Chapter 17
Elle
Igrab my enormous bag, which is in fact a carrier for my dog, Olive, stride out of the room and let Josh trail in my wake. I hope he can’t see my legs shaking. Thank fuck that’s over with. I’ve been dreading that moment for seven weeks.
This morning, I thought I was going to puke from the fear of seeing him. In the end, I had an upset tummy, but nothing I couldn’t handle. Nothing that warranted a pair of incontinence pants. Which is good news, because I really wanted to look hot today.
Don’t judge me! Of course I wanted to look hot to stick it to the total twat who didn’t have the balls to dump me face to face.
I’d been agonising over what to wear for an embarrassingly long time.
I’m sure that as filming progresses and the working days get longer, we’ll all succumb to yoga pants, but I wanted to look smart today. Professional. (And hot.)
In the end, I’ve settled for my tight grey jeans, suede heeled booties, a snug cream wool sweater and my favourite Chanel jacket.
I feel good in this outfit, and it gets the Nora Wilder seal of approval.
I took far too much time with my makeup.
It’s ridiculous how long the dewy, ‘no makeup’ look can take.
The table read should be a fun occasion. Normally, I get really excited about it. It’s usually the first time the cast is together, and it can be magical for cast and directors alike, hearing the script come to life for the first time.
But today, I’m rattled.
Rattled by the guy behind me.
Rattled at seeing him in the flesh for the first time in five years.
Rattled that I have to sit next to him for an hour or more, and more, act with him.
I still can’t square the reality of the Josh Lander I know with the vision of Dominic I’ve built in my head. Fallen in love with, even. I can’t even imagine him speaking with an English accent (I have to admit, I’m very curious about that). I have to trust that Alyssa knows what she’s doing.
At least in this room, I can hide. Hide behind my script, my lines. At least, today, we don’t need to read through any love scenes. We’re just reading Episode One, which we’ll start shooting next week. Today, I need to be contemptuous and outraged and defiant. That I can do.
Usually, having the cast around me at the table would be fun. I’d be swept up in the excitement, in that first flush of possibility and camaraderie. That will all be the case today, with one hitch: today, everyone around that table will be watching Josh and me like hawks.
The press hysteria over this casting has been insane, these past few weeks.
The endless speculation over how I feel about us being paired, how Josh dared accept the part (I am also curious about that), whether I’ll gouge his eyes out on the first day, and worst, whether we’ll end up together off-screen.
They seem to have certain knowledge already that Grosvenor is steamy, and the world is watching to see if that steam will stay on set.
Spoiler alert: it will stay firmly on set.
The next few minutes are taken up with introductions.
Alyssa will be running proceedings as the creator and executive producer of the show.
Next to her are Abigail Ferriss and David Tait, the directors for Episodes One and Two.
I meet a dignified woman who turns out to be Josh’s dialect coach, Victoria Wright.
Apart from Josh, Alyssa, Abigail, and the casting director, I don’t know anyone.
The rest of the cast is a mix of well-known and newer British actors, none of whom I’ve worked with before.
They mostly have a background in TV and soap operas, not film.
I meet the cast members playing my mother, Lady Kenworthy, my two younger sisters, Flora and Cecily, my cousin Robert, Lord Rutland, who orchestrates our match (damn him), Dominic’s mother, the Dowager Duchess, the Kenworthy family’s friends, and Dominic’s closest friend, the Earl of Rugby.
Everyone is lovely and warm and excitable, and their enthusiasm helps to put me at ease. It’s an odd feeling, meeting everyone for the first time and knowing from experience that they’ll be like family in nine months’ time.
I take Olive out of her carrier so I can introduce her to everyone. She’s a blonde, long-haired miniature dachshund, and she is my whole life. She’s loving and peaceful and beyond adorable. The others respond to her with cries of delighted surprise. Olive is a definite crowd-pleaser.
But there’s no putting off the inevitable.
I grudgingly take my seat between Josh and Thor, who plays Robert (yes, his name is Thor.
IRL. I know). He’s a good-looking, dark-haired guy who cut his teeth on a famous soap, and who I already know will play a larger role in Season Two, if it happens, when he’ll get his own love match.
Thor gives me a wide grin and a nudge. ‘Ready, cousin?’ I return the grin gratefully.
But I’m not ready.
Because the man sitting next to me is sucking up all the air in the room.
At least, that’s how it feels.
I’m not sure if Josh has been remotely aware of me or my movements over the past five years, or if he deleted my number and never gave me a backwards glance after that tweet, but I for one have spent the time avoiding any mention of Josh Lander as diligently as possible.
The last time I saw him, he was kissing me like he’d never see me again before putting me in a car from his house in St. Michaels (obviously, he was planning on never seeing me again, which is perhaps why I got so thoroughly kissed).
So, to come face to face with him is so confronting, I can’t quite process it.
So many layers of emotion hit me when he walked into that room.
Pure hatred.
Contempt.
White-hot fucking anger.
Still, after all these years.
And also—and I don’t want to admit this, even to myself—a huge wave of sadness.
