"The Golden Thread" - "Victoria" ITV Erotic Fanfiction - Chapter One
Victoria’s wedding night looms. Unschooled in love and afraid, who else would she turn to but her mentor in all things, her beloved Lord Melbourne? USUAL DISCLAIMERS APPLY
Icon credit: my_golden_boots
Chapter One
“Lord Melbourne - I am afraid that I am afraid.”
The sage head tipped to one side in a bird-like manner. “I am surprised to hear you say that. In the years I have known you, I have never known you to be afraid.”
“ʻIn the years I have known youʼ,” Victoria repeated with a current of nostalgia in her voice. “Perhaps apprehension would be a better term.”
“It is perfectly normal for a bride to be apprehensive before her wedding day.”
They were walking in the grounds of Buckingham Palace. It was a grey day in early February. The mist sat low on the ground, too sullen to wreathe atmospherically, and soaked the hem of Victoria’s gown. There might have been all around them the green shoots of snowdrops pushing their way up through frigid soil but she saw them not. Her head, usually carried high and stately upon her shoulders despite her tiny stature, hung low. In five days’ time, she would be married to Albert at St James’s Palace.
The path turned a corner and led them through a long laburnum arch. It was presently bare of the burning yellow flowers that would adorn it in early summer but the network of twining branches still screened those who entered from general view. There was a lovers’ seat halfway along. “Come, sit beside me in the bower,” said Victoria, immediately settling herself so as to give her fondest advisor no other choice.
They sat in silence for some time, long enough for the sun to move and rearrange the dappled light that fell upon them. Long enough for the awkwardness of two people about to discuss intimate matters to dwindle to contemplativeness. Lord Melbourne looked at her directly, at this small thing in demure dress whose unique features would sing out even if she were wearing sackcloth. It was an invitation for her to speak.
“You are a man of the world, Lord Melbourne,” she began, still looking at her gloves.
“So they say.”
She turned to him suddenly, earnest blue eyes searching his face. “Will there be pain? What I mean to say is - ahhh.” Her chin touched her breast briefly. She gathered herself. “Are you experienced with women?”
For a moment, he was at a loss for words. Then he replied very, very gently, “I think these may be questions better put to your ladies-in-waiting.”
“I have tried! But they giggle most infuriatingly or they tell me what they think I wish to hear. That is something I know you would never do, no matter how much you humorously claim the truth is overrated. You are and always will be my most trusted friend.” Just for an instant, she laid her kid-gloved hand upon Lord Melbourne’s and squeezed.
He was put in mind of a cat he used to own - a marmalade fellow named Puck. This animal had been much beloved and almost a rival for his wife in his affections. However, the Prime Minister was a busy man, often distracted by the weight of his responsibilities when home and, on occasion, felt he had no time for the cloying attentions of a cat. Puck, uncertain his advances would be met with generosity, would reach out a paw and press it on the back of his owner’s hand. Lord Melbourne would turn to be met by a pair of huge and quizzical amber eyes. And he would melt.
Now this little queen had had the same effect.
“Dear Lord M,” she said, “in this fairy bower, let your wisdom and my curiosity meet in a place that shame cannot touch.”
Words too poetic and too honest for him to reject. Any archness he once sported fell from his face. He looked at her frankly and dipped his head. “As you wish.”
Victoria released a long sigh neither of them had been aware she was holding. “And so, I repeat my question. Will there be pain?”
“It is said women feel pain upon their deflowerment but that it is short-lived and may be mixed with pleasure.”
The queen looked doubtful. “How long is ‘short-lived’? A few hours? A few days?”
“No, naught but a moment, Ma’am! A moment of pain followed by, perhaps, some discomfort for a day or so.”
Relief and embarrassment married in her eyes, making them glitter. “I see. Oh, I must seem so awfully gauche.”
“Not at all. It is rather endearing, in fact.”
Her tremulousness diminished as she met his gaze. She raised a hand and cupped his cheek. “It is good to know that I am dear to you.” The gloved fingers began to slide down, her eyes following their progress, until a thumb flickered at the corner of his mouth.
