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. (EDIT: Oh! And how could I forget? There's the scene in Sta et Retine where she trusts Melbourne to go into Victoria's bedchamber alone - which is a complete reversal from her original stance. That too was Goodwin's depiction before I expanded upon it.) 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)​

VIII.II.I.

Notes From Portland: The Arrival

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 open ever so slightly as she regarded him. 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 wych elm and lime and silver birch, 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

 

It feels like a perfect encapsulation of their relationship's comfort and growing depth. Yes! That's exactly what I was thinking as this chapter unfolded, and I'm so glad that this sense - and all of the elements you mentioned - stood out to you.

Also, I thought that you would enjoy that pudding - as our resident foodie and all!

Thank you so much for reading, as always!

He's utterly incorrigible. And brave. I think it says something all its own when you know that Lehzen is sitting there inwardly rolling her eyes, but maybe just the tiniest bit amused as she is disapproving. But she's not saying anything aloud.

I am enjoying writing their flirting banter and these lighter moments, that said! After Sta et Retine, it feels like a refreshing palate cleanser before Teh Drama resumes.

Peace-mongers gotta peace-monger.

So, so locked in! These dear star-crossed souls.

Writing this exchange was one of my favorites in the chapter.

Melbourne is so proud! Victoria's most certainly trying - peace-mongering is easier amidst friendly company, and certainly juxtaposes with her moments of temper in other instances.

Right? There are so very few good things to say about the - well, the entire House of Hanover, really. I think that you'd have to go all the way back to William III and Mary II to find the last "good" monarch, and then Elizabeth I before that. (That's just my very amateur reading of a very complicated subject, of course.)

But people contain multitudes. George III left behind a mixed legacy - with good cause - but "Farmer George", who'd sit on a bench in Weymouth and talk directly to his subjects and take out a newspaper ad to applaud an inn's hospitality is a small bit of something good Victoria can focus on, at the very least.

Thank you! I was particularly proud of that entire passage.

lolol! Right? We need him to be the slightest bit vainer and more selfish to get this story where it needs to go, even - or, at least, he'd call it vanity and selfishness.

JUST LIKE LOVE

Especially the forbidden kind.

Fair! Personally, I figure that mutual fangirling of another author's work is always okay.

Raziel is a gift, needless to say, and I can't wait to dive in and finish the series in time!

I completely understand both POVs. Either way, I am excited to share the rest of this story as it goes!

Thank you so much for reading! Your comments continue to be such a joy for me!

I got a chuckle from Portland cement; I am a simple author that way.

And yay! As always, I am glad to hear that you enjoy my supplementary notes! I knew the Channel could be tricky to navigate, but not exactly why. Even that little bit of research boggled my mind.

Oh, I even think I know which recipe you're talking about! Yep: this is definitely something I would try to make at home. It sounds delicious.

Thank you so much for reading, as always!


I will be right back with the next chapter in just a bit!

 

Author's Notes: Here we are! Needless to say, this chapter took my muse in a completely unexpected direction - so much so that I had to split this part in two. Only about 5% of this update was in my original outline, but I trust you'll forgive me. (Accidental epic, right? )

Enjoy!

---

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

VIII.II.II.

Notes From Portland: The Beach

Following the restorative power of a full night’s rest, the queen’s entourage was just as eager as Her Majesty to explore the wonders of Portland.

Instead of going down into Church Ope Cove – though Victoria would undoubtedly make her way there before overlong – Governor Hansford suggested a drive down the coast. His proposal was met with satisfaction by all, and, in quick order, their party was divided between two landaus, open to the summer's air, and ready to depart.

The carriage road took them alongside the winding crests of the cliffs. The south of the Isle was primarily composed of flat ground, with only a steady rise of elevation slanting up towards the east, culminating in a roll of shallow hills that sheltered the village of Southwell. Grasslands dominated their view to the west as much as the sea did to the east, with both natural plains and those made by man. Amongst the cultivated fields were a series of long, furrowed lawnsheds, unique to the Isle – the boundaries of which had first been set back in medieval times. The few trees that grew by the waterways were hardy windbreakers, standing storm-thrashed in their beds of chalk-lime and loam, their roots stubbornly grasping at stones. Hedges of buckthorn and saltbush and gorse grew along the road, while flowering bindweed climbed over the fence-line bracketing the irrigation ditches to its heart’s delight.

Amongst the fields and grasslands were sprawling pastures where the native Portland sheep grazed. Governor Hansford made a special point to direct their attention towards the small, hardy sheep, with their cream-colored wool and dramatically curling horns. The cultivation of these animals had been synonymous with the Isle since the time of the Britons – preceding even Roman occupation by several centuries – and those same bloodlines remained a source of local pride to this day. When advancing the Isle’s quarries, sheep horns had been excavated, along with the bronze and copper tools of the culture that was theorized to have existed at the same time as the construction of Stonehenge – an age reaching so far back in their history that it was almost difficult to comprehend.

Those serendipitous finds had led to more extensive, purposeful searches by archaeologists from the mainland. Some of the items they’d unearthed were still displayed on the Isle, Hansford shared, while the lion’s share of their discoveries had been sent back to the British Museum in London.

The local council was, the governor continued – not calculatingly, William did not think, but rather from a true passion for the subject – hoping to build a museum of natural history in Dorsetshire to share their findings with the public. The project was currently in its incubatory stage as they sought local investors, and, of paramount importance, the bestowal of a royal charter in blessing. Despite his initial read on the man, William watched the governor with an assessing gaze, ready to intervene if necessary. It was one thing to mention such a project in hopes of invoking the favor of the Crown, but quite another thing to push for any sort of immediate action – especially if Hansford assumed that Victoria’s youth and genuine curiosity for the world made her an easy mark for bestowing such approval before it was due.

Yet Victoria was no such mark and Hansford was no such man. With his personal estimation of the governor growing by another degree, his caution ebbed, and William allowed himself to sit back and enjoy the descriptions of the potential exhibits – which was indeed a most fascinating topic for discussion.

“Of course,” Hansford continued, “we mean to make ample recognition of the wealth this coastline has offered to the study of fossils – especially those of the great lizards.”

“Paleontology,” Victoria enunciated the word – a newly established definition for an increasingly expanding field of science – with careful precision. She was openly pleased when the governor blinked, perhaps taken aback by her familiarity with the subject, and then smiled. "That is the correct pronunciation, is it not?"

“Just so, Your Majesty," Hansford delighted to confirm. "Just so.”

“The science of advancing our understanding of the history of the natural world through fossils was part of my briefings back at Windsor,” Victoria added – darting a small, quick smile his way before turning back to the governor again. “I must confess myself utterly fascinated by the concept. Indeed, I rather thought Lord Melbourne jesting when the matter was first ventured – it’s almost too extraordinary for comprehension, imagining the shape and size of these creatures. And to think that we have only scratched the surface of their world? The thought cannot help but ignite the mind.”

William held back a smile of his own for her words – for, while that information had not been an official briefing presented to Her Majesty, it had been a part of his sharing what he knew of the region upon Victoria's request. He’d imparted what knowledge he had of The Age of Great Reptiles from reading – for Cuvier’s work had been a fascination since his youth, and he'd since kept abreast with the publishings of the National Geological Society and beyond as they pertained to the subject. Now, as prime minister, he’d had the pleasure of speaking to William Buckland himself on more than one occasion, all at various official functions held for the advancement of the sciences in the United Kingdom.

The only mark he held against the man was his friendship with Sir Robert Peel – but Buckland's Tory sympathies were easy to forgive to hear the scientist speak of his Megalosaurus. For, when it pertained to such an amazing discovery for all mankind, politics ultimately had no place. Buckland was currently in Switzerland, advancing his perhaps radical theory of glaciation, yet, once he returned home to England . . .

“We must have him to tea, at the very least,” was Victoria’s eager conclusion on the matter – and William had no want for dissuading her.

Yet he drew himself from his reflections when Hansford continued: “There are frequent rockslides on the cliffs – especially here on the east side of the Isle. The disturbance of the earth provides new opportunities for discovery with every shift. After a storm, we’ll have as many fossil hunters as fishermen on our shores. It is quite a thing to consider, is it not, what wonders the earth has yet to unveil?”

“A very great thing, indeed,” Victoria echoed, and William agreed entirely.

Their conversation then fell to a natural lull, and Victoria turned her gaze back out over the water. Here, the brink of the cliffs was almost illusory – if one trusted only one's eye, it seemed possible to walk straight from their precipices and cross into the heavens. Unlike the sunny clarity of the previous day, the clouds now hung grey and low and turbid. Yet their dominance wasn’t absolute – not quite. Instead of a seamlessly opacous shroud, rays of sunshine broke through their mantle in scattered places, resulting in a dramatic play of light and color that shifted and reshaped from one moment to the next.

Below, the sea answered in like tumult. Even out in the deep waters, crested white peaks could be seen, while they could hear the violent cacophony of the waves that yet smashed against the base of the cliffs. The sound was thundering in its immediacy as compared to the hesitance of the storm clouds to commit to any sure threat of rain overhead.

Victoria, he thought, seemingly absorbed the restless confluence between sea and sky. She fairly thrummed in her seat, and her gloved hands fidgeted in her lap. More than once, she looked to catch his eye – as if to ensure that he noticed anything and everything that she found significant in her own view. Each time, he offered a respectful nod, yet found his smiles impossible to wholly restrain once she turned and could not see. He did not merely humor her exuberance, but instead found himself equally transfixed upon anything and everything that she deemed remarkable. No matter the far greater span of his years, he felt as if he was observing the whole of their world over again, all through her and for her – drawn as he was by the pleasure she took in every newfound sight and singular experience.

They drove down to the furthest reach of the Portland Bill, jutting out into the Channel proper. This narrow point of land, piercing the dueling tides and racing currents, made for restless waves on a calm day, and most impressively agitated waters on a turbulent one. The Bill was far closer to sea level as compared to the elevation of the cliffs to the north, and the strength of the ocean seemed even more immediate as it waged its eternal war against these far-reaching shelves of stone and outcroppings of rock.

There, they agreed to disembark and walk for a better view. Sandy paths laced through the thin grasses and irratically strewn boulders, leading them to the ledge that marked the absolute boundary of the Isle. Here on the Bill were twin white lighthouses, with one to the east and one to the west, guiding the ships who braved these waters at night with their leading lights. Yet, during the day, there was an obelisk, standing tall and vocal in its presence to warn of the concealed rock shelves that skirted the Isle, all waiting to ground an unwary vessel.

Their party made their way to the battered old marker, weathered from braving the elements for so many years, and then just to the brink beyond. There, they stopped to observe the view provided by the outlook, taking in the restless writhing of the sea as waves spilled over the rocky formations below, time and time again without ceasing.

Along the way, their conversation was comfortably limited. Victoria was quite taken by looking this way and that, observing all that she could see, and her attendants did much the same. With one eye, William observed his queen, even as his own attention turned to focus on the throng of people milling about the Bill. Many were locals, with some dressed humbly as they went about their work for the day – or paused to rest from their work, in more than one instance – and some dressed in a way that marked them of the merchant class or the land-owning gentry. Most, however, were clearly of the mariner ilk. There was a surplus of fishermen on the rocks, taking advantage of the currents that brought the shoals of fish closer to the shore, and sailors and dockhands and members of the coast guard aplenty, either attending their duties or breaking from their postings further up the coastline.

It took but a moment for Her Majesty to be recognized as such. Victoria may not have worn a crown nor royal sash or even jewels, but the fine quality of her dress, even when an understated printed cotton daygown, was marked in comparison to the residents of the Isle. That alone would have drawn notice, especially when combined with her similarly attired entourage – yet the presence of the queen’s red uniformed guard was immediate and telling. Even in relatively few number, with only a half dozen mounted on finely bred horses with sleek coats and gleaming tack, they were far too distinctive to be missed. The imposingly decorated soldiers were a deterrent, made to be visible, at that, while the unmarked guards that Colonel Hampson had sent ahead when Victoria first declared her intentions were perhaps the more lethal threat, even if unseen.

As the minutes passed, her people proved to be just as curious about their new sovereign as Victoria was of the Isle itself. Most every soul in their vicinity paused and watched in whispers – the crowd even went on to multiply once word of the queen’s presence spread. For the most part, their interest seemed benign – even if William's shoulders tensed when he saw one man spit on the ground outright before muttering something in a raised voice that had his companion sensibly encouraging him to turn and take his leave. One of the nondescript guards in the crowd, William recognized, followed the pair at a discreet distance, undoubtedly ensuring that they kept on their way.

Those closest to Victoria honored her presence with deep bows and curtsies. One mother quickly admonished her daughter when she made to point, only to be met with the child’s marvelled, “but she’s a queen, Mama,” breaking the hush.

A braver few voiced loyal expressions of “God save the queen” aloud – loyalties which Victoria first rewarded with nods and smiles, and then with spoken thank yous said outright.

Following that encouragement, what happened next surprised him – although, perhaps it should not have, considering what these people may have remembered of old King George’s willingness to converse with his subjects whenever he was free of London, and Victoria’s own innate empathy – but one woman gave a respectful curtsy, and held the genuflection long enough to ask if Her Majesty would condescend to hear a query from her subject.

Victoria bade the woman rise, and granted her leave to speak. The woman hesitated, markedly gathering her courage, before she inquired of the Crown’s thoughts concerning the current criteria for the valuation of livestock – and, especially, the parameters pertaining to those protected species of particular interest to the realm.

Understanding lit Victoria’s eyes. “You mean for your Portland sheep, do you not?”

“Yes, indeed, Your Majesty,” the woman stammered, before she managed in a stronger voice, touched with pride, “I do ask concerning our Portland sheep. It is an honor that they are already known to the Crown.”

"The honor is ours, for the efforts of the people of this Isle to keep this bit of our history alive." Victoria flicked the briefest glance his way, but William held his silence and kept his own gaze fixed on her petitioner. She breathed in, considering, before she made up her mind and said: “We are not familiar with the parameters concerning the valuation of livestock as it applies to taxation. Yet, if you would, we welcome you to – oh, first, we would have you tell us your name.”

“My name?” the woman repeated, her brow furrowing in bemusement before she dropped once more into a curtsy. “I am Mrs. Kellaway – Mrs. Mary Kellaway of Sutherset Farm, Your Majesty.”

“Mrs. Kellaway,” Victoria approved, and waved her to stand once more. “We bid you tell us how the current valuations impact your farm and your family, and we shall see that they are directed to - ”

Only then did she fully look his way in question, and he bowed his head and shoulders to supply, “The Office of the Exchequer handles such petitions, ma'am – and, in this matter, I would suggest Lord Seymore’s particular attention."

Yet a thought struck, and only then did William meet her eyes, briefly yet deliberately, before respectfully looking down again, “I may deliver such a petition myself – especially if it should be accompanied by writing – if Your Majesty makes request of her prime minister.”

Instantly, Victoria understood. “Excellent,” she approved aloud. “Yes; we make just such a request, Lord Melbourne. Please,” she then turned her attention back to Mrs. Kellaway, who – perhaps somewhat understandably – looked rather stunned, “go on and tell us what you wish to say, for we wish to hear. Then, if you would, we invite you to present your written inquiries before we depart Portland in five days’ time.”

So, with growing confidence, Mrs. Kellaway presented her concerns to her queen as succinctly as she could manage. Following, she was not the only one to make such a petition. For near the next hour, Victoria heard from several of her subjects – from a fisherman, regarding shared profits for a prior crew member at sea, now working ashore in maintenance of the company’s ships; a doctor, questioning the current guidelines for deadstock in agricultural communities so as to aid the prevention of waterborne diseases; and another woman, asking about the provision for widows of their fallen naval officers. Victoria listened intently, and, with such encouragement, her people spoke openly and plainly.

