(no subject)

One of the drawbacks to consuming Regency Romances like bad crack (I mean, aside from the inner voices that start to sound very much like Mrs. and Jane Bennet) is that I really envy and crave their *houses*. Drawing rooms and parlours and music rooms and ball rooms lurking 'round the back of the great stone pile that is the family seat.

Because right about now I'd like to retire to a sitting parlour to work on my knitting (no talent for embroidery, you understand) and have tea and tiny sandwiches served to me.

Okay, I don't envy the lack of indoor plumbing, but that's about it.