Victoria Confesses (9781442422469) (28 page)

On the third day I organized another ball and danced a lively galop with my husband, and on the fourth day we returned to our apartments at Buckingham Palace, where my darling would have his own rooms next to mine, and my dear little bed had been replaced by one that was VERY large and VERY grand.

The nights—oh, those blissful nights! They were far too short, and the VERY, VERY happy days seemed to
fly
by. I was SO much in love with my husband, and I knew that he was in love with me. There was never quite enough time to spend walking with him in the palace gardens, with his greyhound, Eos, stepping primly by his side and my little Dashy literally
dashing
in every direction. Dearest Albert tried to teach me the names of every growing thing and demanded a kiss when I could not remember them—my memory became remarkably poor! He often took my hand in public, which made me blush with pleasure. When we were alone, it was dearest Albert who undid my
laces and rolled down my stockings, Albert who removed the pins from my hair and let it fall over my bare shoulders. I teased him that I now had an official
undresser
.

I had always known that we had differences. But I soon began to discover just how MANY differences and how strong those differences were. My dearest Albert was not at all fond of dinners and balls and concerts that lasted far into the night, after which I loved to step out onto the portico of the palace as the sun rose behind St. Paul's Cathedral. Albert much preferred quiet evenings of reading and music, game after game of chess, and early bedtimes. I enjoyed the city; Albert felt more at home at countrified Windsor than he did in lively London. His interest in the natural world greatly exceeded mine.

There were other, far more serious differences. I had made up my mind not to involve my husband in political matters—perhaps this was owing to the suffering I had endured at the hands of Sir John—and I made it a point always to meet with Lord Melbourne alone. I refused to discuss affairs of state with dearest Albert, and I became irritated when he presumed to offer advice or to do anything that suggested to me he might consider himself my co-ruler and entitled to share my authority.

“I have learned from my brother that Queen Maria da Gloria of Portugal has made your cousin Ferdinand her king consort,” Albert informed me stiffly. “He determines which visitors may see her, and then they may do nothing more than kiss her hand. He takes over from there.”

“The English are not at all like the Portuguese,” I explained patiently. “My people are very jealous of any foreigner who interferes in their government.”

We argued—again. I lost my temper—again. I rushed weeping to dearest Daisy.

“Of course you are
quite
right, my dear Victoria,” she said, as I expected she would. “You are the sovereign, and your husband is simply your husband, nothing more. The prince must learn this. But perhaps you are not handling his missteps in the best possible way.” When I was calmer, she continued, “If my memory is correct, even as a little girl you were given to outbursts of temper. Do you remember your Good Behavior Book?”

“You made me write in that book every time I threw a tantrum or stamped my foot or spoke impertinently,” I said with a rueful smile. “Are you suggesting that I need a Good Behavior Book now?”

“No, I'm not recommending that. But I
am
suggesting that losing your temper is not the way to control Prince Albert. Dear Victoria, I believe that you can accomplish that goal very easily if you flatter and cajole him. Stand firm, my little love, but sweetly!”

I made every effort, but still I found myself snapping at dearest Albert, refusing to listen to even his mildest suggestion on the most trivial matter. One day he snapped back, “I see quite clearly that I am only the husband, and not the master of the house.”

“Because it is
my
house, not yours!” I shouted at him, forgetting dear Daisy's lesson entirely.

The argument grew more heated. He stared at me for a moment before he turned and stalked out. I leaped up and followed him, still shouting, “Albert! Albert!”

He ignored me, went into his room, shut the door, and BOLTED IT. I pounded on it furiously.

“Who is there?” came a peremptory voice on the other side.

“The queen of England!” I cried.

I expected the door to be opened at once, but there was only silence. The door remained closed. I pounded even more furiously than before. Again the stern voice called out, “Who is there?”

And again I roared, beside myself with wrath, “The queen of England!”

Then a third time, but this time less harsh: “Who is there?”

I paused, my lips quivering. Then I replied in a completely different tone, “Albert, it is your wife, Victoria.”

The door was immediately opened. We looked at each other, tears in our eyes, rushed into each other's arms, and kissed and kissed again. So much in love!

And then, only a
very
few weeks after we were married, I discovered that I was carrying a child.

I should have been happy to find myself with child—that was the natural thing and what everyone expected—but I was
not
happy. Far from it! I was utterly dismayed and out of sorts, because this was the very thing I had dreaded. I had tried just once to raise with my beloved Albert the possibility of delaying such an important development, asking him rather timidly if Stockmar, a trained physician, had offered any advice on the matter.

“It is against the laws of nature and the will of God,” dearest Albert said. He seemed nearly as appalled as Lady Harriet had been.

“Yes, yes, of course, my love,” I said, though I was not at all certain of God's views of the matter and had prayed night and day to be left free for at least six months. My prayers had not been answered, so perhaps dearest Albert was right.

