Story [Victoria] "As the Periwinkles Bloom" | OTP "How They Met" Challenge | Kingdom!verse AU, OC/OC

Title: "As the Periwinkles Bloom"
Fandom: Daisy Goodwin’s Victoria
Author: Mira_Jade

Genre: General (Fluff, Family, Drama)
Time Frame: my Kingdom!verse AU; Future Fic; 1852
Characters: Prince Victor (OC)/Georgina Wellesley (OC), Queen Victoria/Lord Melbourne, The Duke of Wellington; Ensemble OCs and ECs

Summary: In which an alliance is made - perhaps in more ways than one.


Notes: Hello, lovely readers! First and foremost, I should begin by saying that this was written in response to the OTP #33 "How They Met" Challenge. I don't usually feature OCs in my work, let alone two OCs, so this has been quite the experiment! But with all of the fantastic OC authors on the boards, I had quite a few stellar examples to inspire me, and so they did. This story will be told in three parts, that said - I promise that I was trying to write a single long vignette, but once my anticipated word count passed 18k words, a break then seemed more than necessary. At the very least, this first part answers the challenge requirements, and then I will have the next two parts up in quick succession.

From there, all I really have to say is that this is an entirely self-indulgent story, set about a decade or so after my "A Kingdom Where My Love Can Stand" AU. Yet you don't need to know anything about that story or Daisy Goodwin's Victoria - or even history, for that matter, as I'm quite cheerfully chucking RL out the window. All you need to know is that, in this AU, Queen Victoria did not marry Prince Albert, but rather Viscount Melbourne, her first prime minister . . . and now, here we are.

I do, however, have notes on my AU Royal Family and the cast for this story beneath the spoiler tag. Beyond that, I thank anyone who may be interested in reading, and hope that you enjoy!

Spoiler: Character Notes

A Note on My AU Royal Family: Have I spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about what Queen Victoria and Lord Melbourne’s family would look like in this AU? Why, yes; yes, I have. My OC Vicbourne babies are as follows . . .

• Victor Cyrus Augustus: The Prince of Wales and their eldest child, born in 1842. (Yes, I’m giving Victoria a bit more time before jumping right into motherhood – she ascended the throne in 1837, for reference, and married Melbourne in 1840.) As for Victor’s name, I'm irrationally annoyed that not one king or queen after Victoria was her regnal namesake, so I'm fixing that. Augustus is to honor his late half-brother, while Cyrus was chosen out of Victoria’s desire to name her child a name that she preferred – simply for its sound and meaning of sun – rather than another namesake, as well as serving as a throwback to a great king in his own right.
  
  
• Wilhelmina Mary Louise: The Princess Royal, “Mina” is the eldest of twin girls, born in 1844. (Twins technically ran in Melbourne’s family, not Victoria’s, but still, I couldn’t resist the idea once it struck. ) Victoria initially wanted to name her son William, which Melbourne cannily saw Parliament taking A Very Great Issue with, but he was then more than honored to have his daughter as his namesake. Mary is for the Queens Mary I and II, as well as Victoria’s mother’s Christian name, Marie-Louise. Louise was also Baroness Lehzen’s given name, whom Victoria wished to more subtly pay tribute to as the woman who raised her in every way that truly matters. (As another side-note, Lehzen is not sent back to Hanover in this AU, and remains the Superintendent to the Royal Children and a valued member of Victoria’s family until her retirement and death. I have spoken, History.)
  
  
• Alice Elizabeth Adelaide: The youngest of the twin princesses. In history, Alice was the name Melbourne favored for a girl, and it is thought that Victoria named her own daughter Alice to honor her former prime minister. Elizabeth, of course, is named for Queen Elizabeth, and once again plays the dual role of honoring Melbourne’s mother, Elizabeth Lamb. Adelaide was chosen for Queen Adelaide – Victoria’s predecessor and one of her earliest supporters and female role-models. (For those keeping track, Alice is the daughter that has already featured in Kingdom as her mother’s foremost biographer of the era.)
  
  
• Edward Peniston Owen: The eventual 2nd Duke of Melbourne and a Commander-in-Chief in the Royal Navy. The baby of the family, Owen was born in 1847 – needless to say, he was rather a surprise to his parents, who’d made the decision to stop their growing family at three, given how hard pregnancy was on Victoria's physical and mental health, and to help her better balance her duties as a queen and mother. *side-eyes history* Owen is named for both of his grandfathers, as well as for his several times great-grandfather in Owen Tudor. Owen Tudor was a Welsh household attendant to Queen Catherine of Valois, and married her once her first husband, Henry V, passed. This commoner and the queen was a great love story, and resulted in the birth of the Tudor dynasty. Victoria was being cheeky once more – as well as choosing a name for her son that she preferred, again, for its own sake.

