Story [Victoria] "A Kingdom Where My Love Can Stand" | 2023/'24 Olympics & More | AU; Victoria/Melbourne

I'll be back with all of my replies before the next update, but I just wanted to answer this really quick. The boards have a general policy against concrit without the express permission of the author, but if you notice any glaring errors in my writing I'd much rather fix them than not. So please feel free to point them out! Especially when I'm writing fast, those typos seem to slip past my notice more often than not. I'm usually tinkering with posts up to entire months later when I reread my own work, and still finding things to finesse. It's the unending curse of being an author.

 

I didn't expect to have as much fun writing Leopold's unique brand of Leopold-ness until I did.

Discombobulated says it all, doesn't it? At this point, Leopold only sees his chance for power and influence slipping away - a British dynasty by proxy after the loss of his own - all due to his niece failing to listen to the wisdom of her elders and trusting this "interloper" over him. He may think that he's acting in Victoria's best interests out of familial concern, but the heart of the matter is that she's on the verge of "making a mess" of his years of carefully laid plans, and he's not going to stand for it.

Isn't it? As far as I can tell, Leopold thought that domineering through "kindness" made him a good husband, but he kept his queen isolated from her court and entirely out of view from her people, all for her supposed health and well-being. Louise is described as shy, yes, but with a strong mind in private. So, the question is, was this something that Louise desired too, or was this Leopold casting his wife in a very narrow role as the mother of his heirs and nothing more? To give Leopold credit, in history, he did grant Louise more official power and personal freedoms as time went on, but he most definitely kept Louise under tight lock and key in the beginning. It's all just a mess - no matter that I bet Leopold would very well have claimed to love Louise in his own way.

As always, I thank you for reading, and for taking the time to share your thoughts!

lol! I'm glad to hear it, because this entire series is a study in how to write an accidental epic, and I still have so much story yet to tell! But, gosh, it's a story I absolutely adore! This 'verse has a special place in my heart, and I'm so happy that there are others who are just as interested in coming on this very long and winding journey with me as it unfolds.

Agreed! It has to be a breath of fresh air for Victoria to be quite literally out from underneath her mother's thumb, and yet painful in its own way. The duchess is at her very lowest here, which I have the ability to explore in a way that Goodwin could not. I mean, even though we know that Sir John is a viper, from her POV, she's nursing a broken heart and reeling to be left on her own for the first time after unconsciously enduring ~20 years of an abusive relationship. As much as her own trauma doesn't excuse the abuse she's since inflicted upon her daughter - and she certainly had some of her worst moments as a mother in Sta et Retine - it does add another facet to her character that I'd like to explore, to perhaps surprising ends, depending on how the words flow.

Isn't it?

With all of the darkly burning, cold-eyed menace that we can so easily imagine thanks to Rufus Sewell and then some. It's always the quiet ones.

. . . needless to say, Protective!Lord M is the best Lord M, and I can't wait to explore this aspect of his character even more so in stories to come.

Oh, that's awesome! It's always wonderful when we can see bits of ourselves in stories, so I really appreciated that this resonated for you. I think that's one of the things I've enjoy best about writing Victoria's character so far - she may be the Queen of England, and a fair bit of these stories center around that, but she's still just an 18yo girl who's lived an incredibly isolated life, learning and exploring her the world for the first, and there's something incredibly special about that.

Once more, I thank you so very much for reading, and for leaving such awesome feedback!

I do love writing a good author's note, so I am very glad to hear this!

You're 100% spot on. If I had to summarize Leopold in a single sentence, it'd be this one.

*high-fives fellow Age of Sail nerd!*

As soon as I realized that Hardy was still alive in 1837 and that the Victory was right there, I knew just what I had to do.

As I said above: Protective!Lord M is the best Lord M, hands down.

I've not seen this film, but now I need to check it out. Because that is a stance I can completely see an elderly Victoria taking.

Just so. And especially a spouse who knows Leopold's controlling ways better than most, and misgives seeing them inflicted on another . . .

But lookie there at that line in the sand, drawn for all of the conflicts yet to come.

Thank you so much for reading, as always, and taking the time to leave such a lovely review!



All right, then! I have the next part all ready to go, and it's my aim to have it posted tonight after one last read through! But, if time works against me, I will see all you lovely souls back here first thing in the morning!

 

Aw, your words honor me! And gah, I'm 99% sure that I know which epic you're talking about, and it's awesome. I've only read the first third or so myself, because I want our 'verses to be as different as possible (I'm at the Language of Flowers fix-it fic ), but I can't wait to delve into the rest when Kingdom is finished, or at least much farther along.

Now, towards that end, here's the next update!

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Author's Notes: Here we are with the +1 of this 5+1 fic (and 30k+ interlude, which was not at all my original plan; accidental epic, I tell you )! Once again, I am going to include my notes at the beginning, rather than the end. Thus, it's my pleasure to present, without further ado . . .

Spoiler: Even More Notes

A Note on Baroness Lehzen: Those familiar with the story/fandom undoubtedly know this, but for anyone who may not be: Louise Lehzen was the youngest daughter (out of ten children) of a Lutheran pastor in Hanover. Due to her family's humble means, she had to seek her own income at an early age. To do so, she became a governess. She proved exemplary in her profession, and eventually rose to serve the Duke and Duchess of Kent. As you read in The First Grave, Lehzen was one of Victoria's foremost protectors and first passionate advocate. She was instrumental in encouraging Victoria's independent spirit, as well as instilling in her a love of learning. By any measure, it's easy to say that she was more Victoria's mother than the Duchess of Kent through the turbulent years of her upbringing, and Victoria loved her in like kind.

Lehzen was made a baroness by George IV in order to elevate her as a "proper" mentor for Victoria, but the stigma of her common birth ever overshadowed her title. Victoria appointed Lehzen as "lady attendant" upon ascending the throne, and her duties made her a sort of chief of staff. Lehzen served as a secretary to Victoria, liaised between royal residences, and managed the royal household - a role which many amongst the staff resented, as she was only just formerly one of their ranks. (That said, I'm not going to get into too much of the downstairs drama from the show, as I personally thought a great deal of it overdone, and, more importantly, took screentime away from an already very condensed plot in regards to Victoria herself - which I am clearly fixing in this epic. ) On the opposite side of that spectrum, Lehzen was looked down upon by Victoria's court for being their supposedly "improperly advanced" social inferior. Yet this hardly deterred Lehzen from zealously serving Victoria - perhaps too zealously, at times, as Lehzen could also be just as stubborn, severe, and oftentimes humorless as she was loyal.

A Note on Lehzen and Melbourne (and Albert): The most interaction we really saw between Lehzen and Melbourne from Goodwin was Lehzen's original disapproval of Melbourne as a "disreputable" man whom she didn't trust to be alone with Victoria. From there, I can only imagine that jealousy and resentment were the next emotions she cycled through as Victoria and Melbourne's bond grew - much the same as Lehzen did with Albert. (More on that in a second, though.)

But, I have since stumbled into a further development following Sta et Retine, and that's one of unlikely allies and grudging respect - or, at least, the respect is grudging on Lehzen's part. As far as Melbourne is concerned, Lehzen is 1) a strong woman, and 2) puts Victoria's well-being above all else. As those are two of Melbourne's absolute favorite things, I can see him being patient and amused, more so than offended, when Lehzen pushes to protect both Victoria and her place by her side. (Dealing with obdurate personalities in Parliament has to make Lehzen's prickly temper rather small potatoes in comparison, I bet. ) Due to this, I can see Lehzen slowly coming to respect Melbourne as a man who also puts Victoria and her reign first, without seeking to dominate her or take advantage when he so very easily could have. It helps, too, that Melbourne values Lehzen's role for Victoria's sake, and has no desire to diminish their bond. In history, there may have been amity enough between them - apparently, at one point, there was a rumor in Parliament that Melbourne had proposed marriage to Lehzen, but she turned him down. Whether that was taken from their having a cordial relationship as a basis, or the gossips just thinking themselves clever in their mockery, is anyone's guess, of course.

In this AU, however, here's the scene where the exact parameters of their relationship clicked for me, if you're interested, during Victoria's coronation ball:

Spoiler: Excerpt from "Sta et Retine"

“How many glasses of champagne has she had?” he asked without preamble, an edge to his voice.

“Too many,” Lehzen’s mouth turned – though, for once, her ire was not directed at him. “I made attempts to water her portions, but that . . . that swine kept fetching her new glasses himself.”

William felt his mouth tug, and he had to make an effort to maintain a distantly amiable expression.

“After this dance,” he suggested mildly, ”perhaps you may persuade Her Majesty to take some air – if only to the retiring room, if she cannot be convinced to close the ball entirely.”

“I shall try.” Lehzen sighed, no matter the determination that lit her eyes. She paused, but then admitted somewhat wryly: “You must know, Lord Melbourne, that I've scarce been able to persuade Victoria to do anything she has not wished to do since she was a very small child.”

That statement was the single most civil thing she’d ever said to him – not that he minded terribly much; the baroness was a clear she-wolf amongst an enemy pack of such beasts, and he’d have her bare teeth for her charge. Victoria deserved nothing less.

. . . yet that didn't mean he wouldn't try to have her accept him as an ally on that field of battle.

“Even so,” towards that aim, he punctuated his most charming smile with a courtly bow, “if there’s anyone who has a chance of success, I believe that it’s you, Baroness.”

His words clearly pleased her – little as she would ever admit to such – and William fell back to the sidelines, content to merely wait and observe until he was needed once more.

That, of course, contrasts with how Lehzen and Albert absolutely despised each other in canon/history. They brought out the very worst in each other, and Albert's "either she goes or I go" ultimatum to Victoria is one of the reasons I didn't get far with watching Season 2. I had seen that gif set prior (somehow cast in a romantic light), looking for spoilers to see if their relationship improved at all, and, with that, I had no desire to endure up to the finale. (I picked up my pen for Kingdom pretty much simultaneously. ) Ultimately, I can't summarize Lehzen and Albert's relationship any better than Wikipedia:

Spoiler: Excerpt From Wikipedia

The arrival of Prince Albert led to significant changes in Victoria's household. Lehzen had opposed Coburg ambitions of Victoria marrying Albert, believing the princess to be a "second Queen Elizabeth, virgin and independent of male influence." Albert was well-educated, and had just completed a tour of Europe, preceded by years at the University of Bonn. Victoria's court dismayed his puritan German sensibilities. Lehzen and Albert soon developed a dislike for each other; she regularly thwarted Albert's will in the running of the household; meanwhile, he found her personally repellent and unworthy of befriending the queen, openly referring to her as "the hag" and a "crazy stupid intriguer".

