Eventually the white cliffs appeared and he staggered to his feet, knowing that a crowd would be waiting to see the Queen’s prospective husband.
There was a faint cheer as he stepped ashore. He smiled. No one must know that he could scarcely stand up, that he was feeling wretchedly sick. He was at least on dry land and he must give them no opportunity of jeering at the Queen’s husband.
He stepped into the waiting carriage; the people cheered and he was driven off on the road to Canterbury where he would spend the night before going on to London and Buckingham Palace.
The people of Canterbury did not seem to dislike him; there were only a few murmurings of ‘German’, and as after a good night’s sleep the effects of the sea crossing wore off he felt able to face what lay before him.
At the palace Victoria was waiting impatiently. There was no ceremonial greeting. The Queen had been replaced by the young girl in love.
She flew at him in her impetuous way.
‘Dear, dearest Albert.’
She was looking up at him, her lips slightly parted to show those prominent teeth and the hint of pink gum; the blue eyes were adoring.
‘It has seemed so long.’ She had flung herself into his arms. ‘I have been watching for hours from the equerries’ room.’
She blushed, suddenly turning to Uncle Ernest and Cousin Ernest. She had forgotten everything but Albert.
Uncle Ernest smiled and murmured ‘Charming! Charming!’ and Cousin Ernest smiled and looked enviously at Albert.
‘I am so happy to see you … all,’ she cried eagerly, gazing adoringly at Albert.
He could certainly not complain of her welcome.
During the afternoon and the next day which preceded his wedding he could complain of nothing in the Queen’s attitude towards him. She chattered in a rather hysterical manner of her joy at their reunion; the days had been so long without him; she had been desolate when his letters had failed to arrive; these wicked Tories were monsters and she would never forgive them for the manner in which they had treated him. What she would have done without dear Lord Melbourne beside her, she did not know. It was angelic of dear Albert to accept Mr Anson as his secretary.
‘But I have no choice,’ he replied.
‘You are so philosophical, dearest Albert. That is just another of your dear qualities which I love.’
He could not fail to be charmed by her; there was no sign of the arrogant Queen; nor had there been, he remembered, when they had been together. She just appeared in those letters – dictated no doubt by her ministers. And not once did she mention the Baroness Lehzen. In fact he did not see the woman. He had exaggerated her importance; he had nothing to fear; as long as Victoria acknowledged her duties to him as his wife, he would overcome all the opposition to him which obviously existed in some sections of the Parliament and the country.
Darling Eos had arrived safely in advance of his master, she told him; and wasn’t it a blessing that he got on so well with Dashy?
‘Darling Albert, I am so glad you will be staying at the palace. Mama thought that it was wrong for a bridegroom to spend the night before his wedding under the same roof as his bride. I told her it was nonsense.’
‘Not very daughterly behaviour,’ he commented, which made her laugh loudly. She did laugh too loudly. Later he would point out that it was rather unseemly. And a good daughter should honour her father and mother. Was it not one of the commandments? But it would have been awkward to have stayed somewhere else; and knowing these people they would probably have given him some inferior lodging which would have been humiliating and undignified. He smiled with her.
‘Albert, you are so beautiful when you smile.’
There was no doubt that she was affectionate and he liked her frankness. There was a very engaging lack of guile.
The night before the wedding they read through the marriage service, even to his putting the ring on her finger.
They retired early – to Albert’s satisfaction.
In the morning there was a letter from her asking her ‘most dearly beloved bridegroom’ whether he had slept well.
He had nothing to fear.
He looked out of his window and saw that the rain was teeming down. Not a very auspicious beginning to their life together, he thought, with a return of the gloomy feeling; then he re-read the note from his ‘ever faithful Victoria’. Of what importance was the weather? She loved him; she doted on him; he would guide her in the way she should go and together they would bring great good to their marriage and the country.
He drove to the Chapel Royal amid the cheers of people who had lined the streets. They could not help admiring his looks for he was undoubtedly handsome in his uniform. (She had recently created him a Field Marshal.) He looked very different from the pale-faced, sick young man who had stepped ashore at Dover.
When he entered the chapel he felt ill at ease because he had not been properly informed of what was expected of him. He was unsure whether he should bow to the Archbishop of Canterbury or to the altar; he carried gloves in one hand and a prayer book in the other; and wondered whether he carried them in the appropriate hands. He was very uneasy; but his father and brother were close to him and they smiled reassuringly at him. His father was proud of him, Ernest envious in the best possible way, and suddenly he felt desolate. What should he do when they went away and left him here in this strange land?
And then Victoria arrived in white satin and flounces of lace surmounted by the ribbon of the Garter and her dazzling diamond necklace. He did notice that she prominently wore the sapphire brooch which he had given her; the face beneath the wreath of orange blossom was ecstatic, and he felt reassured at the sight of her. Her adoring eyes took in his magnificence – Field Marshal’s uniform, the Order of the Garter, which she had also recently bestowed on him, his tasselled sash, his white knee breeches, the diamond star on his breast, and her eyes told him that she thought him beautiful.
She was trembling a little but as always very conscious of what was expected of her. Her presence calmed him and she whispered to him telling him what they were expected to do. She was both the nervous bride and the autocratic Queen. She trembled visibly – that was with emotion – but her voice when she made her responses was firm and clear.
Albert put the ring on her finger – a little awkwardly perhaps and she had to help him along, but she loved him for his lack of poise. Dear, dear Albert! She would cherish him for ever more.
The ceremony was over. Victoria and Albert were married.
They drove back to the palace where the wedding breakfast and the guests awaited them, but before going to them they were alone together for a brief while, during which time she gave Albert a ring. He must wear it all his life, she told him, and they must never, never have any secrets from each other.
How tiresome, she added, that they must mingle with the guests.
‘But, dearest Albert, that will soon be over. Then we shall be on our way to Windsor.’
Windsor! he thought. Fresh air! The trees and the fields! He would feel well there; it was an ideal place in which to start their married life. He would show her, with the utmost tenderness, that although she was the Queen, she was his wife and a husband must be master in his own house.