A visible spasm passed through him. He took her wrist in an uncertain grasp. “Ma’am, I know what you would ask of me and I tell you, I cannot.” Green eyes met hers and then, with greater honesty, he said, “I must not.” Yet he did not let go of her wrist. Was he intent upon removing her hand or fixing it in its place?
“I do not think you do know what I would ask. I know I must remain chaste until my wedding night but - what if he is a brute?”
To Lord Melbourne’s surprise, the final phrase was almost a scream. The hand in his grip went limp and he found himself holding it, stroking it with his other hand. “What in Christendom makes you think he might be? Has - has he done something to you?”
“No.” She began to cry, snivelling miserably. “His kisses are tender and sweet, and he has been nothing but gentle with me, yet…”
“Yet?” He proffered his handkerchief. He could feel himself becoming enraged. He knew his mouth was now a line, his entire face, indeed, turning stiff and grim. Yet he could not help himself. If Albert had threatened her…
“When I was a young girl of but ten or so, I used to steal into the stables to be with my favourite horse, Florian. There was a stable-lad there. Sometimes, I would spy upon him and his sweetheart when they made an assignation. They would bill and coo and make love, and all was smiles with them both. I truly believed theirs was a great romance. Then the day came when he wanted more and she refused. She refused him with a smile and words to pacify, and I am certain that, one day, she might have said ‘yes’. Perhaps on that day she had less time than usual or felt a little unwell. He would have none of it. He took her without preamble - turned her and took her like a beast in the field, as if he no longer cared she possessed a face. Yet when he had done, he turned her again and beat that face until… The horses were screaming…”
Victoria was ashen, trembling. Her tears had stopped and she stared ahead as if witnessing this horror from her childhood over again. Suddenly, she clutched at her throat and tight bodice, and fearing she would faint, Lord Melbourne gathered her to him. She put her arms around the broad span of this English oak and clung to it. He stroked the soft brown hair with the silver sheen until her trembling began to subside. “Poor little one,” he said. “With all my heart, I wish you had never seen that.”
“But it is the truth, is it not, of how some men behave?”
“Not all, Victoria, not all.”
“Not you, that is certain. I know you are good! I know you are good!” Each little cry of confidence in him was accompanied by a pressing of him to her and a nuzzling of her face in his breast.
“If only I were half so good as you think me.” Yet he smiled his faint smile like a glimpse of pale sun through wint’ry clouds and he tangled his fingers in the intricate loops of her hair. So lost did he become in this simple human contact, he found himself surprised when she broke the touch, sitting upright and resetting the bonnet that had been pushed back from her face.
“I am Queen,” said Victoria. “On my wedding night, I shall be a virgin as the country expects me to be and I shall promise to obey Albert, whatever manner of man I find him to be. I know my duty.” Her face became like that of a statue, frozen in the execution of a thought. Then her blue eyes moved up to his and he saw there was warmth in them still. “But I am not yet a woman. I am a girl, unknown to Man. And as a girl, I exert my right to be foolish and demanding. Lord Melbourne - William - I would know if it is true that there is pleasure to be had on the woman’s part in the union of man and woman. This moment in time may be my only chance ever to know. Will you be my mentor in this as you have been my mentor in all other things? Will you come to me and love me and hold me? Please say that you will.”
Temptation was coming, a cavalry charge from east and west. It crushed past and future underfoot as it converged upon this single moment in time, leaving it alone standing. There was no morality any more, no estranged wife, no career, no social standing. There was only Victoria and her face of an angel. “I will.”
She kissed his black-gloved hand. “I shall make arrangements.” The tension in her frame eased and a species of serenity crept into her face.
All was tumult within Lord Melbourne. Yet when his and Victoria’s eyes met once more, it seemed they looked at each other along the line of a golden thread that connected the mind of one to the other. He cupped her elbow, and bade her rise with him and return to the Palace. As they walked, they discussed the practicalities of their agreement - how to avoid any suspicion of scandal and what have you - and all was sober and straightforward. Yet neither felt any longer the chill of the mist and the wet grass at their feet.