A Note on Georgina “Ginny” Wellesley: In history, she was the youngest granddaughter of Field Marshall Lord Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington through his youngest son, Lord Charles Wellesley. (Although, in this story, she’s the second-oldest child of Lord Charles, for timeline purposes – you know, butterfly wings and hurricanes when it comes to AUs and all that. ) The Duke of Wellington had admittedly strained relationships with both of his sons – their family was a classic case of a famous father who had high expectations for his comparatively less than illustrious heirs – but he doted on his daughters-in-law (even going so far as to support Lady Elizabeth Wellesley when her marriage to his firstborn went awry) and his grandchildren. He only had grandchildren through Lord Charles, at that, which made those relationships all the more special. In this ‘verse, he’s particularly close with Ginny – who perhaps inherited his mind for tactics more so than anyone else in his lineage to date.

Ginny’s aunt, Lady Elizabeth, was a frequent lady-in-waiting to Queen Victoria; she even advanced as far as mistress of the robes (senior-most lady-in-waiting), and was eventually granted the Royal Order of Victoria and Albert William for her decades of faithful service to the Crown. At the onset of this story, Lady Elizabeth secured a posting amongst Victoria’s ladies for Ginny’s mother, Lady Augusta, during the tenure of the Conservative Prime Minister Lord Derby. Lord Charles, Ginny’s father, was the MP for Windsor at the same time, and he’d gained a slight bit of political headway in the year 1852 as a member of the Conservative Party, which was currently in power but a moment. Which leads us to . . .

A Note on Edward Smith-Stanley, 14th Earl of Derby: He was the prime minister for a matter of months in 1852. (Although he would eventually be reappointed as First Lord for two more terms in 1858-1859 and 1866-1868.) He headed a ministry of almost complete political unknowns, which quickly collapsed and gave way to Lord Aberdeen’s subsequent government. His ministry was nicknamed the “Who? Who?" Ministry due to the Duke of Wellington purportedly shouting out “who? who?” when Derby’s cabinet was announced in Parliament. The Duke of Wellington may just have been very old and very deaf when he did so – but I hold with the opinion that he was more cantankerous and sassy in his dotage than actually senile . . . especially for the purposes of this story, which is set within the same year.

A Note on Edward Henry-Stanley, 15th Earl of Derby: I am borrowing this character from history for his name and relation to Lord Derby, and nothing more – mainly because the RL Edward Henry-Stanley would have been 25 years of age in 1852, not 12, and I'm really painting his character in an unfavorable light, to say the least. (Sorry Eddy, I’m sure that you were actually a gem. )

A Note on Queen’s Consort Lord William, 2nd Viscount Melbourne: Needless to say, in this AU, Parliament was just as hesitant to elevate a mere viscount as Melbourne was to be elevated following his marriage to Victoria. (Which is another story I still have yet to tell, just you wait. ) Parliament didn’t want to set a precedent for future royal marriages, and neither did they want to make royalty that wasn't born, and, historically, Melbourne had already turned down a dukedom and knighthoods from both of Victoria’s uncles. He was as unambitious as a former politician could be – which allows him to devote himself to fully supporting his wife’s reign without attempting to undermine her rule in order to advance his own power. *side-eyes history again* As such, he’s still just the 2nd Viscount Melbourne, but he’s also styled as the Queen’s Consort. Victoria was decidedly Not Happy with this arrangement – she wanted her husband made prince consort, at the very least – while Melbourne can personally imagine no better title. In the end, both were ultimately happy that Parliament didn’t insist on a Morganatic marriage, thus leaving their children free to inherit their mother's royal titles and take their place in the line of succession. (Eventually, Parliament does award both a dukedom and the title of prince to Melbourne – but that’s well after even this story and really jumping ahead into the future of this AU. )

And, finally, that last note brings us to the story itself!


Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, but for the words.

---

"As the Periwinkles Bloom"
by Mira_Jade​

I.

The great difficulty in leaving Brocket Hall behind for the summer was that it made Windsor Castle even more oppressive by comparison.

The castle was dark and drafty and old (as old as William the Conqueror, Victor could dutifully recite from his studies), no matter the great lengths the House of Hanover had gone to in order to transform the castle into more of a palace, complete with every modern convenience. (Nearly bankrupting the nation in the process, Victor perhaps knew better than to repeat from his father. George IV never saw a tax pound that he couldn’t spend on his own vanity.) Yet, despite their best efforts, Windsor was still exactly what it was first purposed to be: a stronghold; a symbol of sovereign strength and military power, above all else.

