Miss Gabriel's Gambit

by Rita Boucher

  “Given what you have endured due to chess, Miss Gabriel, I find myself amazed that you do not hate the Game of Kings as much as your Mama did.”

  “Oh no,” Sylvia declared, “‘Tis not the game that causes the difficulties, ‘tis the player. It makes no matter if it is faro or the Fancy, some people allow themselves to become obsessed, to allow the game to dictate all aspects of their lives. My father was merely one of many such people, milord.”

  David made a show of polishing his spectacles, avoiding her frank gaze. Did she number him among the obsessed he wondered? After all, he had never allowed chess to control his life, or had he? It was a distinctly disconcerting thought.

  “Would you mind dropping the title? Call me ‘David,’ please,” he requested, pushing the wire frame back up his nose. “After all, as you pointed out last evening, we are something in the way of old friends.”

  “And you too, may use my given name,” Sylvia agreed. “Well, David. Where shall we begin? I suppose I need not tell you that the moves in Uncle’s will were tried on every chess board in Crown Beeches. We even ripped some apart in the hopes that we would find some hidden compartment within the squares, but there was nothing.”

  David thought for a moment. “Clearly, it was your Uncle’s intent that you come to London in short order after his demise. Have you searched the chessboards here?”

  “I had never considered that,” Sylvia said, her excitement growing. “Perhaps that is why he wanted us to hasten to London?”

  With Caroline and Petrov’s enthusiastic assistance, Sylvia and David hunted down every chess board in the house. From the lacquered Chinese chessboard of jade and silver to young Miles’ wooden board in the nursery, every square was closely examined, played upon in the manner prescribed by the late Sir Miles’ rhyme, using all eight variations of a fool’s mate.

  “Is that the last of them?” David asked, surveying the sad remains of Miles’ chessboard. The inlaid squares had seemed to conceal a hollow and so, they had taken it to pieces.

  “’Cept, the little one in Sylvia’s room over there,” Miles stated.

  “‘Tis but a small pocket set that was my father’s,” Sylvia said, going into the room and bringing out a teak and mahogany case for them to view. She opened it to reveal a well-used tiny board with peg pieces. “As you can see, there can be nothing concealed in it.”

  “Your cousin is being sleeping in the nursery, Miss Gabriel?” Petrov asked in astonishment.

  Caroline flushed in embarrassment and Sylvia went over to squeeze the girl’s hand.

  “It is none of Caro’s doing, you may be sure. I am naught but a poor relation, Mr. Petrov,” Sylvia said, trying to smile. “And so, it seems, I am destined to remain.” She turned abruptly toward the window, unwilling to let the others see her disappointment. Despite her doubts, a small seed of hope had grown; now, as it withered and died, the future stretched out before her like an endless desert.

  A footman rapped at the nursery door. “Miss Caroline, Miss Sylvia, Mrs. Gabriel requests that you return downstairs immediately if you are done with your tour of the house. Leastways, that’s what Mr. Boniface told her you were up to.”

  “Thank you, Robbie,” Caroline said to the servant, “and thank Boniface as well for his quick thinking. We shall be down in a trice.” She put an arm on Sylvia’s shoulder. “I shall tell Mama that Miles required your attention, Syl. That should give you a few moments to compose yourself.” She kissed her cousin on the cheek and started out with Petrov and David, but in the hallway David hesitated and went back to the nursery

  “Don’t worry, Syl,” he heard Miles say. “Tis only another twelve years and then Mama can’t tell me what to do no more. I been thinking, if I got to marry somebody, might as well be you. You can play chess and you fly a kite better than any girl I know, don’t cut up stiff at frogs neither.”

  “High praise, indeed,” Sylvia said, kneeling beside the boy and gathering him close for a hug. “We have missed our usual Friday morning kite fly in Green Park. Shall we go next week? I fear it cannot be earlier.”

  “Can we Syl? That’ll be famous. And you needn’t worry ‘bout nothing; you can stay with me, till we get married,” Miles added, squirming slightly.

  Reluctantly Sylvia let him go and looked up to see David standing in the doorway. “You needn’t have waited for me, David,” she said softly. “I shall be fine. As you no doubt heard, I have received a most honorable proposal.”