At the last, an elderly man came forward, just to share his memories of George III doing much the same during his visits to the Isle. He hadn't thought to live to see such kindness from the Crown again, yet now felt heartened for the future of his country. “God bless Your Majesty,” he concluded with all sincerity, and, when he knelt, Victoria allowed him to kiss her hand and hold it in both of his own, indulging in a long moment of communion between sovereign and subject before he rose again.

By that time, Colonel Hampson had succeeded in gently encouraging the crowd to disperse, and Victoria at last stood from where she had assumed what a throne she could on one of the stones encircling the obelisk. At first, she said nothing aloud, and William waited for her to break the silence, his head still bowed in deference.

Her next deep breath was let out in time with the crashing of a particularly violent wave, and she confessed – lowly, just for him to hear: “I do not know what I can do to help any of them.” She paused and bit her lip, clearly troubled. “I was so pleased to hear Mrs. Kellaway’s complaints, but then, with each further petition . . . it is never-ending, everything that needs to be done for our people. I should be able to champion their interests, yet there is so much that I cannot do as queen when compared to what I can. It is . . . daunting, my duty to provide the relief they require; impossible, even. I do not feel as if I deserve their trust.”

Victoria turned her gaze back to the water, for the first time perhaps not registering its beauty as she was taken by the troubling cast of her thoughts. For his part, William understood her discouragement – his years in politics had embittered him to the ultimate futility of any government that had and would ever exist to do right by their people – and yet . . .

Watching her address her subjects today, honestly endeavoring to ensure what change she could for the better . . . in that moment, what was yet perhaps daunting didn’t feel entirely unattainable.

“No matter your sovereignty,” he chose his words carefully – wanting to upbuild and encourage, while still admitting to the vast inadequacy that anyone with a heart inclined towards the greater good inevitably felt when governing, “you are still just one person, ma’am. In the end, all you can do is your best, little victory by little victory, one day after another – and this bit of good you just provided, I would most certainly call a victory. Take that victory, and let it encourage you towards the next.”

She did not look wholly convinced, but, finally, she sighed, “I suppose you are right, Lord M, even if I wish . . . well, I still don’t quite feel the good you say I’ve managed, but I will try.”

It would have been so natural then (too natural) – to reach out for her hand and press in comfort and support when words alone wouldn't wholly do. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back, and agreed, “Ultimately, ma’am, that is all that any of us can do.”



.

.

Victoria remained uncharacteristically subdued on their return trip back north, participating but little in conversation when it was offered, and providing no remarks of her own unbidden. The governor also took note of his queen's lapse in spirits and increased his efforts to engage her interest. Victoria roused by degrees, but not to a point where William felt at all satisfied. So, when they came upon Freshwater Bay, he suggested stopping to take in the view, hoping to see that pall lift further. They had a meeting with Vice Admiral Sir Charles Adams at half past three o'clock, and Victoria would best be served if she recovered her equilibrium before embarking upon that particular field of battle. Such balance, if he knew his queen, would more easily be found here than back at the castle.

No matter her heavy mien, Victoria agreed to the proposal without coaxing. They veered from the main road at her direction and drove through a small hamlet primarily comprised of fishing huts and a look-out post for the coast guard. For centuries now, smuggling had been rife across the Isle for the natural concealment its rugged shoreline provided for such illegal activities. Sea caves pocketed the jagged cliff-faces, along with a spider’s sprawl of tunnels – so old and so many that it was impossible, not to mention dangerous, to map with any sort of accuracy. From above, Governor Hansford indicated the mouth of what had once been tunnels used by the Romans, carved out to reach the freshwater spring that poured into the brine of the Channel below.

Just to the north, they could see a massive spill of boulders, tumbling in unusual angles and marring the grey-white plummets they’d come to expect of the coastline. William was just as surprised as Victoria to learn that they were the result of a great landslide a century prior – one of the most violent as could be remembered in the Isle’s history.

“Yet,” Hansford went on to say, “that same natural peril makes this stretch of seaside particularly appealing to fossil hunters. More curiosities have been found here than at any other point on this Isle combined – and there are new wonders to be found after every storm.”

“Truly?” a spark returned to brighten Victoria’s eyes.

The governor was more than happy to confirm: “Most certainly, ma'am. You can find the usual spoils of Dorset – snakestones and devil’s fingers and dragon's tooth – just by looking down, as they're exposed by the sea on the beach itself. Yet, sometimes, with a bit of luck, one may stumble over something entirely unexpected.”

Even without the possibility of uncovering a fossil, William knew that Victoria was desirous of going down to the waterline. This new enticement only solidified her determination yet further.

He expected as much, just as Victoria proclaimed: “Well, now we most certainly must go down!”

Here was as good a place as any on the Isle – and perhaps better than most for the switchbacks cut into the rock face, rather than steep stairs. If the coast guard considered this a stable point amongst the cliffs, then he trusted it was. He more felt a moment’s concern for Victoria attempting the descent – and later the ascent – with her lungs so restricted by her corseting. They were nearly four-hundred feet above sea level, and the venture could prove arduous – perhaps too arduous.

Yet he’d never caution as much aloud; if Victoria felt that she could, then they would.

The idea of such a climb, however, was met with less enthusiasm by her ladies – and it was agreed that the governor would attend them back to the castle when he wryly stated that his own health, unfortunately, would also prevent him from accompanying Her Majesty. In the end, Victoria was left with Lord Alfred and himself, along with Colonel Hampson and two of his officers. The rest of his men remained posted atop the summit.

The switchbacks proved to be most helpful in aiding their descent. This was hardly worse than braving some of the more pronounced downs back north – if one ignored the steep drops that awaited on one side of the path, and the limestone walls that braced them at the other, that was. Victoria outpaced them all, with Dash running ahead of her on his speedy little legs. At one point, when Her Majesty looked back and compelled them to walk faster – her spirits most satisfyingly rising towards a true rejuvenation – William couldn’t help a wry expression when meeting Colonel Hampson’s gaze.

Ah, but what it is to be young, he thought, and the colonel’s expression twitched to agree.

Once they reached the waterline, the term beach was perhaps a generous definition for the rough, uneven terrain that greeted them – and they were fortunate that there was even this much, as, at high tide, the currently exposed bank would be entirely swallowed by the sea. Slabs and boulders in all shapes and sizes stacked and saw-toothed against each other from the dual violence of the waves and the erosion of the cliffs, leaving them to pick out paths of their own in-between. Yet, the further they went from the base of the cliffs, the terrain leveled out into an expanse of more navigable boulders and smaller, sea-worn stones, all intermittent with pebbles and crisp shale and fine Portland sand. The rocks were remarkable in their own right for their colors – mostly cool and warm greys, punctuated by browns and oranges and rusty reds, and even green with veins of speckled pyrite.

Exposed by the low tide, a long shelf reached far out into the water of the bay. The shape of the bedrock rose and fell in scalloped, undulating patterns, mirroring the sculpting force of the sea over the millennia and setting up hidden pockets of deep water in its troughs. Further out, there was algae and long stalks of seaweed now lying supine without a current to dance in, and even dead heads of coral left from the reef that had once thrived here in years bygone. It was a most singular landscape, and well worth the effort to attend.

As they walked, they could see impressions of shells and compressed fossils in the larger slabs of stone. Just as the governor said, glimpse of miscellanea flashed in the gravel – with the smashed ridges of curling horns and shells the ghosts of other such ancient marine creatures that had been ground down into nearly unrecognizable shapes – all without their needing to search. Yet, for the most part, his attention was fixed on Victoria's progress across the stones. Though she wore boots, they nevertheless bore a raised heel, and he was not sure how the soles would stand against the slick rock they were at times required to amble over. There would be no end to the tittering of his peers if the queen sprained her ankle (or worse) while nearly alone with him – not to mention how such an injury would interfere with her ability to participate in and enjoy the rest of the tour.

Yet, once more – besides an initial few slips and fumbles that were quickly righted – Victoria proved his worries for naught as she picked her way across the beach, all the way down to the boundary of the tideline. There, she stood and inhaled deeply to better take in her surroundings. At such an acute angle from below, the height of the cliffs seemed all the more imposing, while the view of the coastline beyond was nothing short of striking. Though the waves were calm in the bay – notwithstanding the breaking waves that growled in warning just off the shore – they could hear where they yet smashed against the distant cliffs, just as their power remained to vibrate under their feet. In its own way, the apparent passivity of the water held a threat of its own as the surf sluiced in lacy waves of bubbling white foam against the pebbles and stones – like some great beast, for a brief moment, made harmless in its rest.

There, Victoria must have thought as good a spot as any, for she knelt to turn over the rocks at her feet, carefully examining them one at a time. William merely watched her before joining himself – half for the simple pleasure of doing so, and half in anticipation of -

“Lord M,” a scarce minute passed before Victoria could maintain her silence no longer, “cease standing about in such a silly manner and help me look!”

“Your Majesty, but there is quite a remarkable view to take in,” he offered a token resistance, one that he didn’t truly feel, as he waved a hand to encompass the rumbling expanse of the sea. “Why would I wish to toil about in the muck when I could instead - ”

But Victoria surprised him when she cupped a hand in the surf and sharply gestured to bat a wave of water his way. The spray landed harmlessly against his boots, yet it most effectively silenced him for the unthinking familiarity of the gesture. He was, perhaps, not the only one taken aback – for Victoria flushed almost simultaneously with her actions when she realized what she had done.

(And he did not at all feel the almost immediate urge to kneel and splash the Queen of England in retaliation – heaven help him, but he did not.)

“See?” Victoria recovered herself, and played off the gesture with what nonchalance she could. “There’s no muck whatsoever. In fact, I would go so far as to call the water refreshing.”

“If Your Majesty says so,” he too left the moment behind with a courtly nod of his head, “then who am I to disagree?”

Still, Victoria huffed when he remained standing. “We could make it a command, Viscount,” she warned, her voice lowering most impressively, “were we so inclined.”

“That is indeed Your Majesty’s right,” he bowed once more to acknowledge, “but there is no need. I am, as ever, but a humble servant to the Crown.”

Much to her satisfaction – and indeed his own, for he too was curious – he knelt to examine the beach more closely. He wasn’t exactly sure what to search for, nor how, but assumed that anything worth finding would be apparent once found. In short order, they uncovered small curiosities amongst the rocks and pebbles – shells trapped within stones and other such embossed patterns across the rock-faces that were entirely unrecognizable for the ignorance of their discernment. Upon one large slab of limestone, there was the imprint of a massive Ammon’s horn, even if the creature itself was long gone. It was staggering to imagine this animal, once afloat in the sea, based on the size of its shell alone. Yet that was merely for them to remark over, and they left it be for future travelers to share in and discover.

Lord Alfred was quick to join in like manner, and he searched with a youthful exuberance that matched Victoria’s. The two were quick to compare and marvel over possible finds, making increasingly wild stories for each oddity in the stone. Just up the beach, William even thought to see Colonel Hampson examine the rocks at his feet a time or two – no matter that the captain of the queen's guard would never abandon his duty to explore any further. They spent a pleasant time as such for the next quarter hour – if not in a manner that he ever could have anticipated when he was first sworn into office. (This impromptu scavenger hunt, nor anything of its like, never would have happened with Victoria's uncles, it went without saying.)

Yet William knew better than to overthink the small gifts that fate did see fit to offer – especially when they would ultimately prove ephemeral. Before long (sooner than he cared to admit) such moments would be nothing but fond memories (cherished as his fondest, even), there for him to pull out and examine in the quiet and the dark before gently putting them away once more.

. . . yet that was not a thought that he much cared to humor, and so, he pushed it aside.

As they moved further down the beach, they came upon a group of shorebirds, taking advantage of the shallow pools to hunt their own meals for the day. Dash delighted to make a game of chasing the strange, stilted creatures, who squawked through their long beaks and fluttered their mottled brown wings in agitation. The sandpipers were just as much a curiosity to Victoria for their novelty, and, more than once, she looked up to watch her dog, amused for his progress – and, admittedly, lack thereof.

All this, William remained attuned to as he examined the waterline for himself. He supposed that if the sea was responsible for unearthing secrets from the past, these tide pools were as good a place to start as any. Down by the long stalks of seaweed, he was surprised when the cobbles gave way to a thick white silt that was almost buttery in texture, compared to the typical grit of the sand. Intrigued, he came across something rough in contrast – he couldn’t see exactly what, with the water having stirred up the unusual sediment – and he pulled. What he first expected to be a small, flat piece of stone, broken off from the shelf, instead merely knocked about, loosened from its place on the seabed like some aquatic tooth. He nearly left it alone, realizing that it was larger than he'd first anticipated, but the texture had piqued his curiosity. So, with a greater effort -

- he nearly fell backwards when the stone ultimately released, but recovered his balance in time to right himself. He stood, with seawater and muck dripping from the flat, irregular slat of stone that he held. It was indeed larger than he first thought, perhaps the span of four hands, yet not difficult to carry. There was something there; he could feel it, even if he couldn’t properly make out anything beyond vague, curving lines – either impressed or trapped or affixed to the stone, he did not know. So, he moved over to the clear water and sought the sea’s assistance in cleaning away the densely packed sediment. There, he let the brackish surf aid him in abrasing its face, chipping off globs of mud and slowly washing away the mire, until -

“Dash, you go too far!”

He looked up for the sound of Victoria’s voice and saw where her spaniel was running further up the beach – and, rather surprisingly, barking with delight to chase another small dog.

“Come back here, you naughty thing!” Victoria laughed through her command as she made her way in pursuit. William stood, his own find – or lack thereof, he knew yet not – then momentarily forgotten as he too followed behind his queen.

“Have you made a friend?” she called when Dash started back her way – this time with the new dog reversing direction to chase after him. Yet that shift in dynamic distracted Dash from his obedience, and he scampered further up the beach, nearer to the base of the cliffs, when they heard -

“Tray, get back from there this instant!”

A new voice rang out, and William turned to find a woman running towards them, concern pale on her expression as she looked up at the cliffs and then back to her dog again. It took him a moment to comprehend the fear in her voice, but then a distant connection snapped into place with cold clarity. He sharply examined the eroding cliff face for himself – scarred from the constant rock falls and mud slides that made this place so appealing to fossil hunters – all the way down to the mounded piles of newly broken stone that the dogs were, indeed, much too close to. Even as he watched, a single stone rolled down from a high ledge – no larger than a fist, yet lethal when dropped from such a height – and it occurred to him that he had heard similar intermittent clunks and low groans from the cliffs this entire time, lost as the sounds had been to the greater murmur of the sea.

“Come away from there! It’s not safe!”

For her warning, Victoria too looked up towards the summit, and then down at the heaps of mud and stone. He was close enough to see her face turn ashen when she too made the connection.

“Dash!” she shouted in a voice that brokered no disobedience. “Come here, now!”

The force of her tone drew the spaniel up short, and he turned to obediently heeded her command.

As Dash closed the last distance between them – his head down and his tail tucked, a whine sounding in the back of his throat – the second dog followed. Upon closer expression, he was a terrier who, quite remarkably, had much the same coloring as Dash with his patches of black against a base of white fur. Victoria wasted no time in kneeling to pull her dog close, clearly thankful for his safety as she ran her hands up and down his body as if to assure herself of his continued health.

