“Oui, Votre Majesté.”
Monsieur Philippe spoke French with an accent that Victoria was not familiar with, but as his speech was largely confined to oui, non, and eh voilà, she had no problem following him. Tonight she had asked him to do her hair in a style called à l’impériale. The hair was drawn back in a chignon at the back, with two waterfalls of ringlets hanging down over each ear. Harriet Sutherland had started wearing her hair like this, and Victoria had heard Lord Melbourne compliment the Duchess on how elegant she looked.
“Et voilà, Votre Majesté.”
Victoria turned to face the mirror, Monsieur Philippe standing proudly behind her. But her reflection made her stiffen in horror. Where the tall Duchess could carry off the elaborate hairstyle, on Victoria it looked absurd, making her appear more like a lapdog than a great lady.
“Oh. But I look ridiculous.” She felt unwelcome tears pricking in her eyes.
“I so wanted to look elegant,” Victoria almost wailed, “but these ringlets make me look like Dash!”
Lehzen moved out of the shadows. “I think you look very fine, Majesty.”
“No, I don’t! I look silly and everyone will laugh at me.”
“No one laughs at the Queen, Majesty.”
Victoria covered her face with her hands, biting her lip with the effort of not crying.
There was a rustle and a murmur behind her. Finally a soft voice said, “Would you like me to do your hair in a pendant braid, ma’am? I think it’s a style that would suit a face like yours.”
Victoria turned round and saw a girl of about her own age, who wore her hair in two coiled plaits that looped around her ears.
“I’m Skerrett, ma’am, Mrs Jenkins’s assistant.”
Mrs Jenkins stepped forward in high Welsh dudgeon. “You must forgive Skerrett, ma’am, for speaking out of turn. She is new to the palace and doesn’t know our ways.”
Victoria turned around. She saw the mortification on Monsieur Philippe’s face, the indignation on Jenkins’s, but her eye was drawn to the remarkably neat way in which Skerrett had arranged her own hair.
“I think, Monsieur Philippe, that you have executed the style admirably, but it does not suit me. You may leave us.”
Monsieur Philippe walked out of the room backwards, every sinew of his body expressing outraged pride.
Victoria looked at the new dresser. “I think I should like to try the style you suggest. Can you do it quickly? I don’t want to be late for my own ball.”
“Oh yes, ma’am. I do my own hair in five minutes.” Skerrett clapped her hand over her mouth, realising she had been overfamiliar.
Jenkins frowned. “Are you sure this is wise, ma’am? Skerrett has never done your hair before and you don’t want any more delays.”
Victoria put up her chin; the tears had subsided now and she felt more in control. “If Skerrett does my hair half as well as she does her own, I will be quite satisfied.”
Just as Skerrett had finished fastening the second pendant braid in position around Victoria’s left ear, the door opened and Emma Portman came in.
“I came to tell you how splendid everything looks in the ballroom, ma’am. I haven’t seen anything so magnificent since your uncle George’s day. I can’t wait to see the Grand Duke. I hear he is most handsome.”
“Oh yes, I meant to ask Lord M, how I should address him? Is he a Royal Highness or an Imperial Highness, I wonder. And does he speak English? I certainly don’t speak any Russian. Where is Lord M? He would have the answer; he always does.”
A flicker passed across Emma Portman’s face. “I am sure he will be here soon, ma’am.”
“But he should be here now. He must know that I can’t walk in without him.”
Emma looked at the floor. “Perhaps, ma’am, it would be better if you did not wait for him. If he has been delayed, you do not want to keep your guests waiting.”
Skerrett put the last pin into the Queen’s hair. “I hope that’s to your liking, ma’am.”
Victoria looked at herself in the glass. “Yes. That is much better. Thank you.”
She turned to Emma. “But you think Lord M will be here soon?”
“Yes, ma’am, as I said. But I think it would be a mistake to wait for him. The dancing can’t start until you open the ball.”