When coming from Brocket Hall – a royal residence in mere name, and only because the queen favored her husband’s country estate as such – which was all happy comfort and true warmth, those losses felt stark indeed.

Yet Victor Cyrus Augustus was a prince of the blood and heir apparent to the English throne. He had a duty, not only to complement his mother’s rule through his own grace, but to Set an Example for his younger siblings and ensure they did the same.

. . . which could admittedly be a somewhat difficult endeavor at times.

“Owen, don’t tug your tie so,” Alice huffed at their brother in such a tone that invariably ensured that Owen would do the exact opposite of that which he should. “You’re pulling it loose.”

(Alice, Victor once overheard Grandmother Kent say, was all too pleased to no longer be the baby of the family – and, as such, quite delighted in reminding their youngest sibling of his place in her stead.)

“But I can’t breathe,” Owen continued to pick at the knot – stating the obvious in that way of his that baldly implied that his audience was utterly daft for not reaching the same conclusion for themselves.

(Mother held the opinion that Owen would grow out of his stark tongue – as he was only just five years old. Father, however, said that Owen was the most like his mother out of all her children, and rather had his doubts on the matter – for which Baroness Lehzen and Grandmother Kent quite agreed.)

(Their mother, Victor remembered, had been very cross with them all that day – but in that way that wasn’t truly cross in the slightest.)

(Mama, after all, when she was truly cross, was frightful to behold.)

“Oh, don’t speak to me about not being able to breathe,” Alice gestured down at her dress with a huff, “not when you don’t have to be trussed up like a chicken in so many layers of petticoats.”

“Then don’t wear them,” was Owen’s entirely unsympathetic reply. “You should put on trousers too – and then we can both not wear our ties together.”

“Would that I could.” For a moment, Alice appeared torn, before she remembered herself. “But that’s not how the world works – society would quite frown on us if we were not to dress appropriately.”

“I don’t even know who society is – why do they matter so much, anyway?”

“They just . . . ” Alice scrambled for an answer, “they just matter. After all, scandals happen when you challenge society – and we don’t want that now, do we?”

“I don’t know,” Owen said honestly. “What’s a scandal?”

“It's a . . . a scandal is a very bad thing!”

Seeing that their brother was hardly prepared to take Alice’s word on the matter – if anything, Alice looked to doubt her own previously held convictions, which wouldn’t do in the slightest – Victor chose to intercede and say: “It’s important to wear your tie, Owen, because you’re a prince of England. You must do so for Mother.”

That, at least, drew Owen up short – for there was no one in the world that he loved more than their mother. Yet, still he tried: “Mama will let me go without my tie – you’ll see when I ask her!”

There may have been some truth in his words, and yet: “Mother may,” Victor gave, “but Baroness Lehzen will not.”

Owen paused, considering, before he loosed a frustrated sound in defeat. “Mina,” he turned to the elder of the twins, “can you help me with my tie?”

“May she help you with your tie,” Alice corrected, scowling to be so passed over for her sister.

“Can you help me, Mina, and not fuss like Alice?”

“I don’t know – can she?”

Mina gave a sigh of her own. “Yes, I can, and I may.”

Alice looked at her twin, betrayed – and for a moment their identical faces were locked in silent conversation before Alice broke away with a sour expression. “Fine – but make sure he buttons his jacket, too.”

“It's too hot outside to wear a jacket.”

“Owen,” Mina said gently, “you must promise not to take your jacket off until after the party.”

“Why? Because of the scandal?”

“Because I am asking you – and it shall make Mama proud.”

Owen hesitated – and that gave Mina the opening she needed to finish knotting the tie. “Fine,” he said mulishly, “but the moment the party is through . . . ”

Yet anything else that Alice could have thought to retort was lost to the flutter of commotion just beyond the nursery. (Mother had a great deal more attendants when she was at Windsor than at Brocket Hall, which was another mark against the castle, if through no fault of its own.) Their ever present guards snapped more fully to attention, and their ranks were joined by even more soldiers still. Then, at the head of the procession, walking briskly with a self-assured air of absolute command, was -

Owen, for all that he’d been cross with his sister just a moment before, stood up straight and tall – as if for Mother to better see and approve of the fruits of his labors – while Alice and Mina smoothed their own dresses for her inspection. Victor, for his part, waited patiently to the side, knowing how important these moments were for his siblings. (For Mother’s attention was ever more divided at Windsor than it was at Brocket, as well.)

