14. Consort’s Kiss

14

CONSORT’S KISS

As much of the clan as could fit gathered at Mabel McAllister’s house on Monday evening. Seth wished he could bow out of the proceedings, but as one lucky — or unlucky, depending on how you looked at it — to be counted as a prospective consort, he knew his presence there was pretty much mandatory.

Because the weather was so fine, the gathering spilled out into the backyard, where festive bunting in shades of pale blue and pale pink had been hung, and a trio of musical McAllisters played flute and guitar and cello. Rather than the rollicking tunes popular on the radio, this group focused more on folksy-sounding melodies that might have harkened back to the clan’s early days in Scotland, and they clearly were doing their best to provide soothing background sounds instead of playing songs that would make people want to dance.

He supposed it was a good thing that so many McAllisters had turned out for the party, since the crowd would make it much easier to avoid his cousin Abigail. Although he knew there was no way he could wriggle out of the consort’s kiss, he also didn’t see much point in socializing with her before then.

Somehow, he doubted he’d be able to hide his feelings from his cousin, his distraction. This party might have been fun if he could have brought Deborah with him and they could have nibbled on the various goodies and listened to the music together. Now, though, he only wanted to hide in the corner behind the prima’s prize parlor palm until it was all over.

He’d only caught one glimpse of Abigail so far. She’d been talking to several of the elders and had worn one of her signature white frocks, although this was a fancy silk dress that looked bespoke rather than bought at his parents’ mercantile or at the small JC Penney shop farther down Main Street. Since she’d been caught up in a conversation, Seth didn’t think she saw him, which was all to the good.

Of course, his parents had been there, with Charles somewhat near their orbit but also just far enough away to send a clear message that, while they might have dragged him to this gathering, he had no intention of doing anything more than the bare minimum for civility. Molly McAllister had caught Seth’s gaze as he went past, so at least he didn’t have to worry about them thinking he’d stayed away.

A group of male cousins around his age had gathered by the punch bowl outdoors, most likely discussing their prospects for becoming the prima -in-waiting’s consort. None of them appeared overly excited by the idea, except possibly Seth’s cousin Isaac, who was the studious type, always with his nose in a book. From what Seth had heard, Isaac was taking some sort of college correspondence course, since there were no universities inside the clan’s territory that he could attend.

Because Isaac was almost as shy and retiring and pale as Abigail, Seth supposed they would make a good couple. Now he could only hope that the Goddess — or fate, or whatever entity made that particular spark flare between a prima -in-waiting and her true consort — would also think the match made sense and would leave him and the rest of them out of it.

As good a job as he’d done in avoiding Abigail, he wasn’t so lucky when it came to Mabel McAllister, the clan’s formidable prima . She was as robust and forthright as her daughter was quiet and languid, and she quite deliberately put herself in his path as he went to refill his cup of punch.

“Oh, Seth,” Mabel said, “I would like a word with you.”

Whenever his mother used that phrase, Seth knew he was in some kind of trouble. In this case, though, he could guess what was coming next.

Maybe an entirely different kind of trouble, but trouble nonetheless.

“Yes, prima? ” he said, hoping he sounded both polite and also so unassuming that Mabel would decide he didn’t have nearly enough fire and conviction to be a suitable match for her daughter.

A pause as the prima looked him up and down. She’d had Abigail somewhat late in life, and so was in her middle fifties, trim and tall for a woman, with hair a much deeper gold than her daughter’s and sharp gray eyes.

“I’m so glad you could come to the party,” Mabel said. “Abigail and I have been talking, and she told me she wants you to be the first one to give the consort’s kiss.”

Even though he’d known this was coming, Seth had to resist the urge to flee…or maybe splash some of the cold punch he was carrying in his face to shake himself loose from this nightmare.

Unfortunately, he knew he was wide awake.

“She does?” he managed, which he knew wasn’t exactly a scintillating reply.