Heartbreak: fresh heartbreak. Like seeing him in the flesh meant I had to process the grief of losing him all over again.
I was amazed and horrified by how strong my desire was to tackle him to the ground and kick the shit out of him and ask him why?
And that is why I’ll never let him bring up the past.
I’ll never let myself ask him why.
I’ll never give him the satisfaction.
He looks great; I can admit that objectively.
Or rather, I can admit that subjectively, even from a place of deep loathing.
He’s got a perfect LA tan (oh, the irony of him being allowed to have a tan while I had to watch my skin like a hawk when I went to the Maldives after Christmas, so I look as pale and freckle-free as a nineteenth-century young lady of breeding should be).
His hair’s a little longer, probably for the role, and his black merino sweater clings in all the right places. It looks like he’s bulked up a bit.
I wonder what he’ll look like in a muslin shirt and breeches?
I wonder what he’ll look like with sideburns?
But please note, I absolutely am not wondering what he’ll look like naked. I’ve been there, done that. Not interested, thank you.
What saves me this morning, apart from having Olive quietly asleep on my lap, is that Episode One of Grosvenor introduces both families separately, setting the tone and teasing the viewers with pre-introductions to both Georgiana and Dominic via conversations to which each of them is not privy.
We kick off with a scene at the Kenworthy home in Grosvenor Square, Mayfair.
Alyssa reminds the room that the scene’s objective is to showcase how turgid the existence of the Kenworthy daughters can be, to establish how high the stakes are (their home will pass to a distant male cousin once their father passes) and to pre-introduce Dominic in a negative light. Not a problem.
I lean into my mic. The banter starts. Light. Silly. Delightful.
Under-stimulated young ladies biding their time, my sisters living vicariously through me as I’m the only one ‘out’ in society. I’m also by far the best educated of the daughters, because of my voracious appetite for any book I can get my hands on (one of the reasons real me loves fictional me).
I’m following the script, though I know my lines by heart. It gives me a flicker of joy to see the characters come to life, even around the table. My darling mother is a royal pain in the arse: meddling, neurotic, and unintentionally comedic. Felicity, the actor, plays her to perfection.
The scene is short. The first episode covers the classic five-act structure of so many TV pilots, although it won’t be carved up with four sets of adverts, thank God, because it’s on a paid streaming platform.
Even so, the writing is seriously tight.
It goes by in a flash and I sit back, hands in my lap, catching my breath.
I crack an encouraging smile at my youngest sister.
Pixie, who plays her, is only fourteen, and her relief at getting through her first few lines without fluffing them is palpable.
I daren’t look at Josh.
Alyssa signals for him and the guy who plays Rugby to go ahead. Nick, I think his name is IRL.
In my peripheral vision, Josh leans into his mic. ‘I do not require a damned wife.’
Hooooooly fuck.
Where did that come from?
His voice is totally different. Obviously, I knew he’d need to put on an English accent, but he sounds so unlike himself. For some reason, a flash of heat washes over me. I bite the inside of my gum and focus hard on following their lines in the script in front of me.
‘You require an heir, you idiot.’ Rugby’s delivery is loud and cheerful. ‘Preferably, several heirs. And for that, inconvenient as it may be, you require a wife.’
‘I shall never be content with one woman. A wife will never be able to satisfy me.’
Ain’t that the truth? I resist the urge to slide down in my chair and remain apparently focused on my script, tracking their lines with the tip of my pen.
Rugby laughs. ‘Whoever said anything about satisfaction? Your wife is for siring heirs. You can keep your women down at the Docks, get your satisfaction there. I don’t care how many little bastards you have running around; you need a legitimate heir.’
Delightful pair, aren’t they? Georgiana is really going to enjoy taming this one.
‘My wife will have to satisfy me out of bed as well as in it.’ (The script notes that Dominic is getting dressed at this point: he’s topless and donning his shirt.
The joys of a female creator.) ‘I will not settle for less. And I cannot imagine any of the vacuous virgins the Season has to offer will fulfil either of those functions.’
‘I hear the eldest Kenworthy girl is rather fond of her books. Perhaps she is the rare woman who would favour the library at Coventry. And she’s reported to be quite the beauty.’
‘A bookish beauty, you say? Don’t you start, Rugby. I’ve had nothing but people wittering on at me about Georgiana Kenworthy. I’m sure she will prove to be as weak of chin, as prominent of nose, and as short of diverting conversation as the rest of them.’
His accent. His accent is impeccable RP (Received Pronunciation, which is a weird term for a standard, posh South-of-England accent).
His speaking voice is lower and deeper than normal.
His delivery is a perfectly contemptuous drawl, his intonations completely different from his usual ones.
I want to turn my head so badly and gape, and see what he looks like when he’s making these sounds.
Because the way he’s speaking is completely transformative. He’s said a few lines, and already we have our Dominic. Arrogant and dismissive and quick-witted. It’s extraordinary. Alyssa’s grinning at him across the table, and I know she feels it too.
Fuck.
I have a horrible feeling Josh-as-Dominic will deliver a seriously sexy performance.