In tragic news for my mother, Regé-Jean Page – aka Daphne Briderton’s new husband and reluctant baby daddy, the Duke – is not returning with him. Fans will have to settle for Anthony Bridgerton, Daphne’s hot-tempered eldest brother, played by Jonathan Bailey, as their new leading man.
In this second season, Anthony takes center stage, as does his love life, of course. This quickly focuses on two sisters, Edwina Sharma (Charithra Chandran), who is the beauty of the season and therefore the ideal choice, and the older, marriage-shy Kate (Simone Ashley), to whom Viscount Bridgerton is naturally immediately attracted. After either spending Season 1 in bed with his ex-girlfriend or channeling his frustration at their forced estrangement through dueling with his best friend, Anthony has forsworn romance in favor of a resigned, clinical approach to marriage. Given his younger siblings’ prospects, he has vowed to find a partner suitable to look after them and the future Bridgerton line – a decision to be weighed independently of love. It’s a fluffy, addictive, must-see disaster just waiting to happen. Anthony was the bad boy in Season 1, in many ways the shagging, messy opposite of the stoic, seething Duke. Every time I watched the show, at least one viewer would snort when Anthony came on screen, dismissing “that dick” before heaving a contented sigh at the Duke’s next appearance. It was an understandable answer. Indeed, what would be the point of a show whose entire mo is sensory overload if we didn’t embrace Page’s lecherous allure?
However, in the mitigating spirit of “Bridgerton,” I think it’s worth giving Anthony a little more credit — or at least enough to justify our inevitable transfer of affections this spring. It’s a low bar, but Anthony isn’t actually any more problematic than season one’s hero — and doesn’t capitalize on years of Regency romance programming, which, I’d argue, largely explain audiences’ more immediate sympathy for the Duke.
While the Duke is a distracting, tantalizing fantasy, Anthony essentially makes it up as he goes, masking his passions and fears behind bravery and stomp. Unlike the most famous Regency heroes, the Pride and Prejudice and Emma crowd, who tend to be passively courted by mothers and daughters determined to snag advantageous matches, or harbor downs that are completely at odds with the face they show the world, Anthony has his goal blatantly up his sleeve and has set about fulfilling it himself.
The duke’s habitual silence and harboring of secret demons fits very well with the Mr. Darcy-style template that every Jane Austen fan needs to devour. We are prepared to anticipate his redemption and eventual union with Daphne, so we view his behavior as benevolent up to this point. He’s lying about the reason he doesn’t want children? Of course he does, his father was mean to him! Did he set the woman who loves him on fire when she calls him about this lie? He’ll make it up to her! Does the slightest hint of masturbation characterize a full debriefing of sex and procreation? He did his best! And he looked amazing!
Poor old Anthony is messier. While the Duke’s “daring” past is mentioned brittlely in gentlemen’s clubs and on “Promenades” in the park, our first vision of Anthony sees him making passionate love to a woman by a tree. We only find out later that she is his girlfriend Siena, whom he secretly supports financially. From the start, Anthony’s lust is portrayed as an escape from responsibility, while the Duke’s is just part of his red blooded charm.
Though both men initially shun marriage, Anthony’s relationship with the institution is more authentically tormented than the Duke’s in season 1 – his own mother’s great love for his now-deceased father looms over the storyline like an ideal he fears he may not it can never fulfill . As the show continues, Anthony’s lack of a recognizable endgame exposes his flaws in a far harsher light than the Duke. But while he also acts clumsily on selfish impulses, Anthony is far more honest about his feelings and motivations.
When the Duke appears to have started dating Daphne, Anthony tells him that while they’re good friends, family must come first – and he’s just not keen on his little sister dating anyone he knows that he’s totally, um, rake during their all-important first season. After challenging the Duke to a duel, he heads straight to Siena to inform her of his possible change of circumstances, and when it turns out he can’t run away with her after all, he offers to support her anyway .
Despite making mistakes all the time, Anthony learns from (some) past mistakes – especially when it comes to letting Daphne choose her own mate and lecturing his younger brothers on their own romantic choices. He then gets a pretty tough deal when his mother orders him to give up Siena, although she emphatically tells Daphne that she only cares that she is marrying for love, but he shoulders it on his own. After his genuine, emotional approach in season one ended in heartbreak and his family’s fate still weighs heavily on him, it’s no wonder Anthony is resigned to making life more practical afterward.
At this point, it’s important to emphasize how deeply rooted in fantasy “Bridgerton” is. It suggests that a strikingly bigoted country – one that has failed miserably in the 21st century to accept a non-white king, let alone in the 19th century – has managed to dismantle structural racism in a generation, just because the king made a black woman his queen. Lady Danbury, played by Adjoa Andoh, refers to the fact that thanks to this unprecedented union, her family is accepted by society – which doesn’t really jibe with her presumably long-established lineage, but sounds encouraging.
All that said, literally nothing beats the redeeming power of love on this show. As far as audiences go, Anthony should be no exception, not least because of his familiarity. As an early 19th-century man who is not allowed by society to display vulnerability, it’s no wonder his many insecurities manifest themselves in arrogance.
Privileged, immature, impulsive Anthonys with brains in their pants are everywhere. He’s a hell of a sight more real than a romantic hero like the Duke, whose deception is “really understandable when you think about it” and who improves if you just give him enough space. In real life, men who habitually lie by omission tend not to change. Adolescent guys like Anthony, on the other hand, could — especially if they learn to communicate their feelings in less explosive ways. This would definitely last longer than a summer season in reality, but anything is possible in fictional, magnolia-scented Mayfair.
Men whose wealth and status have allowed them to do whatever they want throughout their lives always remain emotionally infantile. Patriarchy also harms men, albeit much less than women, and it is inevitable that victimized men will turn other people into scratching posts in their confusion and frustration. The shiny candy cane world of “Bridgerton” provides Anthony with an infinitely safer forum to process his demons than real life could, but he’s still a horny, confused boy kid with seven siblings to father. And like in real life, he’s hurt by the classism, sexism, and puritanical values that offend everyone.