Chapter 2010: Chapter 183: Idol of Middle-Aged Women? No, Young Ones Too!
The voice of the Duchess of Sutherland was soft and proper, as she donned thin-silk gloves, adjusting her shoulder line personally.
Lady Leisen stood beside the mirror, holding the military hat, its brim pressed low, the adornments and ribbon shimmering under the light: "Do you prefer today’s hat, or yesterday’s one with the feather embellishment?"
"Yesterday’s had too many decorations." Victoria’s eyes sparkled, she seemed in a good mood, though most young ladies favored floor-length dresses, wearing a military uniform occasionally was a novel experience: "Today’s outfit is much simpler, looks more dignified and powerful."
Although it’s been less than two months since her accession, the court ladies seemed well accustomed to the days of the 18-year-old queen on the throne.
They were gathered around, whispering about the cut of the gown, the luster of the epaulettes, and the proper way to wear the badge.
"The shoulder shape is excellent, this uniform makes Her Highness look like a Major General."
"That gold line and boot buckle... Her Majesty’s aura today is truly..."
Victoria did not reply, but she heard it.
She heard their compliments, and the indistinct voice in her own heart continually repeated: "Delina, you are the Queen."
She paced to the mirror, tilting her head slightly, adjusting her hair between the hat and her temples.
The person in the mirror was young, yet a touch of undeniable aura already lay between her brows.
Slowly, in a nearly ceremonial manner, she pinned on the Garter Star Badge, fastened the last gold button on her epaulettes, her gloved right hand gripped the English Shortsword at her waist.
"Is everyone gathered?" Victoria gazed into the mirror, her tone sounding lighter than usual: "Is Viscount Hill handling the parade arrangement today?"
"Yes." Lady Leisen promptly responded, already stepped beside her, pointing towards the garden with a half-bow: "The Commander-in-Chief, Viscount Hill, is the parade’s chief officer, the left wing Guard Cavalry phalanx is scheduled by Army General Marquis of Anglesey, Light Cavalry phalanx is commanded by Army General Sir John Slade. Leading the right wing infantry phalanx is Army Lieutenant General Sir Henry Aske, responsible for the Grenadier phalanx is Army Major General Lord Salton."
The Duchess of Sutherland took the opportunity to add: "According to Your wish, ’Hero of Waterloo’ Duke of Wellington will accompany You during the review."
Victoria nodded with satisfaction.
Her hand rested on the window sash, seemingly not just to gaze outside, but also to steady the turbulence within.
She saw the white military tents, the meticulously arranged flags, the rhythm of hooves striking stone-paved roads, and the sounds of the military band tuning their instruments, as if everything was awaiting this young queen to stand at the forefront of their ranks.
Victoria was about to turn away, suddenly, her peripheral vision caught sight of something.
At a corner of the garden not far from the parade ground, beside the shadowy corridor of stone slabs, a man and woman were walking side by side.
The woman wore a gray-blue morning dress, her lace hat pressed extremely low, the man’s elbow slightly bent, making a restrained London gentleman’s gesture guiding without touching.
Momentarily, Victoria thought she was seeing things.
She recognized those two.
Mother.
Sir Arthur.
Her heart suddenly felt as if tightly clenched by someone.
The atmosphere around did not change, the court ladies seemed unaware of the queen’s nuanced emotional shift, still arranging ornaments, whispering, stooping to adjust skirt pleats.
Yet few noticed Victoria’s breathing had changed rhythm, her gaze lost focus.
Leisen, who was beside the queen, first noticed something was amiss, she softly questioned: "Your Majesty?"
Victoria did not respond.
She stared at the two walking figures like she couldn’t believe it, or perhaps felt she might not be fully awake.
"Who is accompanying Mother on her walk?" Victoria murmured: "Is it Conroy?"
The Duchess of Sutherland raised her head to glance out the window, she too recognized that upright silhouette.
It was the young man frequently summoned by the queen to Buckingham Palace for chats, the Secretary-General of the Police Commissioner Committee.
The Duchess of Sutherland lowered her gaze to respond: "It is... Sir Arthur Hastings."
Victoria still seemed unable to believe, she involuntarily stepped back a few paces, retreating to in front of the mirror.
In the mirror, the military uniform remained upright, but her eyes were no longer as bright as just moments ago.
Victoria self-doubtfully whispered: "Why... is Sir Arthur... with Mother over there?"
The court ladies were looking at each other, many among them still hadn’t figured out what had just happened.
Leisen glanced outside, she slightly paused with her mouth half-open, then couldn’t help but pinch a small clump of caraway seed into her mouth: "Your Majesty, would you like me to prepare a horse for You? Before the parade starts... we could take a stroll over to the other end of the garden."
Victoria didn’t move, her mind was a mess.
She only saw the girl in the military uniform in the mirror, epaulettes shining bright, gold buttons dazzling, the sun dancing on epaulettes and gold buttons, yet she felt that the brilliance was harshly glaring, glaring like shackles worn around her neck.
When the military ceremonial attire she most anticipated finally was worn, she suddenly wanted to move away from the mirror.
I thought he was on my side...
I thought he understood me...
Victoria stood in silence.
She seemed to hear the whispers of the court ladies behind her, yet seemed to hear nothing at all.
Everyone around was silent, unsure if it was out of reverence for the queen’s majesty or due to being choked by the unforeseen quiet, even the air grew thick.
Her right hand slowly lowered, fingertips holding the slightly gathered posture from pressing the hat brim just now.
She stood quietly, eyes still fixed towards the garden, but the figures in the corridor already departed from her sight, leaving only those flood-like overwhelming thoughts.
Why is it him?
Wasn’t he the one who understood me most?
He was the one who pulled me from the mire...
Why now, does it seem like he’s turning back to press me down again?
Or is it...
Has he always been on Mother’s side?
Victoria suddenly realized, she couldn’t distinguish whether the surge inside her chest was grievance or anger.
But she couldn’t express it.
She is the queen, the center of everyone’s attention, the direction where Britain’s awaited sun rises, she learned this long ago.
Victoria withdrew her gaze, slowly turned around.
Her tone steadying to near tenderness: "Duchess of Sutherland."
"Yes, Your Majesty?" Sutherland stepped forward immediately: "Do You have any commands?"
"Later, could you arrange for Sir Arthur Hastings to meet me here?"