Victoria watched as Skerrett settled her tiara into position. “You are right, I suppose. Lord M always says that punctuality is the politeness of princes. Please, will you tell the Lord Chamberlain that I will be there shortly?”
Emma left the room with alacrity.
Victoria took another glance at herself in the looking glass, and smoothed down the brocade of her skirts. This dress with full sleeves dropped on the shoulder and the train sweeping out behind, shimmering with gold thread, felt like the most grown-up thing she had ever worn.
“You look like something out of a fairy tale, ma’am,” Skerrett said softly.
“The Queen doesn’t need to hear what you think, Skerrett,” said Jenkins crossly.
Victoria smiled. “I just hope there won’t be a bad fairy to cast a spell over me.”
Skerrett smiled back.
The door opened again, and Victoria turned, expecting to see Emma, but instead her mother was standing in the doorway with Conroy and Flora a little behind her.
“Oh, Drina, I have come to escort you into the ball.”
She walked into the room and took a proper look at Victoria. “But how charming you look.” The Duchess walked towards her daughter and adjusted the diamond necklace round her throat so that the pendant lay exactly between her clavicles.
“My little girl, all grown up. I am so proud.”
Conroy said to Victoria, “It is time to make your entrance, Your Majesty. Of course, this is the first time that many of the guests will have seen you, so I am sure I do not need to remind you to behave with decorum. I would not advise drinking champagne, for example.”
“Remember that you must not dance more than twice with the same man,” said the Duchess. “People notice these things.”
“And you will, of course, open the ball with the Grand Duke, ma’am, as he will be the highest-ranking guest,” added Lady Flora, anxious as always to display her knowledge of protocol.
Victoria said nothing. They walked down the corridor to the Grand Staircase, and Victoria gasped as she saw how the crystal chandeliers sparkled in the candlelight.
The hum and chatter of the ballroom went silent as people turned to see the Queen. Victoria started down the staircase, her head held high, but she missed her footing, and for a second she thought she would fall down the staircase. But Lehzen was right behind her and gripped her by the elbow. “I have got you, Majesty.”
“You understand now, I think, ma’am, why we did not think it was safe for you to walk down the stairs alone, with your uncertain balance,” Conroy said. “What a mercy you did not fall down the stairs in front of all these people.”
Victoria took her arm out of Lehzen’s grasp, and without looking back, she walked down the staircase, her eyes scanning the crowd for the only person she wanted to see.
* * *
The messenger from the palace walked up the stairs of Dover House. The door was opened by the butler.
“I have a message for Lord Melbourne from Lady Portman.”
“His lordship is not at home to anyone.”
“Lady Portman told me to say that she knows what day it is, but the Queen is asking for him.”
The butler nodded. “Wait here.”
His master, the butler knew, was sitting in the library, looking at the box that he kept in the third drawer of his bureau. The decanter of sherry he had placed there this morning would be almost empty by now. As much as he did not want to disturb his lordship on this day, the butler realised that the message should not be ignored.
He opened the door to the library and saw Melbourne exactly where he had left him early that morning. He cleared his throat, and Melbourne looked round, i
rritated. “I told you I was not to be disturbed.”
“I know, my lord, but it is a message from the palace. From Lady Portman. She says that the Queen is asking for you.”
“Emma should know better.”
“Lady Portman says that she knows what day it is, my lord, but the message could not wait.”
Melbourne sighed.
“I have laid out your dress clothes, my lord.”
Melbourne waved him away and the butler retreated.
The messenger was waiting in the hall. He looked up. “Well?”
The butler nodded. “You may tell Lady Portman that his lordship will be there soon.”
* * *
Victoria settled herself on the throne. At least now she could touch the ground. She signaled to a footman to bring her a glass of champagne. Drinking it quickly, she looked over at Emma Portman, who was standing to her right. “Have you heard from Lord M?”
Emma’s smile was strained. “William is on his way, I am quite sure.”
Just then the Majordomo announced, “His Imperial Highness, the Grand Duke Alexander of Russia.”