Well, I never thought I’d find myself writing an erotic fanfic about Queen Victoria but Jenna Coleman’s my woman-crush so there you go. It’s a period piece so I seem to have come over all romantic again. Very unlike me. I have experimented with viewpoint switches in this fic, demarcated by chapter.
Icon credit: my_golden_boots
Chapter One
“Lord Melbourne - I am afraid that I am afraid.”
The sage head tipped to one side in a bird-like manner. “I am surprised to hear you say that. In the years I have known you, I have never known you to be afraid.”
“ʻIn the years I have known youʼ,” Victoria repeated with a current of nostalgia in her voice. “Perhaps apprehension would be a better term.”
“It is perfectly normal for a bride to be apprehensive before her wedding day.”
They were walking in the grounds of Buckingham Palace. It was a grey day in early February. The mist sat low on the ground, too sullen to wreathe atmospherically, and soaked the hem of Victoria’s gown. There might have been all around them the green shoots of snowdrops pushing their way up through frigid soil but she saw them not. Her head, usually carried high and stately upon her shoulders despite her tiny stature, hung low. In five days’ time, she would be married to Albert at St James’s Palace.
The path turned a corner and led them through a long laburnum arch. It was presently bare of the burning yellow flowers that would adorn it in early summer but the network of twining branches still screened those who entered from general view. There was a lovers’ seat halfway along. “Come, sit beside me in the bower,” said Victoria, immediately settling herself so as to give her fondest advisor no other choice.
They sat in silence for some time, long enough for the sun to move and rearrange the dappled light that fell upon them. Long enough for the awkwardness of two people about to discuss intimate matters to dwindle to contemplativeness. Lord Melbourne looked at her directly, at this small thing in demure dress whose unique features would sing out even if she were wearing sackcloth. It was an invitation for her to speak.
“You are a man of the world, Lord Melbourne,” she began, still looking at her gloves.
“So they say.”
She turned to him suddenly, earnest blue eyes searching his face. “Will there be pain? What I mean to say is - ahhh.” Her chin touched her breast briefly. She gathered herself. “Are you experienced with women?”
For a moment, he was at a loss for words. Then he replied very, very gently, “I think these may be questions better put to your ladies-in-waiting.”
“I have tried! But they giggle most infuriatingly or they tell me what they think I wish to hear. That is something I know you would never do, no matter how much you humorously claim the truth is overrated. You are and always will be my most trusted friend.” Just for an instant, she laid her kid-gloved hand upon Lord Melbourne’s and squeezed.
He was put in mind of a cat he used to own - a marmalade fellow named Puck. This animal had been much beloved and almost a rival for his wife in his affections. However, the Prime Minister was a busy man, often distracted by the weight of his responsibilities when home and, on occasion, felt he had no time for the cloying attentions of a cat. Puck, uncertain his advances would be met with generosity, would reach out a paw and press it on the back of his owner’s hand. Lord Melbourne would turn to be met by a pair of huge and quizzical amber eyes. And he would melt.
Now this little queen had had the same effect.
“Dear Lord M,” she said, “in this fairy bower, let your wisdom and my curiosity meet in a place that shame cannot touch.”
Words too poetic and too honest for him to reject. Any archness he once sported fell from his face. He looked at her frankly and dipped his head. “As you wish.”
Victoria released a long sigh neither of them had been aware she was holding. “And so, I repeat my question. Will there be pain?”
“It is said women feel pain upon their deflowerment but that it is short-lived and may be mixed with pleasure.”
The queen looked doubtful. “How long is ‘short-lived’? A few hours? A few days?”
“No, naught but a moment, Ma’am! A moment of pain followed by, perhaps, some discomfort for a day or so.”
Relief and embarrassment married in her eyes, making them glitter. “I see. Oh, I must seem so awfully gauche.”
“Not at all. It is rather endearing, in fact.”
Her tremulousness diminished as she met his gaze. She raised a hand and cupped his cheek. “It is good to know that I am dear to you.” The gloved fingers began to slide down, her eyes following their progress, until a thumb flickered at the corner of his mouth.
A visible spasm passed through him. He took her wrist in an uncertain grasp. “Ma’am, I know what you would ask of me and I tell you, I cannot.” Green eyes met hers and then, with greater honesty, he said, “I must not.” Yet he did not let go of her wrist. Was he intent upon removing her hand or fixing it in its place?
