Stepping closer, he takes hold of Elizabeth’s hands. ‘I do love you,’ he says quite simply after all. ‘I just didn’t know it.’

The breath seems to have evaporated from her lungs and she feels giddy from the lack of oxygen. Her fingers tighten around Philip’s for support. ‘I … I thought … you said we would be friends and partners, not lovers.’

‘I thought that’s what you wanted,’ he says.

‘Well, I could hardly tell you I had been madly in love with you since I was thirteen!’ she says almost crossly.

There’s a pause. ‘Thirteen?’ A smile is hovering around his mouth.

‘We played croquet at Dartmouth. You were showing off terribly.’

His smile is spreading. ‘You fell in love with me then?’

‘Well, not really.’ Her eyes slide away from his, suddenly embarrassed. ‘I was only thirteen, after all. But I was … fascinated.’

‘And later?’

She looks at him then. ‘Later, I realised you were the only man I would ever love. The only man who would ever see me for myself. The only man I would ever want beside me.’

‘Well, you kept that to yourself,’ Philip says, pretending astonishment, but he is grinning now. ‘How was I supposed to know that?

‘It was perfectly obvious to anyone except a bone-headed idiot,’ Elizabeth says but the tartness in her voice is betrayed by the smile curving her own mouth.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, suddenly serious. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t realise, Elizabeth, and I’m sorry it took me so long to come to my senses, but now I have, can we agree that we can be friends and partners and lovers? Can we forget all the pomp and the politics and make this wedding about us?’ he says. ‘I don’t mean cancel all the plans – God forbid! – but just that when we’re standing there at the altar in Westminster Abbey, it’ll be just you and me? Everyone else can watch a princess marry a prince – well, a mere lieutenant now – but I want to marry you, Elizabeth. Not a princess, not an heir to the throne, just you. And I’d really like it if you would marry me, Philip, bone-headed fool that I am, not Mountbatten’s nephew or an ex-prince of Greece or that cocky boy who showed off at Dartmouth. Just me. Will you do that?’

Elizabeth’s throat is clogged as she takes her hands from his to lay them on his chest and move closer with a trembling smile. ‘Just you and just me,’ she agrees as his arms come around her. ‘Yes, let’s do that.’

Chapter 49

Buckingham Palace, November 1947

A throng of bejewelled and bemedaled guests has turned the ballroom into a cheerful muddle of colour and noise. Chatter and laughter bounce off the gilded ceiling and merge with the music from the band tucked away in the gallery. The ball at Buckingham Palace is the last and most glittering of a series of celebrations before the wedding itself. Over the week, guests from around the world have been gathering in London and the last few days have been a whirlwind of social events that have left Elizabeth feeling breathless.