How foolish. How stupid to have doubted.
They only had to be together again to be sure.
She awoke early on her wedding morning, leapt out of bed and went to the window. It was raining.
February was such an awkward month for a wedding.
She picked up her pen and wrote to him.‘Dearest,How are you today and have you slept well? I have rested well … and feel quite at ease today. What weather!Send one word when you, my most dearly loved bridegroom, will be ready. Your ever faithfulVictoria R.’
How slowly the time passed until she must get up and prepare for the ceremony. She was going to look beautiful in her wedding finery, but I can never be as beautiful as he is, she thought. How wonderful he was! She was bursting with happiness. No one on earth had ever been so happy she was sure.
She was helped into the white satin gown with its deep lace flounces and her wedding veil of Honiton lace. Over it all was her garter ribbon. And of all the jewellery, the most important was the sapphire brooch which Albert had given her.
The crowds watched her drive from the Palace to the Chapel Royal at St James’s; and there dear Albert waited for her, looking so tall and handsome in his uniform that she could have wept with emotion. Then she saw Lord Melbourne carrying the Sword of State and as he was looking straight at her his eyes filled with tears.
Dear, dearest Lord M! she thought. I owe you so much.
And then she turned to Albert and saw nothing but him.
She was trembling yet exultant, and when she was asked: ‘Victoria wilt thou have Albert to be thy wedded husband?’ her clear, young voice rang out firmly: ‘I will.’ And Albert was putting the ring onto her finger.
They were back at the Palace; there was so much to talk about, so many plans to make, she gave the Prince a wedding ring which he must promise to wear always and he swore he would love and cherish her till death did them part.
‘There must never be a secret we do not share,’ he said.
‘There never shall be,’ she replied fervently.
In the afternoon they set off for the brief honeymoon at Windsor.
Soon she was writing to Uncle Leopold:‘… I am the happiest being that ever existed. I do not think it possible for anyone in the world to be happier or as happy as I am. He is an Angel … to look in those dear eyes and that dear sunny face is enough to make me adore him …’
Albert came to look over her shoulder as she wrote.
He smiled as he read. Why had he had any qualms? Her affection was so wholehearted. He would mould her to his ways.
‘Oh Albert,’ she cried, ‘how wonderfully happy I am! What joy to be here … with you … and to forget for a brief time that I am the Queen.’
If those were ominous words, he did not notice.
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