When Victoria's first child, the Princess Royal, was born, Victoria trusted Lehzen to make the arrangements for the nursery. Lehzen placed it in the care of various staff as well as Sir James Clark, despite Albert's objections that the physician was wholly unsuited to the post, having already discredited himself during the affair of Lady Flora Hastings a year previously. At fourteen months the Princess Royal fell ill, losing her appetite and appearing pale and feverish. Dr Clark declared it a minor ailment, incorrectly prescribing her with calomel, a medication laced with mercury and laudanum. In fact, it is more likely that the precocious princess was simply expressing her dismay at changes in the royal nursery, then occurring with the arrival of her younger brother. Albert, a devoted father, confronted Victoria on the incompetence of the staff selected by Lehzen. There was a quarrel, after which Albert declared that he would leave the affair in her queenly hands, and placed it on her conscience if the child died.

Soon after this argument, Victoria conceded to her husband, not wishing to see him unhappy. She made a final attempt to defend Lehzen, describing her as a selflessly loyal woman who deserved to remain close to her former charge. But in the face of Albert's resolve, Victoria dismissed Lehzen, ostensibly for her health. To Albert, Lehzen was a servant who had attempted to rise above her place in life, and he wanted Victoria to rely on him alone. Lehzen accepted the fiction of ill health, and agreed to depart. In the days leading up to her exit, she taught some of her duties to Marianne Skerrett, one of Victoria's dressers, and returned her keys to the queen. Lehzen departed on 30 September 1842, leaving a note rather than speaking directly with Victoria, believing that this would be less painful. The queen was initially unaccustomed to Lehzen's absence, having spent almost her whole life up to that point in the presence of the former governess. "It was very painful to me... waking this morning, and recollecting she was really quite away," Victoria said.

Word of Lehzen's departure spread through the court and elsewhere. Reports of the cause varied; the court diarist Charles Greville noted she was leaving "for her health (as she says), to stay five or six months, but it is supposed never to return." The Times, however, reported that she was simply visiting friends in Germany. After her departure, family adviser Baron Stockmar remarked of the affair that:

"It was not without great difficulty that the Prince succeeded in getting rid of [Lehzen]. She was foolish enough to contest his influence, and not to conform herself to the change in her position... If she had done so, and conciliated the P[rince], she might have remained in the Palace to the end of her life."

Victoria went on to maintain a close relationship with Lehzen through letters until her death, and even made the time to visit her twice in Germany. Yet, here in this AU, It perhaps goes without saying that I have other plans in mind for the future of this entire royal family.

A Note on Brighton: In history, Victoria did not at all like Brighton. She thought it busy and overcrowded, with privacy hard to come by. Her uncle, George IV, had spent a veritable fortune on building his own palace by the seaside, the Brighton Pavilion, the look of which, she did not at all favor. She sold the Pavilion to Brighton just a few short years later, and used the proceeds to build Osborne House on the Isle of Wight.





A Note on the Seven Sisters: This span of cliffs between Brighton and Eastbourne is now one of my absolute favorites, to say the least! I need not say any more, but instead share . . .

This is drone footage with the Belle Tout Lighthouse:



And this one is just plain pretty:

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“Your Miles of Shore”
(Marathon Swimming; Story Building Challenge)​

VIII.VI

The Attendant

The sun had nearly set on their last day in Brighton.

There was a part of her that was happy for their tour’s impending conclusion, if only in the way that every traveler longed to return to the simple comforts of home at a journey’s end. Yet home remained an abstract concept in and of itself. Kensington was home no longer – praise be to God for his mercy – but the halls of Buckingham Palace yet remained foreign, and the castle at Windsor even more so. Perhaps it wasn’t the tour’s end that Louise Lehzen welcomed, then, so much as the chance to return and regain her bearings where home was now to be. The year past had been one of constant change and transformation – so much so that she often felt as a leaf left to spin in a gale of storm wind, unable to find solid ground. It was time for their roots to settle in new soil, to attach and drink and gather their strength so that the vast boughs above could reach and flower and grow.

It was not only for herself that Louise favored a time of rest and acclimation before their inevitable return to London, but, more importantly, her charge.

No, her charge no more, but rather her queen and sovereign majesty.

Queen Victoria.

Even now, pride crested within her for Victoria’s ascension – so long fought for and preciously, if yet precariously, won. She was nearly so unconstrained as to whisper the regnal address aloud, just for her own pleasure in triumph for her long years of faith and constant devotion, yet she resisted the impulse as superfluous. Instead, she merely held her head up all the higher as she walked.

The long line of her shadow seemingly flickered in time with her ruminations, cast from the low light spilling in through the windows. The halls were rubescent against the black, while the view of the water beyond rippled like molten amber, reflecting the heart of a flame. There was something about the seaside that made the theater of the heavens all the more intense – seemingly alive with color and resplendent in all glory – and that day’s sunset was no exception.

She would very much miss the ocean, Louise allowed; she would miss it very much, indeed.

Yet she did not pause to observe the spectacle. Instead, she carried purposefully on her way to the end of the corridor, where she came to a set of tall double doors. She nodded smartly to the footmen standing post, and was admitted to the queen’s private sitting room.

The space within was dark, with no hearth nor candle lit, and empty. Victoria had dismissed her entourage for the night, claiming that she desired solitude to prepare for their early start back to Windsor upon the morrow. Neither there did Victoria remain in her own company, and the doors to her bedchamber were yet closed. Instead, Louise looked, and found her out on the balcony.

The royal apartments were quite spacious here, as per George IV’s design. There was an entire sitting area, out and open to the breeze while offering an unhindered view down Brighton’s central most boulevard to the sea. There, Victoria reclined on a chaise, an open book loosely in hand, but she herself fast asleep.

She felt a swell of fondness as she quietly made her way forward. Gently, she took the book from Victoria, not wishing for it to fall should she relax her grip any further. Louise glanced, and recognized the now familiar title upon the spine as the third volume of Hume’s Histories, which was a feat that Victoria had only just recently proudly achieved.

That she endeavored to apply herself to her studies after such a long day of constant activity – long days, even – said much in its own right. Oh, Victoria had never been a troublesome pupil by any means, yet she could be inattentive, and she often found it trying to concentrate on a single subject for overlong. Louise had quickly discovered that she learned best from spoken instruction; even a book read aloud and remarked upon ensured that she would retain the most information possible to memory. Muddling her way through such a dry, dense text was far from easy – even when she had her prime minister available to discuss the chapters and elucidate the more unfamiliar concepts and terms.

Now, however . . .

She would simply have to do her best in the viscount's place – but later. For now, Victoria was partaking in the rest her body so clearly needed, and Louise was ill-inclined to disturb that rest. Instead, she took to her own favored chair, just across from the chaise, where she was content to sit vigil until her queen awakened.

With no immediate demands then placed upon her attention, she took a moment to observe the twilight's advance. Lamps were already lit on the balcony, and their dancing flames grew even brighter as the sun surrendered its dominance in the night sky. Already, in the deeper tones to the east, the stars twinkled, and the sun seemingly winked in answer to its brethren as it sank beneath an obstructing line of clouds, setting them alight with a final burst of white-hot gold.

Louise watched until the sun's orb disappeared completely from view. Then, she picked up her lap desk, and settled in to write. As the youngest of ten children – six of whom dear sisters – she never wanted for correspondence back in Hanover, even if the frequency and content of that correspondence varied from sibling to sibling. As she had been unduly blessed with financial comfort enough to share, she supported many of her nieces and nephews as they found their own standing in the world, and enjoyed relationships with them too by letter.

Yet, most faithfully did she maintain her bond with her eldest sister, as if they lived mere moments apart instead of so many vast miles. Catharina had been her greatest supporter when, by necessity, she first left home to earn a living, and had remained as such until her reputation for faithful service won her the role of governess in the household of the Duke of Kent. Since she first departed for England’s shores, Catharina had remained her one constant, unbreakable link to the country of her birth and the family she had left there.

To her sister, she could say anything – and now, more so than ever, did she feel as if she had so much to say . . . so much so that she hardly knew where to begin.

Well, Louise resolved as she considered the clean expanse of the waiting stationary, the beginning was ever as good a place as any.

So, she began:

Dearest Carine,

I must begin by begging your indulgence for the tardiness of this letter. My initial resolve of writing a day by day accounting of our travels has since proved to be unsustainable with my circumstances in actuality. It would seem that a holiday for the Queen of England is no such thing, or at least not entirely – for a tour puts as much upon HM’s shoulders as if she remained in Buckingham or Windsor instead.

When last I wrote, we had just departed Weymouth for Poole & Portsmouth. So much has happened since then. The wonders of the coastline continue to marvel and inspire; truly, where the white cliffs greet the sea has to be some of God’s most favored creation, for I can hardly imagine a natural sight more pleasing to the senses. We have observed many points of interest from the summits above, and have equally made our way down to explore a number of harbors and beaches and rocky coves.

Earlier this week, an interlude was taken from Brighton to Beachy Head in order for HM to meet with representatives from Trinity House – the official authority overseeing the kingdom's lighthouses and lightvessels. Their agents bade HM to examine the new construct of Bell Tout Lighthouse as part of their overtures for increased royal funding. The tour itself was most remarkable for the house’s lighting apparatus, as well as the views it afforded from its highest point. We stayed two nights in Eastbourne before returning to Brighton for HM’s continued engagements, which remained many and long.

Most remarkable on this stretch of shoreline are the Seven Sisters – I have included a sketch I made in an attempt to capture their likeness, yet my skills are hardly equal to convey their majesty. The second morning of our venture, HM expressed her desire to explore the cliffs by horseback, of which she is most fond. You well know that I have no similar love for such conveyance – I much prefer to drive, if necessary – yet, for the pleasing vantages promised by such a venture, I acquiesced to accompany HM and her PM. I believe that they kindly humored honored my lesser horsemanship, and went at a much slower pace than they could have otherwise. Usually, I make little attempt to keep stride with them, as they are each very much comfortable in the saddle, yet so inspiring was the day that I attempted what a canter I could when the ground allowed, and to pleasing results.

