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

the gentlemen’s sisters had urged them to discover the name and direction of the young man who accompanied her. No one, however, was thoughtless enough to mention this probability to him.
    “You have the soul of a hermit,” Julia accused him one afternoon, having listened, in considerable amusement, to a particularly inventive grumble.
    “And you have the proclivities of a bee,” he replied. “If the Almighty had meant for mankind to live in a huddled mass, so that one cannot turn around without tripping over some fatuous drone, Eden would not have been a garden, but a hive.”
    Ann thought this unusually misanthropic even for Clive, and suspected that he found their fatuity only insupportable because they were dangling after his never-sufficiently-to-be-esteemed sister. When quizzed on the subject, he admitted it without hesitation, but added that he was not, as was Kitty, unalterably against any gentleman who dared to approach Julia in a matrimonial spirit. He maintained, however, that a line must be drawn, a standard set, and he for one drew a line that very firmly excluded “any man who has cultivated a lisp in the extraordinary belief that serpentile mannerisms are somehow engaging; or whose garments fit with such nicety as to make it clear that he cannot dress himself without the aid of five strong men and a pound of butter.”
    Lady Frances thought her son’s requirements perfectly sensible, but after overhearing a particularly scathing appraisal of one of Julia’s admirers, commented to her husband that she hoped Clive was not influenced by pride and the unchristian notion that no one was “good enough” for his family. “I do not fault him for thinking his sister worthy of nothing but the best—it is a sentiment I prize, particularly when I hear the disparaging fashion in which so many young men speak of their sisters these days; but he shows a tendency to despise some of these poor gentlemen, which I cannot like.”
    Mr. Parry, who had less tolerance for the dandy set than did his wife, replied that he had a tendency to despise some of them himself, and that he was extremely grateful to his son for bristling at unacceptable suitors, as it saved him the trouble of doing so himself. Lady Frances then said, “that was all very well, but did he not think it probable that Clive, with his customary impetuosity, would bark with equal fervor at squirrels, burglars and the man who delivered the coal?”; and Mr. Parry replied that, with all deference to his wife’s opinions, his own feelings were, that as little as he wanted Julia to marry a burglar, did he want her to become attached to a rodent or a coal-heaver. At this Lady Frances closed her eyes as if praying for patience, and Mr. Parry, relenting, gave it as his belief that any man who allowed himself to be run off the estate by an overgrown puppy with a loud bark, was a paltry fellow who did not deserve to make it to the house anyway.
    Julia’s own gratitude was somewhat tempered by frustration. As Lady Frances had divined, Clive’s zeal was indiscriminate, and attempts to correct this met with little success.
    “You must not think,” she began, once, “that I do not appreciate the way you have of nipping undesirable invitations in the bud.”
    “Always you underrate me,” said he, reprovingly. “Any one can slice the head off a plant foolhardy enough to show itself above the surface: my talent lies in my unique ability to freeze the presumptuous shoot while it is still merely thinking about emerging. You may call me,” added he, striking a dashing pose after the fashion of Reynolds’ Burgoyne , hand curling negligently on an imaginary hilt, “Captain Blight.”
    Kitty giggled into her fingers; Julia shook her head. “Captain Calf-lolly, you mean. You have, it is true, rescued me from many a tedious drive, and many a painful dance--let me give humble thanks for all at once--”
    Clive bowed, and murmured modestly that he was “ever a dear