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Your Royal Highness.

Get out.

Third of August, 1959.

Dearest Margaret,
I write to you with a heavy heart,

in hopes of preparing you...

...for an announcement I am to make.

As you are aware,

I have just returned from a year
abroad around the world.

A young woman named Marie-Luce
accompanied me on this trip

as my secretary and photographer.

She is someone I have known
for a few years now

and her companionship has been
one of the few joys in my life.

I have decided to ask her to marry me.

Dearest Margaret, I know
you will feel betrayed by this decision.

When we parted,
I could never have imagined

falling in love with anyone else.

But these years apart

and the knowledge that I will
never be allowed to marry you,

or even, in time...

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- I, uh...
- Mm?

I received a letter
this morning from Peter Townsend.

Ha! Group Captain Bore?

- Peter's not a bore.
- What?

- I said Peter's not a bore.
- Excuse me.

Straight-backed, obedient, decent.

Missionary fashion, three quick minutes.

And that's your lot. Definitely a bore.
Probably pajamas, too.

He looks like a pajama man.

Striped and ironed.

And? What did he have to say?

He asked my permission to break our pact.

Pact? What pact?

We promised that if we couldn't
marry each other,

we'd never marry anyone else.

Ah, I see.

Well... he now wishes to be released
from that pledge.

To get married?

- Yes.
- Who is the unfortunate?

Some girl he met in Brussels.

She's 19.

Really?

At his age?
Isn't that some sort of criminal offense?

Well, he wrote to me so I wouldn't
hear about it from anyone else.

How gallant.

And? How do you feel?

Yes, I feel a bit hurt that he should
have found happiness first.

Ah, don't be.

He hasn't found happiness.

He's found marriage,
the very opposite of happiness.

Ideally it would've been me
writing to him saying

that I was the one getting married.

Uh-uh-uh. You said
you didn't want to get married.

"That's what dreary
conventional people do."

You don't think you and I could do it...
unconventionally?

Interestingly?

Christ. Only if we violated
each and every one of the god-awful vows

the Church would make us take.

- Tony.
- Ah, right, yes.

- You have to, uh, open the doors.
- No...

- You ready?
- You can't just leave it there.

Darling, we're half
an hour late as it is.

I've just effectively proposed.

Oh, we can discuss this another time.

Fine. If what's important to me
isn't a priority for you...

- Is my car still outside?
- Yes, ma'am.

- Where are you going?
- Home.

But you came to support me.

Half those bloody journalists
have only come to see you.

Well, the work will have to speak
for itself. I'm sure it will.

Where's Her Royal Highness gone, Tony?

Oh, it's not really her sort of thing,

but Larry Olivier's here
and Alec Guinness.

Marlene Dietrich, anyone?

That's her. Oi! Come on, lads.
She's coming out now.

Go. Go!

Ah, Lord and Lady Trenchard.
What a thrill.

Oh, you must come again.
It's been so long.

I'd adore it. Much love, much love.

Ah!

- Hello, Mummy.
- Darling.

- I would like my usual, please.
- Very good.

Mnh-mnh.

So...

You didn't come to my exhibition.
After I reminded you, too.

There was a clash.

- Your brother...
- Half-brother.

...was on parade.

The Irish Guards are on parade
every month.

I have an opening like that once a year.

It was so important to him.

Well, there we are.

Michael.

The notices were favorable.

Very favorable, actually.

- Really? I read The Times.
- Mm.

The Times was the only naysayer.

Any mention of her?

Margaret? She wasn't there.

Oh.

- We had a tiff.
- What about?

Marriage, if you must know.

Mm-hmm.

- She's turned you down.
- No.

The other way round.

Are you mad?

You know, Mummy, for most parents...

there's never anyone good enough
for their children.

Your health.

What's the matter?

There's something I have to tell you.

- So I told Jacqui.
- How did she take it?

Not lying down.

Mind you,
she never takes anything lying down.

Far too conventional.

She really is the most dazzling fuck.

- Evidently.
- What is that supposed to mean?

Well, you've just become so much...

better since seeing her.

- Hear, hear.
- Have I?

