Chapter 4
The Ladies’ Marriage Prospects Bulletin
Whispers abound that a certain young lady has made a hobby of arranging hearts as though they were bouquets.
Several couples are said to owe their unions to her schemes, though some will claim those matches were less than ideal.
Others warn her meddling has already stirred discontent, and that Cupid’s apprentice may soon find herself undone by her own arrows.
A lady should be content to arrange her gown and her flowers, not her neighbor’s affections.
The ride on horseback to Heatherfield Castle was a familiar one for Gavan, having visited more often than any other acquaintance of his family in Scotland.
The moors stretched out before him, rolling hills peppered with purple thistles and yellow gorse.
The air was crisp and damp, laced with the scent of peat smoke.
To his right, the loch reflected a pewter sky, unmoved by the afternoon sun attempting to break through the clouds and warm the earth.
Sheep grazed in clusters along the ridge, indifferent as ever.
A hawk cut a slow circle overhead, then drifted on, bored by the stillness.
This was Scotland as it had always been, beautiful, stubborn, and hard.
Heatherfield Castle came into view, a grand stone structure of a castle that had seen generation after generation.
It had not fallen into disrepair like his own estate.
Gavan couldn’t help but wish that his father had followed in his old friend's footsteps in the way he managed his properties. But wishing wasn’t going to patch roofs or keep tenants from fleeing overseas.
The ache in his chest was dull but persistent, part frustration, part guilt.
Talking to Ava was the thing that he needed to do right now.
By the time he reached the courtyard and handed his reins to a groom, his insides felt like they were going to twist out. He was so irritated that she had sabotaged him that he was ready to barge through the door of the castle and demand an explanation.
But he knew such behavior would not be appropriate. And he also knew that if her father caught him yelling at her, he was bound to be removed from the property, no matter how long-standing their friendship was.
Gavan nodded at the groom, patted his horse on the neck, and then walked up the stairs to the ornate entrance. He paused, squaring his shoulders, before the oak door. The entrance swung open before he had a chance to knock.
The butler welcomed him inside. "The Earl is in his study, my lord," he said, indicating that Gavan should move to the study off to the left.
The interior was an elegant collection of eras, polished wood floors overlaid with Aubusson rugs, stone archways flanked by modern sconces, and tapestries that whispered of knights and queens but hung beside imported French oil paintings. The scent of beeswax polish and lavender hung in the air.
"Actually, Angus, I’m here to see Lady Ava," Gavan kept his voice firm and steady, no indication of his purpose for being there.
The butler, for his part, did not flinch or make a face. He simply nodded. "I will let her ladyship know that ye are waiting in the drawing room."
Angus led the way to the drawing room that Gavan had spent hours in over the years, playing cards and listening to their fathers argue over brandy.
The room welcomed him like a memory, high ceilings with carved beams, shelves full of old tomes, a piano in the corner. The furniture was newer, reupholstered in pale blue and cream, but the scent of firewood and lemon oil hadn’t changed. He walked to the window and gazed out across the moors.
He could remember sitting in this room as a lad, playing cards with Ava and her sisters while their fathers drank brandy in the study.
That was before responsibility had settled like a weight in his chest. Before the land had started slipping through his fingers.
Before Ava had become... this whirlwind of intentions and interference.
His father would have called it meddling. His mother might've called it spirit.
Either way, it was exhausting.
And now here he was, begging help from the very person who seemed determined to undo everything he was barely holding together.
This room felt heavy, not because of what he was about to say, but from those who had once filled it. His own parents, now gone. Ava’s mother, long since passed.
The walls felt like they held the ghost of laughter and the echo of children who once believed the world was theirs. There’d been a time when life felt full of invincibility. Now it just felt full. Full of duty, and dust, and debts.
“Ahem.”
Gavan turned. Ava’s voice sounded behind him, light, but not the least bit excited to see him. In fact, her tone carried all the annoyance of someone who was being forced to be polite.
He wasn’t sure what it was about her, but she did seem to be irritated with him more often than not since they’d come of age.
He turned around to face her. She was as beautiful as she was every time he saw her.
And beautifully irritating. Her day dress was a soft lilac trimmed in matching ribbon, elegant without being overly grand.
The way her waist cinched made him forget his own name for a second.
Her dark hair was swept back in a chignon, with loose curls brushing her cheeks.
And yet it was her eyes, sharp, perceptive, always watching, that unnerved him the most.
He cleared his throat. "I’ve come to discuss an important matter with ye," he said, standing straighter than necessary.
He’d practiced this speech the entire ride over. First firm. Then reasonable. Then firm again. None of it seemed to matter now, standing here with her eyebrow arched and a sarcastic remark already forming on her lips.
"Have a seat. Shall I ring for tea?" she asked with a glint of sarcasm.
"I will no’ be staying long enough for tea. ’Tis something I need to say and something ye need to stop doing."
She cocked her head, examining him as though he were a particularly dull book. “Well, that’s a shame. I had my heart set on bribing ye with biscuits before ye started scolding me.” Her voice was all honey, but her eyes had shifted to steel.
"Aye. I need ye to stop with this foolhardy matchmaking game ye’ve been playing."
"Game?" she said. "I assure ye, I’ve played no games."
