Jade Star (Star Quartet 4)

“John,” Saint said pleasantly, “why don’t you help us with the luggage? I want to take Jules to her home.”

“Jules . . . ? Oh, yes, certainly.”

Saint watched the young man pick up Jules’s one small valise. No, he thought, she couldn’t marry him. He wouldn’t suit her; he wouldn’t understand her. He would stifle her spirit without realizing what he was doing. He would also paw her endlessly and scare her witless.

Saint shook his head at the direction of his thoughts. It was none of his business, after all. He would stay the two days the Carolina would be in port, then return to California. He would never see her again. Something inside him rebelled at the thought.

Etienne DuPres’s house was on Luakini Street, just one block behind the Baldwin house. It was set back from the busy street, its white clapboards gleaming in the sun. Saint heard Jules draw in her breath when she saw her brother, Thomas, clad only in trousers and an open white shirt, turn onto the street and wave to John Bleecher. Saint saw the shock on his face, but Thomas, unlike John, showed no hesitation. He gave a loud whoop and ran full tilt to his sister and swung her up into his arms.

“Thomas,” Jules whispered, burying her face in her brother’s neck.

Saint saw the front door to the DuPres house open and Aurelia DuPres slowly walk onto the narrow veranda. Saint saw her clutch at her flat bosom, then faint dead away. He’d forgotten how damned vaporish the woman was. Doubtless all the wretched clothes and tight corset she wore didn’t help matters.

By the time he reached her side, there were people everywhere, and pandemonium.

Saint had also forgotten how much he disliked Etienne DuPres. There was no joy in the man, only grim, unremitting purpose. He was tall and very thin, his black broadcloth suit making him appear gaunt. His eyes were not sparkling and alive like his daughter’s, but a pale cold gray. His hair was thinner now, the black streaked with white.

They were all seated in the small parlor, Jules’s mother fluttering her hands, Sarah, Jules’s older sister, silent and stiff, watching her sister, her lips pursed. Thomas was carrying on in his exuberant fashion, seated cross-legged on the floor beside Jules’s chair. Even though he was dark-haired and tall like his father, he had Jules’s openness and joy.

Etienne DuPres stood tall and silent next to a fireplace that was never used. He’d hugged his daughter briefly, then set her away. For a moment Saint thought he looked to be in pain—a good sign, he thought, that he’d missed and grieved for his younger daughter. Etienne DuPres said now to Saint, “How did you get my daughter?”

Saint smiled toward Jules and said pleasantly, “You are the luckiest family alive. Your daughter is safe and well.”

Before he could explain further, Reverend DuPres said, his voice even colder, “We understood that Juliana had drowned. She was forbidden to swim, but that is another matter. I would like to know what happened to her, and how you got her.”

“I was taken by a man who wanted to sell me,” Jules said. “In San Francisco. Michael saved me.”

There was a moan from Mrs. DuPres, and Saint prayed the damned woman wouldn’t faint again. Sarah said in a shrill voice, “Taken? Whatever do you mean? Why would anyone do that?”

Jules said in her clear, sweet voice, “His name is Jameson Wilkes. I believe you’ve met him, Father. He decided I was well-enough-looking, and took me to San Francisco. He wanted to sell me to a man so I would be a mistress.”

Thomas DuPres roared, “Damnation, Jules! That miserable bastard . . . God, I’ll kill him!”

“You will be silent, Thomas,” Reverend DuPres said. “So,” he continued, looking down at his daughter, “you were in the company of this evil man for two weeks, and he debauched you.”

Jules paled. “If you mean by ‘debauched’ that he . . . hurt me, no, he didn’t. He wanted to save me because he would get more money for me if I were a virgin.”

“How dare you speak like that in front of your mother and sister! Merciful Lord, to be cursed with such—”

“That’s quite enough.” Saint rose, his very size intimidating, his quiet voice instantly reducing Reverend DuPres to silence. “Your daughter is safe and well. She was not debauched. And even if she had been, I don’t see that it would matter. What matters, sir, is that your daughter is with you again.”

Etienne DuPres said nothing. He’d done his best by the girl. But she was willful, just as her scarlet-haired grandmother had been. She shouldn’t have come back. He felt rage flow through him, rage and shame. He looked at her again, then walked from the room.

Jules sat before the small dressing table, slowly brushing her hair. She didn’t look up when Sarah came into their bedroom.

“I am glad you are alive, Juliana,” Sarah said.

Then why do I want to shiver at your tone? Jules wondered. “Thank you,” she said, not breaking count with her hairbrush.

“You’ve been gone well over a month. Everyone was very upset. Father preached a marvelous sermon for you. He touched but once on your disobedience and your perfidy in swimming in the ocean.”

“Now he can unpreach it,” Jules said.

Sarah, as was her habit, stepped behind the narrow screen to undress. “John is going to marry me.”

Jules raised her head at that, looking toward the screen in the mirror. His affections were short-lived, she thought. But she wasn’t angry at him; she was immensely relieved. “I am glad for you,” she said. “John is very nice.”

Sarah fingered the buttons on her long nightgown. “I saw how he was looking at you this afternoon. But he won’t go back to you. Not now. Not after what you’ve done.”