When we made to break, I was content to stay put with the Hon. Ld. Portman and L. Alfred when HM announced her desire for a gallop. Even after an hour’s ride, her mare was yet restless, for she is a most finely bred creature, and perhaps HM was far more still. HM proposed a race to the summit of the next Sister, to which the PM agreed – and most timely, too, for HM was off before she scarce uttered the challenge, forcing the PM to give fast pursuit.

From our place in the low-down, we could see them, for the most part keeping pace together until a great wind blew in from the water. The gust was enough to blow HM’s hat right off her head, and then even further still across the scrub. The PM abandoned the race in order to dismount – half while the creature was still running, it seemed; I will never understand such ease upon horseback for myself – and chase the hat to where it came to a stop amongst an obliging patch of milkwort. HM had, by then, turned her own mount, and accepted the hat when the PM bowed in an exaggeratingly courtly gesture that somehow felt improper for its familiarity, no matter how it may have bespoke respect most graciously to present its return. I was not close enough to hear what he said, but I could hear HM’s laughter ring out most clearly in answer.

She laughs in such a way around him, sister. I find it alarming, how free she is with her affections where he is concerned, just as I do not like how easily he seems to inspire her affections to begin. Melbourne cannot help but be affected in like manner, I must grant – for Victoria is light itself – still, my heart forebodes -

They are most comfortable together, HM and her PM – perhaps too comfortable, I would say many amongst the court mutter – and yet -

I, admittedly, do not know what to make of their relationship. Not entirely. The man is known to be disreputable, and thus unfit for HM’s presence beyond any sort of official capacity. I was prepared to be completely wary of him in defense of my charge my queen, and made no secret of my distrust. Yet LM has ever met my suspicions and outright unkindness – yes, unkindness, I am self-aware enough to admit, you need not laugh at me so – with an entirely unaffected and even wryly amused good humor and unerringly polite regard as if I was some great lady and not merely -

Carine, how can I explain the PM so as to assist your understanding? LM is, admittedly, what many women would consider quite handsome tolerable in appearance, in a way that I can only describe as darkly knowing heavens, but how that sounds like a line straight from a lurid Romantic's novel. His countenance is deceivingly Byronic, which is a term I use with no small amount of irony, yet his appearance is just that. This, I have grudgingly come to admit. He is patient and considerate and kind and, most importantly, respectful – even to me, whom he could rightly view as an enemy. I was at first, after all. I yet still am?

I am no fool. I know what HM’s court thinks of me. They view me as nothing but an upshoved servant, with no more than a perfunctory title so as to supposedly legitimize my place in HM’s household as a child. Am I not, though? HM has done me the great honor of allowing me to remain in her service, even when the natural progression between governess and charge could have easily seen me returned to Hanover. She now trusts me to run her household – to be secretary and liaison and guard and lady all at once. Few beyond HM, however, tolerate my presence in any such capacity without the most grudging of compliances. I am sneered at by both the staff below and the courtiers above. I have no true place in this world but to exist as hers.

Yet, LM, far from fighting me, seems to value me as an ally on the field of battle that is upholding HM’s interests, first and foremost, above all others. The rest of the court exists to serve HM; I serve Victoria. LM understands that, I think, and even goes so far as to welcome the comradery of my shield and sword.​

Louise paused, and read the passage a second time through. Her pen stilled as she considered how to further express her thoughts – for what were her thoughts?

Unsettled, she turned her eyes away from the paper, and sought the horizon. By then, only the deepest scarlets and pink-flushed violets remained in the fledgling night sky. Soon, even they too would fade. She tapped her pen in a single restless motion, and then resumed writing.

I could tolerate LM on that point alone, were it not for every further point regarding his relationship with HM that I cannot so easily accept. I know; now I am speaking in circles, for circles is the inevitable shape of my thoughts where the PM and HM are concerned.

I will say that the PM is HM's staunchest supporter and defender of her claim to the throne, and for that I am grateful. He can protect her where I cannot follow, in such a way that I would never be able to similarly achieve as a woman – and a woman in service, at that.

Little as HM needs protecting, of course. Victoria is very much her own self, and she makes her own way, just the same as Elizabeth before her. Still, it is a very good thing, to have a champion; I may even go so far to dub it a blessing for Victoria to have such a PM when her reign is yet so new.

Yet, also to consider is the way her eyes light up whenever he enters a room and how she remains in constant awareness of his presence in a crowd. There is how she wants to share every good thing with him when they are apart, and how he is the one to whom she turns when there are defeats to confide. It aches in its own way, that I am no longer first in her heart. I am not ready to surrender my place in her affections, even as I tell myself that I shall always have a dwelling there all my own. Holding one love close hardly precludes love existing for another – yet it is that very word that troubles me so greatly. For, love – I do not think any other monarch and prime minister have ever had such a connection. Their bond is unusual, and highly so. Yet so much of HM’s reign is unusual; it challenges the entire concept of what is or yet should be in matters of governance, let alone trying the preconceptions of what a woman is capable of when allowed the chance to pursue the same possibilities for advancement that are assumed by men. I understand the foundation that established their present relationship; I can hardly begrudge its inception any more than I can now prevent its growth.

And yet, it is their bond's continued growth which I yet misbode –​

Across from her, Victoria stirred. Louise looked up almost guiltily. She stilled, expectant, and yet Victoria merely found a more comfortable position against the chaise, and quieted once more. A surge of affection warmed Louise for the contented little sigh she loosed, no matter how shadowed her regard was by a lingering concern.

She would do anything to ensure that Victoria ever remained as such – in peace and happiness and contentment – was the truth in its simplest form. It was with that thought held foremost in mind that she continued:

HM’s spirits have been low since the PM’s departure. She began writing him nearly as soon as he left – as if she wished her letter to forereach his destination. Any pain she experiences, I quite feel as my own. Yet, this pain –

You know that I have always encouraged HM towards independence. She has a strong will, and it is that indomitable spirit which shall see her succeed in any venture she pursues – up to and including her own rule. That rule, however, is one I have always envisioned her undertaking alone. It fills me with a feeling that I cannot describe – the dread that she may someday share her rule with a man. For it is a fear that may all too easily become reality: the possibility that she may wed a man who does not see fit to merely support her reign, but rather, to supersede it. Victoria alone is Queen of England. Anyone she honors with the privilege of sitting at the right hand of her throne may endeavor to act as the fist of that hand in carrying out her will, but it is her will that must control, and her will only.

How many men do you know who would suffer such supremacy from their wives? If HM decides to marry, the question of to whom shall require an extraordinarily unique perhaps impossibly so bridegroom in answer – a man who carries equal measures of humility and strength; a man who shall be as comfortable kneeling in subservience as he is ready to stand as her partner in support and knight in defense. If you only knew the spoiled, arrogant princelings that have been paraded before her – vainglorious, empty young men who view her birthright as a prize they can steal so blithely assume, simply by the supposed superiority of their sex -

France and the Netherlands and Russia have all since failed in their suits, while Spain and Austria and Prussia have no prince of suitably high rank worth considering. Her English cousins are just as abhorrent to countenance as that insufferable little King of Greece who was thankfully only briefly mentioned. The American president's offer of marriage was more in jest than sincerely intended – or, at least, I fervently hope. Then there is, of course, her Coburg cousin, to whom many already consider her all but wed, but in Albert too there is a strong sense of ambition, already festering with resentment. I have no such faith that he shall endeavor to support and uphold, but rather -

No, sister: I never wish Victoria to wed, for I trust no man to put her entire self before his own. There was a reason, after all, that Queen Elizabeth never took a consort; she quite knew the danger she would have risked, empowering a would-be king by her side, and chose to hold her crown close in place of a husband and children. I pray, most fervently, for HM to follow the path of her forebearer and do much the same.

Look how my words have since rambled. How did I reach this point? I can hardly trace the progress of my own mind. Suffice it to say that it misgives me to see Victoria made so despondent over any man – even one who is not and can never be -​

Yet Louise drew in a breath, and held it. Her fingertips had turned nearly bloodless, pressed against the ferrule of the pen; consciously, she relaxed her grip.

It was, she thought, rather beyond time for her to shift the direction of her letter. And so, she did.

HM's current depression of spirits may have as much to do with her mother as her PM, that said. The duchess was initially set to attend each stage of her daughter's tour, but she ultimately decided to remain wholly in Brighton on account of her health. Since our own arrival in Brighton, TD has shown no softening in her demeanor – which is something I believe that HM did not even realize she was anticipating until it was denied to her.

Yes; matters on this score remain the same since my last letter. TD has hardly spoken two words together to her daughter since Lady Flora’s death Sir John’s dismissal. For seeing to the demise of that godless snake alone, I am and shall ever be grateful to LM. Once, I would have considered such silence from TD a blessing. Victoria has endured far too much of that woman’s venom over the years, and deserves every possible reprieve if outright reparations are non-forthcoming. Yet, for TD to continually wound HM through withholding every possible part of herself is a fresh agony, compounding every previous pain inflicted twice over anew.

I have many sins to lay at the feet of TD, but each and every day that Victoria’s countenance steels in her mother's presence is another crime that I doubt I'll be able to ever fully forgive.

At the very least, the arrival of the queen dowager has restored some small part of HM's spirits. Queen Adelaide is a credit to our sex, and remains as such even after the crown has since passed to her niece. She is a woman who takes quite naturally to nurturing, and her empathy is as sincere as her wisdom is shrewd. Her gentle guidance is what the duchess should have provided all along exactly what Victoria needs, and HM has only benefited from her aunt’s compassion and support.

Yet Brighton itself is unlike any of our previous dwellings along the coast. The Royal Pavilion – George IV’s own Babel of decadence – is nearly obscene in its opulence, and the town itself far too crowded for my taste. It is quite nearly London upon the sea, and in the worst of ways. Victoria has been agitated since arriving; she says that she feels put on display, like a bird in a cage, even when walking the open expanse of the promenade. The beaches are constantly congested and the clamor from the entitled curious masses never-ending.

It seems that her late uncle had a similar distaste for the Brighton proper – for all that he adored the sea, and spent many summers in Sussex. QA, as such, suggested a day of sailing in order to show her niece all of King William’s favorite spots. They should have long been able to show their niece this much together, and that Victoria was deprived of every possibility for advancement and development beyond Kensington is another strike against her mother and Sir John that only God is fit to judge.

