Inside Bridgerton Season 4: Benedict’s Bisexuality, Sophie’s Arrival, and That Viral Stairwell Scene
Bridgerton Season 4 Part 1: Benedict’s Bisexuality, Sophie’s Fairy Tale, and the Stairwell Heard ’Round the Ton
“Bridgerton” Season 4, Part 1 has landed on Netflix and immediately kicked off three big conversations: how the show is handling Benedict Bridgerton’s bisexuality, whether Sophie Beckett is living up to years of book-reader anticipation, and what exactly that now-viral stairwell scene means for the series’ approach to intimacy. In a new interview with Variety, showrunner Jess Brownell dives into these questions, and the answers say a lot about where the Regency romance juggernaut is headed.
Below, we unpack the creative choices behind Benedict’s love story, Francesca’s complicated “pinnacle” of happiness, and why “Bridgerton” remains a cultural lightning rod four seasons in.
From Page to Screen: Where Season 4 Fits in the Bridgerton Universe
By now, “Bridgerton” sits in that rare “event TV” category: every new batch of episodes instantly floods TikTok feeds, BookTok threads, and think pieces alike. Season 4 arrives after the wildly popular Polin (Penelope and Colin) season, and instead of a simple pivot to the next romance, it tries to juggle:
- Benedict’s long-teased central love story
- Francesca’s quieter, musically driven arc
- Ongoing fallout from Eloise’s fractured friendship with Penelope
- The social-climbing chaos of the Featheringtons
Jess Brownell, who took over as showrunner with Season 3, is now fully steering the ship. Her ethos has been clear: keep the fizzy, candy-colored fantasy intact, but update the emotional politics for a 2020s audience. That tension is exactly where the Benedict and Sophie storyline—and the bisexuality discourse—comes into play.
Benedict Bridgerton’s Bisexuality: Canon, Queer-Coding, and Confirmation
Ever since earlier seasons teased Benedict’s fluidity—late-night art circles, charged glances, and that Season 3 relationship with the dashing Paul—the fandom has been asking a blunt question: Will the show actually let Benedict be bisexual, or is this just queer-baiting?
Brownell, herself queer, has been clear in interviews that Benedict isn’t an experiment; he’s canonically bi in the show’s universe. According to the Variety conversation, that identity doesn’t vanish simply because Sophie walks into the story.
“Benedict’s attraction to Sophie doesn’t negate what we’ve already seen. His queerness isn’t a phase to outgrow. It’s part of him, just like his artistry and his restlessness.”
— Jess Brownell, on integrating Benedict’s bisexuality with his love story
That might sound basic, but in the world of mainstream period romance—which has long sidelined queer stories or quarantined them to tragic subplots—it’s still politically loaded. “Bridgerton” is trying to thread a needle:
- Stay true to the core beats of Julia Quinn’s An Offer From a Gentleman
- Honor what the show itself has already made true about Benedict
- Avoid reducing bisexuality to a “rebellious” phase before he settles down
Sophie Beckett Arrives: A Cinderella Story with a 2026 Upgrade
For book readers, Sophie Beckett has been a looming promise since Season 1. On the page, she’s a clear nod to Cinderella: an earl’s illegitimate daughter, mistreated by her stepmother, sneaking into a masquerade ball where she meets Benedict and promptly disappears at midnight.
Season 4 keeps the bones of that fairy tale setup but modernizes Sophie’s agency. Instead of a passive damsel, this Sophie is:
- Sharper about class politics and her own precarious status
- Less enchanted by the Bridgerton glow, more suspicious of it
- Given emotional shading that sits closer to Kate Sharma or Penelope than to a simple storybook heroine
“We wanted Sophie to feel like someone who could exist in the same world as Kate and Penelope: clever, layered, and a little bit wounded by the rules of the ton.”
