‘There now.’ Bobo settles the fastening at the nape of Elizabeth’s neck and stands back to admire her handiwork. ‘You look happy.’ She smiles at Elizabeth’s reflection.

‘I am.’

‘I’m glad for you.’ Bobo has been dressing Elizabeth since she was a little girl, since before Elizabeth knew she was a princess. She has an uncanny ability to tell what her charge is thinking. ‘He’s a fine man. Just be sure you make yourself happy, as well as him.’

‘I will.’ Elizabeth turns from the mirror and kisses her dresser on the cheek. ‘Thank you, Bobo.’

Bobo pretends to shoo her away. ‘Now go and enjoy your betrothal party.’

Philip is waiting with the King and Queen in her mother’s sitting room when Elizabeth and Margaret join them. His expression when he catches sight of her makes Elizabeth’s heart bump hard against her ribs, tangling up her breathing. There’s a beat when the temptation to throw herself into his arms is almost overwhelming, but that isn’t the way a princess behaves, particularly not in front of her parents.

She has to content herself with a decorous kiss on the cheek but allows herself to breathe in the distinctive smell of Philip – clean skin, clean linen – for a dizzying moment before she draws away.

Philip’s eyes are warm as he smiles down at her and she lets herself hope that he has done the same and used that brief kiss to remind himself of the softness of her hair, the fragrance of her skin. When their eyes meet, it is as if they have had a whole conversation, as if he has told her she is beautiful, and she puts her hand on his arm as they make their way through the private quarters to the concealed door that leads into the White Drawing Room.

They pause at the door and Elizabeth takes a breath as she always does before an occasion. It is just a breath but it is enough to don an invisible armour over her shyness. But this time Philip is with her. His hand closes over hers on his arm and the warmth of his clasp seeps into her as she smiles gratefully at him.

Then the cabinet and mirror that disguise the door are swung open and they step into the noise and brilliance of the drawing room. Beneath the great chandelier, the room is a kaleidoscope of vividly coloured gowns while the animated conversation bounces off the gilded walls. Elizabeth and Philip move together among the guests, accepting congratulations as they go.

For Elizabeth, it is as if all her senses are on high alert. Usually she is tense, concentrating fiercely on making conversation, but today, with Philip at her side, she is acutely aware of her body, of the way her dress rustles as she moves, of the warm weight of the pearls at her throat, the gleam of diamonds on her finger. And most of all, of Philip beside her, tall and proud in his shabby naval uniform.

As always, it strikes Elizabeth that he carries his own forcefield around with him. It makes everyone else dim in comparison to his vivid presence. He is not smooth or polished, but it is impossible not to take note of him. Whenever Elizabeth feels her shyness struggling back to the surface, she glances at him, and it is almost as if she has reached out and touched him. She doesn’t, but he always knows exactly when to turn his head and meet her eyes with the merest flicker of a reassuring wink that makes her pulse jolt.

Her mother is standing with Philip’s lively cousin, Sandra, and her husband, King Peter of Yugoslavia, when Elizabeth and Philip make their way round to them.

‘So many congratulations,’ Sandra says, kissing Philip. ‘You’ve come a long way since you let those pigs out at Panker,’ she tells him. She turns to Elizabeth and the Queen. ‘Philip was such a naughty boy,’ she says. ‘There was a model farm there and we were fascinated by the pigs. It was Philip’s idea to stir them up and unbolt the stalls. The next thing we knew there was pandemonium, with pigs stampeding all over the tea lawn. Tea things all over the grass, tables turned over, aunts and uncles screaming and shouting …’ She laughs merrily. ‘Oh, it was fun while it lasted, wasn’t it, Philip?’

‘I don’t remember anything about it,’ Philip says.

‘You must do!’

‘I’m quite prepared to believe that I was a little devil, but I’ve got absolutely no recollection of squealing pigs on the tea lawn.’

‘Talking of tea lawns,’ the Queen interrupts smoothly before it descends into a cousinly squabble, ‘there is a garden party here tomorrow, and the King and I think it would be a good idea if you came, Philip. It would be a good opportunity for you and Lilibet to appear together in public for the first time.’

Elizabeth sees Philip resist the temptation to grimace. ‘Of course,’ he says.

Peter winks at him. ‘I see they’re wasting no time throwing you to the lions, Philip!’

‘Peter!’ the Queen protests. ‘It’s just a garden party! Philip will have to learn that’s part of the job.’

Remembering her vow to make things as easy for Philip as possible, Elizabeth tries to discourage the idea. ‘We don’t want to put him off too soon, Mummy,’ she says, but Philip takes her hand.

‘I won’t be put off, Elizabeth,’ he says, but he is looking at the Queen with challenge in his eyes. ‘You don’t need to worry about that.’

Liveried footmen open the doors into the State Dining Room and as they take their seats around the mahogany table, twenty down each side and three at the ends, chants of ‘We want Elizabeth and Philip!’ can be heard from the gates at the front of the palace. Elizabeth pauses in the middle of unfolding her napkin, thinking about how long people have been standing out there in the hope of seeing her with Philip.

‘Should we go now?’ she asks her father across the table. ‘They’ve all been waiting an awfully long time already.’

‘Certainly not,’ the King says irritably. ‘We’ll have dinner first.’

Knowing that so many people are waiting makes Elizabeth a little uncomfortable but it is a wonderful dinner even so. Rationing is still in force, but it hardly matters what they eat when the silver gilt gleams and glasses sparkle the length of the table. Floral centrepieces from the palace gardens scent the air and the gilding on the walls and ceiling is reflected endlessly in the grand mirrors while the shouting from the front of the palace is a good-humoured backdrop to the conversation at table.

After dinner, the King at last agrees that it is time to show themselves to public. They make their way to the room where they have waited to wave to the crowds on so many momentous occasions: her father’s coronation, VE Day, VJ Day … but this time they are waiting just for her.

And Philip.

Sensing movement in the palace, the crowd picks up the chant. ‘We want Elizabeth and Philip! We want Elizabeth and Philip!’

‘They don’t sound too bothered about me being a foreign prince now,’ Philip murmurs in her ear and they exchange a smile.

‘They don’t, do they?’ Elizabeth moves to stand in front of the tall windows that open onto the balcony. Smoothing down the gown over her stomach, she touches the pearls at her throat in an unconsciously nervous gesture.

‘All right?’ Philip asks with a quick frown.

‘I’m fine.’ Elizabeth nods to the footmen, who pull open the windows while the crowd roars in approval. ‘Ready?’ It is her turn to ask Philip and there is something fierce in the way he nods in response.