“I do not think you do know what I would ask. I know I must remain chaste until my wedding night but - what if he is a brute?”
To Lord Melbourne’s surprise, the final phrase was almost a scream. The hand in his grip went limp and he found himself holding it, stroking it with his other hand. “What in Christendom makes you think he might be? Has - has he done something to you?”
“No.” She began to cry, snivelling miserably. “His kisses are tender and sweet, and he has been nothing but gentle with me, yet…”
“Yet?” He proffered his handkerchief. He could feel himself becoming enraged. He knew his mouth was now a line, his entire face, indeed, turning stiff and grim. Yet he could not help himself. If Albert had threatened her…
“When I was a young girl of but ten or so, I used to steal into the stables to be with my favourite horse, Florian. There was a stable-lad there. Sometimes, I would spy upon him and his sweetheart when they made an assignation. They would bill and coo and make love, and all was smiles with them both. I truly believed theirs was a great romance. Then the day came when he wanted more and she refused. She refused him with a smile and words to pacify, and I am certain that, one day, she might have said ‘yes’. Perhaps on that day she had less time than usual or felt a little unwell. He would have none of it. He took her without preamble - turned her and took her like a beast in the field, as if he no longer cared she possessed a face. Yet when he had done, he turned her again and beat that face until… The horses were screaming…”
Victoria was ashen, trembling. Her tears had stopped and she stared ahead as if witnessing this horror from her childhood over again. Suddenly, she clutched at her throat and tight bodice, and fearing she would faint, Lord Melbourne gathered her to him. She put her arms around the broad span of this English oak and clung to it. He stroked the soft brown hair with the silver sheen until her trembling began to subside. “Poor little one,” he said. “With all my heart, I wish you had never seen that.”
“But it is the truth, is it not, of how some men behave?”
“Not all, Victoria, not all.”
“Not you, that is certain. I know you are good! I know you are good!” Each little cry of confidence in him was accompanied by a pressing of him to her and a nuzzling of her face in his breast.
“If only I were half so good as you think me.” Yet he smiled his faint smile like a glimpse of pale sun through wint’ry clouds and he tangled his fingers in the intricate loops of her hair. So lost did he become in this simple human contact, he found himself surprised when she broke the touch, sitting upright and resetting the bonnet that had been pushed back from her face.
“I am Queen,” said Victoria. “On my wedding night, I shall be a virgin as the country expects me to be and I shall promise to obey Albert, whatever manner of man I find him to be. I know my duty.” Her face became like that of a statue, frozen in the execution of a thought. Then her blue eyes moved up to his and he saw there was warmth in them still. “But I am not yet a woman. I am a girl, unknown to Man. And as a girl, I exert my right to be foolish and demanding. Lord Melbourne - William - I would know if it is true that there is pleasure to be had on the woman’s part in the union of man and woman. This moment in time may be my only chance ever to know. Will you be my mentor in this as you have been my mentor in all other things? Will you come to me and love me and hold me? Please say that you will.”
Temptation was coming, a cavalry charge from east and west. It crushed past and future underfoot as it converged upon this single moment in time, leaving it alone standing. There was no morality any more, no estranged wife, no career, no social standing. There was only Victoria and her face of an angel. “I will.”
She kissed his black-gloved hand. “I shall make arrangements.” The tension in her frame eased and a species of serenity crept into her face.
All was tumult within Lord Melbourne. Yet when his and Victoria’s eyes met once more, it seemed they looked at each other along the line of a golden thread that connected the mind of one to the other. He cupped her elbow, and bade her rise with him and return to the Palace. As they walked, they discussed the practicalities of their agreement - how to avoid any suspicion of scandal and what have you - and all was sober and straightforward. Yet neither felt any longer the chill of the mist and the wet grass at their feet.
Well, I never thought I’d find myself writing an erotic fanfic about Queen Victoria but Jenna Coleman’s my woman-crush so there you go. It’s a period piece so I seem to have come over all romantic again. Very unlike me. I have experimented with viewpoint switches in this fic, demarcated by chapter.