To our surprise, QA then proceeded to command the vessel herself – an even smaller yacht than the Royal Charlotte, but just as finely wrought a craft. KW, it seemed, taught her how to sail very early in their marriage, and the recreation remained a favorite for them to partake in together. Adelaide considered it her honor to instruct her niece in place of her uncle, and expressed as much. Victoria, I think, understood QA's depth of sentiment, and declared herself delighted to build upon the skills she'd newly gained in Portsmouth.

From Brighton, we sailed east, and were treated to a magnificent view of the Seven Sisters from the water. We were almost to Beachy Head when QA had us stop in a cove – one of KW’s favorites, it would seem – where we partook in refreshments together. Then, she suggested a swim.

It was first reflexive of Victoria to protest, I believe. She never learned how to swim – our use of bathing machines throughout the summer was hardly conducive to such a pursuit, and the Channel itself is as intimidating a body a water as any to learn in. Was it proper, even, to do so? For we had not the usual amenities available to us for swimming.

Yet Adelaide persevered – there were no eyes present to take offense, and the only men in our party were Colonel Hampson and two marines who doubled as guardsmen and sailors, whom she quite trusted to avert their eyes in an honorable fashion. Chemises could serve as well as bathing gowns, and would dry quickly in the sun. For her aunt's encouragement, Victoria at last acquiesced, as I suspect she desired all along.

What then passed was a lesson that was as endearing as it was exhilarating, which I suspect will remain foremost as one of my most treasured memories. Adelaide took the lion’s share in tutelage, while I provided what encouragement I could in support. It has been many long years since I myself swam, after all – not since I was last home in Hanover, as far back as to when we were all still children together. Has it truly been that long? I, admittedly, cannot recall.

Once Victoria mastered the trick of moving with the sea currents, she took easily to the pursuit. QA dubbed her a natural, and quite proudly declared that she was not at all surprised by the speed of her advancement. For some time, I even went so far as to turn my attention away from Victoria. I simply allowed myself to exist with the waves, and breathe to match their rhythm. It was a most serene experience, and its peace has yet continued to linger. I hardly realized how scarce a commodity peace has been for myself, up until that moment – these last twenty years, I have known so very much of war instead.

By the time we finally returned to the Pavilion, it was full dark. The whole of our party was in high spirits, if somewhat fatigued. We all bore matching, sun-flushed cheeks, and from our hair and the state of our dress, it was perhaps apparent that we had been partaking in every joy the sea had to offer. Our merriment, however, was not one shared by the Duchess of Kent. She looked at her daughter in such a way with frustration with anger in jealousy in regret that I thought she would at last break her silence in order to express the censure that she so clearly felt aloud.

Instead, she only looked HM up and down, and then loudly turned without a word.

I felt Victoria’s hurt dismay most acutely, for her face is ever expressive to my eye, and she quite openly betrayed her every feeling before she regained her composure. Instead of advancing, as I first thought she would, Victoria turned in the opposite direction from her mother with a determined stride. I was left for but a moment with the queen dowager, who was rather visibly angry. We exchanged glances, but said nothing. Adelaide then followed after the duchess with every intent, I suspect, of speaking her piece. Yet I could think no more of the duchess and queen dowager when I had my own sovereign to attend.

I did not catch Victoria before she reached her chambers, whereupon she stated that she wished to write her PM straightaway – even before her ladies could tend to the abused state of her hair and dress for the night. It perhaps goes without saying, but I do not think that the pages she filled had much at all to do with matters of state. Yet what could I say? What could I have done? What should I have done or may I yet still do? I do not know, and my indecision on this matter troubles me greatly.

None of this is quite my place. Yet, isn't it my place? It is my place. Her well-being will always be my place. Victoria is more my daughter in heart than she has ever been that awful woman’s in blood, and I alone wish to ensure that she -

We leave Brighton first thing upon the morrow. As much as I am happy to return to Windsor, I know that I will miss the time we have spent here. I will miss the ocean and the cliffs and how large the sun and moon always seem over the water. I may even go so far as to miss the Pavilion itself, if only for the salt spas. These great heated pools are indeed most restorative. George IV was a hedonistic devil in more ways than I care to number, yet he certainly knew what he was doing in designing the Pavilion's amenities.

What I shall miss most of all is how happy Victoria has been whilst on holiday. The year to come promises trials and challenges aplenty as she truly takes the throne as her own. It goes without saying that she shall persevere through whatever fate has next in store – more so than merely persevering, she shall thrive; of that, I have no doubt – yet her fortitude may indeed be tried. Though there shall be joys in the weeks and months to come, those joys may not be as simple as those she has just recently indulged.

As such, I am determined to do my best to remind her of life’s pleasures and rewards – to ensure that she cares for her own self, even as she turns her attention outwards to her entire realm. I will endeavor to strengthen the hand that holds the scepter, even as she holds that scepter high. I feel that, for this, above all else, God has placed me on this earth.

I look forward to hearing your thoughts in reply to all I have written – your wisdom and your counsel and your beloved reminders of home. Until then, I remain yours, with every possible affection,

Louise​

It was with some uncertainty that she signed her name, feeling strangely dissatisfied with the letter's conclusion. It was good, she reasoned, to express the thoughts that she could hardly say aloud, in order to make better sense of those same thoughts for herself, and yet . . .

Louise read the letter once over, and then a second time through, her frown deepening for the unnecessary sentiments and multiple indiscretions it contained within. There were, she acknowledged, many things that shouldn’t be said at all – not even to a confidant as trusted as her beloved sister.

So she stood, and walked over to feed the sheaves of paper to the now hungrily burning lanterns. There, she watched as her words were consumed and turned to ash, even as her mouth pursed, considering how best to express them anew. It was some minutes later as she stood still in place, regarding the light, that she heard a small voice say:

“Lehzen?”

Louise turned in time to see as Victoria sat upright on the chaise, blearily clearing the sleep from her eyes and stretching to ease the ache from her neck and shoulders. Reflexively, she dipped into a deep curtsy and returned, “Your Majesty.”

“What time is it?” Victoria peered at the near dark sky. "It is well night already."

“It is half past eight, Your Majesty.”

"Is it truly?" She blinked, surprised. “Goodness, but I had no intention to sleep for so very long.”

“Not overly long, ma'am; if your body required rest, then you slept just long enough,” Louise assured, an unwitting smile pulling on the corner of her mouth to see more of the girl she had raised than the woman and queen she’d since become.

“Still, I have missed going down to sup.” Victoria pressed her mouth in consideration. “I do not wish to keep the kitchen staff up and waiting, not when we travel so early tomorrow.”

Louise – who well knew of the many indulgences that the staff were partaking in whilst enjoying the queen’s tour for themselves – dryly returned, “A place may be set for Your Majesty whenever you are ready, or a tray may be sent up. It is an honor for each and every one of us in your service to perform our duties as such.”

Victoria gave her a knowing look, yet only said, “I am, admittedly, not very hungry.”

“Perhaps, then, only a light repast? It will be good of you to eat something, ma'am.”

"I suppose it may," Victoria sighed, but waved her hand in affirmation. "You are right, much as you ever are."

Louise made quick work of ringing for the footmen and passing on the order. When she returned to the balcony, Victoria was perched on the edge of the chaise, Hume’s Histories once more held in hand. She looked up from the book, and glanced out to where the last of the daylight had faded from the horizon. “I knew that Hume was dry reading,” she commented with good humor, “but not that dry.”

“Your Majesty has been applying yourself,” Louise made no attempt to keep the pride from her voice. “It is understandable that your efforts have produced a physical effect.”

Yet Victoria did not so easily agree. “I do not feel as if I am applying myself," she sighed. "I can only see all that I have yet to do, or still to learn.” Distractedly, she bit her lip – a long-fought habit that she yet defected to whenever she was distracted, or taken by a particularly troubling thought – and looked out to the water again. “It was easier to absorb the likes of Hume when . . .”

When Lord Melbourne was here, Louise heard, even when Victoria let her sentence taper off, ultimately unfinished.

It was on the tip of her tongue to say that Her Majesty was entirely capable of relying on her own self, but she understood that those words were not what the moment required. Instead, she considered her reply, and then made to offer: “I am not sure what insights I may impart as compared to Lord Melbourne, but I may read aloud to you, if you wish.”

“Oh, you always have wisdom to impart," Victoria's warmly assured – with her own concerns just as easily pushed aside in favor of addressing her own.

“Whatever Your Majesty declares, I may but hold as true."

“Then Her Majesty does indeed declare," Victoria affirmed most cheerfully, and Louise let the corners of her mouth turn upwards, if only slightly.

“Yes, I would like it very much if you would read to me," Victoria reconfirmed her agreement. "If only until Hume puts both of us to sleep, that is.”

“For Your Majesty, I shall endeavor to persevere to the best of my ability."

"Of course," Victoria said, settling back against the chaise once more. "Just as you always do, Lehzen."

Dear girl, Louise thought with pleasure, even as she accepted the volume from her queen's hand. She retook her place in her own chair, and sat perched straight and stern on the cushions edge. She took a breath, and began where Victoria had last marked:

“Here therefore commences the useful, as well as the more agreeable part of modern annals; certainty has place in all the considerable, and even most of the minute parts of historical narration; a great variety of events, preserved by printing, give the author the power of selecting, as well as adorning, the facts, which he relates; and as each incident has a reference to our present manners and situation, instructive lessons occur every moment during the course of the narration. Whoever carries his anxious researches into preceding periods is moved by a curiosity, liberal indeed and commendable; not by any necessity for acquiring knowledge of public affairs, or the arts of civil government . . . "



FIN


~ MJ

 

Thank you! I do love describing me some scenery.

Yay, that's just what I hoped to hear!

lol! I completely understand, because I agree with all of it too. Darn discretion getting in the way and all that.

This slow burn may be the slowest of burns, but gosh! The friendship is immediate and sweet and everything along the way.

That's the sad truth of the matter, isn't it? We saw this play out with Albert more often than not - and he was the best choice of some of the absolutely boorish princes Europe had to offer. (And that juxtaposes so very nicely with how Melbourne interacts with Victoria as his sovereign and queen. Very few men of the time would have supported her as he did as prime minister, I feel, let alone anything more. )

Tragic really says it all.

