Friendship and Folly: The Merriweather Chronicles Book I by Meredith Allady Page A

deity, who must be upheld by the mindless obedience of her worshipers; left unsupported for an instant, and she will fall, impotent and ridiculous, by the wayside. Her decrees, therefore, while shrill and impertinent, are not binding on any save her followers, of whose number, I assure you, we are not. If you doubt this, you have only to address your concerns to our neighbors, Mrs. B______, Mrs. L-R and her elegant offspring, and Lord H______, all of whom, as faithful devotees of Dame Fashion, will repudiate with scorn any notion that we have any right to be ranked among their number.”

    Lady Frances laughed, as she was meant to do, but wrote instead, more graciously, that she perceived her aunt had been reading Mrs. More’s delightful Strictures ; and was it not a great pity, that the Prince did not appear to have taken any notice of that dear woman’s advice in regard to the raising of Princess Charlotte?
    Eventually, as the good ship Parry remained unalterably fixed upon her charted course despite their best endeavors, the winds retired, some sorrowfully, some incensed, to darkly anticipate rocks and whirlpools in the incorrigible vessel’s near future.
    The Parrys continued to make their preparations.
    Now, it has been written that “piety from the teeth outward is an easy thing,” and the same might be claimed for a decision to take one’s family on a journey, if the family be large, the journey extended, and travelling an unaccustomed exercise.
    A recitation of the miscellaneous trials which beset the Parrys, and which are common to all in such circumstances, is not my purpose. Let it suffice to record that Lady Frances and Mr. Parry had only to say to each other, “But think of those who must take a public coach!” or “What if we lived in Scotland?” to be instantly revived by the horror of these thoughts, to a cooler appraisal of their own difficulties.
    Lord Meravon, discomfited by the arrangements his own meddling had set in motion, himself hastened to town some days before the opening of Parliament; he did not even trouble to mumble vague and unconvincing excuses, but merely announced one evening that since it was clear his presence at Merriweather was not required, he would be leaving in the morning. Lady Frances’s response was a look which spoke all the reproach her notions of filial respect would not allow her to utter, but as the Earl was not entirely without forethought, this look was neatly deflected by the covers of the Gazette which he had hurriedly taken up.
    One difficulty the Parrys had, which they might have been spared, had solicitude for their own comfort and convenience been their foremost object. His name was Gerard Deauville, and he boasted a sallow and unprepossessing mien, intractable habits, eleven years, and the ardent friendship of Margaret Parry. In accordance with the best tradition of such things, he had attained the state of orphanhood at a tender age, and had even managed to repel the affections of his sole acknowledged relative, his maternal grandfather, Mr. Horace Deerbury, so that he was altogether as pitiful and romantic a figure as one could hope to find as a companion for one’s impressionable daughter. Alas, Gerard somewhat compromised this auspicious prologue, by a temper so sullen and uneven, that an astonishing number of people, instead of looking upon his disaffected grandsire with all the abhorrence appropriate for the villain of the piece, were actually inclined to feel no little sympathy for him. Only a family as forbearing as the Parrys, it was said, would have suffered such an unpleasant boy to partake of their home and affection; and only such an odd, unaccountable child as Margaret would have become so singularly attached to him.
    So attached was she, indeed, that the thought of several months’ separation was enough to provoke her to a fit of something dangerously near the sulks, had it not been a proverb among the Parrys that “he that indulges in