Oh, for belching? Actually that was part of the letter. And I’m to be called disgusting because of this?” *burp* I eat well, so my figure is more endowed then theirs. But Madison, Caroline, Emma and Juliet? None of them are proportioned right. She’s so perfect that I can’t see her eating much in case she’d do something as ghastly as drop a crumb.

She did marry that earl who barely has a cent to his name.

Every single last one of them barely eat. Dare I suggest there is something seriously wrong with him? Can I be blamed he finds breasts repulsive? If I’d been a plant, he would have taken notice. I dress most appropriately, and I assure you if I had known Arid Alex wasn’t sure what a breast was, I wouldn’t have given him a preview of the beauty of the female body. My hair color is rather unique, and my hair has charm in that it does its own thing. You have portrayed me as if I am so hideous creature that crawled right out of an exploded circus full of clowns. “That is another point of contention I have with you, Ms. Am I to be blamed that he chose a bumbling idiot whose known far and wide for his ability to bore people to sleep with his exhaustive talk on scientific pursuits? Am I to be blamed for Caroline having the strangest fascination for using weird objects to look up at the sky or write equally boring scientific articles? Since when was being fashionable and glamorous a crime? My father arranged my marriage when I was barely hours old. I’ve suffered rejection in the cruelest fashion. I wrote to you because I insist you rewrite every book where I am mentioned to better fit how I truly am. My upbringing if far more impressive than any of the dimwits you chose to make as your heroines. I am not the abhorent fiend you have made me out to be. “After enduring a most trying experience in America, I returned to my home to find that you had the audacity to misrepresent my trials and tribulations in your books. *Ignoring me, this man unfolds a missive* Ahem, My name is Wyatt Parchment and I have been paid to come here to deliver you a chartered message from one Lady Olivia Sinclair. Sadly this is NOT Sir Wallace though.* Can I help you? *A handsome man with brown hair, dark eyes and attired in the most impeccable clothing imagineable walks in. For those of you who did not faint in horror or unsubscribe after yesterday’s bare post, I have quite the treat: an interview with Sir Wallace Benedict! He’s not here yet, but I expect him any minute now– *doorbell rings*

Her Imperfect Groom by Rose Gordon