  “Indeed, I did,” David said, offering his hand to the boy. “You are a very discerning young man, Miles. Ladies who do not cut up stiff at frogs and go kite-flying every Friday, are the rarest of breeds.”

  “You can marry her now, if you want,” Miles said, cocking his head sidewise in thought. “Won’t be able to do it myself for few years.”

  Sylvia’s tear-stained face broke into a smile. “Trying to fob me off already, you young scamp! You cannot trade wives about like marbles and besides, Lord Donhill cannot marry anyone, unless he loses his wager.”

  “But Syl!” Miles began to protest.

  She spoke quickly to staunch him, knowing that the boy could easily spill her secret. “Even if I could trounce him, Miles,” she said, “I would not, you know. I could not abide a life dictated by a game. I saw what it did to my Mama, how it hurt her. People’s lives are not pieces to be lost and won by skill or luck. I want to be loved fully, to always be first in someone’s heart.”

  “Guess you’ll just have to wait for me, Syl,” Miles said, cheerfully. “Want me to put the box away?”

  Wordlessly, she handed Miles the small chess set and he scampered out of the room. She rose and saw an angry frown upon David’s brow. She groaned inwardly. Obviously, he had taken personal offense from her words.

  “I did not mean to rebuke you, David,” she said, trying to contain a growing sense of annoyance. She had spoken no less than the truth.

  “You did,” David contradicted stiffly. “Females understand nothing about wagers, about honor.”

  “And men do?” Sylvia said, her head shaking in disbelief. “I am full to the gills with the protestations of men and their strange concepts of honor. A titled man may woo a woman for her purse, that is honorable, yet a female who courts a man for money is an adventuress. A man may mount a mistress, yet a woman who plays the game is a slut. My uncle hides my money-”

  “For your own protection,” David said, his jaw tightening. “To prevent you from wedding a penniless-pursed fribble.”

  “And I am indeed well protected now!” Sylvia mocked, her eyes narrowing. “An unpaid governess, a free maid of all work, dependent upon my aunt’s most gracious charity for the remainder of my life because I am a female and deemed to be too weak-minded to make sensible decisions! However, unlike myself, you, at least, were given some choice, milord. But you have elected to doom yourself; to remain alone all the rest of your days . Because of your wretched honor you will stick to a stupid vow, made in an hour of drunkenness. Fie upon such honor, milord.” She whirled and left the room.

  David stared after her in disbelief. The girl had obviously been overset by disappointment. Still, as he went slowly down the stairs, her derisive words echoed after him.

  “Did you enjoy your tour, Lord Donhill?” Mrs. Gabriel asked as he returned to the parlor.

  “Lovely place, isn’t it?” asked a familiar voice from behind.

  David turned to face Lord Highslip. The elegant earl smiled superciliously and David felt a surge of anger. How dare he come here, after what he had done to plague Sylvia? It was not to be borne.

  “You are improving,” Highslip noted with a patronizing sniff. “I vow, your neckcloth appears almost decent.”

  “Does it?” David asked, reaching out to grasp the delicate folds of Highslip’s linen in a squeeze. “I have always wondered how you tie this. A Mathematical, is it not?”

  “Was!” Highslip snapped, his lower lip jutting in annoyance. “You have quite ruined my neckcloth, sirrah.
‘Tis lucky indeed that I know you to be untutored in civilized ways. Were anyone else to do that, I might call them out.”

  “You need not accord me any special privileges if I offended you,” David said, his voice dangerously smooth.

  Petrov sprang up and grasped David by the shoulder, steering him toward a chair.

  “Lord Highslip is telling us that you have been starting something of a fashion,” Petrov said, trying to sooth his friend. He had never seen David like this, snarling like a wolf in winter. What was he thinking, provoking a duel in a drawing room? “The betting books are being full of wagers, men saying they will not be marrying ladies who cannot out-fence them or out-shoot them or out-do them in some other way.”

  “I say, ‘tis wicked,” Mrs. Gabriel said, her jowls shaking as she scowled at David in annoyance.

  “I must agree, Mrs. Gabriel,” Highslip said, his lip curling derisively. “Marriage is a most felicitous state, a blessing to be rejoiced in. Hiding behind a wager is the height of foolishness.”