But as soon as their mother crossed the threshold, Queen Victoria faded away with a smile that brightened from her to fill the room, and she was simply Mama once more.

“Beautiful, my loves,” Victoria approved of her daughters – whose gowns were cut of the same fabric of pale green stripes against cream that she herself wore to match – and even Alice looked pleased, no matter that she’d liked nothing better than the thought of trousers just a moment before.

Owen, too, was treated to the same inspection – though Victoria playfully clasped the boy’s hands, drawing his arms away from his body in order to better look him over, and she squinted to say, “Owen, is that you? I hardly recognize my son – you look so handsome in your new coat and tie.”

Then safely hidden behind their mother’s skirts, Alice – forgetting, for a moment, her status as the not-baby of the family – stuck out her tongue in a triumphant gesture. Owen, to his credit, hardly seemed to notice, or at least chose to ignore her antics if he did.

“It’s very tight,” yet, no matter his best efforts, Owen still couldn’t help but maintain – nearly resigned to his fate, but doggedly endeavoring to try, one last time, even so.

“It’s too tight, you say?” Victoria's brow furrowed in concern, before she looked over her shoulder – meeting her husband's eyes just as Father finished speaking with Colonel Griffith at the door, and joined his family in the nursery. “William, may you please check Owen’s tie?”

“Of course,” their father brushed by Mother with a smile, and knelt down before his youngest, eyeing the tie with a critical expression. “Ah, I see – this won’t do at all.”

“I wish that it wouldn’t do,” Owen tried – just barely keeping from the whine that he wouldn’t have had the slightest compunction in voicing, even at the start of the summer.

“Don’t we all?” their father readily commiserated. “Here,” he made sure the collar was as loose as possible before reknotting the tie. “How does that feel?”

“It feels like a tie.”

“And I’m afraid that it ever shall – but I’ll tell you what: when we’re done with your mama’s garden party, how about we ride out in the Great Park together – and you may do so entirely without a tie.”

“Entirely without?” Owen’s eyes widened. “But what about the scandal?”

Bemused, their father glanced up at their mother. Scandal? he clearly mouthed, while Mother held up a hand to hide her own smile – if not a snort of laughter outright.

“We can brave the opinions of society together,” yet Father assured, dropping his voice as if to conspire. “I shan’t wear one either.”

Owen perked up for that promise – all before he hesitated. “Won’t Lehzen mind?” he asked, before leaning forward to whisper, only for his father to hear. “Lehzen is scary when she does not approve.”

For that, Father’s eyes danced as he wryly confessed, “Indeed, I too find Baroness Lehzen quite terrifying when she withholds her approval – so let us see.” Still kneeling before his son, he turned over his shoulder to where the baroness had entered the room alongside two of Mother’s ladies and Grandmother Kent. “Baroness,” he respectfully inquired, “would you mind terribly much if the prince were to ride his pony without a tie after Her Majesty’s guests depart?”

Baroness Lehzen, Victor thought, gave their father a most reproachful Look before her stern expression softened ever so slightly. “If His Highness does well to behave throughout the garden party,” she gave her sole caveat in warning, “then, perhaps, this one exception may be made.”

“There you have it.” Father turned back to Owen – who beamed in utter delight. “How does that sound?”

“That sounds very good,” Owen approved – and even Victor fought the urge he had to reach up and fiddle with his own tie at the promise of soon being able to remove it.

He had an Example to Set, after all.

Yet his endeavors were rewarded when he was then fixed with his mother’s full attention while Father went on to properly compliment his daughters’ dresses and how very much like their beautiful Mama they looked. “My sun,” Mother said warmly – in that tone of voice that Victor liked to think was just for him. “Look at how very grown up you are.”

He bowed most properly in answer. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Oh no, not you too, Cyrus,” she tweaked his chin in playful reproach. “Not here, not when it’s just us.”

Victor fought not to smile – as he knew had been her intention. “Thank you . . . Mother.”

“That’s better,” she approved – and he could not help but smile to match, just as the steward came in to announce the time. With that, even the queen of England was forced to bow to the must needs of duty, and her family readied themselves to attend her.

“Once more unto the breech?” Father caught his eye to wink as Victor held back, waiting for Grandmother Kent and Baroness Lehzen to walk his younger siblings out first.

“Once more,” Victor answered in turn – as had long been the custom between them – before he too prepared to follow.

As such, he could only just hear as Father leaned very close to Mother’s ear to say: “Are you sure that I must go, too? I still lament that your uncles were able to stash their inconvenient inamoratas away from the court, and yet you are not – it’s frightfully unfair that I am not awarded a similar such consideration, I daresay.”

