “But you dance beautifully, Albert!”

  “I think before that I was afraid.”

  “Afraid?”

  Albert glanced down at her. “Of appearing ridiculous. It is hard to find the rhythm.” Victoria thought he pressed her hand a little harder. “But not with you, Victoria.”

  Victoria smiled up at him, and as the music swelled around them, Albert smiled back. It was as if a light were shining down on the two of them. Everything else in the room receded, as though they were alone together, waltzing together for the first time; but as they circled around to the triangular beat they seemed to have been dancing together forever.

  The music changed key, and Albert touched the corsage on Victoria’s bodice.

  “Those flowers…” He stopped, and Victoria could see that he was struggling with emotion. “That scent. It reminds me…”

  He stopped again and Victoria prompted him gently. “Reminds you?”

  Albert’s words came out in a torrent, quite different from his usual careful speech, and she could feel the pressure of his hand gripping her waist. “My mother used to come in and kiss me goodnight before she went to parties. She would always wear those flowers in her hair.” He blinked, and Victoria could see that there were tears forming in the corner of his eyes.

  The waltz came to an end. Victoria reached for her corsage and unpinned it from her bodice. “Then I give you these, to remind you of your mother.” And still standing as close to him as when they were waltzing, she pressed the gardenias into his unresisting hand.

  He inhaled their scent and looked down at the intricate gold embroidery of his jacket.

  “But I have no place.” He hesitated before bending down and taking what Victoria saw was a knife out of his boot. With a swift movement he cut a rip in his golden jacket, revealing a glimpse of the white flesh beneath, and with great tenderness tucked the g
ardenias in the hole he had created. “I will put them here, next to my heart.”

  Across the room, Melbourne watched as Albert pressed his gardenias, the ones he had grown at Brocket Hall in the hope that one day Victoria might wear them, into the hole in his jacket. He felt a strange kind of relief. It had begun, the dance between Victoria and Albert, and that faint flicker of hope that even now he could not quite extinguish must be quenched entirely. Feeling a touch on his arm, he looked up and saw Emma. Somehow he managed to greet her with something like a smile.

  Gesturing to Victoria and Albert, he said, “It seems I was too hasty. It appears that the Prince is quite the Apollo of the ballroom.”

  Emma did not move her hand. “The Queen seems to like dancing with him.”

  “Yes.”

  “I am glad, as the Queen does love to dance.” Melbourne did not reply. “It was rather marvellous the way he cut open his jacket like that. He must have a romantic soul after all.”

  Melbourne tried to keep his voice light. “Yes, I daresay he does.”

  Emma squeezed his hand. “Of course, he doesn’t know where the flowers came from.”

  Melbourne looked at her and saw the sympathy in her eyes. “You don’t think she told him?”

  Emma shook her head. “There are some things that a woman always keeps to herself.” She smiled at Melbourne. “I never told Portman, for example, that I only accepted him because the man I really loved could never be my husband.”

  “Emma!” He felt tears coming to his eyes, unbidden and unwelcome. “I had no idea.”

  “It was a long time ago, William, and I am not that girl any longer. But I remember how she felt.” She smiled at him. “And that is how I know that, for Victoria, they will always be your flowers.”

  * * *

  Later that night, Albert sat by the window in his bedroom looking out over the gardens, the dark skeletons of the trees lit by a waning moon. He took the flowers that Victoria had given him and buried his face in their sweet, waxy scent. The door opened, and Ernst came in, his face lit up by the candle he was carrying. He walked in and put his hand on his brother’s shoulder and squeezed it.