The guests melted before the Grand Duke, who walked up the red carpet toward Victoria. He was tall, with a magnificent blond moustache that tickled her hand as he brushed it with his lips.
“Bienvenue en Angleterre, votre grande Altesse Impériale.” Lehzen had insisted that the Russian royal family spoke French at court.
“I am delighted to be here, Your Majesty.” The Grand Duke smiled wolfishly.
Victoria smiled back. “You speak English.”
“I had an English nanny. My father is a great admirer of your country.”
“I must say I am relieved. I have no Russian, you see.”
“Perhaps one day, when you visit my country, I will be permitted to teach you a few words.”
“I shall look forward to that.”
The Grand Duke put out his hand. “And now, Your Majesty, will you do me the honour?”
Victoria stood up and took the Russian’s hand. He looked very splendid in his uniform, his shako draped over one shoulder, and a stripe of gold braid down the leg of his trousers. She could see that all the women in the room were looking at him with admiration. But handsome as he was, there was something slightly alarming about the red lips under the moustache.
At a signal from the Lord Chamberlain, the orchestra started to play a gavotte and the Grand Duke led her to the top of the set. For a few minutes the sheer pleasure of dancing drove all other thoughts from her mind. This was the first ball where she had not been under the irksome control of her mother and Conroy. As the champagne began to flow through her system, she found herself smiling with pleasure.
The Grand Duke looked down at her as they crossed each other in the dance. “I did not know that a queen could dance so well.”
“Have you danced with so many, then?”
The Grand Duke laughed and took her hand to lead her down the set.
The gavotte was followed by a polka, and the Grand Duke picked her up in the turn as if she were a feather. Victoria felt flushed and exhilarated; the Grand Duke was very different to the Lords Alfred and George, who were her usual partners. Perhaps it was because he was also royal, but he had no qualms about taking her firmly by the waist or hand, liberties that would never be attempted by one of her subjects. And then she wondered what it would be like to dance with Lord M.
When the dance finished, Victoria took another glass of champagne and was gratified to see Conroy watching her. She drained her glass. The Grand Duke did likewise.
“You drink champagne like a Russian, Your Majesty.”
“I think you may call me Victoria.”
“And you must call me Alexander.”
“Very well, Alexander.” She looked up at him and smiled. She saw a glimpse of pink tongue as he smiled back. She felt herself sway slightly, but then the music started again and Alexander was leading her into another dance. As he whirled her round the floor, she thought she saw a familiar back, but then the man turned and she saw that she had been mistaken.
“What a face, Victoria. Did I step on your foot?”
“Oh no. I just thought I saw someone, that’s all.”
“Someone you want to see?”
Victoria nodded.
“Then I envy this man.”
Victoria felt the unwelcome colour coming to her cheeks. “Oh, you misunderstand me.”
“Then you must be blushing on my account.”
Victoria was relieved when the dance came to an end. She curtseyed to the Grand Duke and turned to see the Baroness standing behind her.
“I think I need to go to the retiring room, Lehzen.”
“Come with me, Majesty.”
The retiring room was in an anteroom that opened out of the picture gallery. Mrs Jenkins and Skerrett were there, armed with sewing kits to repair the damage that enthusiastic but unskilled dancing was doing to the gowns of the guests. In the back of the room was a screen, behind which were the chamber pots.
As Victoria and Lehzen came in, Lady Flora emerged from behind the screen. For a moment she stood in profile with one hand resting at her waist, and Lehzen gasped.
“What is it, Lehzen?” Victoria asked. “Have you seen a ghost?”
“Not a ghost, ma’am.” Lehzen leant in close and whispered to Victoria, “If you look at Lady Flora in profile, Majesty,” Victoria turned her head, “you will see. I believe she is with child.”
Victoria gasped. “But she is not married!”
“No indeed.” Lehzen’s eyes narrowed with excitement. “But when she came back from Scotland six months ago, I believe that she shared a carriage with Sir John Conroy.” She paused and raised her eyebrows. “Quite alone.”
