But he’s not here to be comfortable, Philip reminds himself. He’s here to make himself appealing to a princess.

He smokes for a while to distract himself from the cold. The truth, Philip can acknowledge to himself, is that he is slightly miffed that Elizabeth didn’t seem more delighted to see him. After all those painstakingly written letters, he has assumed she would fall over herself to welcome him. That may have been a mistake.

It’s galling to think his uncle may have been right about the need to come to an understanding with Elizabeth sooner rather than later. There’s a coolness to her, a reserve Philip recognises but didn’t expect. He may have to work harder to charm her than he thought.

He doesn’t need to commit himself yet. Philip stubs out his cigarette and links his hands behind his head on the pillow. Nothing is going to happen until the war is over, in any case, and he is far from ready to settle down. He is only twenty-two.

On the other hand, he is a prince. Elizabeth is a princess. He will need to marry one day, as will she. There might be worse fates.

He thinks of his father in Monte Carlo, with his fraying collars and cuffs. Of his mother living in that bare flat in Athens, pawning her jewels to buy food for those even poorer than herself. Philip has known since he was nine that he would have to look after himself. He will come into no vast inheritance. He has his title and that is it.

Elizabeth, on the other hand, will succeed to the throne of England and all the lands, wealth, and treasures that go along with it. If he marries her, he will have all the security he has never known.

At a cost.

The cost is marriage to a girl he barely knows. A lifetime of behaving well, of playing second fiddle.

Philip doesn’t know if he can bear the thought of that.

And then, of course, Elizabeth might not want him.

He scratches his chin while he thinks about how that prospect makes him feel.

She will need to marry and give the Crown an heir. How many eligible princes can there be? Why wouldn’t she choose him?

With a sigh, Philip swings his feet to the floor. It is time to get changed.

He knows what he needs to do. He just doesn’t want to do it.

Chapter 5

A fire has been lit in the drawing room where the King and Queen’s guests are gathering for drinks before dinner. By unspoken consent they all huddle in front of the mantelpiece to make the most of the meagre warmth from the flames.

Elizabeth is talking to Porchey, one of her oldest friends and as passionate about horses and racing as she is. Porchey is easy company. She never has any trouble talking to him. Her tongue doesn’t tie itself into knots when she is with him. Her smile doesn’t stiffen and her stomach doesn’t churn.