What harm is there, you might ask, in masses of women coming home from work, getting the kids to bed and then sitting down with a plate of biscuits to enjoy a bit of fluffy, fanciful, ahistorical bodice-ripping pseudo-Austen drivel that comes across like Pride and Prejudice if it were directed by Wes Anderson, from a script cobbled together by a bunch of Kindle Direct indie authors and second year feminism and gender studies students?