I really can't keep up anymore.

- And you're more imaginative.
- Am I?

So don't give her up, whatever you do.

I won't.

Speaking of which,
I have to be in London on Thursday

and might have some time after lunch.

Is that a proposition?

It is. Any objections, Mr. Fry?

None at all, Mrs. Fry.

Can I get back to you on that?

I'm supposed
to be seeing Margaret that night.

That's all right.
I promise not to totally exhaust you.

I just thought that
I might pop the question to her then.

- Which question?
- That question.

You said she had thick ankles
and the face of a Jewish manicurist.

Well, she does.

But she's adorable, too.

- And with a quick temper.
- Oh, is that a plus?

It's not unsexy.

It doesn't mean you have to marry her.

I'm afraid I do.

Other reasons.

Don't ask me to explain.

Most of the species
in Galapagos are unique to the islands.

For instance,
this sea lion, uh, is a subspecies

found only in the Galapagos.

The land iguana,
not to be confused with the...

What's this?

Open it.

Will you forgive me
if I don't go down on one knee?

Hmm?

You won't defer to your princess,
even when you propose to her?

It's got nothing to do with deference.

They're chafed from fucking you.

Marry me.

I thought you hated the idea of marriage.

I do.

Then I hated the idea
of losing you even more.

You would have lost me.

You'd have come back.

Never.

Promise me one thing.

Name it.

Not to bore me.

Fine.

Now promise me one thing in return.

Name it.

Not to hurt me.

I promise.

Tony has proposed marriage to me
and I've accepted.

That's marginally better than the "Oh,"

which was your reaction
to Peter Townsend's proposal.

Anyway, I do hope there won't be
any objections or obstacles this time.

No, of course not.

Be good enough to give me
that assurance again,

nice and audibly,
so we're both quite clear.

Margaret.

I promise that I will never do anything

to block any marriage
of yours ever again.

Thank you.

So I have your blessing

to make the announcement
and start making plans?

- Yes...
- Good.

Then forgive me for not staying longer.

I'd just like to get cracking on this.

Peter wrote to me.

He's marrying too.

She's 19.

- Oh, Margaret.
- So my announcement must come first.

Birr Castle. Good evening.

It's Tony Armstrong-Jones.
I'd like to speak to my mother.

I'll see if Lady Rosse is available.

Tell her it's important.

Lady Rosse is resting at the moment, sir.

She has asked
that you might call back again tomorrow.

Shit.

- Tony?
- Coming.

Ah.

Ma'am.

Do sit down, Michael.

So where shall we do it?
What do you fancy?

People will expect the abbey,

but since there's no danger
of my ever wearing the crown,

we can break with that, if we want.

And go to Gretna Green?

Why not?

Or Las Vegas.

I've been informed by Princess Margaret

that she's received a proposal
of marriage.

She's accepted that proposal

and now wishes to make
a public statement.

Would you kindly speak
to Commander Colville

and the rest of the people
in the press office and

ask them to help her?

Of course, ma'am.

And it is to be the photographer, ma'am?

Yes.

- Mr. Jones.
- Armstrong-Jones, I believe.

- I see.
- She's quite within her rights, Michael.

And she seems very determined.

And we can ill afford another drama
like Peter Townsend,

so I'm going to support it,
come what may.

Of course, ma'am.

There is one slight problem, though.

Wouldn't it be fun
if we did choose the abbey?

One half full of your friends,
one half full of mine.

New world, old world.

Like an eagle with two heads,
facing in opposite directions.

All right. Let's do the abbey.

And let's make it bigger
than my sister's. Let's eclipse her.

Let's shake this place to its core.

The decision we've come to

is a little announcement
followed by a big wedding...

at the abbey.

Ta-da!

I brought a copy of the statement

which we'll give
to the newspapers tomorrow.

Well, what do you think?

It looks fine, but, uh...

No, don't come with "buts."

- We're going to have to delay it.
- Delay what?

The announcement. Just for a few months.

- Why?
- Because of the baby.

What baby?

Mine. I'm expecting.

Since when?

Fourteen weeks.

Why didn't you tell me that?

