‘I’m sure they’ll be fine.’ Elizabeth wiggles first one foot then the other into the shoes while Bobo clicks her tongue.

‘You should take a little more interest in what you look like!’

‘Honestly, Bobo, I’d rather be in jodhpurs.’ Elizabeth studies her reflection glumly.

‘Och, come now,’ Bobo scolds, handing her a pair of evening gloves. ‘You look very pretty. Or you would do if you would only smile,’ she adds sternly and Elizabeth blows out a breath.

‘I wish Philip was coming here. It’s so much more comfortable not to have to go out and make conversation.’

Bobo snorts at Philip’s name. ‘Don’t you like him, Bobo?’

‘It’s not my place to like or dislike him,’ Bobo says stiffly.

‘But …?’

‘But he treats you a mite too free and easy, if you ask me.’

Elizabeth smiles and pulls on the gloves, pressing down between the fingers. ‘I like that. I like that he doesn’t treat me as if I’m made of glass.’

‘There’s nothing to stop him putting on a tie when he comes to the palace, is there?’ Bobo counters. ‘But I like the way your eyes always sparkle when he’s been,’ she concedes.

To her relief, Philip is one of the first people Elizabeth sees when she enters the party that night. He’s across the room, looking dashing in evening dress. The room is crowded and the chatter of conversation deafening, competing with music from a gramophone in the corner. Almost everyone is smoking and her eyes sting as she threads her way through the throng, trying to get over to him as subtly as possible.

‘Bobo thinks you should dress like that when you come to the palace for supper,’ Elizabeth tells him when she gets there, nodding at his dinner jacket and tie. She has to raise her voice above the sound of the party.

Philip raises his brows. ‘And who exactly is Bobo?’

‘My dresser.’

‘Oho,’ he says, his eyes gleaming with amusement. ‘It’s a good sign if you’re talking about me with your dresser. What else does Bobo say?’

Elizabeth laughs and shakes her head. ‘I’ve said too much already!’ She mimes zipping her mouth shut. ‘Bobo would never tell my secrets, and I would never tell hers.’

‘I wish I could say the same about Uncle Dickie’s butler who looks after me when I’m staying in Chester Street,’ Philip leans closer to make himself heard. ‘The man never stops talking! He’s a marvel, though, I have to say. I turn up with a razor and a pair of spare shirts, and John shakes his head and whisks everything way. He washes and irons – and even darns my socks.’

His voice is swallowed up by a new record blaring out from the gramophone and Elizabeth cups a hand to her ear. ‘He does what?’

‘It doesn’t matter. It’s too noisy to talk. Let’s dance instead.’

Elizabeth lets him take her hand and lead her into the middle of room where a small space has been cleared and a few couples are dancing, although there isn’t room to do much more than sway together. They have to do the same. She is very conscious of Philip’s solid body and the firm clasp of his hand. He’s holding her close, but then, he doesn’t have much choice, she reasons. It might not be because he wants to … but he might.