Miss gabriels gambit, p.7
Miss Gabriel’s Gambit, page 7
“You agreed to the wager,” Brummel began, in much the same tones one would use to chide a recalcitrant child.
“I pledged to dress properly,” David declared, pushing his spectacles further up upon his nose. “I did not expect to submit to torture.”
“If you would not persist in ruining your garments,” Lord Highslip said in a sneering voice, “you would not require so many trips to the tailor. Ripping coats to shreds with a shrug, mud on your riding costume, blood on your linen…”
“The mess was unavoidable,” David said, looking at the earl belligerently.
“A gentleman does not soil his hands in that manner.” Highslip sniffed.
“I suppose I should have left the lady to her own devices!” David replied.
“Highslip!” Brummel stepped between the two men. “Would you stop behaving as if David did the damage deliberately? Before he left us, Petrov himself testified that the ruin was necessary.”
David gave Highslip a satisfied smirk.
“However,” Brummel continued. “You must replace the injured garments, David, with clothing of equal quality and stop abusing Weston. The man is an artist of the highest order and you must treat him with care.”
It was Highslip's turn to curl his lip.
“Now, while we wait for Weston to return, tell us a bit more about the incident this morning,” Brummel cajoled with dolorous expression of a tutor trying to divert two uncommonly belligerent boys.
David hesitated.
“Come, come,” Brummel urged, “it is most gallant of you to protect her. Even so, the story will be bandied up Bond Street and down Drury Lane before the sun sets, I would wager.”
“No more wagers for me,” David groaned. “One is more than sufficient.”
“You might as well serve us up the name,” Highslip demanded. “After all, it’s no less than the chit’s own fault for acting the Amazon.”
Brummel silenced Highslip with a warning glare. “As Petrov so rightly told you, this is too remarkable a tale not to make the rounds,” Brummel reasoned. “The servants will inevitably talk, David. Moreover, if the girl’s relation is the gorgon your friend describes, then you may be sure the story will be told with enough relish to flavor it as scandal broth. However, if I disseminate the on dit in a flattering light…”
“You are very sure of your credit, George,” David said.
“My friend, you have yet to learn that gossip is the very coin of society and the power of my purse is far from modest,” George said, turning to the mirror to make a slight adjustment to his own neckcloth. “Now give me the name of your Amazon and I will go forth to dispense this news as if it were the veriest gold.”
“I would not style her an Amazon, George,” David said. “She was however, most courageous and undoubtedly the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”
“And what is the name of this vision?” Highslip asked derisively. “Were you wearing your glasses?”
David glared at Highslip. “Her name is Miss Sylvia Gabriel, the late Sir Miles’ niece.”
“It is unlike you to speak in such superlatives, David,” Brummel said, intervening once more. “I shall look forward to making her acquaintance during the Season.”
“It is doubtful that you shall have the opportunity,” David said with a frown. “The girl has no dower to speak of and her aunt means to keep her under wraps.”
“A shame, if she has half the beauty you say,” Brummel said.
“Indeed, he does not do her justice,” Lord Highslip said softly, a strange look stealing across his face. “Sylvia is perfection, an Incomparable in every way.”
“You know the girl, Highslip?” David asked.
“I do,” Highslip said. “My estates march with her uncle’s land in Northumberland. I was well acquainted with Sylvia. In truth, we had something of an understanding.”
“Did you?” David queried, the very idea somehow disturbing.
Highslip nodded, his eyes narrowing in anger as he spoke. “Sad thing when mere money comes in the way of true love. I am certain that Sylvia regrets her choice. She could have come away with me.”
“You proposed a runaway match?” Brummel asked, his eyebrows rose in surprise. Lord “High in the Instep Highslip,” as they styled him, was a notable stickler for propriety. It was hard to credit that he would so much as put a toe beyond the pale of proper behavior.
Highslip nodded. “Not strictly honorable I know, but such was the depth of my feelings. I think that if she had loved me well enough, we could have gone to Gretna. Unfortunately, my regard was not returned.”
David looked at the popinjay peer with a leery eye. Something about his story did not quite ring true. Still, there was no telling what a woman might do. His own mother was a prime example, marrying his father when his cousin, the Earl, seemed ready to turn up his toes and then complaining bitterly when the old man unexpectedly recovered and lived on for decades.
In his experience, fond sentiments were given much lip-service, to be sure, but money and position were all that mattered in the end. Lucre won over love every time. Perhaps Sylvia had thought to entertain Highslip’s suit for his title and, David granted grudgingly, the earl’s looks were above the common.
