It is not the princess or the position he wants. It is Elizabeth herself. Elizabeth, with her warm smile and her kindness, her straight back and steady spirit.

I know you don’t love me, she said. But she is wrong. He does love her, he just hasn’t realised it until now.

Philip hasn’t been looking for love, and he isn’t prepared for it. Now, he feels aggrieved, almost foolish, caught unawares by the way it has crept up on him when he wasn’t paying attention. His relationship with Elizabeth is supposed to be calm and practical. She is a princess, he is a prince. Their arrangement is not supposed to be about wanting or needing or loving.

Except now, somehow, it is.

He has been teetering on the brink of this chasm for months, Philip realises, and he has fallen over into love now that it is too late to do anything about it. And very uncomfortable it feels, too! He doesn’t want this gnawing sense of need, this ridiculous feeling that he is off-balance without Elizabeth by his side.

He’s been perfectly happy with the way things are up to now, Philip tells himself crossly. He doesn’t want to be in love, but now the truth of it has hit him like a train, there seems to be no unknowing it and he is left feeling edgy and empty and uncomfortably aware that he needs Elizabeth more than she needs him.

Which means he will have to do something about it.

I know you don’t love me. Elizabeth’s words drum in his brain throughout the long, wretched evening. It is a relief when he can finally leave and sink onto his bed, dropping his aching head into his hands. He needs to tell her how wrong she is.

He needs to know if she can love him back.

Only then, Philip decides, will the world which has tipped so abruptly out of kilter settle back into place.

First thing tomorrow, he promises himself, he will go to the palace and put his happiness in Elizabeth’s hands before he loses his nerve.

Chapter 48

Buckingham Palace, November 1947

Elizabeth is trying on shoes and hats for her going away outfit when Philip bursts in. Deeply discomposed by the interruption of someone so fiercely masculine and out of place amongst the array of frivolous accessories, Mr Hartnell and his assistants flutter ineffectually like hens confronting a fox in the coop.

Philip ignores them all. He looks angry and baffled and in spite of herself, Elizabeth’s heart leaps.

‘I need to talk to you,’ he says to her.

‘I’m rather busy, as you can see.’ Elizabeth forces herself to stay cool. All she has had from him since their row is a stiff note indicating that he wants to go ahead with the wedding. Does he really expect her to welcome him with open arms? Why should she change her plans just because he is suddenly ready to talk? ‘Can you come back in an hour or two?’