Victoria
Page 38
To her surprise, Leopold took her hand, and in a voice stripped of his usual pomposity said quietly, “No, you cannot be sure. But at least you know that if Albert says yes, it will be with his heart.”
Victoria realised that her uncle, for once, was right. He continued, “But you will never know unless you ask him, Victoria.”
Victoria looked at him and then walked back to her apartments. She sat down at her dressing table and examined her face. There were dark shadows under her eyes, and she could feel an ominous bump on her chin. If she asked anyone, they would say she looked lovely, but Victoria knew that today she did not look her best.
“Can I get you anything, ma’am?” Seeing that her voice had made the Queen start, Skerrett began to apologise. “Oh, I am sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“No, that’s all right.” Victoria touched the plaits that circled her ears.
“I don’t think my hair is quite right today. It is too … too…” She trailed off. Hearing the confusion in the Queen’s voice, and guessing its origins—everyone was talking about the imminent departure of the Princes—Skerrett said, “Perhaps a low chignon at the back of the head. For a softer silhouette?”
Victoria caught Skerrett’s eye in the mirror. “Softer? Yes, why not?”
“With perhaps some flowers at the back?”
“Flowers?” Victoria smiled. “I should like to wear gardenias in my hair.”
* * *
“And this, gentlemen, is Westminster Hall, the oldest part of the palace that remains. It has been used as a court of law since medieval times.” Melbourne ushered the Princes into the great vaulted chamber. “But now as you see, it is being used for record keeping. We are greatly pushed for space at the moment. There was a great fire a few years ago and until the palace is rebuilt we must make do.” He gestured at the army of clerks beneath them.
Albert was looking up at the massive wooden hammerbeams. “I believe that is the place where King Charles was tried by his people?”
“That is correct, sir. He was sentenced to death as a tyrant and a traitor.”
“A great moment. The victory of the people.” Albert gestured out into the hall.
“Indeed.” Melbourne smiled. “But I am not altogether comfortable with regicide.”
Ernst said quickly, “Neither am I! I want my people to love me.”
“A responsible monarch has nothing to fear,” said Albert. “But he,” he hesitated, “or she must know that they rule on behalf of their people.”
Melbourne nodded a trifle wearily. After listening to Albert’s views on the conduct of government for an hour, he was beginning to lose patience. Still, he reminded himself, he had not come here for his own amusement. He had a duty to perform. He turned to Albert with a smile.
“Very neatly put, sir. The hard-won balance between Crown and Parliament is the great glory of the British Constitution. And to serve as Prime Minister has been the greatest privilege of my life.” He paused, feeling his way. “I wish that the Queen shared your feelings. I fear sometimes that she finds the unruliness of our parliamentary system distasteful.”
Albert looked at him closely. “I thought she followed you in everything, Lord Melbourne.”
Melbourne shrugged. “Once perhaps, but now that she has settled in to being Queen, I find she ignores me more and more.”
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Albert’s brother glance at him. “I sympathise with you, Lord Melbourne,” Ernst said with a look that showed that he understood the direction of travel. “I am most fond of my cousin, but I understand that she only listens when there is something she wants to hear.”
Melbourne nodded and sighed. “I have done my best, but my ministry cannot last forever, and then I will return thankfully to Brocket Hall. I must finish my life of St. Chrysostom. In the end to add to the sum of human knowledge is the only thing a man can be truly proud of.”
Both brothers were looking at him, but it was Ernst who spoke, his voice sympathetic. “It will be hard for the Queen, I think, when you go.”
Melbourne swallowed hard before turning to Albert. “Perhaps. But in truth it is time for me to retire.”
Albert stared back at Melbourne, and after a second gave him an imperceptible nod.
“And now if you will excuse me, gentlemen, I must return to the House.” Melbourne bowed to each of the Princes in turn, and walked away. Albert continued to gaze at the ceiling, but Ernst saw the Prime Minister take a handkerchief from his pocket and blow his nose with extreme violence as he left the hall.