“Yes,” Mabel said. The corners of her mouth lifted in something that wasn’t quite a smirk but skirted around the borders of one. “She feels quite comfortable with you…and I know she hopes you will be the one, and so her search won’t have to extend any farther than her encounter with you. We’ll want you to be here at the house at three o’clock tomorrow.”

Something about the exchange seemed almost surreal. Was it really possible that in an age with new inventions and technology emerging at what felt like an almost weekly rate, they were still discussing something as positively medieval as choosing a consort for a young unmarried woman?

Actually, the practice went even farther back than the Middle Ages, as best he’d been able to determine, all the way back to the McAllisters’ pagan roots long before the Normans ever set foot on the British Isles.

Not that it really mattered when it all started. What mattered was that he couldn’t think of a single way to get out of this madness.

“I work until six,” he said. He knew his tone was flat, bordering on rude, but it was the only excuse he could come up with that might buy him some more precious time.

“Oh, that’s nothing to worry about,” Mabel replied as she gave an unconcerned wave of her hand. “I’ll speak to Mr. Allenby and let him know there’s an important family matter you need to attend to.”

This was no idle threat; while no one in the mine’s management completely understood the inner workings of the McAllister family, all of them…Lionel Allenby included…knew enough to realize that Mabel was the one in charge and pretty much all of Jerome danced to her tune, whether they were a member of the clan or not.

However, Seth disliked the idea of having the prima put in a word for him, like a parent sending a note to school so he might be dismissed early.

“That’s all right,” he said. “I’ll talk to Mr. Allenby when I get to work tomorrow morning. I’ve never asked him for any extra time off, so I know he won’t mind if I leave a few hours early.”

“Good boy,” Mabel said, and he tried not to wince. “Then Abigail and I will see you tomorrow afternoon.”

She swept off into the crowd after that, calling out to one of the clan’s elders with the sort of cheer in her voice that seemed to indicate she was already imagining Seth as her daughter’s consort. That would tie everything up in a neat, tidy bow, after all.

Never mind that he wanted no part of it, even though he’d done his best to convince himself it was better to get all this over with as quickly as possible so he might go back to courting Deborah.

If that was even what he was doing. The word “courting” seemed far too bound up in ritual and tradition to describe how they’d been spending their time together over the past week.

Enjoying one another’s company, then.

But because he’d now spoken with Mabel and set a time for his meeting with destiny, so to speak, Seth didn’t see much point in staying here any longer. No, he’d go home and do his best to gather his courage…even as he tried with all his might to ignore the insidious little whisper in his mind that told him with everyone here at the party, this might be the best time to drop by Ruth and Timothy’s house and spend a few stolen moments with Deborah Rowe.

The only reason he didn’t give in to the impulse was that he’d already told her he would be occupied with family business this week, and he didn’t want to give the impression of someone who couldn’t stick to a thing once he’d set his mind to it. Besides, everything would be decided after tomorrow. Either he would be Abigail’s consort, or he would be free to pursue Deborah without having to worry about any further obligations hanging over his head. Possibly, it still wasn’t such a good idea to become involved with someone whose past wasn’t merely a closed book, but one that had been locked and the key lost, and yet Seth refused to let her missing memories stand in his way. He knew how he felt about Deborah…

…and he was fairly certain he knew how she felt about him as well.

Asking to leave early the next day was harder than Seth had thought it would be, mainly because he’d spent so much time attempting to avoid his supervisor that it took some effort of will to force himself into the man’s path.

Lionel Allenby had an office in one of the buildings on the mine’s property, a space used by the inspectors and the secretaries and other support staff. After checking to make sure that his men had a good start that morning, Seth walked over to Allenby’s office, wondering what he would do if the man wasn’t there.

Come back later and try again, he supposed. It wasn’t as if he could go to Mabel and inform her that he wouldn’t be able to meet with Abigail for the consort’s kiss because he hadn’t been able to track down his supervisor.