“Don’t scare me like that,” she breathed into his fur, so quietly that could only faintly hear. “You cannot leave me alone. I would be lost without you.”

By then, both Colonel Hampson and Lord Alfred had reached them – drawn as they too were by the stridency in their queen’s voice – and the stranger arrived a scant moment later.

“Tray,” she too sighed in relief, dropping to kneel just the same as Victoria did. She scooped up her dog and breathed in like manner, deeply in and deeply out, before she recovered her comportment enough to pull away, if only slightly. She looked across to Victoria, and said, “I apologize if I startled you – I was not sure if you were local to this area or not, to know of the danger.”

“Please, you mustn't concern yourself in the slightest,” Victoria shook of her head to assure. “It's true – I knew not of the danger, and would much rather be advised of such, no matter how abruptly.”

Victoria still had yet to let Dash go – who was now licking the underside of her chin in that singular gesture of canine concern. If anything, her grasp only tightened, and the stranger observed them with empathy in her gaze. “I almost lost Tray here to a mudslide," she shared, "one that was entirely my own fault for digging where I knew it was not safe. God’s grace alone preserved us both alive that day, and now, I am more cautious.”

Intrigued by her words, William turned his attention from Victoria to examine the woman more closely. She was not yet forty, he would guess, but her complexion was weathered beyond her years from a life spent out in the elements. Her hair was dark brown in color, tied back in a somewhat haphazard twist, while her eyes were a cool shade of grey, set into an expression that did not appear to smile often. Her features were strong and her bearing was stern – an impression that was only reinforced by her mud-stained gown and thickly soled boots, the likes of which fishermen and sailors were more wont to wear in keeping wither their profession than a lady. Her hands were callused and scarred, and, in the closely woven basket she carried, a small hammer and pickaxe could be seen, peeking from the rim.

How very curious, William thought – most curious, indeed.

“I am most grateful for your sharing that grace with us,” Victoria said with disarming sincerity. Reluctantly, she released Dash, and made to stand. “Yet it seems that I have abandoned my manners. May I inquire of your name? It is already my pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” the stranger agreed, and she too found her feet. “I am - ”

But her words abruptly faltered midsentence, and she could not quickly recover them. Her eyes flicked over Victoria’s dress, no matter how soiled, from neckline to hem – all before she took in the way she unconsciously held herself with an aura of command, with her head high and shoulders strongly squared. She next looked from Lord Alfred to him – with the both of them clearly gentlemen, and their heads each respectively inclined towards their monarch – but it was at Colonel Hampson whom she last stared, her eyes wide to take in the unsmiling, imposing presence of a royal guard. With such clues laid before her, William saw the exact moment she realized just who her new companion must have been. With there being no other princess of a matching age amongst the royal family, she quickly inferred and understood -

Instantly, she fell into a deep – if somewhat awkward for being so unpracticed – curtsy. “Your Majesty,” she breathed, “I had no idea.”

“How could you?” Victoria returned wryly. She smoothed down her dress, moving her skirts aside to reveal her hopelessly muddied shoes. “I grant that there is very little of majesty about me in the present. You could even say that I am quite incognito.”

No matter the disarming quip (and a statement that the stranger perhaps couldn't agree to, but nor could she disagree aloud), she held her position genuflecting. She did not lift her eyes again.

“Please," Victoria said, going so far as to hold out her hand before she became conscious of the gesture, and let it uncertainly fall back to her side, "I grant you leave for ease. I am the one who is in your debt, after all.”

Obediently, if not comfortably, the woman slowly rose to her own height. She glanced between each one of them, as if awaiting censure, before looking back to her queen. "I do not," she managed aloud, yet had to swallow, and then try again. "I must confess that I do not know what to say, ma'am – Your Majesty."

“I find that introductions are always a good place to start,” Victoria said warmly, all in a further attempt to bridge the awkwardness between their stations. “Yes; I am Victoria, as you so rightly discerned. This gentleman here is William,” she introduced next, “and Alfred, while that dear, unsmiling soul there is Colonel Hampson.”

The colonel, William thought – and Victoria quite knew – would have been absolutely mortified by having his presence softened in any way by being referred to as James.

“I am – weIl, they call me Nancy, ma’am." She made to curtsy again, though abortively so when she caught the disapproval in Victoria's expression. "It is an honor to make Your Majesty's acquaintance.”

Distantly, the name tugged at him. A memory roused, as of yet just out of reach, and he endeavored to bring it to the forefront of his mind as he took in the woman's – Nancy's – garb and tools over again.

Victoria, it seemed, had noticed much the same. “Are you hunting for fossils, too?”

For that question, Nancy settled for the first – and there was a gleam to her eyes when she said, “You could say that I am, yes.” Yet she didn't explain any further in favor of asking, “Has your own hunt been successful today, Your Majesty?”

“Oh, we have found all sorts of bits and bobs – though nothing worth removing from the beach, I do not think.” Yet, even as she said so, Victoria belatedly registered the tablet of muddy slate that he held, and her brow crinkled. “Unless, that is – Lord M, whatever are you holding there?”

He had, admittedly, almost forgotten himself for their unexpected interlude. “I do not know, ma’am," he answered truthfully. "It may be nothing – it most likely is.”

For that, Nancy took half a step forward. Yet she held back from approaching any further, and haltingly inquired, “May I?”

William was always happy to partake in the wisdom of others, especially when he stood to benefit by advancing his own understanding; so, he presented the stone without contest. Nancy took a long moment to first observe its face with a canny eye. She felt for the same curved lines that had first garnered his own attention, all before she scratched a fingernail over one of the upraised sections. It did not take long for her patient prodding to reveal a line of tiny, irregular rings – stacked like a string of mismatched beads – and then another and another right next to it. Any awkwardness that may have yet lingered then faded completely, and her expression both sparked and softened all at once.

“I believe that this may very much be something, Your Lordship.” A smile bloomed across a mouth that he suspected gave such expressions only rarely. With that, she next turned to Victoria to offer, “May I entreat Your Majesty's indulgence to accompany me back to my party? My brother is working on a most relevant specimen – and it would be my honor to show you what to look for on the beach, and how.”

At first, the proposal inspired only a moment's reactive disinclination from William. He did not need to take out his pocket watch to know that they should make their way back to the castle before long – now, even, in all responsibility. They now had to factor in time to tidy up before the clock struck three, as each one of them was admittedly unpresentable for company – let alone ready for an official meeting with the First Sea Lord on business of state.

. . . yet he had no true desire to turn down Nancy's offer, and, more importantly, it was clear that Victoria had no intention to do so herself. William made it a point to glance at Colonel Hampson – who in turn waved over one of his guards and instructed him to send word back that Her Majesty would be out for longer than initially expected.

“I would be delighted to accept your invitation," Victoria gladly acquiesced. "Please, lead the way.”



TBC

Spoiler: End Notes

A Note on Paleontology and Dinosaurs: Did anyone else here go through a dinosaur phase growing up? Because I did! Apparently, the word paleontology was coined as an official branch of science just a few years before Victoria's ascension. In history, up until this point, finds of dinosaur fossils were thought to be the remains of mythical creatures - giants and dragons and other such monsters. It wasn't until the late 1700s that the idea of "an age of great reptiles" was theorized, and the word "dinosaur" was established in 1842. William Buckland was the first to publish his findings of a fully reconstructed dinosaur through fossils, which he named Megalosaurus. He enjoyed friendships with many of the leading paleontologists of the time, including . . .

A Note on "Nancy": If you would like to know more about her, to better inform your reading for the next chapter, I have included notes beneath the spoiler tag. She's very much a real character from history, with a fascinating story . . .

Spoiler: Actual Spoilers This Time

Nancy is none other than Mary Anning, a pioneer in the field of paleontology - even though she didn't get the full credit she was due in her time as she does today. Ultimately, the whole of her life story was tragic. But she was famous for finding the first complete skeleton of an ichthyosaur when she was just twelve years old (her father had also been a fossil hunter), and she discovered the first full skeletons of two species of plesiosaur (even if those findings were falsely published by men making use of her research), and then the first pterosaur skeleton found outside of Germany. That discovery, at least, William Buckland gave her credit for - and he went on to do what he could to help her gain what recognition was possible during a time when women were not even allowed to be members of the various official scientific societies of the United Kingdom.

She was so cool in history, and you can get a brief overview of her life and findings here:



It was, of course, through this picture, that I stumbled over common ground to have her meet Victoria on the Jurassic Coast by chance . . .



Yes, that's Tray, who bears a striking resemblance to Dash, does he not? And yes, I am being kinder to Tray in this story than in history, because I can.

Although, as to more about Mary Anning - and what gifts the beach may yet have to share - I will see you back here with the next chapter.

~ MJ

 

Thank you! I do love writing me some flirting teasing banter, and the theme of making a difference cannot help but be a pressing one throughout this collection. During this time in history, there was so much that the United Kingdom needed to do in reparation to its citizens on every possible level. I can only imagine how daunting that would have seemed for Victoria, and, as for Melbourne - well, those feelings of wanting to apply the last of his power to something good before his ministry falls are definitely building, aren't they?

Most importantly, though, I could not resist with Mary Anning and the fossils because dinosaurs! There's absolutely nothing I regret.

Thank you for reading, and taking the time to leave your thoughts, as always!



Now, here we go with a chapter that is almost 100% continued self-indulgence, and I still have no regrets. Enjoy!

---

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

VIII.II.III.

Notes From Portland: The Discovery

They followed their new companion further up the beach, to where the cobbled shoreline was once again intersected by the jagged bound of a jutting cliff, closing off the accessibility of the bay for the sea.

Here, the head of the beach was framed by another fortified section of cliff, where further switchbacks had been established by the coast guard for ingress and egress. Most notable for this span of shoreline was the vast sea cave that yawned at its base, with its mouth seemingly open wide enough to swallow the tide upon its rising. From a point high upon the capstones, a thin, gossamer waterfall trickled, fed by the Isle’s runoff. Its stream splashed down and murmured over the timeworn pebbles to complete its long journey to the sea, where its waters sighed in susurrous relief to melt against the welcoming surf.

Before the sea cave, a tent had been established over a relatively level span of shingles. The temporary structure had one side closed to the wind and gas lanterns lit within, shining against the dim lighting of the overcast day. There was a table in the tent, where a man and woman stood, hunched over a display of thin, flat slabs of stone. A second man – young, and of clear relation to the elder gentleman – sat on a large boulder just beyond the awning, splitting stone nodules with a hammer and a careful hand.

The dogs quickly outpaced their human counterparts, and heralded their arrival with playful barks and yips of expectation. The younger boy put down his hammer in favor of properly welcoming Tray, and then just as eagerly introduced himself to Dash. Within the tent, Nancy’s adult companions broke from their own tasks when they realized that she did not return alone.

They stepped outside to greet them, and, when they were close enough: “There you are!” the woman called. “We were beginning to fear that the sea had swept you away.”

“The sea?” the man teased, wiping his hands against his soiled apron. “Better would she be absorbed by the stone – where we'd then have to go and pick her out.”

“I am here, quite well and wholly as myself; thank you.” Nancy shook her head as they too stopped before the tent, which would not comfortably hold the entirety of their party within. “And yet, in a way, I do return with a . . . most singular discovery.”

Her discovery had hardly gone unnoticed by Nancy’s companions – who observed them with varying degrees of polite interest (from the boy) to speculation (from the woman) and even discomfort (from the man). He studied the each of them before fixing his gaze on the red coats of Colonel Hampson and his lieutenant, while the woman looked between Victoria and Nancy and back again in dawning comprehension.

“Well, there’s nothing to be done but say it outright,” Nancy began, still sounding somewhat incredulous for the truth of her present circumstances. “Joseph, Charlotte, Richard – it is your honor to be introduced to Her Majesty Queen Victoria.”

Wide, dumbstruck eyes met her confirmation, and the three fell to genuflect before their monarch with varying degrees of grace. The woman – Charlotte – curtsied like a gentlewoman, long trained in such courtesies, while the boy – Richard, William assumed – bowed, and then bowed again yet lower still when he saw that his elders had yet to break from their own obeisance. He awkwardly bobbed like a fledgling duck upon the water as he cast his gaze this way and that, uncertain all the while.

“Please, rise,” Victoria freed them from their respects. “Your fealty is duly noted and appreciated, yet I bid you be at ease. My presence must be quite the surprise, I am well aware.”

Still, they hesitated to obey, until: “She means it,” Nancy assured. “There’s no trick; you needn’t worry.”

For her words, they slowly loosened from their respects. Once they stood upright, Nancy went on to introduce to Victoria, “Your Majesty, may I present my brother, Mr. Joseph Anning, and his son Richard, along with Mrs. Charlotte Murchinson.”

Their introductions then continued much as could be expected. William bowed and commented when it was beholden upon him to do so, yet found himself silently studying their new company more so than fully attending the rote social necessities. Mr. Anning was just younger than his sister, and their relationship was apparent at first glance with their shared coloring and hard-lined mouths. He was a tall man with a sturdy build – a look that his son shared, who, at no more than three and ten, held his new height and strength somewhat uncertainly upon his growing frame. Unlike his elders, however, he did not seem a boy naturally inclined to frowns, and his gaze was youthfully clear and bright.

Mrs. Murchinson alone did not belong to the Anning family, or so he assumed. Unlike her companions, her hair was a flaxen shade of blonde, and neatly arranged in a modern style. Though she wore much of the same sensible ensemble as Nancy, the fabric was finer, and she carried less of the stain of the beach about her person as a whole. The calluses upon her own hands, he would wager, were newly earned by choice, rather than a life hard-lived from the first.

Once their acquaintances were made, an awkward sort of silence fell, with one side knowing naught what to say to the other. In answer to the strain, William shifted forward, intent on encouraging ease through discourse, when -

Mr. Anning must have felt the same, for he asked his sister: “Besides these travelers from a distant land, what else have you found?” He gestured to her basket, which was indeed laden from that which she carried within.

“Oh, more of the usual – ammonites, mostly, and a belemnite or two.” As she spoke, Nancy lowered her basket to rest on the gravel. Then, she knelt, reaching within to bring out . . .

“Rocks?” Victoria asked, bemused (disappointed) – and rather accurately mirroring William’s own unconscious thoughts entirely.

Yet Nancy’s mouth quirked in a secretive sort of smile. “Rocks? They may be,” she shrugged, “or perhaps they are not. We shall have to see.” With that, she beckoned her nephew forward. “Richie, if you would?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the boy obliged. With an eagerness that bellied his attempts at constraint, he picked through the stones. With quick hands, he sorted them into piles, following some pattern that William couldn’t yet begin to understand, until: “Ah, here’s one,” he approved. “This will do right well.”

With that endorsement, Richard turned the nodule, closely examining the stone from every angle. William watched, trying to see what the boy saw as the rock was held up for their inspection. He gestured to the ribbed texture that was only just visible, banding around its circumference. “You want to look for this keel here,” Richard said, and while his words remained uncertain in timbre, they were confident in address. He picked up his hammer with a sure grip to match, and continued his demonstration. “Then, you do like so . . . ”

He gently tapped upon the same fault-line he’d indicated, turning the stone until he found a point of weakness. There, he struck – once, twice, thrice – and, with a last, strong blow -

The nodule cracked, splitting open neatly in two.

Richard peeked between the halves. “Very nice,” he approved. He first looked to his aunt, wordlessly seeking her direction, and then to Victoria. His cheeks flushed, but he said in as steady a voice as he could muster, “Would you like to see, Your Majesty?”

“Very much so, Mr. Anning,” Victoria enthused. “Thank you.”

