Bridgerton Season 4: A Predictable Turn and Diminished Intrigue

When season 3 of Bridgerton wrapped up, I genuinely thought it would be the show’s swan song. Penelope’s marriage provided a satisfying conclusion to her romantic journey, while the long-awaited reveal that she was Lady Whistledown finally brought her secret life into the open. With both of these major storylines seemingly resolved, it felt as though the series had reached a natural stopping point, leaving few significant loose ends. That’s why the announcement of a fourth season caught me off guard. Still, as someone who’s thoroughly enjoyed the previous seasons and is a fan of historical fiction, I was curious to see what direction the story would take next.

After watching the first part of season 4, I have to admit that it’s been a bit underwhelming so far. The most noticeable shift is that Penelope’s identity as Lady Whistledown is now public knowledge. This change has fundamentally altered the tone and impact of her infamous column. In earlier seasons, much of the excitement came from the secrecy—both viewers and characters were captivated by the intrigue and speculation surrounding Whistledown’s true identity. Now, with her secret exposed, the column feels less mischievous and more like straightforward gossip. For example, in episode two, Penelope publishes a piece critiquing the Featheringtons. Unlike in previous seasons, where her writing sparkled with sly wit and underlying tension, this article comes across as rather blunt and lacks the suspense that once made Whistledown’s voice so compelling. As a result, the stakes feel lower and the sense of intrigue has faded, leaving the column somewhat toothless compared to its earlier incarnation.

The main storyline this season borrows heavily from the Cinderella trope, with a servant attending the Bridgerton’s’ masquerade ball and leaving behind a glove at midnight. While this setup is familiar, it felt predictable and lacked the originality that made earlier seasons so engaging. The narrative follows Benedict, who arrives too late at the ball and becomes fixated on the mysterious woman who slips away before he can learn her identity. The glove left behind serves as a clear nod to the classic fairy tale, but rather than feeling like a clever homage, the storyline comes across as formulaic. The show doesn’t do much to subvert or add complexity to the trope, which makes the arc feel more like a retread of well-worn territory than a fresh addition to the Bridgerton universe. This reliance on a conventional plot device reduces the emotional stakes and sense of discovery, making the season’s central romance less compelling than those of previous years.

Beyond the changes in Penelope’s character arc, another aspect that has affected my enjoyment is the show’s attention to historical detail. This season, I find myself less immersed in the story and more aware of anachronisms that disrupt the period atmosphere. For instance, the inclusion of afternoon tea—a tradition that only became widespread in the Victorian era, well after the time in which Bridgerton is set—feels noticeably out of place. Similarly, the use of brightly coloured kites, which would not have been possible before the invention of synthetic dyes, stands out as historically inaccurate. While these details might seem minor, they can undermine the authenticity of the setting and break viewers’ suspension of disbelief. For those who appreciate historical fiction for its immersive qualities, such inaccuracies may make it harder to fully engage with the show’s world. The casual reference to afternoon tea in episode three, in particular, highlights how modern elements can detract from the overall experience, reminding viewers that they’re watching a fictionalised version of history rather than being transported to another era.

To be honest, I’ll probably still watch the rest of the season—despite my criticisms—because I’m curious to see how it all ends.