Miss Gabriel's Gambit by Rita Boucher Page B

head in a gesture of approval. “I vow, I know of few relations would be kind enough to stand their kin for a Season, even despite your vast resources. You do, after all have your own child to launch. My sources inform me that your daughter is wholly in accord with sharing her debut with her cousin. Beauty and family possessed of a generous spirit!” He regarded Caroline, like a priest pronouncing a benediction of approval.
    “Game is ending, mine friend,” Petrov mumbled, watching with delight as Caroline colored delicately, flattered at Brummel’s notice. “His opponent is cornered. Check and mate.”
    Petrov was undoubtedly correct, David realized, as he marked that Mrs. Gabriel too, was flushing, albeit far less prettily. She could not escape Brummel’s maneuver without seeming the most miserly of mushrooms, accounting mere money of more import than familial obligation. Denial of her imputed generosity would mean the loss of Brummel’s tacit endorsement and likely, Society’s censure. It was time for his move on this tandem board.
    “I am sorry George, if you misunderstood -“ David began.
    “Misunderstood? Do not say so, Lord Donhill? ” Brummel said, raising his quizzing glass. “ Do I mistake the matter, Mrs. Gabriel?”
     Mrs. Gabriel had no choice but to smile and acquiesce weakly. “The poor darling would have none of it, at first,” Mrs. Gabriel lied. “I vow, the girl is so proud; don’t want to take so much as a farthing from me, her own aunt. Nonetheless, I have decided that she ought to have a Season, despite the fact that she don’t have a pennypiece to her name and that she is fully four-and twenty.” The woman’s eyes narrowed in self-satisfaction, having in one sentence assured that Sylvia would present no serious competition to Caroline. Sylvia’s beauty and courage might be universally praised, however adulation cost nothing. Ultimately, the serious suitors would go to the girl with the dowry rather than the poverty stricken spinster. Indeed, David noticed more than one look of consternation amidst the general murmurs of approval.
    “Draw?” Petrov questioned.
    David shook his head. “No, from the look in George’s eyes, he has another move yet.”
    “Is that so?” Brummel asked, making a show of wiping his quizzing glass before placing Mrs. Gabriel under the scrutiny of his lens once more. “I had understood that your niece is something of an heiress.”
    “Indeed she was , once,” Mrs. Gabriel pronounced with no little relish. “But when Sir Miles passed on, not a trace of the fortune was found. Not that my brother by marriage misspent it, mind. I suspect he invested badly on her behalf” she hastened to add as she saw the dawning of disapproval among her audience.
    “Or as you mentioned, it may be squirreled away in hiding somewhere,” David added, fortifying Brummel’s position.
    “Indeed,” Brummel said slowly. “So there is the distinct possibility that the money will be found.”
    “It would be misleading to say so,” Mrs. Gabriel declared, speedily attempting to damp such speculation. “Heaven knows that we have tried to locate the treasure, but the late Sir Miles’ will was a model of confusion. I believe the poor man was out of his head with all his mutterings of ‘fool’s mates’ and other such chess terms.”
    “Ah, if the clues are in chess jargon, then my friend Donhill here, might be able to help. He breathes, eats and sleeps the game,” Brummel said. “And he certainly owes your niece a favor, for ‘twas his servant’s life that she saved.”
    “The man is playing two boards in tandem, David; you are also a pawn, I am thinking,” Petrov said softly, his lip twisting wryly. “Is check mate again.”
    David nodded in discomfited agreement. Although he had given some thought to Sir Miles’ chess will, and would gladly examine it, he could not like being so publicly committed to a cause that might very well be hopeless. From the