She's grown to be a favorite for me, she really has.

Just so! That's one of the things that I love best about Lehzen and Victoria.

As for Victoria and her mother, the path to repairing their relationship may be a winding one - and it's certainly at one of its lowest points here - due to the amount of damage from years of abuse there is to undo. That kind of trauma takes time and effort to heal. But, underneath it all, there's love, and that can be a strong force for positive change if it's allowed allowed to work - all in due time.

Right? These two, I just can't even with them!

The chattiest and ebullient-est!

Very much so. That's the good shipper stuff right there, which is yet another box they tick on my OTP checklist - and then some.

Thank you so very much for the lovely review! As always, I hope that you continue to enjoy this series as it goes.

Yes, Raziel's epic! I had to stop and look up the author's name, and Lingua Flora was the title of the fic - I just couldn't remember the Latin when I replied. (Though mebfeath's Language of Flowers is oh so good too. ) In that fic, a couple of scenes, mostly regarding Lord M's finally putting Leopold in his place - especially with attacking the ridiculous 50,000 pounds a year that Leopold received from the United Kingdom - and then with the children dealing with bullies on account of Melbourne's lack of royal blood matched up with a few brainstorming pages in my own notebook. So I took a pause, just to make sure I wasn't accidentally gleaning anything more.

Oh, and speaking of the next generation! I started a future fic called As the Periwinkles Bloom that's not on A03 yet. I only have Part One of three posted, since the main story here has demanded the lion's share of my muse's attention, but it does introduce my OC Vicbourne babies.

AND, if you really want to jump forward in time, the truly talented @Chyntuck paid me the huge honor of writing about Victoria and Melbourne's great-great-granddaughter Mina Lamb (the future Victoria IV) in her WWII collection Radio Londres, based on The Longest Day. Il pleut toujours en Angleterre is the exact fic, and I can't recommend it highly enough! It's a wonderful 'princess and the pauper' romance, which is only the cherry on top of a poignant coming of age story set during one of the most turbulent times in history. Plus, there's Victoria II and the future Victoria III you have to meet (in this 'verse, Victoria changed the law of male primogeniture to absolute primogeniture) - so, basically, all of the good things.

This is a beautiful insight, thank you so much for sharing. That's one of those feelings that's so hard to put into words, but it resonates. I'm thrilled that passage drew such a deep reaction from you!

This was one of the last edits I made before posting, too! I was rather pleased with how the phrasing came together myself.

Agreed! It's a very special kind of sleep.

Me too! Melbourne may be holding out a hand to help steady her reign, but Victoria quickly finds her feet and hits the ground running. This is something that she wants to do, and do well, so she's going to persevere for her own self. And so she does.

Then, of course, it does ultimately help to have that partner to along the way - with iron sharpening iron and all that.

Lehzen is one of those strong personalities that can be all too easy to caricaturize for a punchline. I think that's one of the pitfalls that the show fell into at times, more so than the novel. Beyond that, it's like finding out that your parents have names beyond mom and dad. Lehzen is Lehzen to Victoria; thus, she is Lehzen to us. I enjoyed fleshing her character out here, though, and exploring a bit of what makes Lehzen Louise, instead.

Thank you! It was such an interesting exercise for me as an author, telling a story in bits and pieces through a series of letters. And now I'm enjoying expanding on the more linear version of the story, too.

A very high honor, indeed! Sometimes, you've got to hang out with the entire group, too.

This is an excellent insight, and I completely agree on all counts! Needless to say, this will definitely be a future conversation between these two characters.

We juuuuuust might.

I agree with this 100% - especially with if her only perspective for now remains her own. From the duchess' POV, she did her best for Victoria and can't understand her daughter's current pain and resentment. Now, she's deeply in mourning (no matter how undeserving Conroy is of those feelings, eugh) and figuring out how to exist as her own self after existing for so long in an abusive/controlling relationship of her own. Her perspective needs to shift, and she's coming to a crossroads where she just may be able to do so - but only if she allows herself to change and put in the hard work to make things right. It's a messy, complicated dynamic, but if they could reconcile in history, then I'm going to see if I can do a bit better for them here - no matter how long and rocky the road along the way!

THIS, EXACTLY. As much as I love developing Victoria and Melbourne's relationship, I don't want it to cross into a place of over-dependency, you know? She has her own circle of friends and loved ones. It may be small at the moment, but it's there and it's growing. Especially with Adelaide! You're right, she's perfectly poised to share with Victoria the wisdom and understanding and affection she needs, without any strings attached, and I'm looking forward to exploring their bond even further in this series to come.

Slay, queen.

It's always wonderful to be a fly on the wall as a reader.

Me too! A new love doesn't cancel out a pre-existing love - but that can be hard to remember at times, and it's good for Lehzen to hear that affirmation. Victoria adores them both, and they both adore Victoria. In the end, everything else will work itself out from there.

Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, once more! I appreciated every word.



Alrighty, then! I'll right be back with the next story in just a moment.

 

Author's Note: Here I am with a bonus story to share, all thanks to popular demand! (Thank you @mumblebibesy and @WarmNyota_SweetAyesha. ) At first, I was going to leave this "summer vacation" entirely to implication in Your Miles of Shore. Then, I thought that maybe I could write a few pieces of shortform fiction, just to fill in the blanks. I finally decided on a proper chaptered story, and I don't regret a single word - accidental epic, I tell you - as, ultimately, I think this decision made the characters, the plot, and the series as a whole even stronger!

. . . have I mentioned before how much I love the unique relationship between author and reader in fanfiction? The feedback cycle is invaluable.

(That said, I also have to thank @mumblebibesy for beta reading this chapter, and for her all around support and encouragement! Both are greatly appreciated. )

From there, I was happy to write this story as a bonus Marathon Swimming event for the Olympics. However, when I looked through my list of outstanding challenges for any further element to add, I came across my selection for the Nightwish "Ocean Souls" Roulette. My song was the titular Ocean Souls itself, and though it immediately felt too perfect for the story at hand, and I resisted, I listened to the song often enough while writing that it's now in the fabric of the story - and, hey, isn't that what these challenges are all about? So, here it is.

And, lastly, to disclaim, my title is taken from CLANN's Her & the Sea. (I highly recommend CLANN's I Hold You, too, as I usually play both tracks back-to-back for maximum impact. ) Those songs, along with Ocean Soul, absolutely fed my muse. That said, I promise that this story is not at all as angsty as the inspiration may imply; this is going to be about 30% flirting banter; 30% travelogue, complete with all of the extraneous scenic details and historical fun facts; 30% introspection and character development; and then about 10% serious plot. You're welcome.

But, that's enough rambling from me! Onwards we go with . . .

---

“Her and the Sea”
(bonus Marathon Swimming; "Ocean Souls" Roulette)​

IX.II.I.

Notes From Portland

From the last posting station in Radipole, Her Majesty was all eagerness and anticipation to reach their destination.

Victoria sat perched on the very edge of the carriage seat, leaning forward to better observe as the passing hills of the countryside prepared to give way to the plunging cliffs of England’s southern shore. Her face was all but pressed to the glass to catch her first view of the Channel – a perhaps less than regal sight for the citizens who stopped to cheer her caravan with bows and waves, yet becomingly winsome in its own right – and her eyes were wide and blue enough in the sunlight to outmatch even the promise of the awaiting sea.

It was impossible not to be carried along on the crest of her ebullience in moments like this. Even so, William Lamb, 2nd Viscount Melbourne, refused to look up from the leather portfolio of papers he held. He’d admittedly made but little progress studying the reports since their departure that morning, yet he felt obligated to continue in his efforts. It was his duty to be as fully versed as possible in the particulars of Sir Charles’ proposal before Her Majesty met with the vice admiral upon the morrow, and so, he would be.

Then – perhaps more immediately if not as pressingly, in such a way that he'd never admit aloud – he was rather enjoying the increasingly perplexed glances flicked by his queen (bordering on irritated) for his refusal to attend the wonders of the coastal hinterlands as she did. Her nose scrunched up completely in bemusement, all before she sighed – rather loudly, in a way that was undoubtedly intended to garner his attention. If he kept his gaze focused on the document before him long enough, he wagered that she would even go so far as to -

There it was: that most particular sigh, this time accompanied by an outright furrowing of her brow.

“Can you not smell it, Lord M – the salt in the air? It is the sea, welcoming us. We must be close now; do you not agree?”

William – who well knew that their route had since turned full south, and currently had them traveling parallel to the water, with the coast narrowing to close in on them at a single point – did not look up to respond: “Your Majesty’s senses are remarkably attuned. For myself, I can smell nothing but the horses.”

A perhaps ungracious huff was his reward in answer. From his place of honor upon the queen's lap, even Dash seemed to regard him in exasperation – or so he did if William interpreted the spaniel's combination of twitching ears and lolling tongue correctly. It was only his many years spent in the House that kept his own expression fixed in an unaffected mask of pleasant neutrality; otherwise, he most certainly would have betrayed himself with a grin.

“Honestly, Lord M,” Victoria could suffer such provocation no longer, “if you do not look up from those infernal papers this very instant - ”

Ever a faithful servant to the Crown, he obeyed – though perhaps he should have delayed but a moment longer, for he was now most curious as to how she would have concluded her sentence. Victoria was rather visibly nettled, and he couldn’t resist stoking her ire even further by raising a single brow in puzzlement, as if he failed to understand the reason for her growing choler.

“And so I have,” he remarked mildly. Steadily, he kept his focus on her. “Where would Your Majesty have me look instead?”

“What? How can you possibly – what do you mean, where would I?” Victoria sputtered in fragments. Her cheeks flushed, and her mouth gaped ever so slightly. Her flashing eyes, however, said all that she could not articulate aloud with undeniable clarity.

She was far too easy to rile – and most enjoyably so. Yet, what was more than that, William was glad to see the pall that had lingered over her since the court first moved to Windsor slowly lift, day by day. Now, a near month out from the trying events that had shadowed her coronation, she was ever increasingly herself again – perhaps even more herself than she’d been since her ascension – and he was happy to do his part in encouraging her return to good humor. In a way, he considered that his duty just as much as the onus of wading through the vice admiral’s Appeal for Consideration as to the State of the Royal Navy’s Southern Coastal Fortifications in all of its maundering tedium.

