“And now Christiane is engaged to be married to that prat who keeps saying he’s descended from Napoleon, and I”—and here, he had the good grace to look melancholy—“am still married to a woman who hasn’t spoken to me or recognized my face for half my life.”

“You said it, Richard,” Eleanor said. “You are still married.”

“Then let me divorce.”

“Never,” Eleanor said.

“Gran—” Nick interjected.

“Absolutely not.”

“Twenty-five years without a partner,” Richard said, “is a bloody long time, Mother, and I think the public might support me. Did you ever think of that?”

Eleanor sighed deeply and pressed on her closed eyelids. “The public,” she said slowly, “does not want its future king drooling around the singles scene like a bulldog in heat. It invites scrutiny, and it will diminish the monarchy if you have an active personal life playing out in front of them like a tawdry little television drama.”

Richard’s color was high. “You would prefer I had flings in dark corners? You are colder than I thought.”

“What you do in private is your affair,” Eleanor said. “Carrying on in public…”

“Dinner is not carrying on,” Richard said, an octave higher than usual. “Why are you doing this? Is it because you’re bitter that you’ve lived so long without affection, and so you’re consigning me to the same fate? Well, congratulations. You wore the crown alone. Let me know when history gives you a medal for that.” He angrily buttoned his blazer. “But I’m not a priest. And I’m certainly not celibate. You may not have needs, but I do.”

“Please no,” Nick muttered.

“Neediness is a fatal flaw,” Eleanor said stubbornly.

“I have always done what you’ve asked. And all it’s ever brought me is more demands. I’m tired of it,” Richard said. “Go bother Agatha about using Tinder to date half this town, and leave me alone.”

And with that, he stormed out and slammed the door.

“My word,” Eleanor said. “I thought sixty was past the adolescent tantrum stage.” She pushed a minute silver bell wired to the coffee table. “I need a glass of wine, don’t you?”

“Gran, perhaps he’s right,” Nick said.

She fixed an eye on Nick. “You want him to divorce your poor mother?”

“Please don’t use her mental state against me,” Nick warned. “She’ll be my mother forever, but she hasn’t been his wife in a long time.”

The door opened. Eleanor held up a hand to Nick as two footmen rolled in a square dining table outfitted with three silver-domed place settings. They lifted the cloches to reveal three individual shepherd’s pies in ceramic ramekins.

“What, no sushi?” Eleanor sang at the footmen, who both looked alarmed, because this was the absolute first they’d heard about it. “Ah well, this will do nicely, thank you ever so much.”