  “I am so glad you think so!” Mrs. Gabriel declared, chortling in delight. “Do you not agree, Caroline darling?”

  “Of course, Mama.” Caroline nodded obediently, looking down at her lap to hide her mortification.

  “She is such a good gel. She sews, milord and her voice is so fine ...”

  “Maybe she should be opening up her mouth so he can be looking on her teeth,” Petrov muttered glumly as Mrs. Gabriel went on with her list of Caroline’s fine points. “I am changing mine mind. Go, be grabbing his neckcloth again and I be your second, or better, I grab.”

  “I cannot understand why she receives him,” David mumbled. “The out-and-outer has all but spoiled her niece’s chances and yet she entertains his suit for her daughter.”

  “Is simple. Rook outranks pawn and English earl bests nephew of Russian Grand Duke,” Petrov whispered mournfully.

  Sylvia stood by the door, eyes wide with shock when she saw Highslip sitting in her aunt’s parlor. She would have turned to leave, but Aunt Ruby’s eyes gave a silent command.

  “Sylvia, have you finished with Miles’ lessons?” Mrs. Gabriel asked, emphasizing the girl’s inferior standing in the household. “Why do you not join us? Lord Highslip has come to pay a call upon your cousin.”

  Sylvia felt as if she had been transformed to a mechanical toy, her limbs obeying her in jerky movements as she took the vacant chair by the door and picked up her embroidery. Although Hugo addressed barely a word to her, she could feel his eyes with their hungry burning gaze upon her. She plied her needle heedlessly, creating a tangles mess amidst the delicate pattern as she prayed for time to pass.

  “Did you know, Lord Highslip, that dear Sylvia has several suitors?” Mrs. Gabriel remarked archly. “Lord Entshaw has sent the most remarkable flowers and Mr. Colber has been most particular in his attentions as well.”

  “Entshaw is old enough to be her grandfather,” Highslip said, his voice suddenly cold. “And Colber is but the grandson of an upstart tradesman, surely you do not entertain those suits.”

  But Mrs. Gabriel was oblivious to his disapproval. “Beggars cannot afford to be choosy, milord. I am sure, being a sensible girl, Sylvia will do the wise thing. Is that not true Sylvia?”

  Sylvia looked up, her chess training standing her in good stead. Not by so much of a quiver of her lip did she betray her humiliation. “You are correct, of course, Aunt Ruby. Oftentimes, we are not given much of a choice.”

  Although her voice was steady, David could feel Sylvia’s silent misery and felt the rebuke in her words. Her face was stark white against the blue of her morning gown and she returned her eyes to her needlework. His anger simmered as Lord Highslip conducted his sham courtship of Caroline, casting covert glances all the while at Sylvia. It was clear that Mrs. Gabriel did not hold him to account for his actions. In fact, she was doing all she could to promote her daughter as a potential countess.

  There was no stopping the ticking of the clock and much as David hated to leave, both he and Petrov had stayed well beyond what was proper for a morning call. Petrov’s face was like a thundercloud and once they left the house the Russian burst into a torrent of words.

  “What is being his game?” Petrov exploded. “He woos one while making goat’s eyes at the other.”

  “Sheep’s eyes, Ivan,” David corrected as he sprang into his silver high-perch phaeton.

  “Sheeps, cows, goats! Is no difference. Animal is animal and Highslip is animal!” Petrov said, climbing in beside David. “I must be rescuing the girl!”

  “I quite agree, but what do you propose, Petrov?” David asked, slapping the reins to urge the horses forward. “We cannot force Mrs. Gabriel to bar Highslip from the door.”

  “There is only being one possible move,” Petrov declared, his dark eyes smoldering. “Marriage!”

  “You would marry Miss Gabriel?” David asked, his heart sinking. It was a perfect solution. Petrov was of good family and had well-lined pockets, an excellent match for a woman in Sylvia’s circumstance. Yet, the very notion of Sylvia wed to Petrov caused a melancholy that was almost like a physical pain. “I had no notion that you were so fond of her.”

