Chapter 5
The Ladies’ Marriage Prospects Bulletin
The chandeliers glittered like captured stars above the ballroom, casting their glow over velvet gowns, polished boots, and faces flushed with anticipation.
Music swirled through the air like a perfumed breeze, light and flirtatious.
Ava stood near the top of the stairs, surveying the scene below with a practiced eye and a knotted stomach.
It was, by all accounts, a perfect night.
And yet.
She tugged her gloves higher, her fingers fidgeting against the silk.
She wasn’t nervous. Not really. Just... focused.
This ball was more than just a social event, it was a carefully laid strategy, and her most promising opportunity yet to repair what she may have fractured.
If Moira Douglas left this castle with a respectable gentleman on her arm, preferably one of the dozen of eligible bachelors expected to attend, Ava could finally stop feeling like she owed Gavan something.
Her eyes scanned the crowd until they found Gavan.
He’d arrived not ten minutes before, Moira at his side, looking radiant and eager.
He looked, as always, composed and unreadable, except to her.
She knew the storm in his brow too well.
And aye, he was handsome. Infuriatingly so.
Especially when annoyed. He hadn’t acknowledged her yet, but she could feel his gaze on her like a spray of cold rain, unwelcome and impossible to ignore.
Tonight, she would fix things.
Or at least make a very good show of trying.
She stood near the edge of the ballroom, surveying the crowd like a general on the brink of battle.
Her father’s castle had never looked more dazzling, crystal chandeliers aglow, violins lilting through the air, a sea of silks and satins swirling across the floor.
New arrivals from London mingled with Highlanders returned for the season.
It was a debutante’s dream and a matchmaker’s playground.
Her gaze drifted to a tall, striking man across the room she hadn’t seen before. He had the look of someone who didn’t just arrive at a ball, he graced it. His black coat was cut just so, his jaw strong, his eyes sweeping the room as if cataloging it. Curious.
A whisper to her left confirmed it: Lachlan Ferguson.
So that was the infamous Ferguson heir, son of a viscount, just back from London, and already the subject of several hopeful mothers’ matchmaking schemes. He had the confidence of someone used to attention and the ease of someone who didn’t particularly need to earn it.
She watched him a moment longer. Broad shoulders, devilish smile, and the casual elegance of someone used to moving between the city of London and the Highlands of Scotland. She hadn’t even spoken to him, and she already knew exactly where to place him.
He was perfect, for someone else. She set her sights on the rest of the ballroom, cataloguing the gentlemen and ladies present.
“Lady Ava,” came the voice, warm, amused, and unmistakably directed at her. “I beg your pardon at my impertinence; I simply could no’ wait for someone to make an introduction for me.”
She turned to find Lachlan Ferguson bowing. Just as she’d expected. Confident. Polished. Handsome, in the way men tended to be when they were very aware of it. And entirely impertinent. She found that rather interesting.
He was even more handsome up close, unfortunately. The kind of handsome that made one’s heart skip a beat before good sense kicked it back into rhythm.
Ava smiled, composed as ever, though her thoughts moved quickly.
Of course he’d seek her out. That was what men like Lachlan Ferguson did, gravitate toward the room’s most eligible lass.
But that didn’t mean she had to play into it.
Not tonight. Not when Moira needed a proper introduction, and she herself needed a distraction from the man brooding across the room with the Douglas jawline and the permanently furrowed brow.
Besides, Lachlan seemed like the sort who could easily be swept up in romance. And Moira, with her soft-spoken charm, might just be the breeze to do it.
She tilted her head, allowing just enough warmth into her expression to play the part of gracious hostess.
But before she could speak, her gaze flicked over Lachlan’s shoulder and landed squarely on Gavan Douglas who was staring directly at her. Moira stood at his side, her lady’s maid hovering just behind as chaperone.
Ava’s smile faltered for the briefest of moments.
Moira looked radiant in pale rose silk, her curls pinned just so, her expression open and eager as she took in the glittering room.
