By the time you read this, we’ll know for certain whether there was any truth to last fall’s rumours about a royal heir in the oven. Kate's skinny middle can’t lie for long. But, may I say, as someone who stood for nine days last summer on the Royal Tour frontlines, there was definitely something cooking between the Duke of Cambridge and his new bride during their crazy Canadian honeymoon. 

They were just so darned romantic those two—the way he gently touched her back; the way she betrayed her amusement at his appalling French accent—their obvious affection softened the steely hearts of even the most cynical journalists. And trust me: the press who follow the Royals like starving dogs must count among the most jaded in the world.

It is the gift of the well-bred that they make you feel that there is no one in the room—maybe on the planet—with whom they would rather be speaking. They make you feel worthy and special and Just. So. Interesting.

And so it was Canada that blushed deeply when William made it clear in his first speech that he and his new missus had dreamed of visiting—it wasn’t just some random honeymoon destination chosen from an approved Commonwealth catalogue. Kate has family ties to Alberta (her grandfather trained pilots there). And Will has, well…family dominion.

It was the kind of intense relationship that you know can’t last, but from June 30 to July 8, 2011, Canada—declared Object of Royal Desire—sparkled, despite temperatures that hovered in the high 20s. From Rideau Hall to the Rockies, from Yellowknife to the St. Lawrence, Canada looked the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge in the eye and declared: “Come hither.”

Along the way, you could see sparks flying, literally, as during the spectacular Canada Day fireworks celebrations on Ottawa’s Parliament Hill, and figuratively as when two radio hosts in Nova Scotia got into a surprisingly serious conversation in rural P.E.I. about how “Kate is the new Grace Kelly,” and, “it’s nice that little girls have someone to admire who’s not just getting out of rehab.”

Considering the royal schedule was measured in minutes—that’s apparently what it takes to organize seven official stops (and one last-minute trip) in four provinces and one territory in this vast country—it was remarkable how much time Wills and Kate carved out to flirt with their admirers.

So eager were they to meet the people, they were late almost from the get-go, Kate, ever smiling and chatty, shook every hand that was offered—even at Dalvay-by-the-Sea in P.E.I., when a driving Atlantic rain would have tempted a lesser Royal to cut the walkabout short.

Occasionally, protocol went off the rails. In Montreal, a motley crowd of protestors lobbed eggs at the entourage. (The couple appeared oblivious to the insult.) In P.E.I., Kate sampled regional cuisine in front of the cameras (Royals eat too! Who knew?) and Meaghan Blanchad, a young Atlantic singer warmly and quite unintentionally welcomed “the Douche” to Canada. (The Duke laughed heartily; the singer remained pink throughout her performance, and quite possibly the next few weeks.) And—perhaps most memorably—at Calgary International Airport, an excited cancer patient, six-year-old Diamond Ann Marshall, broke protocol and, in addition to giving Kate a bouquet, hugged her too.

It was only one of several emotionally fraught moments in Canada’s love affair with the Royals. In Ottawa, William and Kate met Terry Joyce, a frail cancer patient whose palliative care doctor had arranged for him to meet the couple personally during the tree-planting ceremony at Rideau Hall’s Royal Grove. As Joyce struggled to rise from his wheelchair, Wills graciously said it was far too hot to stand and urged him to stay seated.

And, after Yellowknife, where the midnight sun made it difficult to sleep, the couple made an unscripted detour—at their request—to Slave Lake, a remote northern Alberta community that had been heavily damaged by wildfire just a few weeks before. With less than 24 hours’ notice, almost 3,000 people gathered to greet the couple who travelled by bus to view the devastated region.

There was much chatter in the media pen about the possibility of a Made-in-Canada heir, but by the time the honeymooners arrived at historic Skoki Lodge, their secret rustic hideaway high in the Alberta Rockies, I imagine the only desire left was for a hot toddy and a good night’s sleep.

By that point, they had been going non-stop and full-tilt for a week and they had yet to betray a moment of annoyance, discomfort or fatigue. Those of us who watched the honeymoon unfold in real time remarked more than once how much dignity they brought to the job—and, let’s be clear: these days, being royal is a job—and how grateful we were never to have been subjected to such scrutiny and high standards.

When they arrived, jean-clad and white-hatted to kick off the Calgary Stampede, I was reminded of the paper dolls I played with as a child: the princess always had the exact right outfit. Only Kate can make a Smithbilt cowboy hat sexy. The same day, in the rare air of Hollywood, she would trade her custom-made ostrich- and kangaroo-skin Alberta boots for glittering Jimmy Choos. But, if she had a blister, you would never know.

And perhaps that’s the real lesson of how to romance like a Royal: kindling the flame of any relationship—whether with a single lover or an entire nation—takes fortitude, flexibility and a whole lot of forgiveness. Love ain’t a game for dabblers.