Chapter Text
1st December, 1840
I have been terribly out of sorts since little Vicky was born. She gives me such joy, and yet for some reason I do not laugh or smile, save a small one when I watch my angel with the babe. He loves her dearly, and has never been so pleased with me as he is now that I have given him this. It is as if I have provided the greatest gift in the world, and he worships me for it, though I wonder if he does quite as much as he worships her.
I am not quite as besotted with her as he, having gone through rather more to bring her into the world, but she is so very precious, and I feel as though I could look at her for hours. Her tiny cheeks are the sweetest pink colour and she already has his dark curls which I so adore. I think, too, she will be nearly as stubborn as I am, and my mother has already commented more than once on how headstrong she seems. It is a mystery that a week-old infant should appear to have such a personality, as she only cries, sleeps, and eats, and yet she seems to be rather her own little person. I shall be quite proud of her when she grows older, I think.
Still, I find myself exhausted by the end of her visit, which is only an hour but feels like an eternity. As well as she feels fit into my arms, I am so tired of the pretence of being a proper mother, cooing and fawning over the girl. I do not love her any less for my disinterest in squealing and fussing when I know full well she is taken care of, and will besides remember none of my behaviour now. She is a dear thing, but she is still only a little one, and does not require my constant attention or my doting just yet. Albert has that quite covered. I prefer just to talk to her, stroke her soft little head, hold her in my arms and sit with her and be at peace. I wish I could.
The physician has observed how out of sorts I am, and I sent Lehzen and Albert away during his last visit to ask him if this is common. He assures me that many new mothers feel ‘depressed,’ as he put it, which I think is the wrong word but is nonetheless somewhat comforting. I should like to be myself again soon, and the doctor says that when my body recovers, my mind will as well. I can only hope he is right, for I dearly wish to be happy as I was before, and I miss Albert terribly when I am alone in my sadness. When I am well again I hope, and perhaps this is terrible of me, but I hope the shine of the baby wears off and my angel comes back to me. I could not bear it if my fears came true and nothing was the same with us again.
Victoria put down her pen and closed her diary with a sigh. It had been a week and she had still not been allowed to resume her full duties, so she was left alone with her thoughts for most of the day. Her ladies visited often, as did her mother, and Lehzen was never far, but the day was long. Albert was there as much as he could be, but she had charged him with as much of her royal responsibilities as she could in order to keep on top of things, and he spent much of his free time in the nursery.
As she did not have to feed her, Victoria saw her new daughter very little, only for an hour each day where she held the child and watched Albert coo over her. He was a most devoted father, driving the nurses mad with questions and concerns and his thoughts on the latest studies in infant care. Victoria found his fussing charming, and forced a smile when he was near for his benefit. It would be cruel to intrude on his joy with her troubles.
He returned from his ride in the early evening. Victoria was already plucking disinterestedly at the supper on her tray, and found herself wearing a small but genuine smile when her husband returned with dust all over him and windswept hair. Albert came to kiss her, then stripped off his jacket and boots.
“I must have a bath before I can join you. I won't be long.” He kissed her again and went into the dressing room, calling for a servant.
Victoria felt colder as soon as he was gone from the room. She sipped from the wine on the tray and arranged the pieces of cheese into spiral patterns for a few minutes, then dotted her masterpiece with grapes. It was a terribly unpatriotic dinner, she thought, very French looking. As she contemplated this, nibbling on the fresh bread Francatelli had obviously made (his was the best), she realized she was quite sick of being alone. She threw the covers aside, nearly knocking over the tray, and slipped into the room behind him.
The servant was just leaving from drawing the bath, and steam was rising from the water still. Albert turned as she entered, in the process of undressing, and she avoided his questioning eyes as she walked up to him and wrapped her arms about his waist. He embraced her immediately and she relaxed a little, leaning all her weight into him, which he supported easily.
“My Victoria,” he whispered into her hair, “What is the matter? Are you unwell?” He held both her arms in his large hands and pulled her back to search her face.