* * *
“Which dress will you wear, ma’am? The blue silk or the pink organdie?”
Victoria stood in her corset and petticoats, looking at the two dresses that Skerrett was holding out. She had worn the blue silk on the night she had danced with Albert. It was most becoming, but she had never worn the pink, and at this moment she wanted to look different.
She pointed to the pink dress, and put her arms in the air so that Skerrett could lower it over her head. As the dresser fastened the hooks of the bodice, Victoria felt the waxy blooms that flanked the chignon at the back of her head. “So clever of you to find gardenias.”
Skerrett permitted herself a little laugh that hinted at the desperate lengths she had been to that day to procure hothouse flowers in the middle of winter. “It wasn’t easy, ma’am.”
“I suppose not. Lord Melbourne grows them at Brocket Hall, of course.” She paused. “But I could not ask him.”
Skerrett said nothing. She understood why the Queen could not call on Lord Melbourne’s hothouses, but she also knew she must never by a flicker reveal that understanding. She drew the laces of the skirt tight and tied them in a bow, tucking them under the hem of the bodice, and stepped back. “There. Are you happy with your choice, ma’am?”
Victoria walked over to the cheval mirror and looked at her reflection. The gauzy dress seemed to hover about her, the pink reflecting a rosy light over her skin. She could smell the lush, velvety scent of the gardenias. She bit her lips. The image in front of her was not a queen, but a woman.
“Yes, Skerrett. I believe I am.”
* * *
Brodie knew that running was forbidden in the palace, but thought in this instance he would break the rules. To walk from the Queen’s private apartments to the north wing took a good ten minutes, and in his opinion, he did not have ten minutes to spare.
He sprinted along the corridor to the Princes’ apartments and, knocking lightly, opened the door. Prince Ernst was lying on the chaise longue smoking a cigar, while Prince Albert sat at the writing desk.
“I have a message for Prince Albert from the Queen.” Brodie paused. Although Skerrett had sworn him to secrecy, like every servant in the palace, he knew the significance of what he was about to say. “She is waiting for you in the picture gallery, sir.”
Albert did not run as he made his way to the other side of the palace. Indeed, when he got to the grand staircase he hesitated for so long that Ernst, who had been following him at a discreet distance, was forced to reveal himself.
“You don’t want to keep her waiting, little brother.”
“No. She is the Queen, after all.”
Ernst put his hand on his brother’s arm. “Victoria is also a woman, Albert.”
Albert pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. “Maybe she wants to say good-bye.”
Ernst laughed. “Yes, I am sure that is why she has sent for you.” He added, “I know you are scared, Albert, but remember she will be too.” He gave his brother a little push towards the staircase. “Now off you go.”
Although it was only five o’clock, it was already dark outside and all the candles had been lit. As Albert walked through the hall towards the picture gallery, he caught sight of his reflection in the looking glass glowing in the light from the candelabra. He pushed the errant lock back from his forehead and walked into the gallery.
She was standing with her back to him, in front of a picture of Eliza
beth, Dash at her feet. The floor creaked as he walked towards her, and she gave a little shriek and Dash started to growl. She whirled around in a flurry of pink and looked as if she had never seen him before. Albert took another step towards her. “Forgive me for surprising you, Victoria.”
Victoria continued to stare at him, her lip trembling.
Albert took another step towards her. “I was told that you wanted to see me.”
Dash growled again, which seemed to rouse Victoria from her trance. She looked up at Albert, and frowning with effort, she said, “I want to ask you something, Albert, but before I do, I must be sure that you will not mind me asking.”
Albert heard the trembling in her voice and took another step towards her. At once he was overwhelmed by that scent that reminded him of all he had loved and lost.
“You are wearing those flowers again.”
“Yes, they are called gardenias.”
“Gardenias.” Albert rolled the word around his mouth, and took another step towards her. He was so close that he could see the tiny bump on her chin. “May I?” Victoria shuddered her assent as he leant forward to smell the flowers. He drank in the waxy, voluptuous perfume and said with a sigh, “That scent, it makes me feel safe.”