Mother smiled that smile that was ever just for Father, even as she returned somewhat dryly: “How good it is, then, that you are not my paramour, but my husband.”

“That is but a trifling detail that most in attendance would prefer to forget.”

“Would they?” Mother arched a brow. “More’s the pity, then, for you know that I do so love reminding them.”

Victor looked back in time to see his parents standing before the vast panes of the windows, the summer sunlight streaming in from behind them and illuminating them both with brilliant warmth. Father raised Mother’s hand to his mouth and kissed it, and, for a moment, Victor thought that they were aware of no one else in the room.

“Well then, what can I do but serve at Your Majesty’s pleasure?”

“Which you quite do, Lord M – you always have.”

With that, Victor joined his siblings, his heart eased in a way that he could not consciously describe – not then, at least – but would, in the years to come, think back on, and remember with every satisfaction in all due contentment.



.

.

Georgina Wellesley sat straight and tall in her seat in the carriage, watching as the green hills of Windsor rolled by in gently undulating waves. The tall downs of the Great Park were capped with groves of equally verdant trees and carpets of colorful wildflowers, stretching as far as the eye could see underneath a blue sky filled with cottony mounds of sun-kissed clouds above. It was a very pretty picture – something right out of a storybook, even before they caught sight of the castle, just visible over the forest canopy in the distance ahead.

If pressed to honesty, Ginny was admittedly grateful to see the castle – for it had been a very long ride from Hampshire (and seemed even longer still), and she was fighting the urge she had to fidget in her seat, which most certainly Would Not Do.

. . . Father did not like it when she fidgeted, after all – and, after two hours spent in a carriage together, she was loathe to unwittingly set off anything else of which her father Did Not Approve.

Yet, even when she was not the trigger for her father’s temper, be it knowingly or unknowingly, Lord Charles Wellesley still preferred to speak of all those things that he Did Not Approve – and at some length.

“Lord Derby has far too many unknowns in his cabinet,” he repeated – not for the first time that journey. “The prime minister needs to bring legitimacy to his government – especially if he wants his tenure to be as durative as those of Peel and Melbourne. The Wellesley name can only add credence to his ministry in all necessary distinction – for which he’ll surely agree.”

“Yes, Husband,” came Mother’s answer – which were two of the only words that Lady Augusta Wellesley had spoken since leaving Headley Manor behind.

“And if he does not, I have a duty to my party – and through it, my country – to remind him.”

“Indeed, Husband.”

Grandpapa Wellington liked to call Lord Derby a halfwit and a ninny – and Ginny wondered why, if that was true, her father was so anxious to gain the prime minister’s approval for himself.

That, however, seemed like a Great Unkindness – and an Impudence, too – and so, she kept her opinions to herself in silence, just as Father ever expected of her otherwise.

For her part, she was grateful that she had been permitted to come along on this journey in the first place, rather than staying behind in Hampshire with her youngest siblings. This was her mother’s first season attending Queen Victoria as one of her ladies-in-waiting, and the queen had kindly welcomed her ladies to have their children accompany them when taking up a post at the royal family’s summer residences. The nurseries of Windsor, it seemed, were quite vast (George IV constantly saw the need to expand them, Grandpapa liked to chuckle, although Ginny didn’t entirely understand why, as the old king had but a single daughter in Princess Charlotte), and the queen endeavored to extend that hospitality for the sake of her own children (whom Ginny was curious to meet), as much as her ladies’ comfort and joy.

Ginny was entirely happy to go anywhere that her mother was (even if she found it strange that Father seemingly thought that this was his visit to the Royal Court, when it was Mama’s instead) and meant to prove herself worthy of such an honor.

. . . just as she knew that her brother wished to prove in his own right.

With that, she turned her eyes up just enough to glance at the bench across from her, where Henry sat very straight and still by their father’s side. Henry was only a year her senior, but already a whole head taller – he’d shot up like a sapling that summer, Grandpapa had said, pride in his voice to proclaim that Henry would finally be the man in his family to match his own height. (Father, for some reason, had liked that compliment for his son but little.) For now, though, Henry merely looked uncomfortable and awkward and even more pressed into silence than usual – but Ginny liked to think that his shoulders eased ever so slightly when he caught her encouraging smile, and, as always, she hoped that that little bit could be just enough.

The carriage continued down the road, and the closer they came to Windsor Castle, the more her eyes widened to understand the sheer scope of the vast old fortress. The castle loomed above the treetops, as if endeavoring to swallow the surrounding forest whole. It seemed quite indomitable to her eyes – so much so that when they at last reached the bottom of the long drive (such a long drive) and her father asked for his son’s opinion on the royal construct, she considered her own as well.

