Yes, Ma'am

Dance

Queen Victoria's POV

The man's hands started off in a dignified position. Started. They slowly, but surely, let's not forget the surely, made their way to a rather unqueenly position where upon my spine involuntarily straightened, flicking my chin up and redirecting my eyes to my dance partner, as opposed to his groping hands. People these days...
To act in such a way to the queen of the richest nation on earth is so utterly... Oh where is Lord M?..
I re channeled my attention to find my Prime Minister. In the, extremely full, fullness of time my eyes landed on the man standing in his costume.
It really was of great authenticity, his feathered hat flopping precariously across his forehead casting shadows under his cheek bones. Sending him a pleading look from over what's-his-names shoulder to, at the very least, give Mr. Last Man On Earth a distraction, I watched as his eyes crinkled slightly and a world-weary smile crept upon his countenance.
I smiled with relief inside.

Lord M's POV

I twisted nonchalantly in my costume. Honestly! The things I do for Her Majesty!
Not for Victoria. For society, Melbourne, remember that. It is your mantra, not for the Queen, for society. The greater good. You must get this into your head.
I felt a pair of eyes rest upon me, and I turned 90° to meet them.
What you must come to understand, is when one goes to meet another's eyes it is very often not their eyes that they see first. Sometimes it will be there jaw, others their forehead, very occasionally one may cross your eyes to gaze upon a nose, if it so pleases. It is not choice, consciously anyway, just a landing point. And so, my eyes met, not my Queen's, but her slightly parted lips, stained ever so slightly from food and alcohol, a warm autumnal colour. A very warm colour. Almost veering on hot. Society Melbourne... Focus.
From beside me I heard a mutter about the Queen's partners crude position.  And to my surprise, I was walking, with some celerity too, towards the dancing Queen and her suitor. Upon reaching them, to my delight, they broke apart, thus allowing for another dance partner. One who would carry her with the grace and respect she was due. Not me. I turned to return to my position on the outskirts...

Too late.

Queen Victoria's POV

And finally dear Lord M helped me out. He stood bewildered in the centre of the room, be that as it may; but Mr. Not-For-The-Earth-And-Mars shoved off, so he did his job.
I took the brief (I say it was brief...) moment to admire my second in command. His precise pose was, well, hard to explain. He stood, slightly slumped, with feet in a wide stance pointing in opposite directions, a slight pout gracing his mature features giving him the impression of a child having a tantrum over some peas mashed with potatoes. Such a petty problem but life changing for a four year old. I was tempted to ask him or something along the lines of: 'What, pray tell, is the matter now, darling Emmy-boo-boo?' and grab what fat he had on his chiseled face, smushing it like one would a young child and pressing my forehead to his, with the voice to go with it- naturally.
If only to confuse him further.
However, I managed to refrain, instead straining to take his broad shoulders into my arms and guide him to the rhythm until he was aware of his surroundings.
I was not fully taking in the precious conversation that followed, owed to the large intake of champagne, but I do recall one part:

'He was her companion then?..' An assumption as opposed to a question regarding Queen Elizabeth spilt from my mouth.
He flinched and stumbled, tripped and slowly trundled through a sentence that equated more or less to a yes.
I stared slowly letting such information sink through. Thinking nothing of it, we continued the dance until the music finished.
Standing, strangely startled by the inevitable, that the dance would finish, I stared, and were it not for my then inebriated state, perhaps, would have wondered that maybe he were as longing as I to continue moving arm in arm for all eternity. I quickly brushed the thought off and was forcefully guided to my next partner.
Twirling in a most unladylike fashion between suitors and family, friends and the miscellaneous  I kept my jaw tight and eyes focused and... All I remember is wishing my dear Lord M would take my hands in his leading me to music once more.

Lord M's POV

I stared down at my Queen, her eyes filled with childlike hope, her ivory hands reaching for mine in the soft orange light.
'Oh Lord M! I wish that I could dance with you forever!'
How much had she had? This was not my Queen talking. My Queen was not flirtatious and she would not know lust if it chucked a brick at her. She did not know how badly she was toying with me. Melbourne... Stop it.
But would she know love? Stop. It.
It was too late to stop her grabbing my hands. She held them within hers, thumbs stretched in aim to encase my own. She stepped closer.
Taking her left hand she rested it upon my chest, she then moved my hand to her hips so that both of her elegant spidery hands were pressed against me.
My heart quickened its pace. Her eyes showed a look I had not before seen on her, subconsciously she moved her mouth and tilted her weight forward to the balls of her feet.
Its the alcohol, I thought, she will regret this tomorrow, it's down to you to do what's right. For Society. For her Majesty. For her.
'Not today, Ma'am'
Her face lost its radiance instantly, her expression becoming hollow and meaningless as she wore a wan smile.
And she departed. No 'Good night, dearest Lord M'
I, on the contrary remained, suddenly feeling very cold; now that I had pushed her away I was left alone in the long halls.
Damn it Melbourne! Her broken expression...
I thumped my empty hands to the wall, again and again, I ran my hands through my hair in frustration. I cried bitter words of regret and sympathy for her. I wept bitter tears of much more.