Yet his musings were interrupted when Victoria at last found her voice. “Viscount Melbourne,” she chipped out his title rather crossly. “We – most obviously – would have you join us in looking out the carriage!” Beyond its immediate, imperious quality, her tone clearly bespoke a rather low estimation of his powers of comprehension, which was equally as amusing in its own right. “The seashore is going to come into view at any moment, and you're going to miss it in favor of poring over those stuffy old papers, when you could instead - ”

“ - Your Majesty,” he couldn’t have timed it better if he tried, “look there.”

William gestured to where, with the last bend in the road, the waters of Portland Harbor had just came into view. On the opposite side of the carriage spanned the shallow Fleet Lagoon, braced between the mainland and the miles long stretch of Chesil Beach. That great landmark was a barrier of smooth round stones, created by centuries of relentless waves off the Atlantic pushing the bed of shingles closer and closer to shore until the bar became an upraised feature of its own, linking the Isle of Portland to the Dorsetshire main. Now, the late afternoon sunlight sparkled over the wet faces of the individual pebbles, and the mirror of the waves seemingly winked in answer.

Instantly, any and all annoyance was forgotten.

“Oh, I see!” Victoria exclaimed. Her awe radiated from her, euphoriant and pure, pulling at his own spirits like a tide to match. With her attention thus taken by the view, he allowed himself a smile – if not an outright grin – for the ease of her joy.

Yet, seated at Victoria’s right, Emma Portman too took advantage of the queen’s distraction to shake her head in a chastising manner that he was by then more than familiar with. He looked back with his own most innocent expression, which, as ever, impressed his old friend but little.

It was impossible to think on Emma’s unspoken counsel for long, however – nor could Emma maintain her own intention as such in favor of refocusing her attention on her queen. In her eagerness to see all that she could see, Victoria made to peer out of Emma’s window after thoroughly absorbing the view from her own. Dash panted and whined to be jostled so, yet she only absently patted the dog in recognition of his discomfort as she twisted for a better vantage. While making what an attempt she could to be polite to her lady in such close quarters – little as Emma minded a bit of clumsy ungraciousness in indulging the younger woman's enthusiasm – Victoria slid even further down on the bench to lean over, so far that William suspected that she may have quit it completely. He was then very aware of how the bunching of her skirts brushed against his own knee – little as he doubted that Victoria noticed – and discreetly moved closer to the squabs on his side of the carriage in answer.

He was then most interested in seeking out the view for himself – for it was a far better sight than meeting Emma’s gaze once more, let alone Baroness Lehzen’s, who sat to his left.

Victoria managed to contain her excitement until they passed over the causeway to the isle proper, and then it all but leapt from her like sparks. With a small but forceful fist, she knocked against the roof for the driver’s attention.

“Stop here,” she commanded, and her coachmen were quick to obey.

As soon as the carriage ceased its rolling, William thought that Victoria would open the door herself and spring out completely unaided. He had no doubt that she could, but a lack of petticoats barring his own way allowed him the ease of mobility necessary to anticipate her. He wasted no further time teasing her – no matter that the thought did occur to him – but instead reached up to offer his hand with all expedience. Victoria gladly accepted, and bounded down the steps, with Dash fast following his mistress' lead.

Instead of allowing the waiting footman to aid the remaining ladies, he kept to his place and helped Emma down next. Then, he held his hand out to Lehzen. At first, the woman merely looked at him, as if surprised by the courtesy, for which William merely bowed and offered aloud: “My lady?”

Yet Lehzen was nothing if not practical, and she accepted his assistance in making her own descent. “My thanks, your lordship.” Her gratitude was cool, as ever, yet he thought to detect the slightest of thaws.

“The pleasure is mine, Baroness.” He bowed once more, and tipped his hat. The baroness’ expression was perhaps more unimpressed than amused in answer, yet it certainly never hurt to try.

By then, Victoria had advanced down the path that cut through the scrub of bird’s-foot and sea pea and Portland pinks. At the end of the path, there was a long footbridge over the tidewater, and she crossed with a deceivingly quick stride for a woman of her stature, Dash trotting at her heels. It took him a moment to catch up without running, yet catch her he did.

“Come, Lord M, with haste!” she beckoned, waving a hand forward as she threatened to outpace him once more. “You tarry far too long.”

As if I can do anything but follow, he nearly said aloud, but ultimately found no need – for the ocean itself then awaited them, and the majesty of its presence soon overpowered any other thought or sense. Victoria made swift work of navigating the shifting pebble bed, all the way down to where the surf lapped against the multi-colored stones in gentle undulations. There, she stopped, the very tips of her travel boots poised at the exact boundary between land and sea. She pulled her skirts back to keep them from the water when the almost languid waves rolled in again, plucking at her soles as it rushed and receded.

Yet Victoria held fast to her place, welcoming the sea, and did not retreat.

Here, the southeastern most reaches of Lyme Bay were deceivingly calm to the eye. There were no white-capped waves as existed further south on the isle, where the tides themselves raced and crashed and eddied; instead, the water merely shifted and rippled from the strong winds that danced across its surface, seemingly drowsing in their cradle. Yet, just underneath, he knew, dangerously strong currents tugged and pushed and pulled with lashing, unforgiving hands. There were no provisions on Chesil Beach for swimming for that very reason, even on such a fine summer’s day. Sailing ships themselves were few and far between here, and for those that knew the currents well enough to brave passage – or were blown in from off the Channel, as the case more often was – there was a string of coastguard postings, all the way north to West Bay. More numerous to the eye, instead, were the canny resident fishermen, who worked their nets in oared lerret boats specifically designed for the marine environment of their home. A friendly few who were close enough to shore waved in greeting, even when perhaps unaware of the precise identity of their royal visitor.

Yet Victoria, he suspected, only saw the vast expanse of the sea and sky and the illusory line of the horizon. The wind gusted against her, billowing against the soft white fabric of her gown and snapping at the blue ribbons of her bonnet until they streamed out behind her, yet she showed no sign of discomfort for its strength. Instead, she breathed deeply in, and filled her lungs with the sea air.

“There, Lord M,” she turned towards him in order to declare smartly. “You must smell but little of horses now.”

“Not even a whiff,” William agreed. “Your Majesty was quite correct in detecting the presence of salt.”

“It’s not only salt, I think,” she mused aloud. “I cannot quite give it a name, but to say that it is indubitably more – in a way that’s entirely its own.”

“I understand, ma’am, and agree,” he said, and the smile in his voice found its way quite naturally to his mouth – for there was something uniquely of the ocean in the air, in a way that was beyond words to wholly describe. “You will become most familiar with it throughout this tour – which, if I may be so bold as to suggest, we should perhaps now resume? It is still a ways to the castle, and the day wanes on.”

Victoria, in answer, looked back out over the sea. She closed her eyes to tilt her face up towards the sun, offering herself to the wind, and exhaled in contentment.

Then, she opened her eyes once more. “I am ready, Lord M,” she declared. “Let us continue.”

Together, the walked back up the beach, the sea seemingly propelling their every step forward.



.

.

Their destination took them down and across the heart of Portland, south through the hamlets and fields of Tophill and then east until they alighted upon the far shore of the isle. Here, overlooking Church Ope Cove below and the waters of the Channel beyond, was Pennsylvania Castle.

As its name may have somewhat falsely implied – for Pennsylvania Castle was a residence in pleasure rather than a dwelling in fortification, no matter how the façade mimicked their castles of old in appearance – the mansion was a new building, with its construction having been completed only just that century. John Penn, a former Proprietor of the Colony of Pennsylvania and lately Governor of Portland, had commissioned its design, and spared no expense in outfitting it with every modern convenience. The governor had passed some three years ago now, and with only his brother left to claim his legacy – a brother who disliked the castle itself and had no wish to pay for its upkeep – the estate had since been leased by the Crown, to use as the Crown best saw fit.

The castle’s exterior, with its towers and crenelated parapets, was a handsome construct of warm grey Portland limestone, built to complement its centuries old neighbors in the ruins of Rufus Castle, immediately to the north, and St. Andrew’s Church just below – the origins of which dated back to the eleventh century. The estate now encompassed all three sites, as Governor Penn had been as interested in funding conservation efforts on the ancient constructs as he was in building his own – conservation efforts that had been decried by many as shallow attempts to achieve the most picturesque view possible, rather than holding fast to safeguard their history with any sort of true fidelity in authenticity.

Yet that was a headache that had plagued William’s predecessors, and was thankfully beyond his current purview as prime minister. He was more than happy to leave such sensitive subjects to those who made it their life’s work to preserve the wonders of the realm, and gladly signed each piece of paper that came across his desk to encourage their pursuits.

Victoria, for her part, politely attended the current governor – a Sir Charles Hansford – as he led them on a tour of the mansion’s interior. The castle was splendidly appointed in every regard, yet the queen was most taken by the views offered from its numerous windows. Even when they came upon the state rooms – designed for the sole purpose of hosting royal guests, as George III had summered here often – she paid the plush carpets and rich brocades and intricately crafted furniture of rosewood and amaranth but little heed. Instead, she came close enough to one of the tall glass windows to touch, and stared out across the cove.

“Magnificent,” she whispered, and indeed it was.

Their party broke soon thereafter in order to refresh themselves from their journey. William took the time to wash up and change into formal evening dress, yet he was disinclined to linger in his chambers when there was such an extensive library awaiting below. Governor Penn had been a man of words, one who was quite skilled with his own quill, and William expected his collection to reflect those passions in abundance.

After all, one could only read government missives for so long before one’s eyes threatened to cross – if not close for sleep entirely.

Even upon his first perusal, William was not at all disappointed by the offerings on display. He could remain ensconced in this room for the duration of their trip and count his satisfaction complete, were it not for the trifling necessities of duty to attend. A simply bound book from a local publisher, just recently released, caught his eye, which collected firsthand accounts of the various shipwrecks suffered in the isle’s waters over the last century. The volume would have been a rare find in London, and, pleased with the selection, he settled into an armchair by a most obligingly placed window to read.

He’d only made it as far as a chapter – yet an entirely engrossing chapter, detailing the history of the Water Guard as it gave way to the newly established Coast Guard and National Lifeboat Institution – when an approaching presence made itself known in the corridor beyond. His ears pricked, familiar as he was to the cadence of this particular stride, and he waited in unconscious anticipation. Sure enough, Victoria swept into the room but a moment later in a flutter of rich red-violet silk, with garnets and diamonds sparkling from the tiara atop her newly coiffed hair and looped in strands about her wrists and neck.