And Gavan, well, he looked exactly as she’d expected.
Imposing. Annoyed. Beautifully tailored.
There was a storm in his eyes, as usual, like he’d come here against his better judgment and was determined to find fault in everything.
Ava’s stomach twisted. She was supposed to be angry with him, had been angry with him, but still, there he was, and she felt her pulse flutter traitorously at the sight of him.
Focus. She was hosting a ball, and she had a mission.
Her gaze returned to Lachlan, smile back in place. “Mr. Ferguson,” she said smoothly, “how lovely to meet ye at last.”
Lachlan offered a modest bow, eyes twinkling. “The pleasure is mine, Lady Ava. I’ve heard quite a bit about ye.”
She gave a light laugh. “All good things, I hope.”
“Only the verra best. Though I’m no’ sure anyone warned me ye’d be this… intimidating.”
She tilted her chin, amused. “That sounds dangerously close to a compliment.”
“Only if ye’re the type to accept them.” His grin was confident, but not arrogant. Charming, in that easy, practiced way.
Before she could respond, her eyes wandered again, drawn almost against her will. Gavan stood near the entrance; his gaze fixed on her. Moira had been drawn into conversation with another guest, leaving him to scan the crowd like a soldier assessing enemy territory.
Their eyes met. Again.
Brief. Sharp. A flicker of unreadable expression passed across his face before he turned his attention elsewhere, jaw tightening.
Ava felt it like a spark beneath her skin.
She turned quickly back to Lachlan, her smile steady. “I do accept compliments,” she said. “Though I prefer sincerity to flattery.”
“Then I’ll try verra hard to be sincere,” Lachlan replied. “Starting with this, I had intended to ask for ye to join me in a dance later. But I wonder if I might make it my first request instead?”
Her mind was already pivoting, calculating. This was perfect. Moira, sweet and lovely, was standing just feet away. And Gavan, brooding and belligerent, was watching.
She gave Lachlan a thoughtful look. “If ye will grant me a request. If I agree to one dance tonight…” She leaned in just slightly, her voice dipped in honey. “Ye must promise to meet my dear friend Miss Moira Douglas. I think the two of ye might get along splendidly.”
Lachlan arched a brow, amused. “An introduction in exchange for a dance? I’m intrigued. And curious, should I be flattered or wary?”
“Oh, flattered,” Ava said airily, waving her fan. “It means ye’ve already passed my first test.”
“Which is?”
“Excellent bone structure and a willingness to be redirected.”
He laughed, offering his arm. “Verra well. Lead on, my lady.”
As she guided him through the throng, she allowed herself a small breath of satisfaction.
Moira stood near the refreshment table, politely sipping from a glass of lemonade, watching the swirling crowd with open curiosity.
Moira hadn’t yet spotted Gavan drifting several feet behind her, engaged in what looked to be a tedious conversation with Lord and Lady McCray and their drab daughter.
Perfect.
“Moira,” Ava said brightly.
Moira turned, her face lighting when she saw Ava. “Oh, Lady Ava, so lovely to see ye again.”
“I am so pleased ye joined us. Mr. Lachlan Ferguson, please allow me to introduce ye to Miss Moira Douglas,” Ava said with a slight flourish. “He’s newly returned from London, and he was just telling me how he’s hoping to make new acquaintances this season.”
Lachlan gave a charming bow. “Miss Douglas, it’s a pleasure.”
Moira curtsied. “Mr. Ferguson. It’s lovely to meet ye.”
Ava watched as they exchanged pleasantries, a tiny flicker of pride stirring in her chest. Already, she could see the ease in Moira’s expression, the faint blush on her cheeks. Lachlan was attentive but not overbearing. A good start.
This was the plan, the very picture of it. If she could align this pairing, perhaps Gavan would stop looking at her like she’d burned down his village.
Then she felt it, that pull.
She glanced over her shoulder.