As luck would have it — or maybe not, depending on how one looked at the situation — Lionel Allenby was seated behind his desk, poring over a ledger full of notations, when Seth stepped into his office and paused by the door.

Almost a full minute passed before Allenby deigned to look up from his ledger. “What is it, McAllister?”

“Some family business has come up,” Seth responded, glad he sounded steady and sure of himself, giving no hint that the “business” involved a meeting that might change his life forever. A prima’s consort didn’t have a job, but instead spent his days attending to clan business and making sure his wife was supported in all ways. This change in life circumstance was usually explained away with a story about an unexpected inheritance, so if it turned out he was Abigail’s consort after all, he would never come back to the United Verde, except to say goodbye to his team and gather the few belongings he kept in a locker there. “I’ll need to leave a little before three today.”

Allenby’s brows drew together. Judging by that frown, Seth got the impression the man wanted to ask what kind of “family business” was involved here but realized that probing into the McAllister clan’s private workings wasn’t a very good idea. Richard Clark might have owned the mine — and most of Clarkdale as well — but the McAllisters reigned supreme in Jerome, no matter what the deeds on the houses and the buildings there might have said.

Watching him, Seth did his best to conceal his dislike for the man. Up until the time when Charles had made his revelations about his connection to the bootlegging ring, he’d thought Lionel Allenby a tough supervisor but one who was generally fair enough. Now he knew it was all a front to cover up the much more lucrative business of manufacturing and distributing illegal alcohol.

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Allenby said after a pause, one Seth knew was calculated to make it seem as if his supervisor actually had a say in the matter. “Just make sure you designate one of your men as temporary foreman for the hours involved so people know who to go to in case of a problem.”

“I can do that,” Seth replied. “Thank you, sir.”

“Well, I’m not one to interfere with McAllister business,” Allenby said. “But I’ll still expect you to be here promptly at eight tomorrow.”

Seth had no doubt his supervisor had made that comment because he wanted to let his underling know who was still boss here, even if he was granting a small accommodation. “Of course, sir.”

He nodded and went back outside, then paused to allow himself a deep breath. Anger at the man flared, and for a second or two, he thought it might not be such a bad thing to become the consort to the prima -in-waiting if it meant he never had to come back here.

But that was irritation speaking, nothing more.

There was no way in the world he wanted to be paired with Abigail, not when he knew his heart was already given.

The fateful day both dragged and at the same time seemed as though it was flashing past far too quickly. While he had to admit there was always some benefit to hearing the worst and getting it over with, he also didn’t want to believe that after today, he might not have any sort of a future with Deborah Rowe.

Not if he turned out to be Abigail’s consort.

And even though he tried his damnedest to pay attention to his work and to make it seem as if this was just another ordinary day — except for the small matter of needing to leave early, something he never did — his mind kept working at the problem, wondering what he would say to Deborah if it ended up that he was fated to be with his cousin Abigail after all.

Something about arranged marriages, he supposed. They weren’t terribly common anymore, but enough families still followed the practice that he didn’t believe Deborah would find anything too odd about the story. In a way, it wasn’t even a falsehood; if he became Abigail’s consort, one might say that the universe had arranged the match…although if that turned out to be the case, then he thought he might have a few choice words for the universe and its supposed wisdom.

Although his meeting with Abigail was at three, he left the mine at a little past two-thirty, thinking that, even if he dreaded the upcoming kiss with every fiber of his being, he should at least show his cousin — and the prima — the proper respect, and go home first and wash his face and hands, and change into his Sunday best. It definitely wouldn’t do to appear at their house covered in reddish rock dust and sticky with sweat.

However, he couldn’t help feeling just the slightest bit sticky anyway as he blinked himself from the living room of his bungalow to the tangle of bottlebrush and forsythia on one side of Mabel’s house on Paradise Lane. It was a secluded enough spot that no one would have been able to see him appear there out of thin air, but using his magic rather than his feet to get here saved him from a long walk uphill in the heat of a June afternoon. Clouds massing far off above the Mogollon Rim told him they might have thunderstorms later today, although he knew they wouldn’t arrive until much later, possibly even close to sunset.

