While some viewers (including the type who buy bodice-ripping paperbacks at the grocery store) might have been initially miffed over the lack of sex that became very palpable at the outset of Bridgerton’s second season, Shondaland and its coterie of writers (namely, creator Chris Van Dusen) still pulled through to keep us on the hook with interest in this regency romance story.
Considering the second season had much to compete with in terms of the collective obsession with Regé-Jean Page as Simon Basset, the Duke of Hastings, it was also set up for failure by the characters having far less sex. Maybe because they felt that Regé-Jean was the only person truly worth showing in such a state, or, as Van Dusen claimed, “We use these intimate scenes to tell a story and to push the story forward, and we’ve never done a sex scene for the sake of doing a sex scene. I don’t think we ever will.” Oh come on now. By that logic, there were plenty of superfluous sex scenes in season one that only “pushed” things forward with literal thrusting. Even so, once the viewer recalibrates their mind to the idea of a Bridgerton that is mostly sexless, the story itself can be enjoyed. A Jane Austen-esque journey in which we all know the narrative can be dragged on twice as long as it would be in modern times thanks to the sexual repression of the day. The need for “chaste” courting. In this sense, season two is certainly truer to historical accuracy than season one.
While Anthony Bridgerton (Jonathan Bailey) does eventually get his own spotlight in bedroom theatrics with his eventual betrothed, Kathani “Kate” Sharma (Simone Ashley), he’s saddled with courting her younger half-sister, Edwina (Charithra Chandran), for a large bulk of screen time. Edwina being so utterly personality-less and banal that perhaps it’s what drives at least part of the sexlessness for most of the episodes. And yes, Edwina is positively annoying in her ceaseless pursuit of Anthony, never taking the fucking hint that she ain’t it. Despite how obvious the longing looks and stolen glances are between Kate and the viscount. Then again, it just goes to show that we can all be blind when we want to be. Especially when a man’s accounts are so…large. Who cares if he’s really interested, right?
And, after all, it was always to be Edwina who was the one peddled to British society in that she was born more “legitimately” than Kate, who merely shares a dead, title-less father with Edwina, and is not actually related to Lady Mary (Shelley Conn). Nonetheless, Lady Mary has always treated Kate as her own, even after the death of her husband. A kindness and symbol of unconditional love that Kate has tried to pay for by being self-sacrificing. Considering only the greater good for the Sharma family rather than herself. A trait very similar to Anthony’s own tendency toward self-righteous self-flagellation (metaphorically speaking). Even when no one else in the Bridgerton family wants or expects it. It’s simply the curse of being the eldest child—damned to “duty” and “responsibility.” So ingrained in them that it becomes almost the entire crux of their personality. Without it, they suddenly realize their identity is, in some sense, très manqué.
Thus, when Anthony and Kate encounter one another while the latter is out for an illicit morning horseback ride in the first episode, “Capital R Rake,” it’s kismet on many levels. For not only do they both relish the repartee exchanged under the guise of “vexation,” they can also sense, immediately, a kindred spirit in the other person.
Kate, however, has sworn off the idea of marriage long ago—an “old maid” at “twenty and six.” She has instead devoted the better part of her life to educating Edwina on how to be the “perfect” wife for the “perfect” noble. When she seems to question this path she’s taken, trusty Lady Danbury (Adjoa Andoh) tells her, “A life of independence is no mere consolation. Indeed, many would think it the better prize. After passion cools and fate intervenes, who else is a woman left with but herself?” And yet, Kate, ultimately, cannot live by those words as she finds herself falling prey to the temptation of her irrepressible passions for Anthony (yes, it’s the type of description very clearly out of one of Loretta Sage’s novels). Even though she knows it’s the most egregious betrayal she could inflict upon her sister. At the same time, she did try quite diligently to steer Edwina’s infatuation with the viscount in another direction. Not for selfish ends, at the time, but because she told herself that her “hatred” for the viscount wasn’t merely a mask for love. For, as it is said, there is a fine line between the two.
At every turn, Lady Whistledown a.k.a. Penelope Featherington (Nicola Coughlan) is there to provide hot gossip for the ton. Funneled through a printing shop where an apprentice named Theo Sharpe (Calam Lynch) is homed in on by Eloise Bridgerton (Claudia Jessie), who has tracked down the printer by way of close study of the paper on which Lady Whistledown prints. Her own mission in life still being driven by wanting to unmask the culprit behind the pen. She doesn’t expect that Theo might be the one boy she’s ever encountered open to the idea of equal rights for the sexes, suddenly finding herself attracted in a way she never has been before. Naturally, this dalliance is doomed to set her up to appear within the very scandal sheet she once revered.
As for the constant thirst for gossip—manifest by every noble member of the ton getting positively titillated when a new Lady Whistledown issue arrives—it might seem more intense because it takes place during a period when there existed fewer sources of “entertainment,” but the reality is, gossip-lust has only intensified in the modern era, compounded by more mediums and “Lady Whistledowns” behind them to dispense it. In truth, one (of renown and influence) would prefer to take Lady Whistledown any day over TMZ or tabloids in the 00s.
And yes, Queen Charlotte (Golda Rosheuvel), despite “hating” Lady Whistledown for calling her own omniscient knowledge of all gossip within the ton into question, remains hungry for the intel once it’s gone—clearly experiencing something like withdrawal. Which is played up by her delighting in her snuffbox more than usual when Lady Danbury goes to visit her.
These are among the many “trivial” details of season two that get more attention than any screen time devoted to sex. And, as Simone Ashley pointed out, “It makes sense for these characters, because they’re so protective over their families and they’re so truthful to their duty and responsibility, I would say, so to kind of break that I think, wouldn’t have made sense with [these] characters.” In other words, guarding their emotions for the sake of others is a part of repressing their carnal desire.
Jonathan Bailey added of the viscount’s bubbling-to-the-surface romance with Kate, “I think it just bodes well for the following seasons to not just be expected for it just to be about the sex, because that is a huge part of it but there’s so many other amazing things that are explored, and will be explored.” But try telling that to the people watching at home, who are likely already sexless enough as it is in the current Orwellian milieu.