“It is . . . it’s much larger than I expected, sir,” Henry replied in all honesty, his thoughts mirroring hers, much as they ever did.

“It seems lonely,” Ginny whispered unbidden – and, sure enough, Father looked at her as if surprised to hear her speak.

“Lonely?” Lord Charles repeated with a scoff. “What nonsense are you going on about, girl? Don't you know that it’s impossible to feel alone when one is surrounded by the court.”

That, Ginny thought, seemed just as discomfiting – though in a way that she couldn’t quite put into words to voice aloud. (And not that she would, even if she could – for to gainsay Father simply Was Not Done.)

When they, at long last, reached the height of the drive – where a line of gleaming equipages deposited a stream of lords and ladies dressed in their finest summer silks – Ginny daintily took the hand of the footman who reached to help her alight from the carriage (even when her first instinct was to jump unaided) and waited for the rest of her family to disembark.

As she was then, for a moment, quite left free to do so, she tilted her head to look up and up and up at the castle (a stronghold, Grandpapa better called it – which she now well understood), up the facade of red-grey bricks to the imposing twin towers that framed the main entrance, and the guards she could even now see, manning the crenelated line of the parapets with their firearms locked at the ready. Distantly, she felt a shiver, no matter the happy warmth of the summer’s day.

“Now,” Father said – in that tone that ever brokered No Disobedience and with No Exception, “from this moment forward, the eyes of all the court shall be upon us. Don’t shame me, boy – you are a Wellesley, and I expect you to comport yourself as such.”

Father said nothing to her – but then, Ginny hardly expected him to. It was usually for the best when he took little notice of her, anyway.

Instead, she gave Henry what a small smile she could before falling into place just behind her mother – and, together, they stepped within the shadow of Windsor.



.

.

The Home Park of Windsor was expansive enough so that the gathered throng of lords and ladies wasn’t too great a crush – but it felt a very near thing.

His mother had already formally received her new ladies back in London, just following Lord Derby’s appointment to First Lord in May, but they'd yet to attend her while she spent the first half of the Parliamentary recess at Brocket Hall. As such, this gathering held an importance of its own, all without adhering to the strictest rigors of formality as would have been observed at Buckingham Palace. For his part, Victor was simply grateful that he was now at an age where he wasn’t fawned over and petted like one of Mother’s spaniels by the ladies who quite thought they had every right to do so – if only because he was a child and they were favored in positions of honor by the queen.

Or, at least, he wasn’t for the most part – Lady Lilford still liked to pinch his cheeks, no matter that he was hardly a baby any longer, so much so that he rather had an abstract fear that she would continue to do so, even when he was a man grown into his full majority as king.

Lady Frances – who was Aunt Emily’s daughter and one of the cousins he knew best as a frequent member of Mother’s ladies – usually protected him from the worst of it, and he wished that she wasn’t off minding the younger children just then, keeping them occupied with games and treats on the shores of the lake. If not Lady Frances, he would have been just as happy with Lady Emma or Lady Harriet – who were just as close to his heart as his actual aunts, and whose loss he then felt most acutely.

“Unfortunately, my ladies must change with the prime minister – to show that the Crown supports the government without partiality,” Mother had first explained the concept to him with a teasing glance at Father that told a story that he wasn’t yet privy to understand. “Emma and Harriet will be back as soon as Lord Derby’s term is through, though – of that, I am certain.”

“They may be back before overlong, at that,” Father had muttered in that way of his that was more pointed observation than the quip that disguised it as such. “Which is a pity for Lord Derby – we haven’t had a prime minister last less than a year in office since Lord Canning, and that poor fellow’s term was cut short by natural causes, at the very least.”

Even Victor had heard of the Who? Who? jape that had been made in Parliament for Lord Derby's cabinet – which he thought was very amusing, even if in such a way that he Knew Better than to laugh at for himself.

(The Duke of Wellington, it would seem, was one of those very few to whom certain rules most curiously did not apply. Such was his right, Father had explained rather wryly, for being the Iron Duke – a great war hero and a former prime minister and a living symbol of national pride, all.)

As such, Victor dutifully stood by his father’s side, just to the right behind Mother’s wicker chair, which she used in place of a throne that day, underneath the great white awning that had been erected on the green to keep away the worst of the summer sun. Seated to his mother’s left was Lord Derby himself – who was a gentleman that Victor did not mind terribly much. If pressed, he would simply say that he had no opinion on the new prime minister one way or another – which was, he yet understood without truly understanding, perhaps half the danger to begin with.