The boy handed the reassembled halves to Victoria, and instructed, “Gentle like, you can pull them apart. There shouldn’t be much resistance, but you want to mind what’s inside.”

Carefully, just as she was shown, Victoria eased the two halves open. Then, revealed within, was . . .

A remarkably intact snake-stone – a large, spiraled shell with tightly coiled whorls and pronounced ribbing that seemingly emanated from the heart of the helix like a starburst. Its ridges caught on the sunlight, hinting at some yet obscured transparency as it was tilted this way and that. The shell left an equally detailed impression on the opposite half of the nodule, capturing the memory of the fallen creature from where it had served as its interment these vast ages past.

Victoria drew in a breath, her blue eyes shining with awe. “This,” it took her a moment to muster her words, “is quite remarkable.”

Nancy seemingly filled on the sincerity of her fascination, and said, sounding equally amazed, no matter her apparent familiarity with such finds, “That is a Dactylioceras ammonite, Your Majesty. They’re fairly common along the shores of Dorsetshire, and key to helping us identify the age of the surrounding rock.”

“An ammonite,” Victoria repeated. She traced the ram’s horn spiral with a single finger, and recalled her mythology to agree, “Yes, that is a most fitting name.”

“It always amazes me to consider that entire epochs have passed since this creature last saw the light of day. Now, here it is, blinking its eyes in what has to be an entirely strange new world.”

That was indeed a thought worthy of wonderment as the split halves were passed amongst their party – even Colonel Hampson took a brief turn, and then his second, who was just as intrigued by the find for the moment he was allowed. Nancy watched with what could only be described as pride, and, when the stone came back to Lord Alfred a second time, she offered, “Would you like to aid Richard in finding more nodules? There are plenty to go around, even beyond the dozen we have left to split.”

“You mean, I can try?” Alfred grinned in anticipation, all before he recalled himself, and hesitated. “I do not know how, I mean to say, and I most certainly have no desire to harm - ”

“Is there a reason you would be unable?” Nancy parried, her voice thoughtful. “You have your eyes and two strong hands, do you not? That, along with a mind of some sense, is all that is required. As for specifics, Richard will show you how.”

William had never seen a more boyish smile upon the equerry's face than that which lit for the prospect of splitting sea-stones – little as he could fault him, of course, for the promise of what they could yet reveal. He felt a moment’s inclination to follow himself, and perhaps would have, had it not been for the stone plate he yet held in hand. Ultimately, he had no time to consider which impulse to heed before Mr. Anning asked (he had nearly missed Nancy’s preceding gesture, encouraging her brother to speak): “May I inquire as to what Your Lordship has found?”

“Oh, nothing like what you’re accustomed to, surely.” William offered the slate, and Mr. Anning examined the muddled face much the same as his sister had done. Also like Nancy, his expression sparked (as a new flame lit by one long burning) to reveal more of the long, beaded ridges hidden underneath. Uncertainly, William added, “Or so I would assume.”

“In this instance, its likeness to our own endeavors may prove to be quite the surprise. Here, I welcome you, come this way and see.”

Mr. Anning looked next to Victoria, but clearly hesitated to hasten the Queen of England forward in any such manner. Yet his uncertainty proved unnecessary when Victoria made to follow on her own accord. Together, they stepped within the tent, to where, spread upon the portable field table, there was . . .

Piece after piece of the same pale grey stone, matched back together like some prehistoric puzzle. All together, the span of the stones was some eight feet long by at least half as much wide, and the story they told was extraordinary. Across the mosaic was a mass of ancient creatures – or were they creatures, for how organic they appeared in nature? – seemingly caught in the thrall of some long-ago tide, even when captured and made still on their deathbed. Together, they waved on long, billowing stalks – formed by those same beaded strings – that branched into arms bearing full heads of multiple, fan-like pinnules. It was a mesmerizing sight to behold, with new details available to the eye with every glance for its intricate originality. This not only felt like a fossilized organism from the far-distant past, but, rather, a still living piece of it for the near tangible sense it conveyed through its most remarkable preservation.

“You think that this may be. . . ” but words failed him. “Surely not.”

“Why may it not be?” Nancy countered. “This particular crinoid bed is what has brought us to Portland, and this bay in particular – we have an agreement with the coast guard to make use of their station to conduct our studies. Joseph has been reconstructing this colony from the silt there.” She pointed to the end of the beach, where the long rock shelves butted against the plunging cliffs. “That you found this further down the shore is heartening, for it gives us a new point to excavate going forward. Ammonites and other such odds and ends may be found in perpetuity, I suspect, far into the centuries to come as the cliffs continue to erode. Yet these . . . they are finite, and all the more precious for being so.”

“What exactly are these?” Victoria asked. “Crinoids, you said?”

“Crinoids,” Nancy confirmed. “Pentacrinites fossilis, to be specific – though, in common vernacular, we simply call them sea lilies.”

“Sea lilies?” Victoria repeated, her voice cresting on a note of delight. “Did you hear that, Lord M? Sea lilies!”

She looked up to find his gaze, her expression glowing with joy – so much so that William found it quite impossible to look away, even for the ancient marvel spread out and waiting before them.

“This is most serendipitous,” Victoria turned to Nancy once more. “There shall be no moving him from this spot now.”

“Oh?” Nancy looked between them – much the same as Mr. Anning did – not entirely understanding for herself, but carried along on the tide of Victoria’s elation, nonetheless. Her high spirits were ever infectious, William knew from experience, even to the most solemn of souls.

“You see, Lord M is a great horticulturist,” Victoria went on to illuminate, the pride in her voice near to boasting – and baffling for being so, William could hardly understand. “Were it not for politics, I believe that he would have happily ensconced himself in his glasshouses and never stir. There’s not a single species of flower that he does not know, and he’s able to grow the most extraordinary blossoms. Buckingham is adorned with his talents most often, for they are the equal of Kew itself.”

It was not easy to move him to blush, but he did so quite readily for her effusive praise – especially as the Annings each looked slightly bemused in their own right, all before trading a wordless, indecipherable look in that way of long-known siblings, closely bound.

“Her Majesty speaks far too kindly of my humble, rather amateur interest. I am something of a hobby gardener, and nothing more.”

“I am better known as a hobby paleontologist, myself,” Nancy said – with what started as both encouragement and easy empathy ending on an unwittingly sour note from her mouth. “Or, to far too many, little more than a mere fossil hunter.” Yet she paused, and collected herself with a breath. “It is good to have a passion, is what I mean to say. Our souls can’t exist otherwise – especially when, from what I can tell, governance is work that either uses up its servants or perpetually feeds proud, hungry men at the cost of others.”

And didn’t that insight sting for its truth?

“My lady has had the pleasure of meeting the House of Lords, it would seem,” yet, as ever, he covered over that deeper, uncomfortable emotion with a well-practiced quip.

“Goodness, no – nor should I ever desire to,” Nancy said with a small sound that could have been a laugh. “Yet I understand the futility of waging useless wars, if only in my own way.”

For her words, William wanted to inquire further – and desired to all the more so as her name continued to elusively tug at him from the depths of his mind. Nancy Anning, Nancy Anning, Nancy Anning . . .

He knew -

- yet he could not pursue that unsolved mystery any further when Mr. Anning drew his attention, and showed him the proper tools for cleaning the stone. In short order, he selected a variety of stiff bristle brushes, and made his way back to the waterline.

Victoria followed, and he was startled when she knelt before the surf, intent on aiding him with his task. He offered a token resistance, yet well knew that he had but little chance of persuading her otherwise when her mind was made – at least, not without good reason. So, working in concert with both the waves and each other, they endeavored to scrub and rinse the greater excess of sediment away.

It was rewarding work, if slow in nature, and he lost himself in the task – not even minding when the knees of his trousers turned soaked and gritty with saltwater and sand. William had half a mind to shrug off his frock coat to at least preserve the wool and silk from the brine – much as Mr. Anning and his son had been similarly attired, even if they’d since discreetly redonned their hats and jackets – yet resisted the urge. Besides the propriety of the matter, Victoria’s own sleeves were full beneath the elbow and cinched at her wrists. It was impossible for her to better see to her own comfort, and so, he’d carry on with his queen in solidarity.

Baines, he anticipated, was going to inhale in that most particular way of his before drolly asking if His Lordship – always with that slight emphasis on the word lord – found the day’s ventures rewarding. The at least always went unspoken – but quite loudly heard, regardless. Sea salt and stubborn Portland sediment may yet have his valet wishing for the usual stains inflicted by potting soil once more.

Yet his thoughts were interrupted when he heard:

“A tooth! I have found a tooth!”

He looked, and saw where Lord Alfred had been searching for nodules under the direction of Richard and Mrs. Murchinson.

“What creature does this come from?” he eagerly inquired. “Something fearsome, I must imagine – for what kind of a jaw would necessitate teeth of this size? It would have to be at least as big as - ”

“Oh, that is not a tooth, Lord Alfred,” Mrs. Murchinson laughed softly to say. “Though I see where it may appear as such.”

“Is it a bone, then?” Alfred furrowed his brow to inquire. “Or the tip of a claw?

“Not quite – it comes from a type of squid.”

“A . . . squid?”

Mrs. Murchinson went on to clarify, “You have found the guard of a belemnite – by which I mean the coned head atop a squid, if you can picture. You’ve found a very fine specimen, at that – they’re fragile, and crack and shatter far too easily once freed from the rock and exposed to the sea. This is sizable enough that we may even be able to remove the ink from inside, if the chambers remain intact.”

Lord Alfred’s enthusiasm revived for the prospect – which was indeed a curiosity in its own right – even if he did not recover the same vivacity he’d shown for the find of some great reptile’s tooth.

Victoria too looked up, and her mouth quirked to meet his gaze.

“Oh, but this must be a bone!” scarce minutes passed before Alfred exclaimed anew. “A vertebra, like you were saying? Of the mighty Ichthia – the Ithio – the fish lizard you described?”

“Ichthyosaurus – you were very close,” Mrs. Murchinson elucidated pleasantly. “Yet that is not a vertebra, nor any bone. It is a trace fossil – a coprolite.”

“Amazing!” Alfred enthused. “I have found a coprolite!” He paused, considering. “What exactly is a coprolite, if I may inquire?”

“A coprolite is fossilized,” yet Mrs. Murchinson hesitated, and cleared her throat most delicately, “excrement.”

William almost dropped the slate into the water entirely – even as Victoria loosed a choked, less than regal snort of laughter in betrayal of her own amusement.

“Oh no, please don’t drop it! These stones are important for the clues they provide, telling us how these animals once lived through the remains of their diets – and this is an excellent specimen for examination.”

Dubiousness colored the equerry's voice, even as he politely conceded, “I shall bow to your superior wisdom on the matter, madam.”

“Do not lose heart,” Mrs. Murchinson encouraged, “you’re already quite the natural, and who knows what else you may yet find? Come, let us continue to put those eyes of yours to good use.”

Shortly thereafter, when Mr. Anning indicated that they’d gone far enough with the aid of the surf, they brought the stone to the tent. There, underneath the lamplight, they could better see a faint picture taking shape. So far, three well-developed heads were visible, along with a partial fourth. More than a dozen stalks tangled over and about each other, supporting the fans that must have belonged to far more lilies than this scant quartet. A faint bronze sheen rippled over the arms they exposed, matching the plates discovered by Mr. Anning. That gleam was iron pyrite, Nancy explained – fool’s gold, gilding the entire surface of the colony. After they were properly prepared, the lilies would ultimately shimmer as they swayed, much as they had once done in the fractured sunlight that shone down on them through the waves in life.

From there, they mostly attended their work in silence. Nancy went on to aid her brother with the finer work of preparing the larger slabs, while William and Victoria whittled away at centuries’ worth of compressed sediment from the newly recovered stone. They made a good team, with Victoria determinedly chipping with a chisel while he scrubbed. The layers were stubborn to relinquish their grasp, yet, slowly, they revealed the intricate webbing of the fans and stalks waiting below, one hard-won portion at a time.

Before long, Victoria came to exert her efforts upon a particularly tenacious section. Her brow furrowed, and her mouth pursed as she focused on her task, only applying as much pressure as she dared in concession to the delicately entombed fossils underneath. She muttered coaxing words under her breath as she worked – and perhaps even a phrase or two that may have been considered decidedly less than. The scrub-brush in his hand stilled as he watched her, taken by the picture she presented (all for its novelty, of course), before he consciously reminded himself to his own task. This was not something that deserved any distracted effort; he would do better to properly focus his attention and concentrate.

When next his voice rose, Lord Alfred sought: “I hesitate to ask . . . but is this a bone?”

Once more, Mrs. Murchinson’s voice betrayed her amusement, “That is fossilized wood.”

“Again, I seem to miss my target.”

“If I may be so bold as to advise, I believe that Your Lordship’s expectations may require some adjustment. The marvels we seek come in all shapes and sizes, and indeed forms. What you hold there is many millennia old. It once thrived under the light of our sun in its youth; it was succored by the very same waters that now fill the sea before us. It cannot help but excite the imagination to consider just what creatures this tree may have once offered its shade to, or those others whom once took refuge in its branches; do you not agree?”

Yet William did not hear Lord Alfred’s reply – even as Charlotte’s words lingered for the power of their sentiment – as Victoria’s chisel struck, and, with a look of triumph, an entire section of sediment broke loose. She reached with dirtied fingers to scrape back the clay, yet tilted her head when the muck did not break apart as it had done with previous layers. Instead, she brought up her opposite hand to inspect the rescued chip of stone. She dipped it in the bucket, using the saltwater to rinse and encourage . . .

“Oh,” she started. “I believe that I may have found something more – or something else, I should say.”

Those words proved to be the happiest of utterances to any fossil hunter. The interest of the Anning siblings was immediately roused as Victoria presented the flat, vaguely ovoid shaped stone she’d freed from the mire.

William too looked, and, after Miss Anning continued to brush the remaining grit from the stone, further exposing whatever awaited inside, he could see . . .

Wings?

Yes: those were very clearly an insect’s delicate wings, much as he would have ascribed to their own modern -

“Your Majesty has found a dragonfly,” Nancy confirmed. “Or, at least, the segments that remain of one.”

“How very curious.” Yet Victoria remained befuddled. “Dragonflies are creatures of the air; how has this one come to be found here amongst the sea?”

Nancy hummed in the back of her throat, her expression thoughtful. “I’m afraid that I may only theorize, ma’am. As an educated guess, I would say that it has to do with how these crinoids once made their home. Sea lilies, as their name perhaps misrepresents, are not flowers at all – they are echioderms, much like our own contemporary star fish and sea urchins. They would anchor together at the surface of the waves, on pieces of floating driftwood – much as you can see here.”

To better aid their understanding, she directed their attention back to the more complete picture her brother had unearthed. Sure enough, threading through the center of the writhing mass, there was a darker foundation than the stone that braced the rest of the colony, almost near to black underneath the pyrite glaze. That difference, it was clear once indicated, was a broad, flat remnant of fossilized wood.

“Dozens of these creatures could grow on a single scrap of debris,” Nancy continued. “Perhaps this insect strayed too far from the mainland, or it may have been blown out in a storm, whereupon it found refuge here prior to its death. However it came to pass, it is unusual to find the sky and the sea so closely preserved together. Portland dragonflies have been excavated from the Isle’s quarries, but nowhere else, I do not believe.”

“Oh,” Victoria’s voice hushed as Nancy returned the stone to her. She looked down on the interred dragonfly the same as she would look into the glimmering facets of a cut diamond. “How very singular.”

