Виктория Холт - The Captive of Kensington Palace

He would get rid of her if possible. But he could see he would have to be careful with Victoria.

Smarting from her encounter with her mother’s Comptroller of Household Victoria went into the drawing-room where the sight of dearest Uncle Leopold seated in his chair, his dear pale face beautiful beneath his curly wig, made her forget everything else.

‘Dearest Uncle …’

She ran to him, throwing ceremony aside. After that horrible encounter with Conroy she needed the protective comfort of Leopold’s arms more than ever.

Feodora, being dressed for her wedding was a little fearful, a little tearful. She was not afraid of her bridegroom; in fact she liked him. Since her match with Augustus d’Este had been frowned on she had faced the fact that she must marry a Prince who was chosen for her; and her Ernest was by no means unattractive. She had compared Ernest with Augustus and now that Augustus was out of reach it seemed to her that Ernest did not suffer too much from the comparison.

All the same she was leaving Kensington which had been home to her for so long; but she had to admit, though, that apart from leaving Victoria and dear old Lehzen and Späth, she would not mind so much. Her recent trip to Germany had made her feel that she could be very happy there. It was leaving her dear little sister that was so upsetting.

She realised that she had not included Mamma in those she would miss. Well, to tell the truth, she would not be sorry to escape from Mamma. There, she had admitted it. But she would not allow herself to say it. Dear little Victoria was condemned to imprisonment … because that was what it was … in a way.

She should therefore be gay and happy; and so she would be if it were not for leaving Victoria.

Victoria had come in to see the bride. Lehzen hovered. Oh, why could we never be alone even for a little while!

‘Dearest Sissy! You look so beautiful.’

‘All brides look beautiful. It’s the dress.’

‘No bride looked as beautiful as you.’

‘Vicky, you always see those you love in a flattering light.’

‘Do I?’

‘Of course you do, you dear Angel. And you look lovely yourself.’

Victoria turned round to show off her white lace dress.

‘I am going to miss you so,’ said Feodora tremulously.

‘It is going to be terrible without you.’

‘But you will have Uncle Leopold, dear Lehzen and Späth … and Mamma.’

‘And you will have Ernest. He is very handsome, Feodora, and Uncle Leopold says he is a good match.’

‘Oh yes, I like Ernest.’

‘But you must love your husband. And just think there will be the darling little children.’

‘Oh, not for a while,’ said Feodora.

‘What a lovely necklace.’

‘It’s diamonds. A present from the King.’

‘He loves you. I think he would have liked to marry you.’

‘Oh, he is an old, old man.’

‘But a very nice one. I think that next to Uncle Leopold he is the nicest man I know. And he is a King.’

‘He is coming to the wedding. He has promised to give me away.’

‘I don’t think he will like that … giving you away to Ernest when he wants you himself.’

‘Oh, Vicky, what extraordinary things you say!’

‘Do I? Perhaps I say too rashly what comes into my mind. Lehzen says I do.’

‘Oh dear, when I think of you here without me, I shall weep, I know I shall.’

‘But you will come to Kensington and perhaps I shall pay a visit to Germany.’

‘I shall have to come to Kensington for they will never let you out of their sight.’

Victoria sighed. ‘I wish they would let me be alone with myself … just for a little while.’

‘I know how you feel, darling. I think I am going to be freer now.’

‘You will have Ernest.’

‘But he will not be a jailer like …’

Silence. She was going to say like Mamma, thought Victoria. And it’s true. Mamma is like a jailer. How I should like to be free too.

Feodora put her arms about her.

‘But I must not spoil your pretty dress. When I go away, Vicky, I want to take your dress with me. I want to take it out and look at it and remember just how you looked today.’

‘Oh, you shall,’ cried Victoria. It was a notion which greatly appealed to her sentimental heart. Then the realization of her loss came back to her and tears filled her eyes.

The bells were ringing all over Kensington to tell people that this was Feodora’s wedding day. There were crowds gathering outside the Palace because people had heard that the King was coming to give the bride away, making this a royal occasion.

The Duchess, overpowering in lace ribbons and feathers, presided noisily in the Grand Hall. Everyone must be in exact order of precedence. There was Victoria, looking very pretty – and what was more important, healthy – in her white dress, her fair hair specially curled for the occasion. Lehzen had spent a long time on it. Everyone, thought the Duchess, must be aware of the child’s blooming looks. There was Clarence – what a ridiculous old fellow! – and Adelaide, her eyes on Victoria with that amused affection she had for all the children. And Victoria was speaking to her, telling her about the dolls, which was most unsuitable. Victoria must be told of this later. But it was really Adelaide’s fault for encouraging her. One would have thought this was a cosy family meeting in some quite inferior country gentleman’s home, instead of a wedding in the royal family with the King due to arrive at any moment.

The wedding was to take place in the Cupola Room – so suitable for such ceremonies. Victoria had been christened here. What an occasion when the King had been so unkind to the baby’s parents and refused to give permission for the child to have the names they had chosen for her. They had wanted Georgiana, Elizabeth. Queen’s names both of them. And the King – Regent he had been then – had insisted on Alexandrina Victoria. But it was amazing how one quickly grew accustomed to names. Victoria now seemed as much like a Queen’s name as any of them.

Oh dear, the King was late. Was he going to humiliate the Duchess of Kent again.

‘It looks to me as though the King is not coming,’ said bluff Clarence. Trust him to put it as crudely as that.

Adelaide as usual tried to disguise her husband’s crudity. ‘I heard that His Majesty had begun to feel unwell again.’

‘He’s always up and down,’ said Clarence. ‘One of these days there’ll be no up.’

A shocked silence, during which Clarence noticeably became more royal. He was waiting for George’s death, thought the Duchess, almost as eagerly as she was waiting for his quickly to follow that of the King.

‘His Majesty’s resilience is wonderful,’ said Adelaide. ‘As we have often seen.’

Clarence, seeing himself as King, decided to take charge of the situation. They weren’t going to hang about any longer. It was clear to him that George wasn’t coming.

He took Feodora’s hand. ‘Come, my dear, your Uncle Clarence will do the King’s job. He’ll give you away to your husband, but you look so pretty that I’d never want to give you away unless it was necessary.’

The Duchess’s chagrin was obvious. An insult! How dared that rouged roué treat her so. No excuses. No apologies. This was the second time the Cupola Room had seen her humiliated.

But everyone was glad for the ceremony to proceed and Clarence – who would soon be King in any case (but not for long, prayed the Duchess) – led the bride to the altar which had been set up and Victoria the bridesmaid followed her sister looking so sweet that many found it difficult to take their eyes from her.