Gavan was watching. The McCrays had moved on. His posture was still, his jaw tense. She wasn’t close enough to see the exact expression in his eyes, but she didn’t need to. She knew the look. Disapproval wrapped in barely concealed interest.
She lifted her chin just slightly and smiled.
Let him stew.
Let him see her doing something capable.
She turned back to Moira and Lachlan. “Well,” she said, her tone light, “I’ll leave ye two to chat. I must see to the musicians before the next set.”
And with that, Ava glided away, the satisfaction of her orchestration warming her step.
She turned back toward the floor just as the musicians struck up a new reel, guests already pairing off. Before she could step away, a familiar voice brushed her shoulder like a shadow.
“I believe the next dance is mine,” Gavan said smoothly, offering his hand.
Ava blinked, forcing her mouth into a polite smile even as her heart took a traitorous leap. “Is it? I dinna recall penciling ye in.”
He gave a faint shrug. “Then consider it a spontaneous request.”
“I’m no’ sure we’d dance well together,” she sniffed. “Ye’re more likely to step on my feet.”
“I’m quite light-footed, actually,” Gavan said, his tone dry. “Shall we test the theory?”
She didn’t want to take his hand. She also very much wanted to take his hand. And people were starting to stare. Which, naturally, meant she did.
They moved onto the floor, the music swelling as his hand settled against her waist, the other taking hers with infuriating confidence. They began to turn, the room falling away in a blur of candlelight and murmurs.
“Ye’ve outdone yourself,” he murmured. “A glittering affair. Champagne, crystal, eligible bachelors in droves. Moira is dazzled.”
“Good,” Ava replied, voice breezy. “She deserves to be.”
A pause. Then, quieter: “But you need to stop.”
Her head tilted just slightly, their rhythm never faltering. “Stop what, exactly?”
“Ye know what. My cousin. The crofters. Whatever matchmaking empire ye’ve begun building out of this bloody ballroom.”
“Empire?” She let out a laugh, light and cold. “Ye make it sound like I’m plotting a coup.”
“I think ye are. One wedding at a time.”
She looked up at him fully now, eyes narrowed just enough to be provocative. “If I recall, the last time ye came to my house to scold me, ye left thoroughly chastened.”
“And yet here I am again. Slow learner, apparently.”
“Ye must be, if ye think I’ll apologize for helping Moira meet someone delightful.”
“I dinna want her caught up in your projects.”
“She’s no’ a project. She’s a guest. And a verra kind one.”
“And my responsibility,” he said, voice tightening. “I promised my uncle I’d see her through the season. And I’m no’ sure I trust Lachlan Ferguson.”
That caught her. Ava blinked. “Ye dinna trust him?”
“I have my reasons,” he said, tone clipped, not offering more. “Just… keep that in mind.”
Their steps slowed for the final turn. His gaze locked with hers.
“Ava. Dinna meddle where ye don’t belong.”
Her pulse flickered at her throat.
Ava's breath hitched slightly, the weight of his hand still firm at the small of her back as the music slowed. She should’ve pulled away. Should’ve said something clever. But his nearness threw off her rhythm far more than his footwork ever could.
“Ye always do this,” she said quietly.
“Do what?” His voice was low, close to her ear now.
“Speak to me like I’m the problem when ye dinna even trust me enough to tell me what ye’re really worried about.”
He didn’t answer right away. His jaw flexed, like he was biting back more than words. “Maybe because every time I speak plainly, ye twist it into a challenge.”
“Because everything with ye is a dare,” she whispered, not sure if she meant it as accusation or confession.
His gaze flicked down to her lips, just for a second, but it was enough to ignite something reckless in her chest. The music faded, and yet neither of them moved.
“I’m serious, Ava.”
“I know.”
Still, she didn’t step back. And neither did he.
It would be so much easier if they truly disliked each other.
So much easier if he didn’t still look at her like that. And if she wasn’t careful, she might start looking back at him the same way.