Victoria Confesses (9781442422469) by Carolyn Meyer

approaching her in the most loving and reasonable way I knew how.
    â€œDearest Mamma, why must I still share a room with you? I should so like to have a room of my own,” I had said only weeks earlier.
    â€œDarling, it is beyond me that you should not want more than anything to sleep near the one who cares for you most deeply. And it’s for the best, believe me.”
    Another time: “Mamma, why must I, at the age of thirteen, hold someone’s hand when I go down a flight of stairs?”
    â€œMy dear Vickelchen, if you were to slip on the marble, or to stumble and injure yourself, I could never forgive myself! This rule is only for your safety!”
    Rules, rules, rules. It was pointless to challenge them, for I never won a concession and often had to write yet another letter of apology.
    My body was becoming that of a woman, but she still insisted that I wear childish dresses. I was allowed to see almostno other girls my age but the dull Victoire, and to read only books suitable for an eight-year-old. I often felt that she did not love me for who I was but for what I represented. It seemed more important for Mamma to be the mother of the future queen of England than of an English girl named Victoria. I owed everything to Mamma, as she reminded me often, but I withdrew from her, preferring to spend my time with Daisy. Did Mamma notice that my bond with my former governess was more intense than my bond with her? I didn’t know. And I didn’t care, for it was true.
    There was one thing more that could not be dismissed: The memory of Mamma in Sir John’s embrace still sprang unbidden to my mind. Perhaps there had been nothing to it. It may have meant nothing at all. But it did not escape my notice that Sir John made all the decisions. He ruled my life and my mother’s too. I might forgive her that embrace, but I could not forgive her for allowing him to control us.

    Early in the New Year Sir John brought Mamma a gift: the most beautiful and adorable little King Charles spaniel. He had long, floppy black ears, a white muzzle, brown spots on a white body, and large brown eyes that gazed at me with great intelligence . His name was Dash. He was very playful, yet always obedient and lay devotedly at Mamma’s feet.
    Little Dash was perfection. I soon began to earn his affection, and Mamma did not object—she was more adoring of her many birds. I dressed Dash in the scarlet jacket and blue trousers that Daisy ordered for him as a surprise for me. He didn’t seem to mind being outfitted as a human and enjoyed the attention. It became clear that DEAR SWEET LITTLE DASH haddeclared himself to belong to me, and from then on he was with me constantly.
    I was delighted to have him by my side during the long, tiresome hours I spent with the artist commissioned by Mamma to paint a full-length portrait of me. I had often sat for portraits, sometimes with Mamma, but none had ever been as wearisome—and as detailed—as this. I was dressed in palest pink, my hair done up in an elaborate braid arranged like a crown on my head. I wore gloves—or rather, one glove; the other had been stolen by my dear sweet little Dashy, shown frisking in the lower left corner of the painting. I was posed standing by a library table with a world globe nearby and Windsor Castle seen in the distance. Nearly every afternoon for seven weeks I had to stand motionless for two hours at a time, while the painter dabbed at his canvas. HOW TEDIOUS! But the finished portrait was to be a wedding gift for Uncle Leopold and his bride, Princess Louise of Orléans, whom he had recently married. It was also reproduced in black and white engravings intended to be widely distributed, so that my future subjects would have a likeness of their future queen.

    During that busy winter and spring my evenings were often occupied with visits to the theater, the opera, and the ballet. In April we went to see Marie Taglioni, the