My Damned Darcy

Have you dreamed of, after reading romance novels, getting into Victorian England and meeting a duke or an earl? At worst, some kind of viscount—he’s a man too. I dreamed it. In my fantasies, he would instantly fall at my feet, never forgetting to produce a ring with a family diamond the size of a fist. While still in midair, he managed to throw a dazzling white fur boa over my shoulders. He was a gentleman! And then we lived happily ever after—attending royal receptions and spending three hours approving tomorrow’s menu. So, no, that’s not true! I met my viscount. And I know exactly what I’m talking about.

Damn Darcy!

Contains profanity.