Parka Pete has just guided me from the costume trailer to the sound stage we’re on, protecting me from the drizzle with a golf umbrella (no umbrella for him. He has his trusty parka). This is one of those precious moments: those moments it all begins to feel real, the moments you sense what magic you all may be capable of creating together.
It’s my first time in full costume, hair and makeup, though I’ve had numerous fittings for the seventy-plus dresses Georgiana will wear over the course of the series. It’s also my first time seeing the sets, and I’m beyond excited.
Whenever my parents took me to the theatre when I was younger, I would obsess over the sets. I just wanted to climb on stage and examine every lick of paint, every prop. I’m not sure any theatre production has had a more appreciative audience member than me. So I’m simply dying to get up close to these sets and see how gorgeous and sumptuous and detailed they are.
Anyway. I digress. The reason for my blasphemy is that, asPete and I traverse the wasteland of the studio floor and make our way over to what looks like a delightful set of a duck-egg blue parlour, I spot Josh.
InfullDominic regalia.
Holy fuck.
He’s lolling against a pillar, and I sweep my eyes over him as we approach. His hair is mussed and pulled forward in the style of the era. He’s sporting fake sideburns, but they look seriously good. A white shirt, collar starched and up, framing a cravat. A burgundy waistcoat, and black trousers, tails and boots. He looks like every romance reader’s fantasy. Colin Firth has nothing on this guy. I really wish Nora was here. She woulddie. Dominic, Duke of Coventry, is her favourite regency romance hero of all time (mine too. Nora and I are suckers for the bossy, commanding ones).
‘Jesus,’ Pete whispers in awe at the sight. I can relate.
Josh doesn’t take his eyes off me either as we approach, even though I have on my coat and a hairnet protecting my up-do. Not quite the first impression my dashing husband makes. He pushes himself off the pillar and comes towards me.
‘Your Grace,’ I retort, to break the tension. Well, I have no idea if he feels any tension, but I do. Thick and fast.
His eyes flash. ‘Georgiana. You look beautiful.’
I pat my head self-consciously. ‘Hopefully better once I lose the net. You look… convincing.’
I step closer.
‘Good sideburns.’
He switches to his regular accent. ‘Aren’t they? Wanna feel them?’
Why not? I’m curious. And our faces will be squished together soon enough, anyway. I put my hand up and stroke a sideburn carefully with my fingertips. He watches my face the whole time. Dear Lord, why must the guy look so good in this get-up? These fake rodents stuck to his cheeks should beridiculous, but they give him gravitas. The mullet should be a disaster, but he just looks like he’s been riding through the moors and has dropped into a ball. It’s so unfair.
‘They’re scratchier than I expected.’
‘Yeah. They itch. I tried growing my own, but I couldn’t cultivate enough hair. It was just a bunch of butt-fluff on my face.’
I laugh a little. ‘Butt-fluff. Nice.’
This isby farthe most civil conversation we’ve had to date. I still hate him. He’s still a sociopath. But I’m in my dream role on my dream show, and I’m damned if I’ll let Josh Lander spoil my fun today.
I squint at his hair. I’m standing far too close to him. Need to move back. ‘Is that all your own hair?’
‘They used some extensions.’ He’s still staring down at me. ‘I didn’t have enough natural volume for their liking.’
I blink. ‘Right. Me neither.’
Hayley, one of the hair stylists, comes up behind me and unclips the clips holding my hair net on. She lifts it gently off my head.
‘Want me to take your coat, lovey?’ Parka Pete’s been hovering, drooling silently over Josh-as-Dom.
‘Thanks.’ I slip gingerly out of it—I’m terrified I’ll snag the intricate beading on the dress underneath—and hand it to Pete. Josh’s eyes rake over me.
‘Anyone want a drink?’ Pete holds up a water bottle carrier. The bottles in it have our names stuck on. He’s seriously organised.
‘No thanks, Pete.’ We shake our heads.
‘Alrighty, then. I’ll have a nice cuppa waiting for you both after this.’
‘Coffee, please,’ Josh tells him, and then he fixes his molten brown eyes on my mouth. ‘I’m gagging for a coffee. Didn’t dare have one before I kissedmy betrothed.’
