‘Lilibet, it’s not just your decision.’ Guilt is making the King sound peevish. ‘Your marriage isn’t something we can just announce. It’s not just about the two of you, however much you might want it to be. All sorts of people have to be consulted. I’ve been in touch with the Prime Minister and he tells me that the heads of the Commonwealth governments have been informed of your plans. I’m sorry to tell you that not all of them are enthusiastic about the idea of your marriage to Philip. The public aren’t keen on the idea of you marrying a foreigner either.’

‘I’m not a foreigner,’ Philip grinds out. ‘I went to school here, I only speak English and I served during the war. And now I’ve given up my hereditary rights and my title and am a British citizen. What more do people want?’

‘I understand that, but you will have to give the country some time to come around to the idea.’

‘Oh, for—!’ Philip manages to swallow down the words in time, but her father is not impressed.

‘I’m sorry if you don’t like it,’ he says coldly. ‘I’m afraid you’ll find this is the reality of marrying Lilibet. We’ll make the announcement on 15^th July. Until then, we’ll start to include you both in engagements so that you appear in the Court Circular. You can be seen together but I’m not announcing anything until July.’

***

Her father’s intransigence and Philip’s ill-concealed fury takes some of the shine off Elizabeth’s happiness, but she refuses to let herself be too downcast. The important thing is that they are still engaged and at least now they don’t have to be furtive about their meetings. Philip is invited to a birthday lunch for Queen Mary and is included in the party for Royal Ascot to which he comes in spite of the fact that he doesn’t share her love of racing.

‘I hope you’re not bored,’ she says, biting her lip as she belatedly remembers his presence after a particularly tense race, won after an excruciatingly tight finish by one of the horses in the royal stud.

‘I like watching you watching the race,’ Philip says with a lazy smile. ‘Your face is much more interesting than the horses. Anyway, I’m looking forward to dancing with you tonight.’

It is good to be back at Windsor Castle and to have a party for Royal Ascot after those lean war years. This year there is a ball in the Crimson Drawing Room. The carpet is rolled up and removed along with most of the elaborate gilt sofas and chairs commissioned by George IV. The tall windows are open to the soft June night and the great gilt mirror above the fireplace reflects back the dancers who circle in a kaleidoscope of colourful gowns punctuated with the crisp black and white of the men’s evening dress.

‘This is better,’ Philip says, taking Elizabeth’s hand and setting his free hand at her waist. ‘At least we can dance together now. Remember when we weren’t allowed to and I had to watch you over my partner’s shoulder?’