Sheltering behind the bushes gave him a moment to make sure his tie was straight, and he took another moment to reach up and push his hair back from his forehead. Someone watching him would probably have thought he looked calm and collected enough, but inside, his heart wouldn’t stop racing.

Had any other prospective consort ever approached this important moment with such overwhelming dread?

Maybe, somewhere far back in their clan’s history. Much was always made of the belief that a prima and her consort were soul mates, and that they would never be bonded in such a manner if they weren’t truly compatible in every way possible, but even before now, Seth had wondered how much truth lay in those reassuring tales, in the way some kind of overwhelming passion was supposed to flare between them the very second their lips touched. It seemed much more likely that, while a prima and her consort might have enough in common to rub along together fairly well, their supposed “connection” was as much a fluke of biology as anything else.

Well, he couldn’t hide here in the bushes forever, no matter how much he might like to avoid the coming kiss. A quick glance down Paradise Lane told him no one seemed to be around, so he emerged from his cover and strode over to the path that bisected the front yard’s neat green lawn, then made himself climb the porch steps.

He’d barely lifted his hand to touch the knocker when the door opened, revealing a smiling Mabel. She, too, seemed to have deemed this occasion worthy of some effort, because she wore a silk dress that usually only made an appearance at various McAllister family functions, and the long string of pearls that her husband Abraham had bought her for their twenty-fifth anniversary hung around her neck.

“Right on time,” she said in approving tones, then stepped aside so he could enter the foyer. “You must be eager to share the consort’s kiss.”

Eagerness had nothing to do with it. He knew it would have been disrespectful to be late to such an important meeting, and that was why he’d made sure to be prompt…even as he’d wanted to use his gift to send himself someplace far, far away from here.

Doing so would have disgraced his family, though, which meant he hadn’t allowed such a traitorous notion to linger in his mind for more than a minute or two.

He forced a smile, saying politely, “And how are you and Abigail today?”

“Very well,” Mabel replied, beaming in response. “In fact, she’s waiting for you in the back sitting room. I thought you would have a little more privacy there.”

Seth wasn’t sure whether that was a good or a bad thing. While he’d inwardly dreaded the idea of having to kiss his cousin in the front parlor, a place that was far more public, he also didn’t know how he felt about having to do such a thing in a more intimate setting.

If he truly was Abigail’s consort, she might want to further prove their connection with another kiss.

No, she’s shy and retiring, he reassured himself. It will be enough for her to know that you’re the one.

He hoped.

“That was kind of you,” he managed as he followed Mabel down the corridor that bisected the ground floor of the house and then into the room in question.

Abigail stood by the big window that overlooked the backyard, now a cheerful explosion of flowers in all colors of the rainbow, everything from bright yellow and red hollyhocks standing tall against the back fence to cheerful pansies dancing along the footpath that led to the rear gate. As usual, his cousin wore one of the pale colors she preferred, this one a soft rose, but a false bloom in her cheeks and on her lips seemed to signal that her mother had applied some subtle cosmetics, enough to make Abigail seem a little more grown-up than she usually appeared.

“I’ll just be in the kitchen,” Mabel announced. “You two come get me when it’s over.”

She sounded supremely confident, as if she believed that the entire universe, their beloved goddess Bridget included, had already blessed the match.

Seth wasn’t nearly so certain, but he only nodded and said, “Of course, prima, ” even as Abigail also murmured some sort of assent.

Mabel departed then, leaving the two of them alone. One awkward moment stretched into another, and he realized he needed to say something.

“You’re looking very well, Abigail. That color suits you.”

One hand brushed against the smooth cotton of her drop-waist dress, which he now noticed had ecru roses embroidered at the cuffs and around the neckline. Probably her finest summer frock, something she’d most likely worn in an attempt to impress him.

