Margaret rolls her eyes after their mother. ‘The dreaded spectre of Uncle David and Mrs Simpson! I wondered how long it would be before she brought them up.’ She pours herself more coffee and glances at Elizabeth’s set face. ‘Don’t take it to heart, Lil. They’ll come around to Philip, if he is who you really want?’

‘Yes, it is. It’s him or no one.’

It’s a relief to own it to her sister. Philip is the only man for her. Elizabeth feels it deep in her core, an unwavering certainty that she doesn’t even understand herself. Sometimes Philip can be distant, at others warm and friendly. The mixture of boisterous fun and arrogant reserve is intriguing. She likes the unpredictability of it. It’s invigorating, never knowing what he will say or do. It keeps the blood fizzing along her veins.

Everybody else behaves to her in exactly the same way: they are often charming, always polite and deferential. At social occasions, the onus is on her to put people at their ease, but there is never anyone to put her at her ease. They treat her like a princess.

Philip treats her as Elizabeth.

It is not just that he is handsome. It is more that his vitality seems to suck the oxygen greedily from the room, leaving her short of breath. The very air seems to crisp when he walks through it. The light is sharper, smells are more intense. In his presence, Elizabeth is aware of her own body in a way she never has been before. She can feel the slow pulse of blood along her veins, the tiny fizz of awareness underneath her skin.

She meets Margaret’s gaze. ‘I won’t give him up,’ she says.

‘I shouldn’t worry,’ Margaret says. ‘They won’t let you do an Uncle David. If you refuse to be Papa’s heir, then they would be left with me, and we all know what a disaster that would be.’

Elizabeth can hardly miss the thread of bitterness in her sister’s voice. ‘You’d be bored as Queen,’ she says lightly. ‘You’d have to behave yourself.’

If she wasn’t going to be Queen, would Philip even think of marrying her?

‘That’s true.’ Margaret threw herself carelessly back in her chair in a way she would never have dared if her mother had still been there. ‘It doesn’t sound any fun at all. You can keep the top job, Lil. You can always wait until you’re twenty-five and then you can marry who you want without Papa’s permission.’

Five years is a long time to wait. Elizabeth can’t see Philip having the patience for that.

She is going to have to do something.

Chapter 25

Balmoral Castle, August 1946

‘I’m perfectly capable of unpacking my own bag, dammit.’ Philip jerks an irritable shoulder as he stands at the window.

Behind him, the footman who has been assigned to act as his valet is laying out the meagre and much-patched contents of his solitary naval valise on the bed. Philip has driven himself to Balmoral, a long but exhilarating drive, and he hasn’t brought a valet with him. What does he need with a valet? True, John Dean, the Mountbattens’ butler, often ensures that he looks presentable in London, but he can hardly drag his uncle’s servant to Scotland without so much as a by-your-leave.