"When will I find my own Mr Darcy"

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a woman of single consequence will want her life to mirror that of Elizabeth and Mr Darcy.
It's the love story that has defined generation after generation. Whilst Jane's immortal words may be slowly replaced by; *snapchat*' waiting with my cock out', even the most belligerent of us wish for romance. However on reflection this may not be the best idea for someone of my behaviour.
The day starts with me trying to force my rolls into my corset. Luckily they are not over baked because just showing my ankle would brand me a prostitute. So my rolls are neatly tucked away like a vacuum pack of six Frankfurters.
Now as many people will know I meet Mr Darcy at a dance where he insults me.
"Er excuse me, not handsome enough to tempt you? First of all handsome? Whilst the dictionary may define it as a general term of beauty, we all know it's a man thing. Therefore I can only assume that you are gay and hate that I am lacking in beard and masculine features. Well fuck you because even if I was a man I wouldn't want to be with a man who looks like he's both appalled by the smell and fighting back vomit as he scrapes shit off his shoe". Stuck up snob.
As the year progresses we spend more time getting to know each other. I remain indignant, after all he is a miserable snob. He insults everyone, hates my shoe diving mother and I swear I saw him staring at Bingley's bum. However he declares that against his better judgement he is in love with me.
Narcissistic bastard. I'm not going to be his beard. OK so he might be straight but the fact that he wants to be with someone who hates him doesn't bode well. There weren't stilletos in those days but there were plenty of riding crops. What a nutter. I can't use my usual lines, if I say I'm a lesbian I'll be publicly flogged and everyone will see my butt freckle.
"So you tell me you love me against your better judgement. Well I am the only one who judges me ..... and also you. I judge you as a nutter so fudge off"
Did they have fudge in Georgian England?
A letter describes his emotions and past actions. Whilst it is completely lacking in comedy I'm gutted to find his writing is better than mine. His name is Fitzwilliam?! Turns out there is some comedy.
Whilst time goes by I reflect on this letter with a single thought in my mind 'did I make a mistake? He is rich'
Unfortunately the diary I published under a false name becomes known as mine. Having made such horrendous comments on sea monsters, discussed lizard men and for fear of vomitgate: the sequel, I am thrown to the funny farm. Let's face it, I'm lucky not to have been arrested for exposure of my nettle stung butt.
However let us remember this is Darcy, he would never forget me. Upon hearing that I have been released to private supervision my heart swells. I run to the carriage wanting to be with my Darcy. I throw myself into the carriage .........
......
.....
*sigh*
"Hello stalker boy"