“Jane Austen thought I’d fancy you.”

“Well, yeah. And what’s so wrong with that? You’re sharp, quick-witted, lively. Not unlike an Austen heroine, in fact. It’d only make sense that you’d fall for my sort. Me and Mr. Darcy, we’ve got a few things in common.”

“What’s that?” Donna demands, words popping indignantly off her tongue. “Emotional retardation? A raging superiority complex? Come to think it, yeah, I can see the resemblance. Only difference is, he’s the most charming man in the whole history of literature, and you’re a walking, talking twig with a couple of hearts and a spaceship.”

It was nice, the Doctor thought, their silly fake love affair.