Still, David found it difficult to believe that Sylvia Gabriel had heartlessly jilted Highslip. There was a gentle strength about Sylvia that would not countenance such behindhand behavior. Moreover, David could not help but think that Miss Gabriel had been uncommonly sensible to avoid a lifetime sentence with the elegant earl.
“I, for one, account avoiding Gretna to the girl’s credit,” Brummel declared, pursing his lips. “A woman of valor, beauty and reason! Damme, ‘tis a crying shame that the most interesting female of the Season seems doomed to remain in the shadows. The chattering chits that it has been my misfortune to meet make me yawn with boredom. Unless . . .” he cogitated aloud, a slow, sardonic smile dawning. “Such courage should not go unrewarded.”
“And what do you have in mind, George?” David asked, uneasily. “Miss Gabriel’s aunt is dead set against presenting her niece. While Caroline is well enough to look upon, Sylvia casts her cousin completely in the shade.”
“Ah,” said Brummel, “but that is precisely her merit, David. We shall contrive to make Miss Sylvia Gabriel fashionable. So fashionable, in fact, that her dear aunt will find that she cannot do without her.”
“It will not serve,” Highslip protested. “Sylvia has no dowry.”
“Beautiful women have been known to wed without the benefit of gilding,” Brummel stated. “What better reward for bravery than a husband, eh? Gentlemen, I hereby declare that Miss Sylvia Gabriel is the most desirable woman in London. Now, I shall go seek Mr. Weston.”
David was able to hold back until Brummel quit the room, then he burst into such a fit of laughter that his spectacles slid dangerously to the tip of his nose.
“You think he jests?” Highslip asked, tight-lipped with annoyance.
“He must be joking,” David said, the room reverberating with his bass chuckle. “The sheer presumption. . .”
“To the contrary, dear Donhill. Nothing could be simpler. Within the week, I would wager, Sylvia Gabriel will be the reigning Incomparable and there is little that anyone can do to prevent it.”
Chapter 4
David soon found that Highslip had spoken no less than the truth. Brummel played his pawns in polite society with the finesse of a master. A few casual words in the correct ears and soon, Sylvia Gabriel’s name rolled upon every tongue. Her bravery was applauded, her beauty extolled and rumors of a mysterious lost fortune were carefully cultivated until the Ton was in a veritable tizzy, craving an encounter with the unknown paragon.
At the house on Belvedere Square, Mrs. Gabriel was at a loss to cope with the sudden flood of interest in her empty-pursed niece. She banished Sylvia to the nursery, claiming to the crowds of callers that the poor girl was overset by her ordeal. Caroline was pushed forth into the distinguished company. But it was plain, even to the doting Mrs. Gabriel, that once the visitors found that Sylvia was not to be seen, they were not disposed to linger despite Caroline’s many charms.
Knowing the attention of the Ton to be as fleeting as a child’s, Brummel moved rapidly. The sun had not set twice since the incident at Green Park, when, with David and Petrov in tow, the Beau presented himself at the Gabriel’s door. The tide of callers was at high crest; the large saloon filled to capacity with nary an empty chair to be had.
Yet, when Brummel and his party were announced, vacancies beside the hostess mysteriously appeared.
As the Beau did the pretty, a curious hush settled over the room as all awaited the pronouncement of the oracle of fashion. The atmosphere was much like the air of anticipation around the pit before a cockfight, for Mrs. Gabriel was obviously a prime target for Brummel’s famed sarcasm. Despite her irreproachable bloodlines, her clothing with its surfeit of fripperies was quite tasteless and her mannerisms bordered on the vulgar. It seemed certain that the reigning monarch of the mode would rip the encroaching female to shreds.
Unfortunately, they were destined to be disappointed on that score, for Brummel confined himself to polite inconsequentials. However, those who knew him best recognizing the gleam of devilish intent behind the Beau’s otherwise bland expression. There was entertainment yet to come.
“How, unfortunate that your niece continues to be indisposed,” Brummel declared, his smile chill. “I confess myself deeply disappointed, for I came expressly to congratulate her upon her brave actions.”
“Bishop checks queen,” Petrov whispered under his breath. “He informs that the girl has his interest.”
With his elbow, David nudged the Russian to silence.
“You are acquainted with my niece?” Mrs. Gabriel asked with a croak of surprise.
“Only by dint of her excellent reputation, as yet,” Brummel allowed. “But I am looking forward to meeting her once the Season begins. As we all are.” He scanned the crowd demanding their accord. “One can only hope that she will soon recover, so that we may express our admiration.”
