It was hard to tear herself away from the room. But even those sessions had been spoilt by the memory of those words: Mrs Melbourne.
It was some time now since Baron Stockmar had at Uncle Leopold’s suggestion left England to become the companion of the Queen’s cousin Albert. She had not given Albert a thought during all the anxieties of the last months but those words heard at Ascot had brought him back to mind. She had recently reached her twentieth birthday; Cousin Albert would soon be celebrating his. It was a marriageable age.
Uncle Leopold had made up his mind that she was going to marry Albert. It was true that at one time she had not been displeased with the idea. Long ago – that was how it seemed but it was in fact three years – before her accession, Albert and his brother Ernest had visited her and she had been delighted with her cousins, particularly Albert. Uncle Leopold had reminded her when they met that she had written to him – he still had and treasured her letter – that Albert ‘possessed every quality which could make her happy’. So she had thought then. But three years ago she had been a child. She hardly knew herself when she looked back – a princess instead of a queen, a captive instead of a power which could dismiss Sir Robert Peel, an ignorant girl who had never drunk from the fountain of Lord Melbourne’s wisdom.
And now she could not get out of her mind the thought of those words ‘Mrs Melbourne’; and she knew that it was time she married.
But whom should she marry? The answer from Uncle Leopold would be Cousin Albert of course, but Lord Melbourne had taught her that Uncle Leopold did not rule England. He had tried to interfere politically once before and Lord Melbourne had told him diplomatically, with such tact, that the affairs of England were for England’s ministers and her Queen to decide.
And, she thought, if I do not wish to marry Albert, I shall certainly not do so merely because Uncle Leopold wishes me to. Nor anyone else for that matter. But the truth was that she was unsure. She did not think she wished to marry at all – perhaps never. She would be like Queen Elizabeth – whom she had never liked – and remain single all her life.
If the people would not be so foolish and grow to like her again, and if she could keep Sir Robert Peel at bay, and if Lord Melbourne was her constant companion, that seemed a very happy prospect.
But, she thought vehemently, I will not be hurried into marriage in any circumstances.
Cousin Albert had made a grand tour of Europe in the company of Baron Stockmar and she knew that Uncle Leopold meant his next visit to be to England. Then her decision would be expected. She had three months of freedom. What a way to look at it. Freedom! Was she going to become a captive again? As far as she remembered Albert appeared to have been gentle, but of course one had to get to know people before one was sure.
Perhaps she should prepare Uncle Leopold. He must understand that she would not be coerced into anything – not even to please him.
She would write to him now and send the letter by courier. There were certain things she must know. How far was Albert aware of the family’s intention? Was he coming over to inspect her as she would inspect him? Oh surely not! A somewhat obscure German Prince would jump at the offer of the hand of the Queen of England. It was for her to decide. She could be sure of that. But of all else she was not at all sure … because as Uncle Leopold must understand so much had happened since that naïve outburst of three years ago.
She sat down and wrote to Uncle Leopold:‘First of all I wish to know if Albert is aware of the wish of his father and you relative to me. Secondly if he knows that there is no engagement between us … If I should like Albert I can make no final promise this year, for at the very earliest any such event could not take place till two or three years hence … Independent of my youth and my great repugnance to change my present position, there is no anxiety evinced in this country for such an event … I may like him as a friend, and a cousin and a brother but not more; and should this be the case (which is not unlikely) I am very anxious that it should be understood that I am not guilty of any breach of promise, for I never gave any … Were this not completely understood I should be in a very painful position. As it is, I am rather nervous about the visit for the subject I allude to is not an agreeable one to me …’
There! That stated her feelings exactly; and having despatched the letter to Uncle Leopold she felt much better.
Naturally she talked the matter over with Lord Melbourne.
‘I have written to Uncle Leopold. He seems to be so certain that I am going to like Albert.’
‘Cousins are not very good for each other.’
‘Most royal people are cousins.’
‘And most of your cousins are Germans.’
‘And Germans are not good for one either?’ demanded the Queen.
‘They are inclined to be solemn.’
‘Shouldn’t we all be on some occasions?’
‘They are solemn on all occasions. Besides, they don’t wash as frequently as we do.’
‘I should enjoy washing less frequently,’ said Victoria with a laugh.
Oh it was fun to sit with him and watch the expressions flit across his face and the way in which he ruffled his hair without realising he was doing it. Now, he looked quite mischievous, now very much the Prime Minister; now like his portrait.
Oh dear Lord M! she thought. Why can’t we go on like this forever? We don’t need interruptions.
‘Something is on your mind,’ said Lord Melbourne suddenly.
‘It is this visit of Albert’s. It’s definitely planned for the autumn. Albert’s father, Uncle Ernest and Uncle Leopold are very anxious for it.’
‘They would be,’ said Lord Melbourne. ‘But it is not they who would have to marry Albert, is it?’
She laughed at the thought. ‘Marriage! Why do we have to talk of marriage?’ she demanded. ‘You don’t think it is necessary for me to marry yet.’
‘Not for a year or two.’
‘And if I do not like Albert?’
‘Well then Albert will be sent back to Saxe-Coburg.’
‘And all will go on as before.’
She was so happy at the thought that he could not tell her then that sooner or later it would be her duty to marry, nor remind her that the victory they had snatched from Sir Robert Peel was in fact a respite. Life could not go on as it was. Change had to come from some direction.
The Queen was becoming fretful. Her temper flared out at the slightest provocation. Her ladies were sometimes afraid to speak to her. Even dear Daisy was snapped at.
She dreamed of Lady Flora Hastings now and then; and the memory of that emaciated figure stretched out on the couch with the reproachful eyes regarding her stayed with her.
The Hastings would not let the matter rest and were now taking up the case against Sir James Clark. When she drove out she had come to expect a few hisses from the crowd. Often she thought of that first summer of her reign – the pleasantest she had ever spent in her life – and asked herself why it had changed.
She even became irritable with Lord Melbourne. Sometimes in the evening when they were sitting together and the rest of the company were playing games or listening to music and the Duchess sat at her interminable whist, Lord Melbourne would not answer when she spoke to him and she would realise that he had fallen asleep.