Miss Gabriel's Gambit by Rita Boucher Page B

nodding briefly toward the corner that her aunt occupied. “Look you and tell me what you see.”
    “Well,” David allowed, “her expression is somewhat annoyed. Now she is speaking to Caroline.”
    “Who is obviously not dancing,” Sylvia lamented. “And, knowing my aunt, I will be to blame for it.”
    “I am sure that your cousin will find a suitor, Miss Gabriel,” David said, feeling a pang of guilt as he realized the likely truth of her conclusions. “As you shall.”
    “I know you meant well, milord,” Sylvia said. The hangdog look in his eyes reminded her forcibly of young Miles’ aspect when one of his brainstorms had gone awry and her indignation abated. “However, do you honestly believe that I could find a worthy suitor who would overlook the absence of a dowry?”
    David looked at her, astonished that she should have any doubts on that point. Yet, Miss Gabriel did not seem to be fishing for compliments; her manner was entirely serious. There was an underlying bitterness in her words that told him she had reason to believe her statement.
     “A man may admire a showy piece of horseflesh, milord, but if it has little else to recommend, he will not buy it,” Sylvia stated flatly, aching inside as she recalled her past hurt and disappointment. “At present, Lord Donhill, my looks are more a curse than a blessing. My appearance bars me from seeking a respectable position, for what woman with husband or son would be blind enough to hire a governess with a face that tempts men to indiscretion? I will, therefore, forever be dependent on Aunt Ruby’s charity.”
    It was a statement of fact, not vanity. David marveled that she had actually considered the possibility of employment and felt saddened that his old friend’s niece had come to such a pass. Although his compliance with Brummel’s plan had initially been half-hearted, he now pledged himself fully to Miss Gabriel’s assistance.
    “Not all men are so mercenary,” David said. “But if you despair of marriage, Miss Gabriel, what do you want?”
    “My freedom,” Sylvia replied at once. “To be quit of Aunt Ruby’s grudging charity.”
    “Marriage would do that,” David pointed out. “You would be beyond your aunt’s authority.”
    “And completely under catspaw to another, merely in a different form of servitude,” Sylvia said. “‘Tis the same thing to be white’s pawn as black’s - the moves are limited.”
    “And you would be queen.” Amused by the reference to the game, David continued the chess analogy. “With complete freedom of the board.” But before Miss Gabriel could reply they were separated by the figure of the dance again. She moved gracefully, executing the steps with airy precision before she returned to his side.
    “To be a queen requires a treasury, milord,” Sylvia said with a regretful smile. “Unfortunately, mine seems to have been permanently misplaced.”
    “Then I must find it, Miss Gabriel,” David declared.
    “I have tried for this past year,” Sylvia reminded him. “We all have.”
    “Ah,” David said smugly. “But my knowledge of chess is far superior. I am sure that those clues your uncle left will be far more intelligible to a master of the game than one with limited skills.”
    “I doubt it; the clues are too confusing, even for a master.” Her candid declaration elicited a startled expression from Lord Donhill and Sylvia, realized her error.
    But Donhill recouped for her. “Ah yes, your brother. I am sure he searched high and low. But perhaps a fresh perspective might serve.”
     Sylvia let his supposition stand. “Perhaps. I hope that you will forgive my frankness, but I feel that I almost know you, Lord Donhill. Uncle often read your letters to me and it is almost as if you are something of an old friend.”
    “Surely not an old friend,” David bantered, as he circled round her and bowed in answer to her elegant curtsy.
    “Ancient,” Sylvia replied, a teasing light in her eyes,