Victoria put her hand over her mouth. “It seems incredible. She is so pious.”
“Nevertheless. The signs are unmistakable.”
Victoria turned to Lehzen, her face flushed from the champagne and the excitement. “Do you think Mama knows?”
“I hardly think so.”
Victoria’s eyes glittered.
At the back of the anteroom was a gallery that led to the private apartments. Victoria stepped inside to clear her head. But as she leant against the wall facing the portrait of her grandfather George III as a young man, she heard a step behind her. Conroy was walking down the gallery. He must have been in the Duchess’s apartments.
He saw Victoria and made a stiff little neck bow. “Ma’am.”
For a second Victoria thought she might let him pass by, but the champagne brought the outrage she felt to a head.
“Why aren’t you dancing, Sir John? With Lady Flora? I believe she is your preferred partner.”
Conroy looked down at her, and his lips twitched. “I am about to dance with your mother.”
Victoria put her head back. “If my mother knew what you were really like, she would never dance with you again!”
Conroy shook his head indulgently. “You never could take champagne—” He paused. “—ma’am.”
He turned away from her and walked down the corridor.
* * *
Melbourne slowly made his way down the grand staircase. Penge, the steward, looked up and opened his mouth to announce him, but Melbourne shook his head. He did not want to draw attention to his late arrival.
From years of experience he could see that the ball had reached its zenith: enough champagne had been drunk to heighten all emotions, to add colour and sparkle to the most leaden courtier. In a few minutes the mood would begin to turn, and like roses just past their prime, the flowers of the dance floor would begin to fade and droop.
He looked around the ballroom. Cumberland was dancing with surprising grace with that awful German wife of his. The Duchess of Kent was in the arms of Conroy; Melbourne had always assumed that she was in love with him but the look on her face confirmed it. It was a pity, of course; Conroy was a charlatan, but as the Duchess was not in a position to remarry, he could ha
rdly blame her for seeking consolation.
His eyes found the Queen. She was waltzing with the Russian Grand Duke. As she swept past him, he caught her eye and smiled. Victoria smiled in return, but there was something about the way her eyes widened that made Melbourne wonder how much she had had to drink. As she and the Russian circled round the room, Melbourne noticed that her steps, though graceful, were not always steady; there was also something about the way in which the Grand Duke’s hand was holding her waist that he did not like.
“You have been missed.” Emma Portman was looking at him, one eyebrow raised in reproach.
“The Queen seems quite happy,” Melbourne said as the royal couple waltzed by.
“Do you think the Grand Duke is a possibility?”
“For the Queen’s hand? Out of the question. He is the heir to the throne. He could not live here, and the Queen could hardly move to St. Petersburg.”
“Pity. I never knew Russians to be so handsome.”
Melbourne said nothing. He noted the deepening flush on Victoria’s cheeks. When the Grand Duke whispered something in her ear, she turned her head away from Melbourne.
“Are you going to watch her all night, William?” Emma said acerbically.
Melbourne shook his head. “She is so young and artless. Never has a thought but expresses it directly. I tremble sometimes at her guilelessness. And yet…”
He broke off. Emma looked at him and finished the sentence. “And yet you cannot keep your eyes off her.”
Melbourne shrugged, but then leant forward, noticing a movement on the dance floor. “Do you see where the Grand Duke has his hand?”
Emma narrowed her eyes. “I think he could be sent to the Tower for less.”
Melbourne looked around him and caught the eye of Lord Alfred Paget, one of the Queen’s equerries. He beckoned him over.
“I think, Lord Alfred, that it might be time for the Grand Duke to find a different partner. Perhaps you might distract him—tactfully, of course—but make sure you get him away from the Queen. He has, I think, been taking liberties.”
Alfred Paget looked indignant. “Outrageous. I will attend to it at once.”
He walked over and tapped the Grand Duke on the shoulder. Alexander ignored him at first, but Alfred, the youngest of six brothers, was used to demanding attention.
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