— Jess Brownell, on updating Sophie for TV audiences
The chemistry between Sophie and Benedict leans into screwball territory at times—banter, mistaken identities, a constant push-pull between desire and decorum—while still keeping that lush, storybook sheen that defines the franchise.
The Stairwell Scene: Netflix Intimacy, Evolved
Every “Bridgerton” season has that scene. Season 1 had Daphne and Simon’s rain-soaked, honeymoon montage. Season 2 gave us Antony and Kate’s palm-touching obsession. Season 3’s carriage moment broke the internet. Season 4’s Part 1 contribution: a stairwell encounter that’s already being screencapped to death on social media.
Without diving into explicit detail, the stairwell sequence is:
- Less about shock value, more about emotional risk
- Shot with a tight, almost claustrophobic framing that emphasizes breath and hesitation as much as touch
- Carefully choreographed by intimacy coordinators to keep consent visible and mutual
“The aim wasn’t to top the carriage or the gazebo. It was to show a moment where someone steps over a line they drew for themselves—and realizes they can’t go back.”
— Jess Brownell, on crafting the stairwell scene
In other words, it’s less soft-core spectacle, more turning point. That shift mirrors a broader change in prestige romance: sex scenes now carry narrative weight, not just streaming-era sizzle.
Francesca’s “Pinnacle” Problem: Happiness, Duty, and Quiet Rebellion
While Benedict and Sophie grab the flashier moments, Francesca’s arc in Season 4, Part 1 might actually be the most subversive. Brownell has called her storyline a kind of “pinnacle” problem: what happens when a character achieves the life she’s been told to want—marriage, status, a stable partner—and still feels a complicated ache underneath?
Francesca’s world is framed less by ballrooms and more by music rooms and interior silence. The show contrasts:
- The public ideal of a “successful” match
- The private, sometimes queer, sometimes simply unconventional longings that don’t fit the brochure
- Her siblings’ louder arcs with her own almost stealth rebellion
“Francesca isn’t storming out of the system the way Eloise might. She’s trying to find pockets of truth inside it, which can be even trickier.”
— Jess Brownell, on Francesca’s carefully contained journey
Why Bridgerton Still Matters: Representation, Escapism, and Streaming Politics
Four seasons in, it would be easy for “Bridgerton” to coast on aesthetics alone: the jeweled color palettes, the string-quartet pop covers, the choreographed waltzes that double as meme fuel. But Brownell’s comments about Benedict, Sophie, and Francesca point to a show still restless under its own corsetry.
In the current streaming landscape—where Netflix is constantly balancing franchise maintenance with subscriber fatigue—“Bridgerton” remains a crucial IP for several reasons:
- Global romance brand: It’s one of very few Western period dramas that plays like a K-drama–level romance phenomenon worldwide.
- Inclusive fantasy: Its racially diverse casting and now explicit queer representation offer a fantasy that doesn’t erase modern identity politics, even as it rewrites history.
- Fandom engine: Each season fuels fanfic, fan art, TikTok edits, and endless shipping discourse, which in turn keeps the Netflix algorithm happy.
Season 4 Part 1 Verdict: Still Swoony, Increasingly Self-Aware
“Bridgerton” Season 4, Part 1 doesn’t reinvent the show so much as refine it. The series is still prone to the occasional tonal whiplash—jumping from featherlight comedy to high melodrama in a single scene—and some viewers will wish Benedict’s bisexuality got even more explicit textual reinforcement. But Brownell’s handling of his queerness, Sophie’s Cinderella remix, and Francesca’s quietly radical arc all suggest a creative team interested in more than just recycled tropes in prettier dresses.
In other words, the show is doing what its characters do best: trying to find genuine feeling inside a world built on spectacle.
Rating: 4/5 ballrooms
With Part 2 still to come, the real intrigue isn’t just whether Benedict and Sophie get their happily-ever-after, but how much room the show will leave for his queerness, Francesca’s complexity, and the evolving tastes of an audience that now expects its fairy tales to come with a conscience.