I've tried, but your head's been
in the clouds, understandably.

What has expecting
got to do with anything?

- Congratulations, by the way.
- Thank you. It's a protocol issue.

- Oh, pro... Oh, I understand!
- No, Margaret, you don't.

This is just some

scheme cooked up by all of you
to put me off the marriage.

No. It's a tiresome protocol issue.

Until the sovereign's child is born,

no other family
announcements can be made.

Don't you see? Until we announce it,
we can't marry, either.

- No, just for six months.
- Another six months?

Margaret.

Most of that time will be taken up
with planning anyway.

Margaret. Margaret.

As indication of my support as Queen,
I intend to throw a party.

For the family. For your friends.
To show our support.

We never did that for Peter.

You never did anything for Peter.

Margaret, you have my word.
It's full steam ahead.

You will marry Tony.
We just can't announce it yet.

Mr. Aneurin Bevan, who

if he isn't returned it'll be
a miracle, of course,

- with his enormous majority in...
- Bob.

Bob, I'll just interrupt you one second.
I'm being called for... Sorry.

I've stopped him now, so we'll just
confirm Edinburgh Pentlands.

Bob Mackenzie said
that Labour needed that swing,

two percent or more, to win the election.

At the beginning of the night,
it was all over the place.

One or two the other way
made us think we must hesitate,

but after 30 results it's settled down...

So it's most likely to be an earldom.

What they'll give me
to make me acceptable.

- An earldom?
- Mm.

Not a fucking dukedom.

Or a marquisate.

But as husband to the Queen's sister,

I'd still rank higher than the man
my mother took as her second husband,

the Irishman, when she left my father.

And I'd rank higher
than the son she gave him,

little Brendan, le vicomte.

On our trips to Ireland, he, Brendan,
would travel first class in the train

and my stepbrother would travel
in second class,

and I was made to travel third.

The runt son from the unsatisfactory
first marriage with no title.

And a polio-twisted leg.

Oh.

Could you? Would you? Thank you.

Love you.

27,055.

And this points to a Conservative
majority of 110 over Labour,

over 100 over all parties
in the next Parliament.

Are you in the mood for some questions?

It depends on the questions.

Does it hurt?

No, it doesn't hurt.

But it is uncomfortable,

especially if the baby's sitting
down in my pelvis or

decides to kick me.

- No, you see, now you're not interested.
- I'm very interested.

One does feel cumbersome,
and I'm tired all the time

and I can't do anything
and I can't bend down.

It's rather like that journey
from Aberdeen to Balmoral.

- Don't.
- It just seems to go on forever.

And one's toes are disappearing.

Don't say that.

- I like your toes.
- My toes are hideous.

Don't be silly.
They're the second-best thing about you.

That's a horrible compliment.

There's no such thing
as a bad compliment.

That's true. Beggars can't be choosers.

What's the best thing?

What's the best thing?

Two things, really.

Oh!

Reason alone to have children, I'd say.
Enormous.

- Yes, all right.
- You milkmaid.

No. No, no. Barmaid.

- Oh.
- Go on, indulge me.

Pour me a pint.

Filthily. Go on.

- I haven't the faintest idea.
- Go on.

Like this.

Look me in the eyes
while you're doing it.

Go on.

I'd adore you to come to Birr in March.

That's when we have the hunt.

- Really?
- Yes, and if you do...

- This way.
- Please, someone interesting.

Darling, this is John Beaufort.

These are great friends of ours.

The little finger. The little finger.

Whiskey, please, darling.

What's the matter?
You look like you've seen a ghost.

Of course, in some ways, you have.

Hideous, redundant relics and specters,
all of them.

- No, it's not that.
- What?

- Two whiskeys, please.
- Certainly, sir.

I didn't want to tell you tonight.

What?

Tony, I'm pregnant.

Me?

- You can't be sure.
- I'm 99 percent.

Well, that still leaves one percent.

- Have you told Jeremy?
- Not yet. I daren't.

Well, he did Knollys House.

Yes, yes.

And he adores it.
He's got it in his living room.

If any further evidence were needed

to prove that we are a changed country,
then this is it.