What he did mind, however – even if he understood that it was an Unkindness to think as such, and so, he endeavored to keep his opinions from manifesting in any way that would bring dishonor upon the Crown – was the Earl of Derby’s eldest son, Lord Edward, who stood at his own father’s side, and thus, in far too close proximity to he himself.

Eddy Derby was only a year or so older than Victor, but he was one of those sorts who was . . . less than gallant. He liked nothing better than to look down on those around him (in a way that Mother and Father most certainly Would Never Tolerate from their own children) and rarely had a kind word to spare for anyone. What was even worse, he was the sort who rather seemed to enjoy giving his unkind words a voice, and ever in a way aimed to cut and barb and blow.

He was, simply put, a bully – and rather a chore to endure as such.

Yet Victor could then ignore Eddy as much as he liked while attending the procession of his mother’s ladies. He was the Prince of Wales, after all, and it was dependent upon him to add to the majesty of the Crown; thus, he did so by giving each lady his full attention as they renewed their acquaintances with the queen, and introduced their families in their turn. Amongst the ladies, there were those that he knew already – and their children, too – yet there were many that he did not. The lords in attendance were just as varied, and he recognized far fewer than he had when Sir Robert Peel was late his mother’s prime minister.

. . . Victor never thought that he would miss Sir Robert, but found that he quite did so then – as the Peel grandchildren, at least, had ever been amiable companions in their own right.

An interminable amount of time seemed to pass as one courtier after another paid their respects – wherein Victor fought not to fidget and had to recall himself, more than once, to refocus his attention – before he saw a face that he very much recognized. In this lord's presence, he stood up even straighter – as straight as he possibly could, the same as he would when standing by Mother’s side as she opened Parliament or endowed knights with their titles or inspected the troops – and tilted his chin to meet the yet still flinty gaze of the Duke of Wellington.

The duke was an elderly gentleman with a shock of white hair and deeply set lines furrowing the skin of his brow. He leaned heavily on his cane as he walked, but his eyes were clear and watchful and canny – much the same as Baroness Lehzen’s eyes were clear and canny, in that steely way that missed not a single detail – and his voice was strong as he presented himself to the queen and her consort.

And then: “Let me look at you, Your Royal Highness.”

The tone of command in the Duke of Wellington’s voice was just that – no matter how genially intended his request – and Victor obediently stepped forward to present himself for the old general’s approval.

“Yes, yes,” that approval was quickly granted, and Victor allowed the tight line of his shoulders to ease, if only ever so slightly. “You’re the mirror image of your father at this age – and a good lad, too, I trust?”

Respectfully, Victor replied: “As far as it may depend upon me, sir.”

For his words, the duke loosed a sharp – but pleasantly warm – bark of laughter. “And that would be your father’s answer, would it not?”

“I am pleased that you think so, Your Grace.”

Wellington’s smile only grew, for all that it sharpened as he turned back to the queen. “I have always said that our enemies would be fools to cross Your Majesty – but now, between your tenacious strength of spirit and your husband’s clever tongue . . . the House of Kent shall continue to do Great Britain proud, now and far into the future to come – of that I have no doubt.”

Victor looked and saw where Lord Charles – the duke’s son, who waited in precedence behind his father – looked as if he'd swallowed something sour.

“Your kind words honor us,” Victoria accepted the compliment, and Victor looked back in time to catch the undisguised pride in her expression. “We have no doubt that His Highness shall be our best self yet, and, until then,” she dropped the royal pronoun to add, just as she herself, “he and his siblings are my great delight and every joy.”

“As is only right and proper, ma'am,” Wellington approved. “And, on that note, may I be so bold as to presume the honor of introducing my grandchildren?”

“We would like nothing better,” Victoria welcomed. “Lady Elizabeth speaks most highly of her niece and nephew – she has for years, and we are now all curiosity, we must confess.”

“It may be a grandfather’s prerogative to say that Lady Elizabeth hasn't exaggerated in the slightest – but I am confident that is not only my bias speaking,” the duke proudly declared – and, with that, he waved his grandchildren forward from behind Lord Charles and Lady Augusta.

“Your Majesty,” Wellington then formally introduced, “it is my great delight to present Henry Arthur Wellesley and Georgina Anne Wellesley – Henry, Georgina, you have the honor to be presented to Her Majesty Queen Victoria.”

