POWDERHAM CASTLE, Devon — In his twenties Charles Courtenay left the damp English countryside, moved to California, learned to surf at Topanga Beach and met his first wife in a Las Vegas bar. He returned with her to the drive of his family home — a medieval fortress marked by a sign reading “Long Live the Earl.”
Courtenay, who prefers “Charlie,” is the 19th Earl of Devon. When his father died in 2015 the earldom and the castle passed to him, even though he has three older sisters. The succession followed centuries of male primogeniture: aristocratic titles and the political privileges that sometimes come with them traditionally transfer down a mostly male bloodline that can be traced back to the Norman Conquest of 1066.
One of those privileges was a seat in the House of Lords, the U.K.’s upper chamber. Courtenay was among 92 hereditary peers — out of more than 800 members of the Lords — who still held seats by inheritance. That arrangement has now been dismantled. Parliament this month approved the House of Lords (Hereditary Peers) Act 2026, abolishing the automatic right to sit for future generations. Under a compromise, some hereditary members will remain in the chamber for the rest of their lives, but they will no longer be able to pass seats on to their descendants.
Many reformers say the change was long overdue. Britain’s public life still bears visible marks of its aristocratic and imperial past: the Crown remains a major landowner and head of state in some former colonies; bishops occupy seats in Parliament; and ceremonial forms and robes persist in legal and parliamentary settings. Because Britain never experienced a large-scale revolution that toppled its aristocracy, hereditary privileges have evolved rather than been eradicated.
The power of the Lords has been whittled down over decades — key reforms in 1911 and 1949 reduced its authority, life peerages were introduced in 1958 to allow appointed, nonhereditary members, and Tony Blair’s government in 1999 removed most hereditary peers. Still, a contingent remained, and critics argued that inherited legislative power was difficult to justify in a modern democracy.
Courtenay, aware of those contradictions, has not always fit the caricature of an unchanging aristocrat. Educated at Eton and Cambridge, he nonetheless campaigned to change male‑only succession rules so that women — including his sisters — could inherit titles. He has used Powderham Castle for cultural experiments: restoring the portrait of an ancestor once exiled for being gay, opening the estate to LGBTQ weddings, and staging a major BBC music festival in 2016 that featured Coldplay, Mumford & Sons and Stormzy. On the Lords’ floor last year he criticized the chamber as gendered and discriminatory and urged Parliament to move beyond elitist associations.
Others in the Lords represent a different kind of change from within. Carmen Smith, Baroness Smith of Llanfaes, is the chamber’s youngest member. She took her seat at 27, has dyed pink hair and wears Doc Martens; her title references the public housing estate where she grew up. Unlike many peers she did not attend private school. Smith says the similarity of backgrounds among lawmakers leads to repeated mistakes and that she often speaks for mainstream public views. “I’m working to get rid of my job,” she told reporters, arguing positions like hers should not be permanent.
Public sentiment has tended toward reform. A 2024 YouGov survey found only about one in seven Britons had a positive view of the House of Lords, and a 2025 poll showed substantial support for broader changes — for example, 71% favored limits on the chamber’s size. The Lords currently has no fixed cap and, with more than 800 members, is one of the largest legislative bodies in the world. Most of its members are not elected: life peers are appointed by the prime minister, some seats are reserved for Church of England bishops, and political parties allocate others.
Prime Minister Keir Starmer ran in 2024 on a plan to overhaul the upper house: eliminate hereditary seats, impose a mandatory retirement age of 80 for remaining members, and eventually replace the unelected chamber with a more representative second house by summer 2029. The 2026 act is the first major step on that road.
Back at Powderham, Courtenay says he will remain engaged in the conversation about how the Lords should evolve. He has proposed a range of ideas — regional or professional elections for seats, lotteries or jury‑duty‑style selection — and argues hereditary peers can provide a kind of institutional memory that spans the five‑year political cycle. Even so, he accepts the new law. He opposed the removal of hereditary seats but acknowledged the push for greater legitimacy and representation in Parliament.
Whatever the future shape of the upper chamber, the legislation marks a clear end to the formal idea that parliamentary power can be owned and inherited like property. Courtenay will keep Powderham Castle and his title, but he will no longer be able to pass a seat in the House of Lords to his heirs.