“Lord M,” she greeted with the same cheer as if their parting had been a span of days, rather than a mere hour, “I thought I'd find you here.”

William stood and genuflected, which Victoria quickly waved aside. Emma Portman and Harriet Sutherland had followed in their queen’s wake, and he bowed to each lady in turn before commenting: “Your Majesty knows me well – though I fear that I may have failed to provide much of a mystery regarding the question of my whereabouts.”

“Oh, not in the slightest,” Victoria countered, a teasing glint to her eye. “You see, I was rather torn between the library; the orangery – for there were quite the interesting tropical specimens there on display, which I know you must wish to examine further; or you may have even gone so far as to walk the grounds. Yet you would not be able to watch for the rest of our party in the orangery, and I would be unforgivably vexed if you were to begin any such explorations without me – which I know you are quite aware of. Thus, I was left with one possible conclusion. You did, after all, mention that Governor Penn was an author, and any author of merit must have a library to match their expressed interest in the written word, should they not?”

Those had been his thoughts, almost exactly. Even so, he inclined his head to tuck away his pleased expression, and said, “I have applauded Your Majesty’s powers of observation before, but find that I must now do so again.”

Victoria tilted her own head up, not seeing any need to disguise her pride in her deduction – no matter that they were kept from any further discussion when they heard the approaching voices of Lord Alfred and Governor Hansford. The two men entered the blue salon across the hall from the library – upon which, William had indeed intended to keep a watchful eye – and, seeing his attention shift, Victoria’s smile blossomed even further with triumphant satisfaction.

In no time at all, Victoria’s equerry and the governor noticed the presence of their party and joined them in the library. Victoria was quick to free them from their own formal respects in greeting, and held graciously through the expected social niceties that followed, with: yes, she found her rooms most comfortably appointed and no, she couldn’t think of any possible improvement to the amenities provided for her stay and yes, she felt suitably refreshed from the rigors of the road, the governor was ever so kind to inquire.

Yet, when Governor Hansford proclaimed that his staff had arranged for them to sup prior to sundown – a thoughtful gesture, as their host wished to provide a hearty meal following their travels, with the opportunity for them to retire as early for what was indeed a fully scheduled day upon the morrow – Victoria’s expression fell, and she frowned openly.

“Do we have time to view the grounds before dining?” she inquired of the governor. “I have no wish to inconvenience your staff, yet I had hoped to go as far as the old castle ruins, if not down into the cove itself.”

Hansford hesitated, hardly wishing to gainsay his queen, yet clearly considering how best he could do so indirectly. Inwardly, William frowned – for, although Victoria had not spoken a direct command, her wishes were inherent as such if it was within the ability of her subjects to facilitate their queen’s desires, even by the smallest of degrees.

So: “Supper,” William said softly – as much for the governor as Victoria – his head and shoulders coming even further forward in respect, “may commence whenever Your Majesty should so desire for it to commence.”

With a blink, Victoria straightened for the reminder. With each passing day of her reign, she became easier with exercising her power, and the times that he saw fit to remind her of such were now fewer and farther between. For her privilege, he half expected that she would go on to make her wish a command – and perhaps she would have if she did not first look to gauge the interest of her party. Not a single one of her attendants would ever dare betray the truth of their own preferences when they misaligned with their sovereign’s, and yet, from her ladies to her equerry to Baroness Lehzen, only pleasant smiles awaited her, rather than any more outright indications of enthusiasm.

Victoria paused, her consideration apparent. She then lifted her chin and turned a warm expression to the governor. “I am all eagerness to explore everything I can of this lovely isle,” she admitted, “yet I may be a trite too eager in this instance. Yes, let us sup. Then, perhaps we may venture out in time to view the sunset?”

“With the summer hours,” the governor was quick to confirm – undoubtedly wishing to amend his unwitting error of moments prior, “the timing shall be perfect for Your Majesty’s pleasure.”

“Excellent,” Victoria approved, and allowed the governor the honor of leading the way to the dining room from by her side.

Trailing a step behind his queen, William felt a fond stirring of pride for the maturity she displayed. Victoria had already grown so very far from the fledgling young woman he’d first met at Kensington, and it was an honor to attend her as she stretched her wings further still.

Yet it seemed that he was not the only one who thought as such.

“She did well,” by his side, Emma approved in a whisper. “Your guidance is already showing its dividends, William.”

“My guidance?” he returned, his voice just as hushed. “Hardly so. I’ve had no hand in what is all Her Majesty’s own self.”

He felt the scrutiny of Emma’s gaze, yet he kept his own eyes fixed forward on his queen. “Perhaps,” she gave, and that was all that could be said as they entered the hall and took their seats to dine.

Dinner proceeded to be an amicable, even enjoyable, affair. The dishes proudly featured the bounties of the isle and the greater county beyond – with bass caught from the cove just that very morning served for the fish course, and the regional delicacy of Portland lamb just as proudly presented with newly harvested courgettes and button squash and tender young potatoes.

Victoria was not always easy with presiding over a table, especially in a small party with strangers. (Privately, William would ever hold that lingering uncertainty against Sir John and her mother the duchess for the deprivations the then princess had suffered at Kensington.) Yet she ever answered her lack of faith in her own ability with asking questions of her company. She was already naturally curious as it was, and attentive to listen. Thus, as they ate, Victoria had no shortage of inquiries to pose regarding the isle.

For his part, the governor was equally generous with his answers. As a native of Dorsetshire who’d lived all his life on the coast, Hansford was a wealth of knowledge, and he delighted in imparting all that he could of the home he so clearly adored to his queen. He was perhaps somewhat surprised when Victoria then bade him speak of his own self, beyond the formality of his posting, yet dutifully shared that he was newly a widower, with four children grown and a dozen grandchildren to his name. His gaze turned distant when he spoke of his late wife, and Victoria’s condolences were sincere in return. She next moved on to inquire about his grandchildren, and the sting of the moment was duly soothed by happier subjects.

The truly excellent meal eventually wound down with a final course of Portland pudding – an orange flavored delicacy in which the residents of the isle took the utmost pride. William, who knew some of its history, watched Victoria just as closely as the governor did, anticipating her reaction.

She did not disappoint in the slightest.

“Oh, but this is delicious,” Victoria, who rarely met a sweet she did not like as it was, praised with particular delight as she tucked her spoon in for another generous bite. “I would count myself most fortunate if we could take the recipe back to Windsor – that is, if your cook would be so kind as to share?”

“The recipe is a closely guarded secret of the isle, but there is a strong likelihood that we may be inclined to share – for the Queen of the United Kingdom is a resident of all her land, is she not?” Hansford all but puffed his chest to voice the words he’d struggled to contain since the dish was first served. “This pudding was first baked by the old landlady of the Portland Arms – where His Majesty George III originally stayed when he made his visits to the isle. This dessert was a favorite of the late king’s, God rest his soul.”

“Grandfather George?” Victoria’s interest piqued anew. “Truly?”

“The one and only,” Hansford confirmed. “His Majesty was so impressed that he took out an advert in the county paper to praise the landlady’s skill, as well as the inn’s hospitality, to all of Dorsetshire. King George dubbed it royal pudding in the article, and the entire isle has served variations of it ever since.”

There was, unfortunately, more that was said in whispers about the Mad King who’d lost the American colonies than there was in praise for the good King George had done his realm before the decline of his mental health. Victoria had never known either the king nor Queen Charlotte, and she'd been deprived of her father’s presence in her life to help connect her to her paternal grandparents as individual persons in their own right, beyond the crowns they’d worn. Her uncles had been similarly unforthcoming, either by their niece's seclusion or their own choice, and she absorbed this new detail with clear pleasure.

“Royal pudding, indeed,” her voice was soft to approve. “I am equally as enchanted, and would even go so far as to personally commend your cook. I would be much obliged if it was served again when next we dine.”

Governor Hansford answered in the affirmative, and went on to share the further stories he knew about the former king's visits to the isle until dinner wound down to a contended, natural conclusion for the entire table.



.

.

Eventually, the party that accompanied Her Majesty out of doors was small in number – with William, the governor, and a single lady in Emma attending Victoria, along with the constant presence of Colonel Hampson and his men, following both in sight and, as ever, discreetly out of view.

The route that led to the old castle was somewhat roughshod, but passable for the ladies who’d changed from their delicately heeled evening shoes into boots. The dirt path led them through a hardy wood of thin aspen and cascara and willow, to a cobbled lane that gently inclined upwards to the high castle summit. The round-arch bridge, built for accessibility's sake as much as the aesthetic of its appearance, was perhaps inaccurate to the era of its construction, but nonetheless as practical as it was striking. There wasn’t much left to explore amongst the ruins but for its outermost shell, which had long since been overgrown by ivy and claimed by the seabirds for their roosts. This keep had been built for war, as was evident by the medieval gunports that pocketed the outer walls like sores – walls which stood, not from William II’s original design, nor even the Saxon nor Roman fortifications that had existed prior to the Normans, but rather, from Richard Plantagenet's renovations later in history, during the Hundred Year’s War.

The scarcity of the remaining structure was a sobering sight – with what was once a mighty stronghold now standing as a broken tower, with naked walls failing to shield its innermost heart from the everlasting cliffs of the isle. Beneath the castle buff was what remained of the Church of St. Andrews. Like the castle itself, the original Norman structure was long gone, and even the fifteenth century construct was nearly nonexistent due to the landslides that had plagued its walls in the intervening centuries. The church now remained in a ramshackle implication of its original foundation, with heaps of rubble gathered together by human hands to mark its former place. Gravestones further suggested the presence of an old churchyard, and the governor shared that there were even pirate graves, hidden where the wild had since reclaimed its supremacy over man.

All this, however, they merely observed from above – as the steps that led down into the cove were many and narrow and steep when the light of the day was waning. Yet Governor Penn had paved and constructed a platform, rimmed by an ornamental stone railing, just adjacent to the castle for the sole purpose of offering an unhindered view of the ruins and the cove and the Channel beyond. It was there that they agreed to watch the sunset, and save any further explorations for the morrow.

