Philip pulls a face. ‘It’s hard to like being eaten alive by midges.’

Perhaps the midges are a pest but there is so much else to enjoy at Balmoral. Elizabeth wants Philip to think about that day by the loch too, but why should he? He has never pretended to be romantic. She tells herself she doesn’t mind when he is off hand with her, that the last thing she wants is to be pawed in public, but sometimes, secretly, she longs for him to tell her that their engagement means more than a dynastic union.

‘You don’t have to go stalking if you don’t want to,’ she tells him.

‘Your father won’t be happy if I’m not slaughtering some kind of wildlife,’ says Philip morosely.

‘You could try grouse shooting this year,’ she offers. ‘You always get a good lunch with that party.’

‘That’s something,’ he says with a grudging smile that vanishes when Margaret tells him with a needle-sharp smile that he will have to take a kilt to wear.

‘What? Why?’

‘It’s expected of members of the royal family, and that’s what you’ll be when you marry Lilibet.’

Philip turns an aggrieved gaze to Elizabeth. ‘Is that right?’

‘I’m afraid Papa is very particular about it,’ she says and he glowers.

‘God, that’s all I need, to be forced to wear a skirt! Talk about emasculated!’

‘It’s a kilt, not a skirt,’ Elizabeth says, quite sharply for her. ‘It’s part of Balmoral, Philip, and Margaret’s right. If you’re going to be part of the royal family, you’re going to have to wear one.’

Chapter 42

Balmoral Castle, August 1947

Having longed to be in Scotland and dreamt of rediscovering the happiness of the year before, Elizabeth doesn’t enjoy being at Balmoral as much as she usually does. This is partly due to Philip, who is deliberately making no effort to fit in as far as she can tell. He puts her father’s back up on the first night when he appears in the kilt he insists on describing as ‘cissy’ and drops a curtsey. The King is not amused.

‘It was a joke,’ Philip says, exasperated, when Elizabeth remonstrates with him.

‘Not a very funny one. Now Papa will be cross all evening. I know this isn’t your idea of fun, Philip, but do try and fit in.’

‘I can’t fit in,’ he says. ‘I haven’t been to the right school. If I’d been to Eton, I’d be able to toady along with everyone else. Is that what you’d prefer?’

‘You know it isn’t,’ she says evenly. ‘Nobody’s asking you to be a toady. Just to be a little less … brusque.’

‘These old courtiers want me to sit quietly and not have an opinion. Why should I?’ Philip demands. ‘I’ve fought for this country. I’m entitled to a point of view!’

‘Of course you are,’ Elizabeth says, picking her words with care. ‘Perhaps you don’t have to voice it quite so forcefully though.’

Philip makes an irritable gesture. ‘None of them want me here. They think I’m not good enough for you.’