Victoria opened her eyes wide. “Really?”
Albert nodded, unable to speak. Victoria swallowed. “Shall I ask my question now?”
“I wish you would.”
Victoria bit her lip and then, as if she had learnt the words by heart, said, “Albert, will you do me the honour?” She stopped and shook her head. “No, that sounds wrong.” She looked away and back at him, and then in her clear voice said, “Albert, will you marry me?”
Albert felt the smile spreading across his face. “That depends.”
“On what?”
He could hear the surprise and pique in her voice, and for a second he enjoyed his moment. “On whether you will let me kiss you.”
Victoria’s eyes widened further and now she smiled. “If I do, will you say yes?”
Albert shook his head. “I must kiss you first.”
Victoria’s lips parted and she said in a whisper, “Very well.” Closing her eyes, she raised her face to his.
The smell of the flowers, the weight of Victoria against him, the flickering candlelight—Albert felt his heart give way. As he pressed his lips to hers and felt them respond with such eagerness, he knew he had found the piece that had always been missing. He put his hands around her waist and pulled her to him, and they kissed until they had to stop to breathe.
Victoria caught his hand and said, laughing with excitement, her lips swollen with desire, “So. Are you going to accept my proposal? I do not intend to go down on one knee, you know.”
Albert took her face in his hands. “My heart is yours, Victoria.” He kissed her again, harder and longer than before. “For me this is not a marriage of convenience.”
Victoria leant back to look at him. With a flash of queenliness, she said, “No, I think it will be a marriage of inconvenience.”
She leant in so that her lips were next to his. “But I have no choice.”
Albert picked her up by the waist so that she was looking down at him, and said with joy, “Neither do I.”
Dash began to bark at the man manhandling his mistress, but for once in his life, he was ignored.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This novel was written as I was writing the TV series Victoria, so I must thank all the cast, particularly Jenna Coleman, Rufus Sewell, and Tom Hughes, for bringing my characters to glorious life, as well as Damien Timmer and Rebecca Keane for teaching me how to tell a story on screen. The inimitable Hope Dellon and Imogen Taylor, my U.S. and U.K. editors, have reminded me how to tell a story on the page, and my agents, the glorious Caroline Michel and Michael McCoy, have mopped up many tears along the way.
Thanks to Professor David Cannadine, who introduced me to Victoria’s diaries when I was a student at Cambridge, and to Andrew Wilson and Helen Rappaport for their support with all things Victorian. Undying gratitude to Rachel Street for support with the twenty-first century.
I am lucky to have a father, Richard Goodwin, who is also my most enthusiastic reader, and a best friend, Emma Fearhnamm, who kept her lecture notes from university.
Thanks to my daughters, Ottilie, who kept me sane and was always right, and Lydia, who provided all the source material I could ever need for a teenage queen; and to Marcus, who has taken me to the Isle of Wight, twice.
ALSO BY DAISY GOODWIN
The American Heiress
The Fortune Hunter
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DAISY GOODWIN is the author of the New York Times bestselling novels The American Heiress and The Fortune Hunter. She attended Columbia University’s film school as a Harkness scholar after earning a degree in history at Cambridge University, and was chair of the judging panel of the 2010 Orange Prize for Fiction. The creator and screenwriter of the Masterpiece presentation Victoria on PBS, she lives in London. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Prologue
Book One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Book Two
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Book Three
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Book Four
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Acknowledgements
Also by Daisy Goodwin
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
VICTORIA. Copyright © 2016 by Daisy Goodwin Productions. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Cover design by Michael Storrings
Cover photographs: building © Dave and Les Jacobs/Getty Images; woman © Lee Avison/Arcangel Images
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-04546-1 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-13759-3 (Canadian edition)
ISBN 978-1-4668-4410-0 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781466844100
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Originally published in Great Britain by Headline Book Publishing
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First U.S. Edition: November 2016