Miss Gabriel's Gambit (12 page)

“I doubt that it would be instructive in my case,” Sylvia said wistfully as she took up her needlework again. “Since it is unlikely that anyone shall wish to wed me, especially with Hugo behaving so untowardly.”

“A posy arrived from Lord Donhill,” Caroline said, attempting to cheer her cousin. “It arrived before Mama went up to rest.”

“I saw it, and one was sent for you as well,” Sylvia said. “Lord Donhill is merely being kind.”

There was a knock at the door.

“Enter,” Caroline called, picking up her fashion plates once more with a sigh as Boniface opened the door. “I suppose that you are right about Lord Donhill. After all, neither of us are likely to attempt to check him and wed him.”

“Then we may both enter in complete safety, Petrov,” Lord Donhill said, as the butler ushered the two of them into the drawing room. “I vow everywhere I turn these days, I face importunate ladies with chess board at the ready. Why only yesterday, I was challenged by a widow who was near twice my age and certainly twice my girth.”

“And what did you do, milord?” Caroline asked with a coquettish smile.

“Quaked in my boots and prayed to the spirit of Philador, Miss Gabriel,” David said, the twinkle in his eyes belying his somber demeanor. “But I need not have worried, the woman was the rankest pawn-pushing amateur, as most females are. Your sex has more important matters to occupy your pretty heads, fashions and other such folderol.”

Sylvia busied herself with her embroidery, taking in deep breaths and keeping her tongue between her teeth. Still, it was difficult to resist the temptation to call the chessmaster to account for his denigrating braggadocio.

Petrov seated himself and began a quiet conversation with Caroline while David took a chair beside Sylvia.

“I have come to fulfill my promise, Miss Gabriel. My apologies for calling so early, but there seemed no other way to have private speech with you,” Lord Donhill explained. “If you will but set your Uncle’s puzzle before me, I shall attempt to solve it.”

It was difficult for Sylvia to maintain her annoyance in the face of his enthusiasm. Lord Donhill’s wet Hessians were dripping on the Aubusson carpet. His dark curls hung damply across his forehead. His glasses had fogged with the effect of rain and he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe them clear. Sylvia noted this visible restraint as testament to Brummel’s influence with amusement, but the unshuttered effect of those deep brown eyes was most unsettling and she found herself caught in their depths, unable to look away.

“Do you have the will?” David asked, setting the spectacles on his nose once more.

Sylvia blinked and shook her head. “No, I am afraid. I have requested a copy from the solicitor. However,” she hastened to add, seeing his disappointment. “I do know the clue by heart.” She set the frame aside and closing her eyes in concentration, she began to recite.

“Yea, dance with a fool, I shall not allow,

you to wed him anyhow.

For though I may be buried and dead,

No fool’s mate shall ye take to your bed.

When you seek to tread the matrimonial measure,

you shall recall these words with pleasure

King’s pawn black, king’s pawn white,

Bishop’s move black and black’s move knight.

Knight to rook’s forth move again

Queen to rook’s fifth, bishop’s mate at end.

Seek the board and step at leisure

And you shall uncover the Rajah’s treasure.”

She opened her eyes to find Donhill staring raptly at her. “My uncle was a better chess-player than he was a poet, I fear.”

“I would say so,” David said, recovering himself and scrambled to recall the words of the poem, having been utterly distracted by the woman who recited it. “‘The Rajah’s treasure,’ I suppose, is the fortune your father amassed in India?”

Sylvia nodded.

“And the ‘fool’s mate,’ is Lord Highslip?” David guessed. Sylvia’s blush was a confirmation.

“Uncle objected strongly to the match. He told me that I ought to give other men a chance. In fact, his will stipulated that the family travel to London immediately for a Season and that no mourning should be observed. Aunt Ruby deemed it so outré a demand that she gave up a substantial financial incentive to repair to London right after the burial. Perhaps she was right and Uncle was out of his head when he made the will, for he had always been something of a stickler for proper behavior,” Sylvia speculated.
Which was why he never wished it known that I play chess,
she added silently.
Chess is no proper woman’s game
.

“A Season would certainly have been out of the question,” David agreed. “And the chess puzzle seems somewhat out of kilter.”

“Certainly, it is one of the eight classic ‘fool’s mates,’” Sylvia mused. “Except that black takes precedence and white has only one move.” Sylvia flushed as she realized that David was looking at her. “Coming from a family such as mine, milord, one cannot help but absorb something of the game. I was my uncle’s secretary for several years and he taught me a bit,” Sylvia said, hoping that her hedging had satisfied him.

“I would have expected as much, both your father and uncle being premier chess-players,” David said.

“They were indeed,” Sylvia said, seizing the opportunity to turn his attention from herself. “Papa devoted his life to the game, travelling all over Europe, the East, even the Americas, searching for worthy opponents. He would win and lose fortunes.”

“Mostly win, I would suspect.”

Sylvia nodded. “He rarely lost a game, even when it would have been more politic to do so, for one Pasha nearly had him beheaded for daring to trounce him, but we escaped. Mama disguised him as her maid, hiding him in a chador and veil.” She giggled at the recollection of her dignified Papa in skirts.

“Truly?” David asked in surprise.

“The costume is in the attic somewhere, I believe, among my parents’ things if you do not credit me. We travelled everywhere with them. The family was rarely in the same place for more than a month,” Sylvia said. “There were so few players that could match Papa, you see. He always had to move on to fresh competition.”

David heard the traces of wistfulness in her voice. “It must have been a strange life for a child.”

“It was certainly unusual” Sylvia agreed. “There were times that I wished for a proper home, but I do not think that either of us, my brother Will or myself, would have really wanted it any other way.”

Her eyes were far away as if focused on those distant lands and her lips curved upward dreamily, as she recalled those days, but the smile disappeared as she continued.

 “However, Mama ... it was extremely difficult for her. We lived like nomads, constantly packing and unpacking. I think that she almost hated chess. When I was very small, I recall playing with the pieces and Mama knocked them out of my hand and began to cry.”

“And why did your Mama tolerate it then?” David asked.

“She adored Papa,” Sylvia said. “And despite his devotion to chess, I think that he loved her. It is just that she wanted to come first. Every woman wants to be above all else in a man’s life.”

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears and David wondered if she were thinking of Highslip, who had put money before love. Was Caroline correct? Was her cousin still nursing a broken heart despite the fact that the man had been proven an utter blackguard? How typical of females, to waste their regard on men who were unworthy of them. It was easy to understand why Sir Miles had gone to such extreme lengths to protect his niece from Highslip and David’s resolve was firmed. Brummel was correct; locating her fortune would be the best revenge for the suffering that Highslip had inflicted upon her.

“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.”