“It is simply beyond me that anyone could ever wish for such a thing to happen,” I wailed to dearest Daisy, who was the first person I told. “Especially at the beginning of a marriage.”

“But, my dear Victoria,” Daisy said, “the prince must be overjoyed. And the duchess, I'm sure, is delighted. King Leopold, too, and Lord Melbourne! Your subjects will be pleased beyond imagining to know that an heir is on the way.”

“I haven't told any of them,” I said crossly.

“No one? Not even your husband?” Daisy exclaimed, clearly surprised.

“Not even Albert. He'll only make a fuss. Or Mamma either.”

I saw very little of my mother since I had moved her out of Buckingham Palace to a handsome house on Belgrave Square that she complained was too small.

“Then it shall remain a secret between just the two of us,” dear Daisy promised, “until you are ready to share your good news.”

Eventually, of course, I
did
tell dear Albert, and he
did
make a fuss, but of the nicest kind, calling me by the sweetest of names, until I let it slip that I had already talked it over with Daisy and she was making plans for the royal nursery. His mood changed abruptly, storm clouds swiftly covering the sun. He regarded me with narrowed eyes, tapping his finger against his upper lip in a way that NEVER FAILED to irritate me. “You have already discussed this with Lehzen? Before telling me?”

“Yes,” I said, lifting my chin and meeting his unwavering gaze. “And she will take charge of the nursery.”

“Victoria, she is already meddling in the running of the household and making a hash of it,” Albert said sternly. “She can hardly be expected to do better if she is in charge of the nursery. I forbid it.”

“
You
forbid it, Albert? YOU? You have no authority to do anything of the sort.”

Another row had begun, only one of many in the months that came after.

Parliament passed a Regency Bill, naming dearest Albert as regent in the event that I died, leaving a child as heir to the throne. The vote of confidence did wonders for his mood. My mood improved, too, as my time approached. I had my husband's writing table moved into the same room with mine, and my reliance on him increased day by day.

On the twenty-first of November 1840, a dark, dull, windy, rainy day with smoking chimneys, I gave birth to a baby girl. She was to be christened Victoria Adelaide Mary Louisa. I had always enjoyed children from about the age when they had begun to talk, but I did not much care for babies, their wailing and froglike squirming, and I was happy to turn her over to the care of a nurse. Mrs. Southey had been most highly recommended by the Archbishop of Canterbury. It was dearest Albert who doted on our infant daughter from her earliest days and called her Pussy, a name we all adopted.

Albert and I celebrated our first anniversary in February, and our little princess royal was christened. Her father was delighted with her behavior through the ceremony. “Our Pussy seemed immensely satisfied at the lights and brilliant uniforms, for she is very intelligent and observing,” he noted with satisfaction.

I was once again VERY happy! If only things could have remained as they were—so idyllic! But alas, they did not. Every day, it seemed, dearest Albert managed to find fault with something dear Daisy had said or done. And Daisy behaved in the manner of a jilted lover, deeply jealous of Albert.

“My dear Victoria,” Daisy said to me more than once, “the prince no doubt is a loving husband, but he cannot know you as well as I do—I who have been with you since your birth, who heard your first words and watched your first tottering steps! No man can boast of that! And he cannot begin to know what we two endured at the hands of Sir John Conroy.”

Naturally, I agreed with her—how
could
Albert possibly understand what it had been like for me? Had it not been for dearest Daisy, I might not have had the strength to resist Sir John's—and Mamma's!—insistence that I name him my private secretary and give him immense power. “You have always been my closest confidante,” I assured her, “and you always shall be. I remain devoted to you.”

The friction between Daisy and Albert was a constant irritant. But matters grew still worse.

I was pregnant again.

Oh, how I hated it! I complained bitterly to Lady Harriet, my mistress of the robes and the mother of a brood of seven. “I can enjoy nothing, not travel about or go about with my husband. If I could have waited at least a year, it would have been very different!”

Lady Harriet smiled, unperturbed, apparently forgetting our conversation the day before my wedding. “It's the sad lot of women,” she said, patting my hand. “One can only make up one's mind to endure it. And just imagine, my dear, what delight you will bring to the kingdom when you have a son.”

More disruption was to come. Late that summer—I was at the stage where I felt as awkward as a cow—the Whig government fell. Lord Melbourne was out of office. I felt completely bewildered, hardly able to believe that my excellent Lord Melbourne was no longer my prime minister. After four years
of seeing him almost daily, the parting affected me very deeply. But with my dearest Albert at my side, I was finally able to accept Sir Robert Peel in that role. The crisis that had been so very difficult before was now averted when some of my ladies resigned their positions in the bedchamber and new ones were appointed. Things went along reasonably well. I even found myself becoming quite fond of Sir Robert after all, a state of affairs I could not have imagined.