“Your Majesty sounds surprised,” Nancy observed. “Why?”

“I suppose that a great part of me is surprised,” Victoria admitted. “I am not – that is, I would not be surprised if you found such an exceptional thing, but I am only . . . ”

I am just me, William heard the unspoken. He felt his heart twist on his queen’s behalf – who could ever put on a mask of such confidence, and even feel such confidence as true, no matter how these old doubts (these old inflicted wounds) lingered to whisper and plague and rend underneath.

William watched as Miss Anning’s expression softened. “You are you, and that will ever be enough.” Her voice was firm, no matter how gently uttered, before she recovered her usual timbre to continue, “All of paleontology is a matter of chance. We are guided by our foreknowledge and aided by experience, yes, which grows as our understanding of this era grows – but it is still a matter of chance. Your hand is as worthy of discovery as any other. Who is there to say that you should not be?”

Victoria took a moment to absorb her words, and the women traded a glance that William was not wholly privy to understand. Finally, Victoria released a breath, and looked down to consider the dragonfly anew.

“It is very sad, isn’t it?” she commented next. “Thinking about its manner of death.”

“Discovering life through death as we do will always be underscored by a note of melancholy; yes, I agree,” Nancy spoke as if this was a subject that she had long dwelt on for herself. “It’s sobering to be reminded of nature’s mortality – for this will be all that’s left of any of us in the end. But, to consider how it once lived . . .”

She gestured to the dragonfly, even as Victoria brushed the pad of her thumb across the indentation of its wings, and then to the bed of sea lilies.

“In the end, what more can any of us ask from the time to come than that?”

“Yes,” Victoria agreed after a moment's pause. “That is indeed a far more heartening thought.”

She turned the stone in her hand, and, with a last, long look, made to hand the dragonfly over.

But Nancy resisted. “Oh no – this is your discovery, ma’am, and you must keep it.”

“Yet these discoveries are your livelihood, are they not? That is something I cannot countenance detracting from,” Victoria pressed, “especially when I already have so much as it is.”

She tried to offer the fossil once more, but Nancy took a physical step back, and held up her hands.

“Please, ma’am, it shall quite hearten me to know that England’s queen will ever carry this small piece of Dorsetshire with her – for this is a gem from a bygone age of your realm. History belongs to us all, and, as you can see,” she gestured to the excavated bed of sea lilies, and then to the sea and the cliffs themselves, “there is more than enough to share.”

Victoria fell silent in answer, but William knew how closely she attended the wisdom of Nancy’s speech. She would not dishonor the gift by attempting to refuse it a third time, and, instead: “I will indeed treasure this,” she vowed. “Thank you.”

Nancy smiled – a warm, true smile – before she exhaled, and the moment passed.

“Now,” she practically declared, “let us see what else we can uncover before the day is through. We, as ever, race against the tide, and it shall soon be rising.”



.

.

They continued to work as such for some time – William knew not how long before Victoria stood, and accepted the reprieve offered by Mrs. Murchinson to join their hunt in scouring the beach for any last finds, before that day’s expedition came to a close. She was eager to do so, closely examining the ground with every step while Dash bounded at her heels.

Once the main bulk of the sediment was cleared from the crinoids, he was more than glad to break from his own position stooped over the table. Content with the progress they’d made, he wiped his hands clean – relatively so, of course – and gratefully accepted the serving of ale Miss Anning offered from their provisions. He took a seat, half-standing and half-leaning against one of the obliging boulders, and it seemed as if she would do much the same before deciding against stillness. Instead, she remained entirely standing, seemingly unable to keep from glancing down at every cobble her boot disturbed.

It was then, in the contented silence that ever followed applying one’s self to any successful pursuit, that a memory sparked, and at last illuminated his thoughts.

“Nancy,” he said aloud, drawing her attention with the slow way he uttered the syllables. “You are Mary Anning, are you not?”

If she was surprised by his deduction, she did not show it but for a single in-drawn breath. “Yes, I am she.” For a moment, he thought she would say no more, before she added, “My name is known across Europe in certain circles – but, ultimately, of no great consequence.”

He considered that, weighing her words against those he could offer in return. “William Buckland speaks highly of you,” he finally decided upon. “Higher than any of his lauded contemporaries in the National Geological Society, even.”

“I have been a subject for conversation between Mr. Buckland and the First Lord? I find that more fantastic than that which you pulled from the sea.”

In answer, he merely waited, and was rewarded for his patience when she sighed. “Buckland is kind, and I do appreciate his efforts for recognition on my behalf. Yet, for a man of science, he is impossibly inclined to dreams; I have always been far more practical myself.”

He remained silent, hearing the unspoken that lingered, wanting for a voice. Another moment passed, and he understood the bravery it then took to say: “I am what I am, just as our society is what it is. I do what I do for myself – for the joy of discovery. I doubt that history will ever remember me, but my contributions to my chosen field of science – no matter what man’s name is ultimately attached to my findings – they will be remembered, and that . . . that is enough.”

Yet, was it?

Her words whispered alongside his own ruminations on legacy as of late, and all the more so as the end of his premiership approached, hanging over him like a scythe. Yet his understanding was partial, at best. The plight of Mary Anning, and far too many women like her, was well and beyond any of his own paltry considerations in comparison. He would never dare suppose otherwise, not even in the privacy of his own mind.

Towards that truth, he wanted to offer encouragement – some protestation against the future she described, and hopes for a kinder fate. Yet, if her small efforts towards anonymity were anything to tell by, she'd hardly welcome such empty platitudes, and he had no wish to insult her intelligence by extending idealized assurances. He could only determine to push upon what influence he held, while it was still his for the having, and speak through actions.

That was, of course, a feat that came with its own looming impossibilities. He felt his jaw tighten as he considered Victoria’s earlier dismay for the extent of her own power. What were their titles even good for, if they failed to aid in achieving even the smallest of victories?

. . . how many of those seemingly impossible victories had he allowed to pass his government by, thinking them too insurmountable to even try?

That was, as ever, a thought he cared for but little, yet it was that thought to which Nancy – Mary – ultimately spoke, “You look as if you have the weight of the world pulling at your shoulders. Rest your mind,” she cannily surmised, “and keep your focus on her. Someday, she is going to effect change for us all.”

Mary turned her gaze towards Victoria, who was then laughing to compare various pieces of beach debris with Lord Alfred – with the each of them building increasingly fantastic stories as to what secrets of the past they potentially held. It was heartening to observe her, entirely unconstrained by the threat of public scrutiny or the weight of her crown. There was no one here who waited, anticipating when she would err in some look or word or deed. This cove, in that sense, was truly a harbor. For that truth, he attempted to relax against the tension that had bound his spine since the very first morn of her ascension, and breathed in deep of the sea air.

William shared a look of understanding with Mary, yet said no more aloud, as the finality of her words required no reply. Besides, it had not been his intention to inspire sympathy in the first place. Her quiet certainty was a boon, yes, but bestowed when he had intended to offer much the same. He still desired to do so, and determined that he would.

Yet, as he collected his thoughts, the Anning boy rejoined them from where he’d disappeared further down the shoreline. Richard carried a line of mackerel, a satisfied smile upon his face as he approached where his father was currently stoking a fire into being – the purpose of which was now more than apparent.

In quick work, the fish were cleaned and set to cook over the coals with sea salt and herbs. The scent was quite tantalizing – so much so that when Miss Anning said: “The hospitality we may extend is simple, but Richard caught enough to share, if Your Majesty would please?” Victoria looked to him, the answer she wished to give clear in her eyes.

William looked down in deference. “If Your Majesty wishes to inquire of the time,” he supplied, “then it is of little consequence. The vice admiral has already been advised of the delay, and serves at your pleasure – whether that be this evening or entirely upon the morrow.”

“I suppose that we are rather . . . untidy, to see to matters of state with any sort of expedience.” Victoria looked somewhat ruefully down at her dirtied dress, and then to where he’d inflicted similar such abuses on his own wardrobe. Perhaps impishly, she continued: “Dash, especially, will require a bath before he’s fit to represent the Crown – which shall only add to our delay yet further. The sandpipers led him on quite the merry chase, you see.””

“Indeed, the royal familiar is now much the sea’s own.” That was certainly true – for the spaniel was rather impressively drenched in saltwater, with sandy grit matting his fur and muddying his paws.

“Well, then, it seems there’s nothing to be done for the matter.”

“Your Majesty may say so without being at all gainsaid, it is true.”

“Oh, Dash,” Victoria sighed, looking down to where her dog waited at her feet, his tongue lolling and tail wagging – and, in that moment, rather matching the sodden hem of her skirts entirely. “Look what trouble your curiosity has caused. We’re going to be at the wash basin for quite some time, I foresee.”

William constrained his smile, amused, not for the first, by Victoria’s determination to personally provide even menial care for her companion. Sir Charles, battle-hardened as the old sailor was, may not share his outlook – but, as her uncles had similarly inconvenienced their advisors with far less cause or concern, and ever to little ill-repercussion, that thought was neither here nor there.

“Yes,” Victoria readdressed Miss Anning, and happily accepted her invitation, “That would be delightful, thank you.”

In short order, they’d all gathered around the fire. As Mr. Anning attended the fish, his son brought out portions of uncooked bread to bake. If the aroma had been enticing before, then it was all the more appetizing now. William hadn’t eaten in such a rustic manner since his soldiering days, but, even these long years later, he could still remember how pleasing it was to partake in a meal cast by one’s own hand, imbued with the smoky quality that only such an open, wood-fed flame could provide.

Victoria’s own attention was rapt as the flatbread bubbled and baked before her eyes. “I cannot recall a single time I have seen my food cooked,” she commented aloud. “I never even sneaked into the kitchens to steal sweetmeats as a child – I had far too many attendants to dare try, and Lehzen besides.” For that, her smile was as wry as it was fond. “Feodora did, though, on my behalf – and I now suspect that Lehzen kindly chose to look the other way.”

The Annings were just as curious to listen as Victoria was to observe, with an interest that had sincerely deepened after the last few hours they’d spent in company. He could well imagine that the novelty of hosting their sovereign monarch to dine was perhaps equal to Victoria’s wonderment for dining as such, and the resulting interaction was fascinating to merely witness, let alone partake in himself.

Richard, especially, couldn’t believe what he heard. “Really? You’ve never been in a kitchen?” He gaped, before a stern look from his father reminded him to his manners. “Well, then – would Your Majesty like to try for yourself?”

With an easy digression from formality that only the young could so blithely achieve, Richard held out the next portion of stretched dough. Victoria blinked, staring at his hand as if he offered her something as foreign as the fossilized ammonite from earlier.

“Me?” her voice came out as a near squeak of sound. “I cannot possibly,” she stammered. “That is, I do not think - ”

“Why not?” the boy was not so easily dissuaded. “Is there any reason you can’t, besides thinking that you shouldn’t?”

“No,” Victoria said slowly, his words drawing her short to admit, “No, I suppose there is not.”

“Besides, it’s fun! Come on – give it a try.”

Victoria screwed her courage to the sticking place, and accepted the floured dough with only some hesitance. She tugged at the slightly sticky mass, clearly perplexed by its texture as it hung and stretched from her fingertips.

“Hold it flat in your hand,” Richard demonstrated, “and you can mold it right back.”

“How extraordinary,” Victoria muttered as she attempted to restore it to its proper shape. “To think that this is how bread begins . . . I knew, but I did not know.”

With that, she leaned as close to the fire as she dared, and let the bread fall into the oiled skillet. The bread did not land wholly flat, and she took up the tongs to right its skewed edges. Flatbread over such heat took scant minutes to cook, and, at Richard’s direction, she removed it from the pan with only one side slightly charred as compared to the other, but entirely edible.

“Lord M, look!” she proudly exclaimed. “I have made bread! Or,” she amended in deference to their hosts, “I have assisted with its baking.”

“So Your Majesty has,” William agreed, his mouth quirking into a grin. Her joy was palpable to their entire party, and her high spirits were catching. Victoria’s wonder for the world beyond Kensington was ever vivid to behold, but experiences like these – which he’d wager were few and far between, even for the kings and queens who’d reigned before her – were especially remarkable for their singularity. He was entirely cognizant of the honor it was to even observe such a moment, and knew that the memory was one that he would someday look back on with the utmost fondness.

“Here,” Victoria then chose to honor him yet further. “You must be the one to try the first result of my culinary efforts!” She held the bread out expectantly, heedless of the humble (domestic) subservience that such an offering more traditionally implied. Impatiently, she gestured with the tongs, wordlessly demanding that he move his plate closer.

Reflexively, he demurred: “Me, ma’am? Wouldn’t you like to sample the fruits of your labors yourself?”

“Oh, but isn’t there a greater joy in giving?” her eyes sparkled to return, before she repeated with strident authority, “Come, now, Viscount Melbourne; I insist.”

Ultimately, a command from the Crown was a command from the Crown, and he was beholden to obey. William accepted the gift, but wondered if he could split the bread in two to share. Would that be terribly gauche or improper? Yet his hesitation passed, for there was very little of ceremony about their meal as it was. In unique circumstances, certainly unique manners could apply, could they not?

So, he broke the bread in half. Choosing the portion that was free of char (and admittedly less misshapen), he offered it back.

“The joy in giving,” he returned, perhaps somewhat cheekily. “If this most humble servant to the Crown may be so bold as to beg Your Majesty’s indulgence, that is.”

When Victoria looked to resist, he added, “Quick, before it grows cold, ma’am.”

His entreaty prompted a long-suffering sigh from his queen, even as she graced him with her concession. He pulled apart his remaining half, just as she sampled her own, and was rewarded with the happy bloom of her smile as it grew.

“I believe that this is the best piece of bread I’ve ever tasted,” she approved, tearing away another bite.

“I would agree, ma’am,” he seconded with all sincerity – for the bread was freshly warm and dense and tangy, all while pleasantly crisped and smokey at its crust. Even the charred portion was pleasing to consume, though that may have been in part due to the endearing nature of the blemish’s origin.

“That is quite the high praise,” Miss Anning looked between them to comment. “This can hardly be equal to the tables laid at Buckingham, I would imagine.”

In answer, Victoria turned her gaze back out to sea, then to the tent with its treasures, and their hosts again. “To the contrary,” she affirmed, “I believe that this is one of the finest meals I have ever partaken in.”

As the fish was served, cordial conversation continued amongst their party with growing ease. Miss Anning shared the story of the first Ichthyosaur skeleton she’d discovered – describing its shape as a cross between a shark and a dolphin of their age, but with a very long beak and pronounced, cone-shaped teeth – much to the wonder of her listeners. That wonder only grew as she went on to share her more recent findings of a winged reptile that sounded truly draconic in nature – a Pterosaur.

When Victoria answered questions concerning how she found her reign thus far, she said that she had no stories equal to the like of such seemingly mythical creatures – upon which she was most heartily persuaded otherwise. One story from the court then led to another – where he was happy to contribute his own observations – until their meal dwindled down to its natural conclusion.

Shortly thereafter, it was decided that they could stay on the beach any longer. Portland’s tides rose and fell twice a day in dramatic surges, and the Annings had no wish to chance harm coming to their findings – even if they were too close to the cliff path to worry for being stranded outright. Better yet, the sea cave, Miss Anning explained, led to a series of fortified tunnels and sea-level bunkers used by the coast guard, where she had permission to stow her research without lugging it up and down the cliffs for days on end. William was happy to offer what assistance he could in carrying a portion, and trekked to and fro as was directed until the task was complete.