Seth had to admit she was looking prettier than usual, but she still couldn’t hold a candle to Deborah’s vivid beauty, her full lips…a body that managed to be slim and lush at the same time.

Don’t think about Deborah, he admonished himself. Or at least, don’t think about her until this is all over.

“Some lemonade?” Abigail offered, and for the first time, he noticed the cut-glass pitcher sitting on a silver tray on the coffee table, with two matching glasses placed nearby.

Come to think of it, his throat was awfully dry.

Pouring the lemonade and having a sip would put off the fateful moment for just a bit longer.

“Yes, please,” he replied.

She poured a glass for each of them, then gave one to him. As she did so, he couldn’t help noticing the way her hand shook slightly.

Poor kid, he thought. She’s probably even more nervous about this whole thing than I am.

Because although she’d told him she hoped he would be her consort, he had the feeling that the situation now felt far more real than it had even a day earlier.

Well, they would have some of Mabel’s excellent lemonade, and at least when they kissed, they would both taste sweet and tangy.

He sipped from his glass while Abigail did the same. However, after a second swallow, she placed her tumbler back down on the tray.

“I’m ready now,” she said softly.

His heart gave one heavy thump, but he did his best to look calm as he set his glass of lemonade on the tray next to hers.

“You’re sure?”

Abigail nodded. “Yes. I just wanted to have a little lemonade to steady my nerves.”

Seth didn’t know how much good the lemonade would do…he had a feeling the moonshine his brother had been transporting over the hill to Prescott might be somewhat more effective…but he thought it best not to comment on that.

Somehow, his feet managed to move him a step closer to her, and then another. Now they were nearer than they’d ever been, and he noticed that a scent of roses clung to her hair, an aroma that echoed the flowers embroidered on her dress.

Usually, he enjoyed that scent. Now, though, it felt far too cloying, heavy in his nostrils, making it hard to breathe.

“Kiss me, Seth,” Abigail said, her voice a shy whisper at odds with the almost command of those words.

He didn’t want to.

He knew he had to.

Please, Goddess, went through his mind, but he didn’t know whether Brigid was listening. Quite possibly, this was what she wanted.

Time to get this over with.

He bent his head and touched his lips to Abigail’s.

A second passed, and another.

And…nothing.

She took a step back, disappointment clouding her too-big blue eyes, a pout touching her unnaturally rosy lips.

“You’re not the one,” she said, tone flat.

No, he wasn’t. He’d felt absolutely nothing when he kissed her…and he knew Abigail must have experienced the same thing, or she wouldn’t have said the words she’d just uttered.

“I suppose not,” he replied, even as he tried to keep relief and joy from flooding into his voice. It was never a good idea to let a woman know how happy you were that you’d turned out to be incompatible with her.

The prima -in-waiting glanced down at her shoes, which were very smart, beige kid with slender straps and little kid-covered buttons. They weren’t something sold at the mercantile, which meant Mabel must have purchased them from a catalog, wanting something extra special for her daughter’s meeting with her future consort.

A consort that wasn’t him. He had the wildest impulse to dance a jig, and told himself if he did so, he’d only succeed in making a fool of himself…and letting his cousin know how glad he was that he wouldn’t have to marry her.

Probably not a very good idea.

“I’m sorry,” he added.

Abigail’s thin shoulders lifted in a shrug he guessed was supposed to appear nonchalant but appeared more forlorn than anything else.

“I wish it could have been you,” she said. “But I know the universe doesn’t always do what we want it to. I suppose we should go tell Mama. She’ll be dreadfully disappointed.”

Yes, the McAllisters’ formidable prima was not someone who enjoyed being thwarted. But this was the hand of fate, and even Mabel couldn’t do anything about it. They would go and tell her he wasn’t Abigail’s consort, and then he could leave.

He was free.