  “I am thinking David, that maybe you are being blind, even with your glasses. I am loving her from the first minute I see her,” Petrov said, smiling bemusedly, his brooding face alight with a whimsical joy. “Her voice is like angel’s, eye’s like a doe and her face, is reminding me of mine own dear mother.”

  David recalled the miniature of Madame Petrov that hung in Ivan’s rooms, but could remember absolutely no resemblance to Sylvia. Ivan’s mother had dark hair and a rounded face with a hooked nose exactly like her son’s exactly like ... David burst into laughter.

  “I am not seeing what you are finding funny,” Ivan said, deeply offended. “Situation is being very serious.”

  “I know, my friend, I know and I wish you happy. It is Caroline you speak of?”

  Ivan looked at him incredulously. “You are thinking I talk of Sylvia. Nyet, nyet. Is Caroline for me from the start.” Ivan fell silent, noting his friend’s relieved expression. It was obvious which way the wind was blowing there and Petrov realized that David was quite oblivious to his own feelings. “I am finding myself pitying Caroline’s cousin.” The Russian probed cautiously. “She is pretty girl and Lord Highslip could be ruining her chances I think.”

  “Yes, she is very beautiful,” David said, recalling Sylvia’s face, aglow with excitement as they had searched for the treasure. “Perhaps it was foolish to get her hopes up, Ivan. If we cannot find her fortune, it would be a bitter blow.”

  “Poor girl,” Ivan said, shaking his head sadly. “Is shame if she is forced to be marrying man like Entshaw or Colber.”

  “She shall not!” David said, glaring at the Russian.

  But Ivan merely shrugged. “Is she having choice, mine friend? Unless you are finding her fortune David, is nothing for it.”

  “Brummel said that it would, like as not, blow over soon. The broth of scandal grows cold quickly,” he mused, an ache spreading in his chest as he thought of Sylvia wed to that toad Entshaw or the mushroom Colber. David pushed his spectacles up upon his nose, peering intently ahead as if the lenses could somehow discern a solution to the conundrum. “Maybe the will itself is contains some clue.”

  David’s face was, for once, unguarded and the Russian noted the determined, angered set of his friend’s jaw and the swell of emotion in his voice. Petrov felt a pang of deep melancholy as his suspicions were confirmed. David was speaking from his heart although he did not yet seem to realize it. Perhaps, Ivan thought, it was just as well so. A wager, once set could not be broken and there seemed no remedy to the impossible rules that David himself had made.

  Chapter 6

  As Brummel had predicted, the attention of the Ton was soon diverted by other far juicier scandals than a long-ago jilt. Nonetheless, as the days passed and the dazzle of Brummel’s patronage lost some of its
gilding, Sylvia became merely a lovely face without a prayer of a fortune. David was no closer to solving Sir Miles’ conundrum than he had been before. The late baronet’s man of law had only one scrivener who was old as Methuselah and uncommon slow. Hopefully, the sizable pour boire that David had promised would add some speed to his scrawl.

  David greeted the porter at the door of White’s absently, wondering what his next move ought to be. Surely, he had to do something, for he was in large part responsible for Sylvia’s current dilemma. Her aunt was hounding her to accept Lord Entshaw’s suit and although Highslip had curbed his outrageous behavior, David had seen him watching the girl covertly, like a starveling dog eyeing a bone.

  So deep was David in his thoughts that Ivan Petrov’s voice from behind caused him to whirl, his fists automatically at the ready.

  “There is being another challenge, David!” the Russian declared, stepping back cautiously. “But it is not being from me.”

  David shook his head apologetically. “Forgive me, Ivan. I am unaccountably distracted these days,” he said, accepting the sealed missive from his friend.

  Ivan nodded, his eyes sad with understanding, as David broke the wax and read the contents. A small group gathered around him.

  “Who is it to be now?” Brummel asked, in tones of patent boredom. The challenges had become an almost common occurrence, more nuisance than sport since most of David’s adversaries barely got past the opening moves.

  “A ‘Lady Helena Balton?’ Do you know aught of her?” David asked.

  “Well enough to look upon, though something of a bluestocking,” was Brummel’s evaluation. “Her Papa’s pockets are forever to let so I suppose that is why she challenges you, David. Figures she has naught to lose but her reputation and lose it she shall. I doubt that she could beat you.”