It was not until they moved the crinoid plates – and after he unsuccessfully attempted to offer his own finding to Mary Anning’s studies – that he asked in a quiet tone, “May I commission your services, to see the piece properly prepared for presentation?”

Her answer came quickly: “It would be my pleasure to do so, but as a courtesy.”

Just as quickly, he shook his own head. “You have a talent that I wish to engage – to retain as a skilled expert in your chosen field. It would be unthinkable for a gentleman to withhold compensating any specialist for their services.”

“As I told Your Lordship,” even so, she hesitated, “I do what I do for the joy of its doing; nothing more.”

Yet joy alone did not put food on the table or a roof over one’s head – even before the uncomfortable knowledge that, if she were a male scientist of such findings and intellect, she would be able to support herself in comfort, rather than making do with the humble means she currently possessed.

“I understand,” he said simply. “If you would, then, allow me my own joy in ascribing honor to your work – where such honor is most certainly due.”

At length, she accepted that reasoning, albeit dubiously; even so, she did not name a price, and he resolved to set his own.

Happy for that little (far too little) measure of aid he'd succeeded in offering, he walked down to where Victoria stood by the rising waterline, and resumed his place by her side.

“It is time to depart, then; is it not?” she asked.

He had no wish to answer in the affirmative, yet said, “Whenever Your Majesty decides the time is right, then we shall.”

“A part of me never wants to leave,” Victoria commented on an exhale – unerringly echoing his own thoughts once more. Yet, at length, she turned away from the horizon, and looked back up towards the summit of the cliffs. “But, yes, Lord M; I am ready.”

With that, they began their return, leaving the seashore and its wonders to rest for another day.



TBC

Spoiler: End Notes

These notes are going to be more pictures than actual notes, but I trust that they speak louder than words!

A Note on Crinoids: Sea lilies are now one of my favorite fossils, to say the least! I tried to explain everything that needed to be explained in the text, but you can further read about them on Wikipedia here.

As for a visual aid, this is an entire colony of crinoids, bound to fossilized wood - one of the largest and best-preserved in the world.



Next, this video here 100% inspired my framework for the Annings' findings, from a fossil hunter on the Jurassic Coast. There's lots of lovely information about crinoids, and beautiful close-up shots from excavation to preservation, if you're interested. This entire YouTube channel is so interesting - and Yorkshire Fossils, too, which includes videos concerning all of the fossils I named in this chapter. I'm subscribed to them just for fun now, and delighted to be so.




A Note on the Fossils: The fossils pictured are from Yorkshire Fossils, again. (I trust that I don't need to share what a coprolite looks like. )

Split Ammonite:


Belemnite:



A Note on Mary Anning's Dinosaur Species: The following pictures are her actual discoveries!

Ichthyosaurus


Plesiosaurus


Pterosaur (Dimorphodon)


And because that's hard to visualize, here's a reconstructed skeleton, even if it's not Anning's:



I think that's everything, but, as always, if there's something I missed, please let me know!

~ MJ

 

Thank you both so much for reading, as always! Your comments never fail to make my day, and I appreciate every word.

I will never get tired of using the Everyone Else Can See It trope. No, indeed, I will not.

Thank you! This was something that fascinated me about the Jurassic Coast when I learned - that you can find "golden" fossils due to the iron pyrite content there! There are even iridescent ammonites further north up the coast, which I wouldn't have believed were real at first. They're just so pretty.

For Melbourne, it's an even greater tragedy. He was completely ready to check out of politics before Victoria came to the throne - he only lingered in order to see an orderly transition of power - but, once he met her, he came alive again, so to speak, even in history. The best things he did as prime minister - though I'd still argue that his knack for maintaining peace set the stage for reforms in England, which would have been harder to achieve without a stable bedrock to work from - all came at the end of his ministry. Which is a story I'm still in the process of telling.

Aw, thank you for saying so! I love these two and their ridiculous slow burn so very much, and all too happy to share their story with anyone who'd like to read my ramblings.

Thank you for the lovely comment! We're slowly but surely bridging those gaps, one at a time.


With that, I will be back soon with more!

 

Author's Notes: Here we are, at long last! This November, I worked on the next five or so updates all at once - which helped me figure out a few pacing concerns in matching this story, which has become rather episodic in nature, with the framework established in Your Miles of Shore. In this chapter, I had to step out of my comfort zone to not only tackle the politics of this era, but make them interesting to read - and all as a secondary tool to build these characters and advance the greater plot. Needless to say, I had to cut more than a few rambling asides before I struck what I hope is a happy medium. You'll have to let me know.

Then, for those of you who are following along, this chapter details the events Victoria wrote about in her letter to Albert. If you are curious to compare one with the other.

And, once more, I'd like to thank @mumblebibesy for looking this over for me! Any remaining mistakes are entirely my own.

With that, I thank you all for reading, and hope that you enjoy!

---

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

VIII.II.IV.

Notes from Portland: The Fort

The turbulent skies of the day gave way to a night of rain and oppressive grey clouds upon the morn, lingering low and heavy across the horizon. Yet, by the noon hour, the rain seemed to have eased, and it was deemed acceptable for Her Majesty to meet with the First Sea Lord in Castletown.

The village of Castletown laid on the northernmost shore of the Isle, where the coastline formed the southern frame of Portland Harbor in conjunction with Weymouth on the mainland. Here, the safe anchorage of the Portland Roads served as a haven for all manner of maritime vessels. Once, this bay would had been filled with warships by the dozens, with the Portland Fleet standing ready to repel any French force that may have succeeded in penetrating their blockade lines. Now, the natural refuge was primarily used by fishermen and merchant vessels and even local leisure craft. The wharves and quays bustled to make ready for the next tide, teeming with activity in industry to the point where the shoresmen took but little note of the queen’s carriage passing on the main road.

Nearly abutting with the causeway, the fort of Portland Castle had maintained its vigil over the harbor for nigh on three hundred years. It had only recently been retired from its initial purpose, in the wake of Napoleon’s final defeat. In appearance, the castle’s design was very much a stronghold, giving little thought to form in favor of function. The complex consisted of low, squat structures with thick, strong walls of Portland stone constructed to withstand any potential volley from the water – just as the placement of its own batteries threatened most any ship who'd dare sail into the harbor without welcome.

The fort’s landside defenses were perhaps perfunctory in comparison to those seaward – with a strong gate ringing the now paved remnants of what had once been a medieval moat. Arbalesters and archers and, later, gunmen would have had ample perches, providing them with both unobstructed aims and subsequent cover from behind the strongly crenelated lines of the roof and within the narrow embrasures dashing the castle walls. Yet the fort was now silent and empty to greet its queen, with nothing but a memory of war held in its aged walls.

Before the castle gates, garbed in the vestiges of modern warfare, Vice Admiral Sir Charles Adam awaited their arrival with a pair of his aides, who had likewise donned full dress uniform for the occasion. If Adam held any residual irritation for their broken engagement the day before, he was too much of a gentleman – and a veteran soldier, long used to the chain of command and all of its accompanying vagaries – to let his personal opinions manifest in either manner or word. Instead, his bow and salute were exactingly proper, and his mien without reproach – albeit somewhat severe in nature, even at rest.

Yet that could be credited to Adam’s own innate temperament as much as his learned soldier’s seriosity. Underneath his sea-worn gruff, William knew the Scottish sailor was a good man – a man dedicated to Crown and country, who held as much talent for tactics in war as he now did politics in peace. (And all the ways in which they were one and the same.) As prime minister, William had long depended upon Adam’s wisdom concerning naval matters as a most valued member of his cabinet. Therein, Adam’s voice was usually found in concert with the Lords Auckland and Minto – with the latter being Adam’s brother-in-law, as well, and the both of whom William truly respected in matters concerning defense of the realm.

Likewise, Adam was particularly close in confidence with Lord Palmerston – which William knew to count as both a mark in Adam’s favor and a reason for caution. As much as he valued Henry on a professional level – and loved him on a familial one – his own brother-in-law’s approach to foreign relations tended to fall on the domineering end of the scale, and with growing increase as the years passed. Overall, with steady intransigence, Henry's politics had a dangerous inclination to be as preemptive as they were reactionary – and then far too slow to yield when presented with less inflammatory options to the contrary. William would call Adam more consistently circumspect than Palmerston, but there were times when Adam much too closely aligned with Palmerston’s more militant inclinations for his comfort.

In short: Vice Admiral Sir Charles Adam was a valuable asset, yes; yet he was also a warrior forced to idleness in a time of peace – a hard-won peace, that he himself had aided in securing, but peace nonetheless.

Yet, no matter what else, Adam was a Whig through and through – perhaps to the confusion of many of his brother-admirals – and he loyally held his peace in public. Adam may have privately chafed against his ministry’s efforts to focus on domestic affairs, rather than the expansion of what was already the greatest military power on earth, but his disagreement only ever manifested itself in the confidentiality of Whitehall’s ministerial chambers. There, it was not only proper to voice his opinions and ideas to the contrary, but actively encouraged. Knowing the vice admiral as he did, William anticipated a most stirring debate – such as he appreciated when arguing with a man of sense and no overbearing hubris in good faith, who ultimately had the best interests of the realm they all served at heart.

What he did not completely trust, however, was Adam’s ability to keep from using the weight of his experience to overly exert his influence on Victoria. By her current estimation, Victoria knew Adam to be a valued ally, and could potentially be inclined to trust his opinion on matters which she herself knew but little – just as Adam was aware that his queen had only just left the cosseting confines of Kensington behind, and was thus new to presiding over affairs of state. Even unwittingly – for there would be no purposeful, and certainly no malicious, attempt at manipulation – the vice admiral could fall into the habit of allowing his familiarity with command to supersede the deference due to his newly sworn monarch. William was prepared to remind him of Victoria’s sovereignty as necessary – if, unfortunately, in a way he never had to do with old King William. (To the contrary, William IV’s long years of dedicated naval service had once made these meetings rather tedious headaches for him in opposite measure.)

Yet, for now, Victoria kindly extended her apologies for their tardiness – as was hardly required by the Crown, nor even expected, given the way Adam’s greying brows rose before stoically masking once more. William observed him, waiting to see if the vice admiral would see the strength of character her gesture conveyed, or unconsciously regard it as a sign of weakness, ready for exploitation, instead.

Ultimately, it was hard to tell when Adam replied aloud: “I am but a humble servant to the Crown, and happy to await the honor of Your Majesty’s attention.”

Victoria’s own countenance brightened – even if William was glad that she remembered her own mask and held back from broadly smiling outright – and she said, “I am very glad to hear it. I anticipate a long and mutually beneficial relationship between Crown and admiralty during my reign, and had no desire to start on the wrong foot.”

“Those sentiments are most encouraging, ma’am – indeed, it is my privilege to share that the admiralty feels much the same.” Adam bowed once more, and then gestured to the awaiting stone fortress. “Towards that shared goal, we may begin at Your Majesty’s pleasure.”

“You have my permission to proceed,” Victoria granted, and, with their pleasantries thus concluded, they stepped within the castle walls.

From the first, it was perhaps obvious why Adam chose to start his tour of Portland’s defenses – and his proposed renovations for those defenses – here at the castle. What was once a Tudor stronghold, built when Henry VIII himself anticipated an invasion from the combined forces of France and the Holy Roman Empire for his breaking from papal authority, had aged poorly over the years. Even to his untrained eye, William could see where the masonry was compromised in more place than one, from roof to windows to foundation, with telltale lines of deterioration spidering and cracking and chipping great gaps of missing mortar and broken stone by troubling degrees.

Yet, to the left of the small courtyard, there were signs of new construction, where the property’s current private owner – for the Crown hadn’t found the cost of repairs and upkeep sustainable following Napoleon’s defeat – was transforming the old lodge for the master gunner into a grander prospect, better befitting a gentleman’s dwelling in residence. They were briefly introduced to Captain Charles Manning as such, but that interlude included only a brief exchange of respects and the honor of an introduction to the queen before they resumed their business of state once more.

With that, they continued on, walking down the short path to the perfunctory block that served as a supportive structure for the lower and upper seaward batteries. Once inside, as perhaps could have been anticipated from the signs of wear without, the thick, stagnant smell of murk and mildew was the first to greet them. The fort was almost entirely empty but for a few, scattered pieces of furniture that had been deemed too cumbersome to move, but it was more than apparent where the damp in the air had affected them for the worse. Above, a rotting timber ceiling wept with unseen leaks, and the empty embrasures for the now absent cannons had moss and lichen growing down from their blackened chimneys. The stone walls were damp, with calcite stains streaking in long white lines, while the sound of trickling water could be heard from somewhere deep in the shadows, pooling in the depressions pocketing the worn cobble flooring. This, he saw, Victoria observed with growing disquiet as their tour continued.

“This fort has not stood equal to its purpose since the First Civil War,” the vice admiral concluded, once they made their way to the roof – and gladly partook of the reprieve of fresh air its open expanse provided. “It has not been deemed worthy of any large-scale attention by the Crown since the seventeenth century.”

From their singular vantage, Victoria’s eyes were not at all taken by the view of the harbor – as she would have delighted in anywhere else. Instead, she looked down to where the lead tin lining of the battery roof was streaked with rust to match the leaks in the chambers below – and then even further down to where the brackish waters of the Channel lapped and eroded at the foundation of the fortress with deliberate, timeless patience.

For some time, Victoria merely considered both the vice admiral’s words and that which she had seen with her own eyes. Respectfully, Adam tipped his head and clasped his hands behind his back, granting her the time she required, much as William did.

“This structure is not currently used as any sort of naval fortification; is that true, Vice Admiral?” at last, Victoria elected to further her understanding, rather than giving a premature opinion. She spoke carefully, as if testing every word for error, before voicing it aloud. “At least from what I can tell, it seems more a landmark from our past than fit for active employment at present.”

“Yes, ma’am, that is true.”

“Then,” her brow furrowed to continue, “where are the current defenses for the Isle? And Weymouth, too,” she added, gesturing to the distant, inland shore of the crescent harbor. “In the event of a threat from abroad, what fortifications do we have in place for the protection of this bay?”

There was nothing of the showman in Adam, yet he let that moment’s silence stretch and linger.

“That is just the point of the matter, Your Majesty. There are, as of now, no suitable defenses in place for this portion of the coast.”

Victoria blinked, startled, before she made an effort to subdue her reaction. “None?” she repeated.

“In an emergency, we may resurrect the defenses here, but, as you see . . .” Adam waved a hand, and let the sight of the fort speak louder than words.

“You mean to say that, should times of sorest need befall us, the only possible support for our ships is a ruined keep that’s currently under private ownership? Ownership rights that we would thence be forced to violate in order to reclaim use of the batteries?” Victoria surmised for clarity. Her voice took on an edge when she asked: “Is my understanding correct?”

“Indeed, it is, Your Majesty,” Adam said, before he added – stating William’s case before he need speak, “Or, in the interests of full clarity, I should say that there are no defenses that are based on land. We, of course, have patrols in the Channel that any threat would need to overcome, and then there are ships-of-the-line posted within the harbor itself.”

Adam gestured towards the mouth of the harbor, where a proud man-o’-war currently sat at anchor, her sails furled as she gently swayed with the waves – and she, William knew, was the sole naval vessel that was not currently out on active patrol.

Until that point, William had been content to let Adam present his report in silence – and he yet still would, to better allow Victoria to reach her own conclusion on the matter (in the interest of aiding her admitted struggles with impartiality) – but he then found it necessary to add, “Should it ever be required, the Crown’s exercising such an extreme course of action is a clause of the Mannings’ lease – they do not have absolute ownership for just that reason. Also part of that lease,” he added, although with an admittedly sardonic expression that belied his words for the truth, “is seeing to the restoration of the castle.”

