I devoured the Bridgerton books, all eight of them, back in 2002 when I became mildly obsessed with everything Julia Quinn.

I loved the books, although (sorry Gregory) my enthusiasm was beginning to wane by the time I got to On the Way to the Wedding. I’m not a great reader of Regency romance, Jane Austen being the exception, and I can’t remember how I discovered them. But I’m so glad I did. 

When I moved house last, I had to do the unthinkable – declutter some books and with a heavy heart decided to part with all but my three absolute favourites: The Duke and I, The Viscount who Loved Me and Romancing Mr Bridgerton. 

I forgave Julia Quinn her sometimes questionable knowledge of Regency England, her use of whip smart New York language (I remember one character falling on their ‘fanny.’ US readers please note this has a very different meaning in the UK!), the dodgy names she invented for members of the aristocracy (I’m with you there Julia, the British peerage is a total mystery to me too) and the sex scene which cropped up at precisely the same point in each book.

I loved them for their fun, the sharp wit and banter, the no-nonsense-taking heroines, the swoon-worthy, masterful heroes with their core of vulnerability, the sex scene which cropped up at precisely the same point in each book (!) and the feeling that you were wrapped up all cosy as part of the loving, argumentative, chaotic Bridgerton clan. I loved being immersed in the world Julia Quinn created.

I went on to read The Secret Diaries of Miss Miranda Cheever and strayed into the odd Lisa Kleypas but then moved out of my US author Regency phase. Fond memories though!

I was ecstatic to hear Netflix were screening a TV adaptation. I even subscribed especially. When Season 1 landed on Christmas Day 2020 it was gobbled down along with the turkey. I think we were all in need of an escape.

And it provided just that. The carriages and balls, the music, those sumptuous dresses, the handsome men in buckskins and boots, the romantic duels, that everlasting wisteria which flowered for the entire season! It was all a giddy delight.

Gentle reader, I had to loosen my corset, lie down on the chaise in a darkened room and waft myself with a lavender-scented handkerchief for days afterwards. 

True, it lacked some of the wit and fun found in the books, Daff wasn’t as gutsy as her written version and (whispers) I found the sex scenes a little boring after a while, but I loved it all so much I went back to the book and reread it. 

I had a bit of an issue with the casting though. My favourite Bridgerton brother is Colin but the version in my head isn’t at all like the actor who plays him (no offence Luke Newton). Luke Thompson who plays Benedict is far more my idea of the witty, impish Colin. It’s all so confusing! And how much do I love Eloise – Claudia Jessie you’re a genius. 

When Season 2 hit I couldn’t wait. I confess to counting down the days. There’s a degree of expectation about the second of something – that tricky second album, the sequel to a bestselling book – and so it was with Bridgerton. Opinions are divided but I actually prefer Anthony’s story. I raced through the first watch to see what would happen and, although the pacing was a little slow during the wedding episode, I was in love with all things Bridgerton all over again. It might have something to do with Jonathan Bailey. I had to watch it a second time just to make sure!

(Can I do a shout out, here, to Lorraine Ashbourne, the Featheringtons’ Mrs Varley? She steals every scene she’s in. What a fabulous comic turn).

I really hope telly producers take note of its popularity. Please, can we have less crime and more romance? The world really needs it, especially at the moment.

And now, if you don’t mind, I’ll retire to my chaise, the latest Lady Whistledown scandal sheet, and a small glass of ratafia. Kindly send in the Viscount, I am quite at my leisure!

Love,

Georgia x