Both children dutifully bowed and curtsied, and Victor watched as his mother kindly received their respects. Henry, the eldest, was just older than he was, with russet colored hair and brown eyes. He seemed the quiet sort, especially next to his grandfather – or perhaps all the more so because he stood next to his grandfather. That was not, Victor did not think, entirely a bad thing – and Henry did look up and curiously return his stare with one of his own. Yet, by his side, his sister – whose hair was the same auburn-gold shade, even if her eyes were more grey than brown – very boldly met his own gaze, and did so entirely from the first.

She had, he thought – albeit in a distant, abstract sort of way – very pretty eyes.

The duke next introduced his grandchildren to Father, and then it was his turn.

“Your Royal Highness,” Henry bowed, and, “Your Royal Highness,” Georgina echoed with a curtsy.

Victor returned their greeting with a bow of his own, and said truly: “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

He straightened, and looked over to catch his parents’ approving expressions – just as the Duke of Wellington nodded smartly to say, “Most excellent, indeed.”

(Wellington did not, Victor noticed, introduce his grandchildren to either the elder Lord Derby or his son – although, perhaps they were already acquainted?)

“Now,” Victor was then surprised – but very much pleased – when the duke continued to say, “I believe that Lady Frances has arranged a scavenger hunt for the children, has she not?”

“Yes, she has,” Victoria confirmed. “Shall your grandchildren be participating?”

“Oh, I rather expect them to take the field by storm – and would even be so bold as to ask if His Royal Highness has already found a partner for the game. Together, I expect them to be quite the force.”

Victor looked from the Wellesley siblings to his parents and back, and very much hoped that his mother would say yes. He wanted to join the game for its own sake (though he would most dutifully stand and attend the queen if must needs), and he would rather be paired with someone else – anyone else – before Lord Derby could request that he join together with the likes of Eddy Derby instead.

His mother, he thought, quite understood – though her gaze remained fixed in its usual mask of distant serenity, for a moment her mouth twitched, and her eyes rather brightened to say: “Indeed, we are most pleased to accept your most kind invitation on Prince Victor's behalf.”

“Your Majesty is as gracious as she is kind,” Wellington bowed to say, even if he had to lean on his cane in order to complete the courtly gesture. “I can imagine that His Highness shall find no better partners for the game – nor they than His Highness.”

“Nor can we,” Victoria agreed – and then waved him forward to grant her leave.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Victor stepped close to the queen's chair to say with a small bow – all before his mother did narrow her eyes in a moment’s teasing censure and he amended, even if it was on a very soft whisper: “Thank you, Mother.”

“That’s better,” she approved, just as softly.

“Are you sure that I may go?” he yet asked, no matter his own preference on the matter. “I may stay here, with you, if it is necessary that I - ”

“ - my dear boy, please do not fret. You will have to sit through far too many of these when you are older. Please, go enjoy yourself – and I shall find my own joy through you.”

“If . . . if you are sure."

“I am most sure," Victoria said smartly, and then raised her voice to say for the gathering to hear: "Now, you have our permission to depart, and though we should perhaps be impartial, you have our best wishes for your success. Good luck.”

“Thank you . . . Your Majesty.” Perhaps it was cheeky of him, but he let himself smile just wide enough for his mother to understand his intent, and he heard her fond huff of breath as he turned to leave with the Wellesley children. He crossed the boundary of the tent, and looked back just in time to see his parents trade amused expressions – all before Henry and Georgina fell into step behind him, and they ventured out into the park to join the game together.



TBC


~MJ

 

So, I do not know the show Victoria at all, nor am I am 100% on top of my British history of this period. But I enjoyed this story very much, and it definitely makes for a compelling AU of history, one could say. Like Chyn, I love how this is a formal occasion but not too formal, and everyone present, from the queen down to her kids, can be their own selves there with impunity. And of course I smiled to see the characterization of the kids as kids with kids’ interests and wants (such as getting out of that darn tie!) even though they of necessity are growing up in these royal and noble circles. It was great that the event was planned with them in mind, with the inclusion of the scavenger hunt. I too really liked Victor’s interaction with Wellington—I can see that they admire each other—and he definitely clearly sees that there is much to admire in Ginny, too! I see this is marked TBC, so I’ll be very curious to see where Victor and Ginny’s interactions go during this (for them) fateful event! Lovely work as always, and thanks so much for being part of the challenge!

 

This has been on my To Be Read List for awhile, and I am delighted to get around to reading it at last

Ah, the manifold burdens of the eldest child.

This description gave me a chuckle.

I am sure that she is!

The sibling dynamics here were so precious and adorable.

This father and son moment warmed my heart.

So sad that she feels that way about her father.

A good answer!

Well done, and I am eager to see where the story goes next