As predicted, Victoria crinkled her nose. “So far, they have only succeeded in turning the officer’s house into a more comfortable residence for their own enjoyment. I have seen much in the expansion of the gardens,” she scoffed, “yet little care given to the heart of the fort.”

“Indeed,” William made no attempt to obfuscate, “your understanding is complete, ma’am.”

Victoria let out a breath through her nose, even as she continued to parse the matter for herself, “Yet, should the Crown invest in such defensive measures now, I believe that I may safely assume that the amount required for such repairs would be . . . dear; would it not?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Adam was honest to admit. “There are some who would count the cost as steep.”

“Too steep to attempt at present?” she continued – but, before the either of them could answer, she appended: “Oh, I see – that is why you are proposing new forts for the coast, and merely renovations for others?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. In some cases, the admiralty does advise building new, such as here on the Isle in strategic locations – yet we are amenable to the compromise of modifications and repairs done for a number of our preexisting defenses.”

Victoria glanced his way, plainly seeking counsel, but William kept his gaze respectfully lowered. In answer, she looked one last time to the harbor, taking in the fishermen and the merchants and the maritime population hard at work on the docks – her citizens all, whom she was bound by blood and oath to defend.

Then, she turned back to Adam. “Where are these suggested sites? The Crown grants leave to hear the admiralty’s proposal.”

Adam was, if not pleased outright, then clearly satisfied for his queen’s willingness to listen. “If Your Majesty would see fit to accompany me to the Verne Heights,” he respectfully intoned, “then this is what the admiralty would advise."



.

.

The journey to the Heights took only minutes to reach by carriage, traversing the winding switchback road to where a series of dramatically ascending green hills served as the highest point of elevation upon the Isle. The gently rounded summit of Verne Hill itself was marked by an ancient stone circle, left from the time of their Briton forebearers. The locals called this place the Druid’s Temple, Adam shared, even if the exact purpose of these standing stones had long been lost to the blurred memory of history.

No matter that only whispers remained regarding the purpose of these rings, they respectfully walked around the circle, rather than passing through. William was quite content to give the entire ring a wide berth – even as Victoria ventured closer than either he or Adam dared, all the way to the boundary of the stones. There, she stopped and stared, and after a long, hesitant moment, she pressed her palm and splayed her fingers against the stone's broad face. As he held back with her entourage, William wondered what the queen saw (what she felt) when she looked upon one of the greatest mysteries of her realm. For his part, he could feel no obvious signs of magic, however that would supposedly manifest – none but for that ever present, intangible sense of time – yet he could not know if that was because the stones themselves were simply silent, as all stones were, or if he was deaf to hear them speak.

If that was a fanciful thought, perhaps unbefitting of their age of enlightenment, he did not know – but William supposed it best to quiet such musings in respect of the unknown, just in case.

At length, Victoria stepped back from the ring, and recalled her attention to the purpose of their visit. She came, and joined them in looking out from the vantage of the Heights. From here, they were afforded an unparalleled view of the Isle in every direction – they could see both the east coast and the west, as well as the north, along with the long span of hills and fields stretching to the south. Even a half mile or so inland, it was easy to see how the Verne posed a strategic location for their modern advancements in long-range artillery in order to guard access to the harbor. Towards that end, Adam presented his sovereign with the architectural drafts and surveyors’ reports collected by the admiralty, painting a picture of how the main citadel – and the proposed eastern and western high angle batteries – would look in the time to come, expressively gesturing to the vacant land as it now stood.

Or, at least, it stood vacant as man would describe. Besides the silent sentinel of the standing stones – which would have to be torn down to fit the current parameters of the proposed design, William was uncomfortable to consider – the summit was adorned with a crown of late summer grasses and many hued wildflowers. Birds fluttered, seeking seeds and berries and unseen insects from the hidden world at their feet, while blue-winged butterflies and pollen-laden bumblebees meandered in constant diligence from flower to flower. At this elevation, the wind off the Channel was swift and indomitable, dancing to greet the tall grasses as if they were a rippling sea of their own to match the waters far below. The sight was as idyllic in a natural sense as it was hallowed in the sublime, and thus, could be called full to overflowing in an ancient claim of its own.

While paying the vice admiral but half a mind – he knew these reports to the point that he could sketch the designs from memory, if so called upon – William continued to observe Victoria as she too stared at the untouched Heights. Her eyes flickered as Adam spoke, perhaps imagining a time when the proposed complex of forts and bunker defenses would mar the serenity of this natural area with the admittedly ugly, if unfortunately necessary, bulwarks of war. She pursed her mouth, deep in thought, before her gaze turned back to the harbor, and then to the Channel itself.

With his descriptions thus concluded, the vice admiral too looked at the mouth of the bay – yet to a far different consideration than his queen. His expression shadowed as his heavy brows furrowed, taken by the pall of a distant memory.

As such, William thought to know what story Adam would tell, even before he addressed Victoria to say, “In May of ‘04, a French fleet was seen off this very coast – there, ma’am, at the boundary of the Grove cliffs.”

Adam gestured towards the southeast, pointing out a span of now empty water – roiling and restless, yes, but answering the pull of nature’s might, rather than man’s. “I had command of the Resistance at the time, and our orders were to supplement the Portland Fleet as part of the enhanced defenses required whenever the king took the waters of Weymouth for his health – as he did then.”

Victoria followed his gesture to stare at the water. “They came so close? And so near to Grandfather? I had not known.”

Adam gave a great exhale, disturbing the gold epaulets on his shoulders. “I must admit that it was as much a surprise to us then as it is difficult to fathom now. I could hardly believe the report when it came – and it caused a far greater uproar upon the land, as Your Majesty may imagine. Just as the sun rose, the infantry had to evacuate the whole of the royal family with the utmost expedience, all the while tending to the mass exodus pouring from the coastal towns. It was rather . . . chaotic, to say the least.”

“If I recall correctly,” yet William mused aloud – then seeing the need to interject, for the official telling of that day’s events ultimately gave credence to a far different story, “the fog was so heavy that this supposed French fleet may have been anything but what it was first assumed to be. There was no conclusive evidence that the coast guard had seen anything more than, say, a group of fishing boats that had somehow been mistaken for warships in the mist.”

Yet Adam held fast to return: “Whether or not there was a greater French fleet remains unsolved to this day. I can say, first-hand with my own eyes, that we chased a French frigate away from the coast – we’d nearly succeeded in running her into the Shambles, but she escaped with a bit of the devil’s luck – with the Portland Race being as fickle then as it is now.”

“I completely believe it possible that a single French ship was blown astray by the previous night’s storms,” William remained entirely nonplussed. “Yet the presence of a sole frigate makes more sense than an entire fleet poised for invasion, would you not agree?”

“We may only conjecture in the abstract,” Adam gave – if after a pointed moment. “At the time,” he gathered the threads of his story to continue, “His Majesty was thoroughly convinced that Napoleon intended to focus any attempted invasion in Dorsetshire, rather than Kent or Sussex, as the admiralty believed. We’ve since learned that Little Boney did intend such an attack, but was ultimately forced to abandon the idea. Regardless, the fact remains that the French have seen fit to breach our coast, more times over the centuries than I can mention; who can say that they shall not attempt to do so again?”

Victoria, who’d fallen silent to hear told of the events proceeding her birth, then offered, “Yet the French are no longer the threat they once were, are they not?” Her voice was earnest as she presented her own reasoning – sweetly so as she looked from Adam to him and then back again.

“King Louis Phillipe has been very kind in his letters. He continually expresses his desire for improved relations between our countries, and sincerely so, I believe. His son was even considered as an option for my consort – if briefly.” Yet she crinkled her nose in distaste for that truth, given how fond she was of the younger French prince, and pushed onwards with, “His daughter is now my Aunt Louise – my Uncle Leopold’s wife. The king is thus family. Should not the French be on equally familiar terms, in reflecting the bonds of their sovereign?”

William paused, considering how best to say that Louise Phillipe – only recently returned to Paris after a lifetime spent in exile out of fear for his would-be citizens – held but an unsteady crown atop a teetering throne. The ability of this tenacious scion of the House of Bourbon to rule in longevity was no sure thing – with only Napoleon himself having held uncontested control of France since the onset of the Revolution. Should the reign of the Citizen King ever come to an aborted end . . .

Well, it went without speaking that it yet remained an uncertain future for France, and thus, uncertain for Britain herself.

For Victoria’s sentiments, Adam could have thought his queen feckless at worst, or merely naïve to the ways of the world, which was dangerous in its own right. The vice admiral certainly could have spoken in counsel, and undoubtedly intended to enlighten her as such, but there was no need. Victoria heard her own words as they were uttered, and William watched as her shoulders briefly fell in consternation before squaring anew.

“However,” she amended, “that is perhaps idealistic of me to say. Of course we should prepare our fortifications for any contingency. We mustn’t be caught unawares because of the look of the thing now.”

“I applaud Your Majesty’s trust and kind heart,” Adam said – and William felt satisfaction to believe his sentiments true. “In a perfect world, it would indeed be that simple. Yet, with the governance of France ever changeable and the tendre of its public yet so volatile . . .”

“I understand,” Victoria said simply. She then looked – taking in first the standing stones and the living swath of wildflowers upon the summit, and then down to the waters surrounding them on every side. Finally, her gaze fixed on the Grove cliffs, and she made her determination.

“What would it take to prepare our shores as the admiralty best sees fit?”

“630,000 pounds, ma’am,” Adam stated, without any attempt at prevarication. “That would be just to start, and just here on the Isle alone.”

Somberly, William added, “With a proposed total of nearly 12 million pounds for the entire coastal project, Your Majesty – not to mention the cost of raising, and then supporting, an artillery force to man these new defenses in perpetuity.”

Victoria’s jaw fell open, if ever so slightly, before she remembered her dignity. “That is a very great sum. Perhaps too great,” she unwittingly took William’s own view on the matter, and without his influence to reach that point, “for a time of peace.”

Adam had doubtlessly anticipated her argument, and was undeterred. “What better time is there to build than in peace?” he countered. “By the time conflict strikes, it will already be far too late.”

“Yet you speak of a theoretical future conflict, all the while a great portion of our population remains at war in their day-to-day lives,” William remarked – and he would have continued to elaborate the point further, had Victoria not vocally agreed.

“This last year alone, our expended relief for the poor has amounted to less than . . .” yet she faltered, perhaps doubting her knowledge on the matter, before she stated, “seven million pounds.” Victoria did not look his way, yet William felt as paused, awaiting a correction. When one was unforthcoming, she continued, “Such efforts have yet to eclipse that number in the last decade, even though we live in a supposed time of progress and reformation.”

The sting those words may have usually garnered was then tempered by his intention to speak toward the betterment of that failing. So, William carried on for his queen and said: “And that is not to mention the unprecedented lows those figures dropped to during our wars with Napoleon. How can we justify an investment that would detract from that number yet further when far too many cannot afford the cost of bread? Those are the laws that truly require an amended allotment of royal funds, not - ”

“ - so Your Lordship would pour money into more workhouses?” the faint baroque of Adam’s voice thickened, but William steeled himself, absorbing the blow as it struck.

“Indeed, Vice Admiral, you rather make my point for me,” William agreed outright. “That provision was first intended to be – and yet should be – a safe-haven for those in utmost need; it is untenable that reality is currently the furthest from. The purpose of the entire system is abused and the distribution of their resources severely lacking in oversight – especially in our northern counties.”

Where the industrial barons yet grew their power by such exponential degrees that Parliament could not impose regulations fast enough to keep pace – they could not even keep those magnates from holding seats in government as the wealthy ever benefited the wealthy – but that was yet another argument to make at yet another time.

Sometimes, those arguments seemed endless (impossibly so), but, in this moment . . .

“More than workhouses, we need a provision to help struggling families stay under their own roofs during lean times – to say nothing of keeping coal and bread within those homes, nor the laws that would improve working conditions overall and mandate fair pay for the work done under those conditions.”

He'd surprised Adam, William knew – but he was not sure if the Sea Lord approved of his view, or merely bemused in lieu of his adjusted stance, after so many years of endeavoring for neutral compromise on every side of the matter. Either way, he watched as Adam considered the dozens of rejoinders at his disposal where the responsibility of government spending was concerned – even from his premiership alone.

Yet Adam proved to be far too much of a loyal minister to voice those particular condemnations aloud. Instead, he held fast to argue: “And if our defenses are breached by the French while we tilt at these windmills – what then? Certainly that unthinkable fate would prove all the more detrimental to those who currently struggle to get by – more detrimental, even, than how our laws currently stand, as per the last relief bill passed by Parliament.”

“I am hardly saying that the admiralty’s proposal is a venture that should be ignored,” William too kept his focus on the matter at hand, “merely postponed. I agree that it is imperative to maintain the defenses we currently have, yes – but to invest in such a vast slew of new forts at this time seems grossly unwise.”

“The Tories will not see it that way,” Adam warned – aiming the spear of his last argument towards ambition and vanity, rather than duty and sense. “If they are not appeased on this matter now, they will seek their own satisfaction once they reclaim the House – sooner, perhaps, rather than later.”

Yet it was already an irrefutable fact that his days as prime minister waned, even as they spoke – regardless of what he did or did not do for the realm’s defense before his death knell sounded. In practicality, however, William was little concerned. A Tory government led by Wellington would undoubtedly push for this proposal and others of its ilk, yes – but Sir Robert Peel was a far more cautious man. If William had to predict, the rather conservative Tory (bordering on a reformist, even – God, but how the post of First Lord would eat the man alive, and that was if his own party failed to do so first) would become prime minister when his own government fell, and on this point, at least, their opinions were one and the same.

That truth, Adam knew as much as he did. So, instead of speaking any unnecessary riposte aloud, William merely smiled a slow smile to deflect with an affected weariness, “And risk angering my own party to appease the malcontents across the aisle? You must know the names the radicals have for me already. I find it quite tedious to indulge them as it is, without adding this matter as fodder for their vitriol.”

Adam considered his reply – undoubtedly weighing just what more he could push for against the current needs of the people and the stance of the government he served – but allowed himself to be disarmed. Ruefully, he commiserated: “Just as Your Lordship knows how equally creative they are in reference to myself.”

A look passed – and there; they were understood.

Standing between them all the wile, Victoria too understood as much. No matter that they had dominated the conversation for a time, she had not ceased to attend their words in the least. Instead, she had watched and listened and learned all the while – even though he did not fail to notice how her small hands wanted for fists to hear his dwindling time in office so starkly referenced, before consciously releasing their tension. He was glad when she did not utter her own thoughts on that particular matter aloud – besides the (decidedly non-political) interest Adam would take in such a statement, he knew that Victoria would ultimately have no true need of him, which she would quickly come to realize once he was gone, little as he himself would ever -

- yet William knew better than to allow such a distracting thought to overtake him. He couldn’t – not here, not when the execution of his duty was of paramount importance, to the exclusion of all else.

It was that duty which Victoria also chose to uphold: “I must admit that I hear sound arguments from both sides,” she ventured into the natural ebb of conversation. “To make the best of each stance, is a compromise in any way possible?”

Adam sniffed – rather like an elderly matron who’d just thoroughly had their sensibilities shocked by a youth’s scandalous phrase. “Compromise?” he repeated, all before he rightly corrected his form of address to continue in a more befitting manner: “Your Majesty, with all respect due to the Crown, there can be no . . . compromise placed on the security of the realm.”

