Miss Gabriel's Gambit by Rita Boucher

to Brummel, I vow, I would wash my hands of you.”
    “Indeed, you might be well advised to do so. Is that a speck of dust I see on your left sleeve?” David asked making as if to touch the cuff in question.
    Highslip backed away. “I confess, I would not be surprised if you were contagious. Well, I have done the best I can. I doubt that Brummel himself could do better.”
    “Think you so, Highslip?” Brummel asked, raising his quizzing glass in disdain. Pursing his lips, he eyed Rutherford in patent disapproval. “A marked improvement, David,” he said, slowly. “But then anything would have been an improvement.”
    Highslip reddened at the implied criticism.
    David tugged at the linen that hugged his neck like a veritable noose. “I vow the first Adam was a fool when he put on those blasted leaves in Eden. I am sure that had he realized it would lead to the neckcloth, he would have been content in his nakedness. Not another lecture on the importance of being well-dressed, I pray you, George.”
    “No, you heathen,” Brummel declared with a bark of laughter. “I have not come to preach to you, merely to tell you that Miss Gabriel has arrived. I may deplore your taste in tailoring matters, Donhill, but your eye for the fair sex is impeccable. There is no need for me to create her an ‘Incomparable,’ for as Highslip stated, she is one without my assistance.”
    As he entered the ballroom and saw Miss Gabriel crossing the floor, David could not help but agree with Brummel’s assessment. The unusual green shade of Miss Gabriel’s gown accentuated her porcelain coloring and the candlelight glinted in her hair, burnishing it to the color of new-minted gold. Yet, despite her outstanding looks, her face lacked animation and for a moment, he was reminded forcibly of their first meeting.
    Once again, her countenance was a study in marble, closed and emotionless as she turned her head mechanically and looked upon the assemblage. Then, those green eyes met his and David saw beyond the facade that she effected. Her anguish was obvious, as was the likely cause, for Mrs. Gabriel’s glowering looks were all too easy to interpret. Although she was making a poor attempt at hiding it, the woman’s jealousy of the attention that her niece was garnering was patent. Miss Gabriel was in obvious need of rescue and David abruptly determined that he would act the part of her champion.
    However, he soon found that he was not the only would-be knight on the board. By the time he had crossed the floor, he found her besieged by a crowd of young swains, eager for an introduction.
    “La, Lord Donhill,” Mrs. Gabriel said tapping him on the arm with her fan. “I declare myself surprised to see you at Almack’s of all places.”
    David suppressed a wince. The woman wielded her fan like a club and the logic of her statement was no less of an assault. Why had he come to the very place he had vowed to avoid like the plague? The terms of the wager had not required that he endure the crowd of eager mamas, callow youths and simpering misses. Where had his wits gone? David wondered.
    He had endured hours of Highslip’s high-handed management, been primped, polished and appareled under that popinjay’s paw and for what purpose? Certainly, Mrs. Gabriel seemed singularly unimpressed by the marked improvement in his appearance. Indeed by the short shrift she had given him, he deduced that Miss Caroline Gabriel had no potential for chess. Even as he made an attempt to reply to her sally, the matron turned her attention to Lord Highslip, who had made no wagers impairing his eligibility.
    “Caroline, darling. Look who is come, dear Lord Highslip,” the woman proclaimed loudly as if the earl was long lost kin, rapping him soundly on the arm.
    But even had she knocked him on the noggin, Mrs. Gabriel would have been unable to direct Highslip’s attention to Caroline, for it was clearly Sylvia that claimed his gaze. While David was long accustomed