It is not like him, but when he looks at Elizabeth’s face, his triumphant smile fades and he finds himself going down on one knee and offering her the ring.

‘Elizabeth, will you do me the honour, the very great honour, of being my wife?’

The moment is a little spoiled by Susan, who thinks he wants to play and jumps up at him, but Philip nudges her away without looking at her and watches instead the smile that blooms on Elizabeth’s face.

‘I will,’ she says

Getting to his feet, Philip slips the ring on to her finger. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she says, turning her hand so the diamonds flash in the sunlight.

Elizabeth has seen the design but hasn’t been able to try the ring on before now and Philip frowns as he sees it slipping around her finger.

‘It’s too big,’ he says in concern. ‘We should have got it sized. Do you want to wait until it fits properly?’

‘No,’ Elizabeth says. She presses her fingers together to keep the ring in place. ‘It’ll be fine like this for the photos. Let’s not give Papa another reason for a delay. We’ve waited long enough.’

Chapter 39

London, July 1947

‘“Buckingham Palace, 10th July 1947”,’ David Milford Haven reads out in a suitably portentous voice. He is lounging on a sofa in Chester Street, making great play of studying the Court Circular in The Times. ‘“It is with the greatest pleasure that the King and Queen announce the betrothal of their dearly beloved daughter The Princess Elizabeth to Lieutenant Philip Mountbatten, R.N.,” – that’s you, cousin – “son of the late Prince Andrew of Greece and Princess Andrew” – then they add Princess Alice of Battenberg in brackets for the benefit of the hoi polloi who might otherwise wonder how she could be called Andrew – “to which union the King has gladly given his consent.”’

‘“Gladly” might be stretching it,’ Philip says with a grim smile. ‘The King could hardly bring himself to smile at the family celebration last night.’

David drops The Times onto the floor beside him. He is recovering from what he declared that morning to be the hangover from hell. When Philip returned from the decorous celebrations at the palace, he crossed David on his way out to the Savoy. David urged him to go out with him, but mindful of his new role, Philip opted to stay at home – and then spent the rest of the evening wishing he’d gone out and belatedly considering the implications of getting married to the most visible woman in the country. Does this mean he is going to have to spend the rest of his life behaving well?

‘Well, you did it,’ David congratulates him.

‘I did. Uncle Dickie will be pleased.’

David raises an eyebrow at the lack of enthusiasm in his voice. ‘You’re the one who ought to be pleased. You’re engaged to marry the most eligible girl in the world.’

‘Yes, and I’m just coming to realise what it will mean,’ Philip confesses. ‘Last night, we had champagne at the palace, and they were already talking about how I would need a detective and a valet and a social secretary and God knows who else to dance attendance on me! What am I going to do with a social secretary?’ he demands. ‘And then there was a lot of talk about protocol and duty.’ He blows out a sigh like a horse.

‘Come on, Philip, you must have known what marrying Lilibet would involve.’

Irritated by the fact that his cousin is right, Philip jerks his shoulder. ‘Yes, yes, of course I did, but I wasn’t thinking about that, was I? I was focused on getting the King to agree to the engagement.’

He has had his eyes fixed on the goal for so long, he realises, that he hasn’t thought beyond it. Now that he has what he wanted, it is as if he has climbed to the top of a mountain and looked around to see that the only way forward is down.

‘Cheer up,’ David says. ‘There are bound to be some compensations being married to someone who’s going to be one of richest women in world one day. Maybe you’ll be able to afford a decent wardrobe at last.’

‘There have already been some rather pointed comments about that.’ Philip tries to shrug off his ridiculously despondent mood. ‘Apparently it’s been noticed that my flannel trousers haven’t been pressed, and horror of horrors, sometimes my sleeves are rolled up.’

‘What about the fact that you stuff your hands in your pockets?’

‘What’s the point of pockets if you can’t put your hands in them?’

‘You don’t have to jam them in so the jacket’s all out of shape,’ David points out and Philip scowls at him.

‘We can’t all be damned dandies!’

‘You’re going to have to sharpen up your act, cousin,’ David says, smirking at Philip’s discomfiture. ‘You’ll have to learn to tie your tie properly, pick up your clothes … and buy some decent socks! Those things you wear are a disgrace.’

Philip’s feet are propped on the coffee table. Lifting one, he regards the sock. It is liberally darned and his big toe is starting to poke through at the end again. ‘Plenty of life in these yet,’ he says. ‘Besides, haven’t you heard of rationing, David? We’re supposed to be making do and mending.’

David rolls his eyes. ‘I just hope you’re not planning to wear that tennis shirt for dinner at the palace tonight?’

‘That’s what naval uniform is for,’ Philip says.

A special dinner to mark the betrothal has been hastily arranged at Buckingham Palace for that night. It is going to be a glittering affair and afterwards he and Elizabeth will make an appearance on the balcony to wave at the anticipated crowds. It will just be the start, Philip knows. His life will never be the same again.

But there is no going back now.

Chapter 40

Buckingham Palace, July 1947

The crowds are already gathering around the Victoria Monument as Bobo zips up Elizabeth’s white ball gown and twitches the long skirts into place. Elizabeth stands patiently, turning her engagement ring on her finger, but inside she is trembling with anticipation. Her betrothal dinner. It is really happening at last. She glances at the ring, turning her hand to catch the reassuring glint of the diamonds as she has done most of the day, just to convince herself her engagement is real.

Philip has sent her flowers, a simple, unostentatious bouquet that sits on the dressing table and reassures her almost as much as the ring itself. She saw his face last night when her father was informing him that Tommy Lascelles would sort out a private secretary for him.

Elizabeth is well aware of how hard it will be for Philip to adjust. He may be royal but he has no conception of how carefully regulated his life will become. It will be up to her to make sure he doesn’t regret his old life too much. She mustn’t make any emotional demands, she reminds herself. She will need to reassure him she hasn’t forgotten the agreement they made at Balmoral.

But still, they are betrothed. At last! While Bobo fastens her favourite pearl necklace around her neck, Elizabeth studies her reflection in the cheval mirror and sees an excited girl in a beautiful dress. She is wearing the white tulle gown that she wore in South Africa to the ball held on her twenty-first birthday. It sparkles with diamante and sequin embroidery, reflecting her mood.