The Trouble With Honor (The Cabot Sisters #1)

“Only if you believe yourself to be,” Finnegan had said curtly, and had begun to fill a valise, his jaw set with determination. George knew better than to argue with the man when he was like that, and now here he was, brushing down George’s formal dinner coat. “I suggest you have a walkabout,” Finnegan said without looking up from his work. “You might prepare yourself for croquet. Perhaps it will improve your disposition and put you into a proper frame of mind for society here.” He glanced up at George. “If I may, sir, it is vastly different than the society in which you typically associate.”


George couldn’t help but grin. “Do you know, Finnegan, that there are days I have the strongest urge to put my fist squarely in your comely face?”

“That would not become a gentleman,” Finnegan said, and went about his business.

George couldn’t watch Finnegan any longer; he ran his fingers through his hair, straightened his neckcloth and went out. He walked out into the gardens and paused to admire the fine specimens of roses rivaled only by those he’d seen around St. James.

He heard the sound of feminine laughter and was unthinkingly drawn to it, making his way through the maze of roses to the gate that led to a large expanse of manicured lawn. Beyond the vast lawn, he could see a lake shimmering in the sunlight, bounded by forest on two sides.

He walked through the gate and carried on down the slope, his gaze on footmen who were busily setting the croquet hoops. He approached a trio of ladies seated near a large fountain where three enormous cherubs streamed great arcs of water from their pursed lips.

One of the ladies glanced up from her wide-brimmed hat and blinked. “Mr. Easton!” she said, gaining her feet.

George had been so taken by the giant cherubs that he’d failed to recognize Miss Hargrove at first. He quickly recovered and bowed low. “Miss Hargrove,” he said. “My day has just been immeasurably improved.”

The two ladies in her company tittered at that.

“I wasn’t aware you’d come,” Miss Hargrove said.

“I only just arrived.”

She nodded; her gaze flicked over him. “Miss Ellis, may I introduce Mr. George Easton,” she said, her hand gracefully indicating the fairer of the two young women seated on the bench. “And Miss Eliza Rivers.”

“We are acquainted,” George said. “Ladies, how do you do?”

“Are you lost, Mr. Easton?” Miss Hargrove asked, eyeing him closely. He noticed that she was holding a croquet mallet, which she swung casually at her side.

“I am hopelessly lost,” he said cheerfully, earning a titter from Miss Ellis. “I was in search of your very affable fiancé. He had mentioned a croquet tournament.”

“Yes, it will begin shortly. You will need a mallet.”

“And a partner.” He looked pointedly at her. “Will you do me the honor, Miss Hargrove?”

Miss Hargrove studied him a moment, clearly debating his invitation.

“I might partner, if you like,” Miss Rivers said shyly. “I am certain Miss Hargrove will want to partner with Lord Sommerfield—”

“Thank you, but I had agreed to partner with Mr. Cleburne,” Monica interjected. “I’m certain he won’t mind another partner now that a new guest has arrived so unexpectedly. Shall we fetch you a mallet, Mr. Easton?” She gestured to the path.

George smiled. He would delight in explaining to Honor Cabot that he was right, he had indeed turned Miss Hargrove’s head, and one need only see how quickly she leaped at the chance to be his partner to know it. He graciously offered his arm to her, wished her companions a good day and began to walk with her. “Such lovely roses at Longmeadow,” he observed. “Beauty is surrounded by beauty.” He smiled.

Miss Hargrove sighed. “Quite flattering, Mr. Easton. Miss Rivers would have swooned. But I’ve never been swayed by poetic overture.”

George was only slightly taken aback. “Should I take that to mean you are immune to honest admiration?”

“I am not immune to honest admiration,” she said. “But how can you claim to have any admiration for me when there are so many lovely debutantes around you? I daresay my fiancé’s four unmarried sisters are ripe for admiration.”

She watched him closely for his response, but George was practiced in getting his way when it came to matters female. “Surely you must know that when one’s heart has divined toward someone in particular, one cannot simply will it in another direction?”

Miss Hargrove suddenly laughed at that. “You’re a rake, Mr. Easton! It would seem that all I’ve heard tell about you is true.”

He didn’t know precisely what she meant, but he was beginning to wonder if he’d ever worked so hard to entice a woman. “I am certain I am guilty as charged, but I am a man, first and foremost, and when I admire a woman, I cannot deny it.”

They reached the stand where a footman was handing out croquet mallets and balls. She took a mallet and handed it to him. “You’d best admire someone else.”

What had happened here? The woman had practically been melting at the Prescott Ball. Had she heard the rumors of his missing ship, that his fortune was gone, as he’d heard round his club? Was that the reason for her aloofness?