"I beg to differ, my lady," he said formally. So different from when they were children, he would have addressed her by her first name as they played a game of tag out in the fields.
"When people love each other verra much and they want to get married, why would ye blame me for that?"
"Ye seem to be specifically targeting the people on my land."
She actually laughed at that, waving a hand at her face as if to dry tears that were gathering in her eyes. "Ye think that I wake up each morning thinking of ye? That I would specifically set out to sabotage ye? That is absurd."
"Ye have specifically targeted four of my crofters in the last year. They’ve all gone to Canada."
Her smile faltered then, as if the fact hadn’t crossed her mind. "Canada?"
"Aye. And the lands are sorely lacking without them. I would ask ye no’ to meddle any longer."
She pursed her lips, but didn’t nod, didn’t agree.
"Ava," he implored, using her Christian name. "When are ye going to learn no’ to meddle with other people’s lives?"
She flushed when he said her name, and that bothered him. Not the blush itself, but the fact that he noticed. She always flushed when she was embarrassed or cornered or proud of herself. And damn if he couldn’t tell which it was this time.
She held his gaze, unblinking, as if daring him to say more. That had always been her way, pushing, prodding, smiling all the while. Even as a lass she had a spark that made people draw closer without realizing they’d done so.
It wasn’t just her meddling that unsettled him, but how easily she got under his skin. How quickly she could turn his day sideways with a single look or one of her maddening questions. And how often, far too often, he caught himself wondering what she’d say next.
She made him feel... unsteady. And he hated feeling unsteady.
Especially when she seemed to thrive on it.
He remembered a day when they were adolescents, perhaps fifteen, and she’d dared him to race his horse through the river crossing just after a rain. She’d laughed the whole time, sitting primly on a rock in her riding habit while he came back soaked, furious, and secretly thrilled.
"Well, I am verra sorry that ye are missing the crofters on your land. I am no’ sorry that I have helped people to fall in love and get married. Is that no’ what everyone deserves, happiness?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. He hated that she had a point. What kind of man asked people to stay where they had no future, just because he needed them? Because his father had failed and left him with a tangle of accounts and hungry mouths and fields that needed more than one man could give?
“Aye, they deserve happiness. But there’s more to life than falling in love and vanishing into the horizon. They had homes here. Families. A place.”
Ava crossed her arms, head tilted slightly. “And what exactly were they supposed to do? Spend their best years tending sheep until they froze in their beds at fifty?”
“They had purpose.”
“They had no choices.”
The words landed harder than he expected. She wasn’t wrong. And that stung more than if she had been.
Gavan had come here to chastise her, and yet he was the one feeling thoroughly chastised.
"By the way, I met your Moira cousin this morning. She’s verra sweet. And I’ve invited her to my ball this weekend, which I suppose means that ye’ll be escorting her."
"No’ if I don’t let her come." Gavan knew what he was saying was petty, but the thought of Moira being around Ava wasn’t exactly terrifying. It was more the fact that he was going to have to be around her for a number of hours as they danced.
The idea of Ava dragging Moira into one of her schemes made his jaw tighten.
The woman had no boundaries. Moira was kind, trusting, a little na?ve.
And Ava… Ava had a way of arranging people into her plans before they even realized they were pawns.
He didn’t want his cousin becoming one of Ava’s little projects, matched and maneuvered like a chess piece.
Not when he was responsible for her season.
He crossed his arms. “Moira’s here to enjoy the season, no’ to be part of your hobby.”
Ava raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly do ye think she’ll enjoy most? Reading quietly in a corner? She’s quite excited that there are a number of eligible bachelors back in town.”
He gritted his teeth. Mostly because she wasn’t wrong. But also, because she never gave him the satisfaction of having the last word.
“Are ye implying ye’re about to matchmake my cousin now?”
Ava gave a saccharine smile. “Why would anyone see matchmaking as a threat?”
Gavan tilted his head. “If our roles were reversed, I suspect ye might.”
That wiped the smile from her face. Color rose to her cheeks, and she turned toward the door with a sweep of her skirts. “I think we’re finished here. I’ll see ye at the ball, though if we dinna speak, I canna say I’ll be devastated.”
He followed her movement with narrowed eyes. “Dinna meddle, Ava. No’ in this. It willna end well.”
She paused, her hand on the doorknob. “If anyone will be ending unwell in this situation, it willna be me.”
He paused at the threshold. Behind him, her skirts whispered as she turned away. She hadn’t promised to stop. In fact, she had promised war. Which was almost worse.
As the butler opened the door behind him, Gavan paused on the threshold, catching one last glimpse of Ava disappearing down the corridor in a sweep of lavender and determination.
He admired her energy, damn it, he always had, even as he dreaded the chaos it left in its wake.
He’d come here to make a point, to put an end to it.
And yet somehow, he left with nothing resolved.
If anything, he felt slightly relieved she was setting her sights on his cousin instead of another crofter.
But the guilt settled fast. His uncle had entrusted him with Moira for the Scottish season, since her mother had passed away.
She’d arrived with her lady’s maid as chaperone only recently.
How had she already gotten into Ava’s sights?
Though he supposed it could be worse, at least if this was a matchmaking scheme he would be there to intervene.