Victoria felt her composure slipping. “Yes, I am unwell! I’m in my room all day with nothing to occupy myself, and no one cares about me now that they've gotten what they want from me. You're out all day or playing with Vicky, who's asleep half the time anyway, and no one pays any attention to me! Albert, I’m…” She paused to wipe the tears from her eyes and resisted the urge to stomp her foot in frustration. “I’m so lonely I think I shall suffocate.”
Albert cradled her face in his hands, tormented by her confession. He had no idea how greatly he'd been failing her, his poor young wife, barred from running the country she loved and left alone while the palace fawned over the new princess. “I am so sorry, Victoria. I am here. I am still your Albert.”
He kissed the corner of each of her eyes, capturing the tear drops, and then pressed a light kiss to her lips. She looked up at him, needy and vulnerable in a way she almost never was, and he brushed the rest of her tears away with his thumbs. “Come, get in the bath with me. We will wash this all away.”
Albert pushed her nightdress from her shoulders and pulled it gently so it fell in a pool at her feet. She stepped out of it and ended up right up against him, bare against his fully clothed figure. There was something so sensual about this, being exposed for him, and though they couldn't make love, he could still hold her, still touch her. His fingers traced her figure, from her shoulders to her waist to her hips. They swept across the curve of her belly, which was still frustratingly round, but his touch was reverent, and she didn't mind her softened, fuller figure just then.
He reached up to undo his necktie and toss it aside, then pulled off his shirt. His stockings dropped to the floor, then his pants, and he held out his hands. She placed her small ones in them, and he helped her carefully into the tub. The water was as hot as it could be without burning her, and Victoria relished the heat. She was still a little sore, and the rest of her muscles had gone unused for a while, so her body was greatly in need of the soaps and oils in the hot water.
As Victoria relaxed Albert climbed in after her, pulling her around to rest her head against his chest. The water sloshed over a little as he settled her between his legs, the bath obviously not being meant for two, but her petite form always fit perfectly into him. In more ways than just the physical, really - he would be a different kind of parent than she, his politics were different, his stoicism, reason, and quiet passion complemented her loud, playful personality.
His hands came down to cup the water and pour it gently over her head, soaking her hair, and she moaned quietly. She heard Albert chuckle behind her as he ran his hands through her wet hair, which was long enough to cover her shoulders and fan out over the surface of the water. He reached for something beside the tub, and then she felt him massaging castile soap into her hair. It wasn't dirty, as Lehzen and her maids had meticulously washed her after the birth and she hadn't been outside, but it felt wonderful. Albert's slender fingers worked the soap through her hair, massaged it into her scalp and rubbed it methodically into her long locks from roots to ends.
The rosemary scent enveloped her as he lathered first her hair, then her neck and shoulders, his fingers pressing just hard enough to ease the tension from her. Victoria saw him pour more soap into his hands, but her eyes fluttered closed as he smoothed it over her chest, her arms, and her breasts. His touch was firm but soothing, drawing the tension out from her body to dissipate like the steam from the bath. The soap washed away as Albert’s hands dipped under the water, but he continued his attentions, rubbing long fingers and smooth palms over her sides, her stomach, her hips. He didn't stop but smoothed his fingers into the crease of her inner thighs, over her folds, earning him a groan of lazy, relaxed pleasure, then his hands traveled up and over her thighs. He made waves in the bath water as he moved his hands to the outside of her legs and slipped his fingers beneath them, and Victoria arched her back upwards so his strong fingers could run over her backside, pressing into the muscle and eliciting a satisfied sigh from his wife.
Victoria’s head had rolled back against his chest, but now he gently pressed a hand against her shoulders, so she curled forward and rested against her knees. Albert soaped her back, used his fingertips and knuckles and the heels of his palms to rub the stiffness from her, then poured handfuls of water over it. He washed away the pain and fear and loneliness like he washed away the soap from her body and she was new again, clean, everything stripped away but herself.
“Don't leave me again,” Victoria whispered. “Not for anything.”
Albert pulled his small wife, so delicate but so strong, back into the safe enclosure of his arms. “I never have, my love, and I never will.”