Victoria stiffened for his initial chastisement – and William saw where she drew back (undoubtedly hearing slithering phrases like foolish child and incapable little girl), just as she so often did in those quick, incendiary seconds before she chose to strike back with a piquant reply of her own.

Yet it had since become natural for him to bolster her calm by refocusing her attention, even as he spoke towards supporting her aim as queen. “Oh, to the contrary,” he pleasantly disagreed, with an insouciant expression that was as droll as it was pointed, “I believe that a great many things necessary for the continued prosperity – and indeed betterment – of the realm could be accomplished with a little compromise. After more years spent fruitlessly arguing in government than I care to mention, I’d call Her Majesty’s wisdom entirely refreshing.”

Adam seem prepared to argue the point, before the stern cast of his features eased. For there was a truth in his words – in her words – that even the old soldier had to admit. “I believe you would,” he wisely settled to comment, “for it quite aligns with Your Lordship’s own approach to governance, does it not?”

Again, William shrugged. “I have been called worse things than a man inclined to compromise. For truth – on that one point, if somewhat ironically, both my detractors and supporters will ever find common ground to agree.”

“My profession does not make much room for peace,” Adam admitted, “even when peace is our ultimate goal. It has, instead, fostered every inclination within me to fight whenever I see a battle that requires waging.”

“Which is why you are perfectly suited for your own post. Any government worth following should make way for such contrary opinions, if only to arrive the most effective solution possible.”

By then, Victoria had given up her want for war, calmed as she’d allowed herself to be by his own peace. Instead, in keeping with the dignity of her crown, she drew in a breath, and cast a last look around the Heights.

“Well, then,” she said, regal and poised, “in the interest of compromise, what could both Parliament and the admiralty reasonably agree to expend on the Isle?”

With that, Adam bowed deeply once more, and received Her Majesty’s leave to continue with his proposal.



.

.

It was nearing the evening hour when they reached the final stop on the vice admiral’s tour at Blacknor Point – a stretch of cliffs spanning between Hallelujah Bay and Mutton Cove on the western side of the Isle.

Much like the hills of the Verne, the high ground here was nothing more than a craggy span of jagged rock adorned by a somewhat sparse scrub, yet no grasses – but it was particularly awe-inspiring for the same height that made it such an ideal point of defense, which exceeded even the cliffs to the east. They looked out on the Atlantic side of the Isle, where the long span of Chesil Beach and the arch of the greater Lyme Bay gracefully curved to the north. Just to the south, far and away and yet all too close at once, waited France; while, to the west, was the sweeping extremity of Devon and Cornwall; yet, if one looked just so between the two landmasses, the waters were unceasing all the way to the East Indies. It was there that William fixed his gaze, content to contemplate the incomparable vastness of the ocean as the restless tides eddied and inexhaustible waves thundered at the foundations of the cliffs far below. The clouds, which had lightened to a uniform shade of dove grey during the afternoon, now darkened ominously overhead. William could feel the storm building in the air, even as the ocean itself rumbled in anticipation.

It did not take long for Victoria to join him in his vigil, where they were momentarily left to themselves as the vice admiral consulted with his aides. For some time, they did not speak, before Victoria sighed to comment, “It remains quite the thing to consider, does it not?”

“Yes, ma’am; it often feels so when contemplating a venture as ambitious as this one. While I do not think this proposal viable now, it shall inevitably be passed within the next decade or so. Progress ever has a way of pushing inexorably on.”

“That it does,” she said, before, rather pensively, she amended, “And yet, it is not the proposal of these forts which concerns me – or, I should say, not entirely.”

He waited, yet she – ever expressive with her opinions, both those for good and those for ill and those vulnerable truths in-between – hesitated. He patiently held his own silence, granting her the space she needed in which to grapple with her thoughts.

“As queen,” at length, she found her words, “I have the ability to declare war.”

. . . that, he had not been expecting.

William withdrew his attention from the ocean, and turned towards his sovereign. There was a part of him that reflexively wanted to say that it would never be quite that simple – that it would never be for her as queen, nor even for any man as king in their modern age. Yet, at its heart, he knew it wasn’t to the protocols of government to which she spoke. Instead -

“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed, his voice grave. “You do.”

Victoria drew in only the most noticeable of breaths. “And if I am ever called upon to do so,” she continued, trying once more to wrest that which was too large for speaking into what meager words she could, “then the men who will someday command these forts – and all those who even now wear a uniform . . .”

“They will serve at the pleasure of the Crown,” he stated firmly – for, towards that truth, he could honestly speak. “It is the honor of any true man to fight for queen and country.”

Still, her countenance remained troubled. He looked, and saw where her gaze had turned down the coast, to where France and the Continent waited just across the water. “Perhaps they may feel that way in the beginning,” she muttered, “yet I cannot imagine how it feels on an actual battlefield . . . or when they . . . or when their families . . .”

No matter her best efforts, she could speak that thought through to its conclusion – instead, her voice fell to a whisper, given to him and the sea alone, “Then, fault shall rest solely upon me for giving the command.”

William did not immediately reply. He did not say that he understood – if in his own imperfect way. He did not offer up comparisons of his own service – those harrowing times when he had both obeyed orders, and given orders of his own to be obeyed. Perhaps he would at some other time – for there was a part of her that wanted to ask, he rather suspected, yet she then did not.

Instead, he gave her what quiet empathy he could in order to process the subject for herself. These were heavy thoughts for one so young – no matter that so much of her life had been comprised of such thoughts, he gave, thus canceling out the youth of her days in far too many aspects to count. Her hands clasped and unclasped, and she almost imperceptibly shifted her weight from foot to foot, restless in her agitation. Feeling that he could at least provide relief in that one sense, he turned, and did not have to take a step before she followed her own inclination, and they walked down the cliff-line together.

(For she often found comfort in motion, both in body and mind; she was not at all a woman made for stillness.)

As they walked, William consider his reply – wanting to balance the assurance that she would never have to make such a decision alone with the admission that heavy indeed was the head that bore the crown. All that any of them could really do was learn to exist under the burdens bearing upon their shoulders, and find what strength they could in others to better share their yokes until the weight was eased.

In the end, however, he said not one of those things aloud – not when he saw . . .

“Ah, Your Majesty, look here,” he was delighted to approach a spattering of purple flowers growing near to the brink, where the scrub had receded to give way to an inhospitable bedrock of salty dust and sunbaked stone.

That sudden interruption of thought took Victoria a moment to process; she did not comprehend, not at first, before her gaze focused, and she followed where he gestured.

“Oh, they are very pretty, Lord M,” she approved, “if somewhat wild in nature.”

“Indeed, they are most wild,” he agreed, kneeling on the ground to better examine the spray. “It may not seem so at first, but this is one of the rarest flowers in the kingdom: Portland sea-lavender. It grows on the cliffs of Dorset, if mainly upon this Isle, and then in scattered pockets along Devon’s shoreline. They are quite the hardy little survivors, who not only tolerate such an unforgiving home, but thrive.”

Victoria knelt across from him, taken by the enthusiasm in his tone. She cupped one of the bunches of blossoms in her gloved hand, careful to not press, and considered them further. “It does not look like lavender – or, at least, not exactly,” she remarked, looking to him for confirmation.

“You have a good eye, ma’am – they are kindred in name only.”

“They are all their own,” she said softly, almost to herself. A moment passed, and her frown returned to tug pensively at her mouth. “If they are so rare, a fort here would disturb their numbers yet further, would it not? So many things shall be disturbed if given the command . . . to detriments as much as advancements.”

And he knew that she did not speak of the sea-lavender alone.

So, he addressed the heart of her troubles, and found his words to say, “If such an end ever comes to pass, it is a decision you shall not make alone.”

“But I am queen,” Victoria allowed herself no reprieve. “My people – and history itself – will look to me for every victory and defeat, not the committee who advises my reign.”

“I think that both your people and the annals of history are canny enough to understand that the Crown works in concert with Parliament.” Theoretically, Parliament represented the voices of her people to complete the circle, at that – but that topic held thorns of its own. “Perhaps more so than at any other time in the history of our realm, the Crown cannot act arbitrarily.”

“That may be true, and yet,” she struggled to wade through her misgivings aloud, “as queen . . .”

She did not have to say that any engagement entered into during her reign would be all the more scrutinized for the woman wearing the crown, rather than a man. He understood.

Yet, ultimately, that could not matter.

“You are no autocrat like Henry VIII, ma’am – you are beholden to your people,” he could speak only to the facts entrusted by their Constitution. “You have wise councilors – those who have made it their life’s work to defend the realm. Not one person, woman nor man, is capable enough to make such a decision alone, but together, we may make the most informed decision possible, as best we can.”

“And if that decision still proves to be wrong?” Victoria could not so easily surrender her doubts. “What then?”

“Then,” he stated firmly – willing her to absorb his belief as her own, “we shall face that together as well.”

Victoria answered with silence once more. Her eyes fell from his, and she fixed her attention to the contrast of the pale purple flowers against the white of her glove. She ran a careful thumb over the pinnated whorls, and then said – more to the plant than to him, it first seemed, “I am very grateful to have you here to make such decisions with me, Lord M.”

The trust of those words settled within him like hearth-warmth. In the interest of duty, it was perhaps beholden upon him to caution that it wouldn’t always be this way – it couldn’t, and Her Majesty would best serve both herself and her country by making peace with that fact now, rather than later – yet he found himself replying, almost without conscious thought, “And it is the great honor of my career,” (of his life), “to serve your reign, ma’am.”

Her answering smile was small – but he felt it like sunlight.

It felt prudent to look away from her then, little as he may have truly wanted to. So he did, letting the respectful inclination of his head turn his gaze down to the flowers once more.

There her attention also returned, and she asked, “Does the sea-lavender have a meaning?”

That, he thought, was a much safer topic. So, he found his voice to answer, “They are not wide-spread enough to have a meaning of their own – some have been proposed, but none have ever quite stuck. Everlasting flowers, the greater genus has been called. As for the Portland variety, tranquility, resilience, steadfastness – peace after weathering a storm – have all been suggested by various sources.”

“Those are all fitting,” she gave her approval. “Well then, we shall just have to make a determination of our own. Hmm,” she cast a gaze around their greater surroundings. “Perseverance, obviously, is more than fitting – they must be quite resilient to make a place such as this their home.”

“Quite so.”

“Then, to tie it all together . . . ” she mused, still stroking the petals, “would perseverance in love do? For Venus herself once rose to life from the waves, did she not?”

As the waves even now rumbled against the base of the cliffs, he could not disagree.

“I always imagined that those waters were wild to start,” Victoria further explained, her cheeks pinking, “and then calmed for her beauty. Perhaps that is silly of me, though. Undoubtedly, someone further versed in such things could manage better than I to – ”

“There’s nothing silly about mankind’s desire to put imagery to the incorporeal – much as you just did, Your Majesty,” he interjected before she could abrade herself further. “That is the entire basis of the Language of Flowers, after all, at its very core.”

Her flush deepened, even as she pressed forward to recover with a quip: “How about it, then? Do you think the meaning will catch?”

Still, she waited to hear his answer, her shoulders tense with apprehension and anticipation both.

Yet he had not the slightest contention to give. “I believe that, as Queen of England, your interpretation holds higher than any other, ma’am – or, at least, it shall to me.”

Again, the sun shone in her gaze.

“We should take a cutting back to London,” with that, Victoria continued brightly. “If propagated, we could make this species less rare in the gardens – at Buckingham or Windsor, or even both.”

“I would like nothing better, Your Majesty. Yet I would caution that some species are not meant to be transplanted. The sea-lavender thrives on the salt and the sun and the rock – on that intangible element of the ocean storms – even more so than what sustenance we could feign inland. It’s very possible that it would wilt within any glasshouse or garden, no matter our best efforts.”

“Oh,” Victoria whispered. Her face fell, ever so slightly, before she managed a wry smile to admit: “Do you know that I've never much considered where flowers come from before? They have always just been there, present for me to enjoy, either by garden or vase.”

How could he not find her anything but endearing in moments like these? The impetus was far to much for him to resist. “I imagine that's something you’ve never had need to think of, ma’am,” William was careful to tag his words with the respect due to her station, “nor were you ever presented with the possibility that you could.”

Slowly, Victoria nodded – and, for once, her countenance did not shadow for a reminder of Kensington. Instead, she remarked, “I find that I now consider a great many things that I never did before.”

“And that,” he commented dryly, “will never stop as long as you continue to grow. I find that I haven’t yet, even with my advancing years.”

She slanted him a glance – much as she did whenever he referenced (with all necessity) the difference in their ages – but let his words go in favor of asking, “If I took a single sprig, do you think that would hurt the plant? I would like to press a selection for my diary, in order to better remember this day.”

“Oh, I should imagine that you’ll find the sea-lavender most obliging. It would take far more than an appreciative beholder to do it any true harm.”

William did not mention that he yet worried for all that she included in her journals as it was – he could only advise so many times before a reminder for caution instead irritated for its insistence – and aided her in taking a clipping from the plant.

With that, they both stood – and just in time for the vice admiral to venture their way, ready to proceed with the conclusion of his presentation.

“Please, forgive our distraction, Sir Charles,” Victoria showed her favor in familiarity, before granting, “You have my permission to continue.”

William held back for but a moment longer, watching his queen as she took her place in command. Then, with a last glance at the resilient little flowers, he walked to resume his place at her right hand, and, as ever, just a step behind.



TBC

Spoiler: End Notes

A Note on the Forts: Eventually, the 1860 Royal Commission on the Defense of the United Kingdom was passed in Parliament, and these proposed forts were built. Henry Temple, Viscount Palmerston was indeed the one to push the measure through - and its execution is still remembered as Palmerston's Follies for the great expensive mess it turned out to be. For this story, I imagined that the admiralty first tried to pass the bill with Melbourne, and then Peel, (maybe Russell? Derby doesn't count ), before they found a prime minister willing to throw his weight behind the bill. Because Palmerston would.

But, before the Forts were built, the Portland Roads were updated and fortified to become Portland Harbor as we know it now, with construction beginning in 1844. I like to think that this meeting - this compromise - helped set the foundation for more necessary advancements to the Isle, instead.

A Note on the Verne Citadel: Technically, the Verne Citadel already existed on Portland as a new structure, but that didn't fit my storytelling purposes - especially as I wanted to include the standing stones, too. Those stones were torn down in history, even if Portland has since built the Memory Stones and the Everlasting Circle to honor both their history and the unique, natural environment of the Isle.

A Note on Portland Silver-Studded Butterflies: These butterflies are a symbol of the Isle - much like Portland sea-lavender - but they are now rare. Although their status as a species is not yet endangered, their numbers are dropping to the point where they very may well be in the future.

A Note on Portland Castle: Yep, this may not be what you think of when you hear the word castle. But it's very much a fort! Here's the landside view:



And here's the seaward view



And this is the interior view - though, in Victoria's time, a roof covered this space, so that cannons could also be placed on the floor above.



So, certainly function over form. But it's a piece of history! Before the time of its construction, the Crown had left the building of coastal defenses to the lords they empowered to guard those regions. But Henry VIII was Henry VIII, and made a new precedent to have the Crown take more direct control of the nation's fortifications. Which may have made sense, given that France, Spain, and the Holy Roman Empire were very much not his friends at the moment, and with due cause, it may be said.


From here, I tried to keep everything as self-explanatory as possible in the text! Though, as always, if anything else catches your eye, please let me know; I'd love to chat.

~ MJ