It's all changed so quickly.

- Within a generation.
- Yes.

Just 15 minutes ago, the British
government and establishment

were up in arms
about my joining this family.

- I remember.
- I was a royal prince

from a royal house.

My great-great-grandmother
was Queen Victoria.

My father was a prince,
my grandfather was a king,

and everyone was mortified
at how inappropriate I was

and how low you were stooping.

- I know.
- I mean, this fella's mother...

- Stop it!
- ...is a ghastly social climber.

His father's a common-or-garden
contract lawyer who buggered off

with an airline stewardess

and everyone's throwing their hats
in the air, declaring it's a victory.

Not yet.

Pathetic.

Come on, Margaret. Now, follow me.

- Come on, everybody. Do join in.
- Please come on.

- Ma'am.
- Here we go.

- Michael.
- I'll lead the way.

If there was anything that one ought
to know about Mr. Armstrong-Jones

before he becomes part of this family,

it might be better to know
sooner rather than later.

What is it that Your Majesty
would like to know?

Coming through!

- Ma'am.
- Coming through.

Mind yourselves.

Whoa!

Lilibet.

- Michael.
- Morning, Tommy.

I hope Your Majesty
understands the context

in which this discreet
reconnaissance work was done

and that it in no way represents

a prurient, moralistic
or censorious position.

Mr. Armstrong-Jones is perfectly entitled
in his private life

to make those choices he wishes,
indeed, to live as he wishes.

However, as with a great many artists,

the, uh, conventional approach to life
doesn't appear to fit.

It seems that what makes his work notable

is his willingness, his appetite,

to break barriers and conventions,

as he pushes his medium, photography,
I believe, to its boundaries,

and, um, as in art,

so, it would appear, in life.

I see.

The narrow path,
the straight, Christian path,

is not to his taste.

To the best of our knowledge...

...he is currently conducting

no fewer than three other
intimate relationships.

What?

With whom?

With a Miss Jacqui Chan,

an Oriental dancer and singer.

With Gina Ward, an actress.

And with a Miss Robin Banks,
his former assistant.

These, we should add...

Are just the natural ones.

What?

There is good reason
to suspect that Mr. Armstrong-Jones

has a taste for members of his own sex

and that his close friendship
with his proposed best man,

- Mr. Jeremy Fry, is...
- Yes.

- ...in fact...
- All right, Tommy.

Not to mention his wife.

- Please.
- Camilla.

Formerly Grinling.

An erstwhile girlfriend
of Armstrong-Jones.

Who is now expecting, herself.

Do you have a photograph of her?

We do.

Thank you, Michael.

If you agree, gentlemen, it's customary

to inform the Home Secretary
at this point.

Whoa, whoa, whoa.

- Christ, Jim.
- All right, all right, all right.

- OK?
- Right.

- Some twilight sleep, ma'am.
- Thank you.

I'm happy to tell you,

delivery of the Queen's child
is expected imminently.

Oh, well. Good gracious.

Well, um, perhaps a moment's prayer
on behalf of the government?

O Lord, our heavenly Father,
high and mighty,

king of kings, lord of lords...

There we are.

...the only ruler of princes,

who dost, from Thy throne,
behold all the dwellers upon Earth.

Most heartily, we beseech Thee,
with thy favor,

to behold our most gracious
Sovereign Lady, Queen Elizabeth,

and so replenish her
with the grace of thy Holy Spirit,

that she may always incline

to Thy will and walk in Thy way...

Endue her plenteously
with heavenly gifts.

Shit.

Grant her,
in health and wealth, long to live.

Strengthen her, that she may vanquish
and overcome all her enemies

and, finally, after this life...

Ah, shit!

...she may attain
everlasting joy and felicity

through Jesus Christ, our Lord.

- Amen.
- Amen.

Good baby. What a good baby.

This is London. Here is the news.

The new prince
will be second in line to the throne

and was born weighing
seven pounds and three ounces.

A name is expected to be announced soon.

Celebrations today include a 41-gun
salute by the Royal Horse Artillery

and a 21-gun salute by the Royal Navy.

