Have you ever dreamed—after reading romance novels—of ending up in Victorian England and meeting a duke or an earl? At the very least, some kind of viscount—after all, he’s still a man. I dreamed of it. In my fantasies he would immediately fall at my feet, never forgetting to pull out a ring with a family diamond the size of a fist. While he was at it, he would manage to throw a dazzling white fur boa over my shoulders. He was a gentleman! And then we lived happily ever after—visiting royal receptions and spending three hours every day approving tomorrow’s menu.
But none of that is true! I met my viscount. And I know exactly what I’m talking about.
Damn Darcy!