David watched in amusement as the visitors bobbed their heads in agreement, like a collection of well-dressed puppets. As for Mrs. Gabriel, her jaw dropped, agape as the mouth of a child’s nutcracker. David imagined that he could hear the grinding of gears as she split the shell of Brummel’s statement to reveal the kernel of his intent.
The Beau skewered the woman with his eyes, while he applied his final stroke of calculated social pressure. “I must confess my admiration for you, Mrs. Gabriel,” Brummel declared, inclining his head in a gesture of approval. “In truth, I know of few relations would be kind enough to stand their kin for a Season, even a woman of your vast resources. You do, after all have your own child to launch. Rumor has it 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, David? ” 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 as 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. 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 believe 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 dampen 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 Lord Donhill 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 that she saved.”
“The man is playing two boards, David. You also are 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’ last testament, and would gladly examine it, he could not like being so publicly committed to a cause that might very well dash Sylvia Gabriel’s hopes. From the speculating looks being cast his way, it seemed that Miss Gabriel’s marital prospects would be largely determined by his success or failure.
“It was most foolhardy of her! Especially to put herself at risk for a mere servant! The girl ought to have waited for help,” Mrs. Gabriel pursed her lips in disapproval. From the nods among her audience, there were more than a few who agreed.
“Unfortunately, Mama, there was no time to wait for rescue.” Caroline countered with just the right tone of polite disagreement. “I believe that Mr. Brummel has the right of it. My cousin is a heroine, stepping into the breach as she did!”
“This cousin is having courage and wit, using the Beau’s opinion as shield for her own,” Petrov observed quietly to David. “Loyalty, brains and beauty, is much to be admiring of her.”
As if guided by some inner clock, Brummel arose at the correct time, bowing over Mrs. Gabriel’s pudgy fingers as he bade his farewells. In a mere twenty minutes, he had accomplished most of his goals. Sylvia Gabriel had been elevated to the ranks of eligible maidens, although her fortune was phantom and her person seen by but a few. David waited knowing that Brummel had no intention of relying exclusively on the likelihood of locating the lady’s inheritance. There was one last parting shot he had promised to attempt.
“You have my admiration, Madame,” Brummel proclaimed, pouring liberally from the butter boat. “Your generosity is beyond compare. Even though your brother-by-marriage is at fault for your niece’s difficulties, you were not obligated to provide for a Season and her marriage.”
There were some in the crowd who gasped aloud, stunned by Brummel’s sheer nerve. The implication was clear. Not content with the mere promise of a Season, the Beau had opted to inveigle for the pledge of a dot as well.
But this time, Mrs. Gabriel held her ground. “I only wish that I could provide dear Sylvia with a dowry. My own Caroline was, of course, extremely well provided for by her late papa, but it is all I can do to give Sylvia an entree into society. Of course one may only hope that Sylvia’s fortune will be recovered.” Her complete skepticism regarding the likelihood of the event was more than clear.
Brummel took the setback in stride. “Indeed,” he reflected. “Stranger things have been known to occur. I bid you farewell, most-munificent Madame.”
“Pooh,” she declared, waving her hand in dismissal. “'Twas the least I could do.”
“And you may be sure, it will be the absolute least she can do,” David muttered darkly to Petrov as Brummel led them triumphantly out the door.
. . .
For Sylvia, the days that followed seemed like travelling in the midst of a whirlwind. Over Miles’ protests, she was yanked from the nursery and dragged on a rapid tour of shoddy shops and second-rate seamstresses, for true to David’s prediction, Mrs. Gabriel was doing the very least she could.
Yet, despite the inferior quality of the establishments, the mediocre modistes exerted themselves once they heard the name of their customer. Here too, Brummel’s efforts had borne fruit. Word had spread and the gossip was worth far more than mere gold.
The patron saint of English fashion had given Sylvia Gabriel his blessing and any seamstress with even a soupçon of ambition knew that this was an opportunity to shine. A damaged bolt of green silk was purchased at a pinchpenny price. An exquisite, but unpaid-for riding habit was altered.
Bit by bit, by dint of skillful cutting, a snatch of concealing embroidery, inspired stitchery and styling, flaws were disguised, rips were remedied and defects transformed into accented embellishments. The aspiring seamstresses were eager to introduce their wares to the modish world and exerted themselves to produce garments that would garner the notice of the Ton. Sylvia was outfitted in a plethora of bargains.