This is the British
Broadcasting Corporation...

You have a new nephew, Your Highness.

Congratulations.

- Hello.
- Hello.

Look. He's beautiful.

- Thank you.
- Have you thought of a name?

Well, we briefly considered George,

but there's been too many of those,
and anyway, no one could live up to Papa.

No.

And then we thought of Louis,
but that was a bit too...

- Foreign.
- Mm.

- So, we've decided upon Andrew.
- Oh...

After Philip's father.

Yes, the bankrupt philanderer.

Philip's father.

So, now the baby's here and healthy
and all is well, everybody's thrilled,

I would just like your blessing
for me and Tony to...

- Yes, you know what I'm about to say.
- Announce your engagement?

Yes.

Very well.

Thank you.

But before you announce it
and rush up the aisle...

are you sure that Tony's the right man?

- I can't believe you're doing this.
- Margaret.

In the first flush of a romantic love,
we're all blind.

We see only what we want to see.

- You hardly know him.
- And you know him even less.

I'm just concerned
that in a rush to heal wounds...

Wounds inflicted by you.

...you end up committing yourself
to something, someone,

that isn't quite right.

You told me yourself
you only embarked on this engagement

after you heard from Peter
that he intended to marry someone else.

I just want to make sure
that this isn't some kind of revenge.

Tony is no revenge.
Tony is a free choice.

Tony has given me reason
to hope and dream.

He makes me feel things

no one ever has.

Things I didn't imagine possible.

I don't doubt that.

But he's also a very complicated man.

With a complicated past and, who knows,

a complicated present.

What is that supposed to mean?

Or is there something you know?

Because if there is, tell me now.

Tell me now.

I'm merely asking if he's the right man
for a lifelong commitment.

Is he really cut out for marriage
with all its ups and downs?

I will marry Tony
if it is the last thing I do.

At the Chelsea Registry Office,

with a local drunk
as witness, if need be.

Because Tony makes sense of me,
defines me.

At long last, I know who I am
and what I represent.

And what is that?

A woman in my own right.

A woman for the modern age.

And, above all, a woman who is free.

Free to live, to love,

and free to break away.

But you're not breaking away.

Because you won't give up your title,
your rank, your privileges,

for one simple reason.

You enjoy it all too much.

The palaces, the privileges,
the deference.

It's always meant more to you
than it did to me.

Whereas all I wanted to do was...

give it all up...

disappear and become invisible.

Well, in that case, your achievement's
all the more remarkable.

As you've managed to disappear
and become invisible,

while wearing the crown.

- Margaret...
- I'll see you in the abbey.

When the announcement of the betrothal

was made from Clarence House,

the reaction everywhere
was not only one of surprise

but also of the greatest pleasure.

Strange to be getting up
in a London street,

but you must have your hair looking
its best on a great day like this.

Before the great news was given,

the princess's fiancé was quite unknown
to the people of Britain.

Now everyone knows he's 29,

the same age as Princess Margaret.

He was educated at Eton and at Cambridge,

where he coxed the winning crew in 1950,

and he's unconventional, talented
and very popular...

They spent some time
walking through the grounds

while the cameras continued
to make this delightful record.

Your father would have been proud.

Well, not bad, you'd have to say.

What?

For the son
that always brought you shame.

The son that you rejected.
The son that was never good enough.

I suppose I always thought
that eventually you'd find it in you

to admit that you're proud of me.

Perhaps even that you love me.

Darling, I do hope
you haven't done all this for me.

Antony Charles Robert,

wilt thou have this woman
to thy wedded wife,

to live together after God's ordinance

in the holy estate of matrimony?

Wilt thou love her, comfort her,
honor and keep her,

in sickness and in health,

and, forsaking all other,
keep thee only unto her,

as long as ye both shall live?

I will.

Margaret Rose, wilt thou
have this man to thy wedded husband,

to live together after God's ordinance
in the holy estate of matrimony?

Wilt thou obey him and serve him,
love, honor and keep him,

in sickness and in health,

and, forsaking all other...

...keep thee only unto him,

so long as ye both shall live?

I will.

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