Miss Gabriel's Gambit by Rita Boucher Read Free Book Online Page B

Aunt Ruby’s venom, David would come to the same conclusion, even though the two men had never had the opportunity to meet.
    Uncle Miles had come to view his chess correspondent in the light of a close friend. Perhaps that was why Sylvia had always assumed that David was a much older man. As it was, Sylvia judged that David looked to be about thirty, though beyond those spectacles, his eyes had seemed older with wisdom and kindness.
    “Syl?” A questioning whisper came from beyond the door. “May I come in?”
    Sylvia rose and smoothed her skirts. “You may, Miles,” she called.
    The boy entered, hanging his head. “I’m sorry, Syl. T’ain’t your fault, I know.”
    “No need to worry, Miles,” Sylvia said. “The truth is, we are both a bit blue-devilled.”
    “I vow, it must be worse for you. Fancy meeting the ‘India player’ after all this time,” Miles said, glad at being so easily let off. “Did he find a way out of your trap?”
    “No,” Sylvia said, smiling with triumph. “He called it a ‘ tour de force .’”
    “Must have shocked him to the marrow, being trounced by a girl,” Miles said. “Wish I could’ve seen his face.”
    “He does not know, Miles,” Sylvia said, her forehead furrowing as she was assailed by her conscience once again. During the latter years of Uncle’s illness, David’s letters had been her lifeline. She had read them again and again. The very thought that this sole source of comfort might cease had driven her to deceit. Since she had usually acted as her uncle’s secretary, the handwriting in the letters had undergone no change. Sir Mile’s style of address was simple to mimic and so, during her Uncle’s illness, the replies to David’s letters had been as much Sylvia’s own as her responses to the chess moves.
    Now, as she looked at the boy’s puzzled face Sylvia realized that there was little choice. She had told young Miles about the correspondence game because of their shared passion for chess, never dreaming that the “India player,” as Miles called him, would ever set foot in London. Now, the child would have to become a party to the deceit. “I told him that Will took over the play,” Sylvia said.
    “Will!” Miles scoffed. “Your brother don’t know a pawn from a penny-piece. Might as well’ve told the India player I was the one who brought the game to the end.”
    “You are quite skilled, Miles,” Sylvia said. “But by no means are you on level with Lord Donhill. He might have wished to put you to the test and then, we surely would have been caught out. William is at Oxford and unlikely to appear and put me to the lie.”
    “Don’t see why you didn’t tell him the truth. Cor, that would have set the cat amongst the pigeons. ‘Specially with that wager of his,” Miles said, his eyes shining.
    “Wager?” Sylvia asked.
    “Jack the footman got it from Lord Donhill’s tiger,” the boy informed her eagerly. “I heard when I went seeking Boniface, accidental of course. Know you don’t hold with gossiping, but this is famous. Seems last night his lordship got utterly cup-shot.”
    “Miles,” Sylvia warned. “I do not wish to hear you using vulgar cant language. And if you are about to tell one of those dreadful stories that you glean from the servants, I do not believe that I wish to hear the rest of this. Now let us return to our lessons.” Even though she was bursting with curiosity, she turned and walked back to the schoolroom.
    “Syl,” Miles groaned, and followed her , tugging at her arm. “‘Tis awfully important. In fact, you could even become Lady Donhill.”
    “Are you ill, youngling?” Sylvia smiled at his earnest face. “I vow, you are sounding quite daft.”
    “Lord Donhill wagered that he would only marry the woman who could beat him at chess,” Miles proclaimed. “And you’ve already trounced him once. There’s a purse of a thousand pounds besides. Oh, Syl, you have only to tell him and he’ll be forced