William, even with his life-long interest in the history of his island home, then felt the weight of the past most acutely. With the rugged terrain – more striking and raw in its glory than more traditionally picturesque – and the open expanse of rock and sea and sky, broken only by these failed remnants of old . . . it was haunting in its own right; humbling, even. They were, the each of them, so very small as they contributed but a stitch to the grand tapestry of time, all without ever glimpsing their place in the ultimate pattern of its design.

Even Victoria – who would go on to and even now offered a boldly colored thread to that supernal weave – stood in silence, observing her surroundings with a somber expression. Far beyond their reach, the sun flooded the sky with fire, and its gold burnished the rippling blue of the sea – the ocean of her eyes.

“It feels near the same as walking through Westminster Abbey, standing here,” she finally remarked. “It’s not a feeling that I can describe, but to call it heavy, even when it is not – or, at least, not in whole.”

“Some emotions are beyond words, yes,” he agreed – perhaps surprised to find their minds unwittingly in accord once more, and yet not. “Your Majesty manages quite well, even so, expressing the indescribable.”

“You do not think me a silly creature, then?” the corner of her mouth quirked up, but there was uncertainty in her question, as if she misgave his answer.

“If you can call the great thinkers and poets of old silly, ma’am, then perhaps you are – and I too may be counted as such.” His words were wry, but honest, and he watched as the line of her shoulders relaxed, perhaps unconsciously yielding their former tension. In answer, a matching ease settled deep in his own bones.

So, he continued: “I do not know what there is of science to prove it, but I believe that the lives lived by those before us linger. Impressions of their memories remain, especially in a place as old as this one, and near as we are to the hallowed.” He gestured down to the churchyard with its forgotten headstones. In the sea itself, the waves concealed innumerable lost souls more. “Time has much to share, and I believe that we can sense some small glimmer of its presence, even if we cannot grasp it fully.”

A moment passed as Victoria considered his outlook, and held it against her own perception of the world to compare. “You speak most beautifully, Lord M. I think that is what I was attempting to put into words, but could not manage.”

“I've had many years’ practice with assigning words to elusive concepts, ma'am; in time, you too shall be just as able." Then, he couldn't help but continue to jest, "You may even say that I currently hold my post for that ability. Although that, admittedly, says less of any of my own supposed gifts than it illuminates the current sorry state of the whole of Parliament – which is a subject that I shan’t bore Your Majesty with when we stand before such a remarkable view.”

Victoria did not like it when he talked about age – either his or her own – even if he found such reminders increasingly necessary, if only as they concerned himself. Yet, that time, her mouth twisted for his humor, and she chose to let his initial statement go for its truth.

Besides, she had a more pressing point to argue.

“Nonsense,” she turned her nose up in an imperious manner. “There are times when you speak most unkindly of yourself, and it vexes me – indeed, I command that you not do so again.”

He only had himself to blame for encouraging his queen to assert her royal privilege, did he not? Even so, he couldn’t help but smile to bow and say, “As Your Majesty commands, I shall obey – even if, as a faithful advisor to the Crown, I find it my duty to advise that Your Majesty thinks much too highly of your prime minister’s humble talents for oration. Any statesman worthy of the distinction should have the ability to put together a passingly voluble turn of phrase – even when their fluency may ultimately be empty of any true insight worth attending.”

“And yet, we hold that our prime minister disproves his counsel with the very eloquence he uses to convince us of its validity. We are thus forced to hold firm to our own opinion with even more certainty than before.”

For that, he sighed noisily in defeat – perhaps with an exaggerated bit of weariness that he found that he did not feel then in the slightest. “The prime minister must, of course, yield to the superior wisdom of the Crown, and shall accept its most gracious commendations – even if he holds that they are perhaps unworthily, if kindly, bestowed.”

Victoria sputtered with laughter – a sound more musical to his ears than the cadence of waves against the shore below. “Dear Lord M, but you ever amuse me – no matter that I wish you'd cease japing at such a cost to yourself.”

There was no cost whatsoever, if he could but make her smile – yet that, William did not say aloud. Her eyes were far too bright as it was, and his own smile would threaten to split from his face if he released it from its bounds.

Instead, he tore his gaze away from her – and she too turned from him – in favor of looking back out at the sunset. They stayed as such for some time, simply absorbing the play of the heavens as gold gave way to red hot orange and next to scarlet. They found nothing more to comment upon – nor was there any need to speak – until the low slant of the sun’s rays paired with the retreating tide, and, just out to sea, the waters whispered to reveal . . .

“Look there, ma’am.” He gestured to the faint implication of a vast gravel ledge, lurking just beneath the surface. “Can you see that sandbar? I believe – and the governor may correct me if I am wrong – that is the Shambles, one of the more exceptional navigational perils in these waters.”

The tides around Portland were some of the most tempestuous in the kingdom – especially by the Bill at the southern most tip of the isle – and all the more so when gale-force winds grappled with the unyielding fury of the sea below. Hundreds of ships had met their ends here over the centuries, and the tidal race would perhaps sink hundreds more, no matter every generation's efforts to the contrary.

“Oh, I see,” Victoria followed the line he pointed to indicate with her own eye. She knew some of the dangers of the Channel surrounding the isle already, as part of her preliminary briefing before their departure, yet, much as when a subject ever roused her interest, she was curious to learn more. “It doesn’t seem so very dangerous from here. It just looks like a bit of sand.”

“It perhaps is just a bit of sand,” he gave. “Yet an unstoppable force that traps a ship when the seas are high and rough is just that, no matter what form it takes. This spot is where the East Indiaman, Earl of Abergavenny, floundered and sank, just in our recent memory. The casualties of that wreck amounted to a near three-hundred souls, including the ship’s captain, John Wordsworth.”

Victoria tilted her head for the name, before recognition sparked. “Wordsworth?” she repeated. “As in the poet, or is the relation merely a coincidence?”

“The poet himself, ma'am,” William confirmed. “John Wordsworth was the brother of William Wordsworth. His poem To the Daisy was written to mourn his passing.” Then, quietly, he added, “He wrote it here from the cove, in the days just following the tragedy.”

By then, the red-orange dome of the sky had nearly surrendered the falling halo of the sun to the night. Gold spilled across the still glass of the Channel, for the moment deceivingly gentle in its rest.

“But it is so beautiful,” Victoria muttered – and, maybe then, the memory of the poet’s pain shimmered from the ancient rocks they stood upon. “It looks so calm now.”

“The sea is ever both – peace as well as fury. It gives as much as it takes.”

It soothed and sustained and inspired and intimidated and dominated and warred, yes; yet its wonders ever outweighed the potential of its perils to the besotted whole of mankind. In that too, he thought, was another one of those impossible emotions for mere words to wholly describe.

“It is a poignant combination,” Victoria concluded – and, succinctly put, that may have very well said it all.

He turned from where the sky and sea were married together by the last light of the day, and looked at his queen once more. The sunset caught in the diamonds of her crown and shimmered against the cerise tones saturating the silk of her dress. She stood small and strong in her communion with the intangibles of nature – all her realm, still – and he shifted on his feet, feeling at once anchored by her side and yet unmoored for the transience of his own place at her hand. Her eyes, in that moment, were so very blue.

Then, finally, he said: “There are few places in the world where that combination is so vividly displayed as here." Yet he looked not out over the water, but at the Queen of the Isles whom he served.

Their conversation ebbed quite naturally from there – and, when it was resumed again, they were joined by their companions, who had been engrossed in a discussion of their own, just steps away along the railing. Remarks upon the scenery continued to dominate – both those elements made by man and those not – until shades of dusky violet and blue-black bloomed up above, and they agreed to make their way back to the mansion house with what light they had left.

Upon their return, Victoria asked if the library had any volumes of Wordsworth on hand, and was answered in the affirmative. She took the book of poetry with her when she went up for the night, her expression contemplative in the candlelight all the while.



TBC

Spoiler: End Notes

A Note on My Historical Hand-waving: I tried to include most of my historical fun facts in the text, but, as always, if something catches your eye I am always happy to chat! Instead, let me say that: 1.) The first causeway, connecting the Isle of Portland to the mainland, was not built until 1839. I said close enough and included it here. 2.) Pennsylvania Castle was inherited by Governor Penn's younger brother, who never took up residence. I couldn't tell what the castle was used for from the 1830s to the 1880s, nor could I find a name for the next governor of the isle before the style of local governance changed later in the century. As such, Governor Hansford is my own creation, and I made up all the rest. 3.) The arch and viewing platform we currently know at Rufus Castle was rebuilt in the 21st century, but we do know that Penn had something similar at the time thanks to contemporary artists like Turner. 4.) It turns out that the pirate graves in the cove aren’t really pirate graves at all - the skull and crossbones symbol carved on the stone was a universal symbol for death in medieval times, which is how old these raised sarcophagi are - but still. Shhh. That's too cool of a detail for me to ignore.

A Note on Church Ope Cove: This isn't really a note, so much as an opportunity to share a few visual aids. Behold!

Here are the ruins of Rufus Castle, with what remains of St. Andrews Church below.



Here is JWM Turner's contemporary, on-site watercolor sketch of the cove - with the quarry in the foreground, and you can just pick out Pennsylvania Castle in the background.



And here's an early photograph. You can see the viewing platform I use just in the forefront of the castle on the left. Again, the white building in the background is Pennsylvania Castle.



And this is the one sharable file in Wikipedia Commons of Pennsylvania Castle. If you're interested, you can see more in the drone video right below!





A Note on Royal Pudding: This is all historical fact! George III, the landlady, the advert in the paper, the renaming of the dessert - all of it. That anecdote really struck me, and I had to include it here for Victoria to learn along with us - especially as she very much inherited her grandfather's sweet tooth in history.

A Note on the Tides of Portland: No joke, but this is one of the most dangerous places in the world to sail as regards the tides. The entire English Channel has very strong tidal currents that make navigation a trick, but, off the Portland Bill, three strong tides converge. Combining this with underlying coastal ridges, reefs, and sandbanks makes for dangerous conditions on a good day - let alone during a storm. I found this article - a current guide for "running" the various tidal races along the UK, with the Portland Race ranking as the most deadly - really interesting as far as breaking down the particulars. Modern motor boats still sink due to these tides; I can't imagine how sail ships of old managed!

For a visual, just on the sheer tidal forces alone, check this out, because my jaw utterly dropped:




And that's it until next time! I'll see you all back here soon.

~ MJ