Jade Star (Star Quartet 4)

“Ah,” said Chauncey. Her husband, Delaney, had told her about the new Mrs. Morris’ experience. Now wasn’t the time to bring up Maggie’s profession, or the probable profession and sex of his patient.

Lydia Mullens came into the parlor at that moment, carrying a rather tarnished silver tray. “I didn’t have time to polish the thing,” she said apologetically to Jules. “In fact, Saint’s never used the tray before.”

“Things are very different now,” said Agatha with great complacency.

“Now, Jules,” Chauncey said after sipping the delicious jasmine teas, “Agatha and I are here to invite you to a small dinner party at our house. Saint has already accepted, but we wanted to meet you and invite you in person. It’s time you met some of San Francisco’s fair populace.”

Jules felt a bolt of excitement. “That would be wonderful,” she said enthusiastically. “Oh dear, I must buy a new gown, and I must ask Michael if . . .” She broke off suddenly. “Michael said it was all right?”

Chauncey paused a moment, suppressing the frown that threatened to crease her brow. What had this poor girl been through? What indeed was her relationship to Saint? She said finally, in a very firm voice, “Of course Saint agreed. He’s very proud of you and wants you to get out and about. Why don’t you accompany me tomorrow, say, to Monsieur David’s? He’s an excellent modiste—but that’s a woman, isn’t it? Well, whatever he is, he’s quite good and has a marvelous selection of lovely gowns, many of them from Paris.”

I’m blabbing like an idiot, Chauncey thought, bringing her flighty monologue to a halt.

“I should appreciate that,” Jules said. But she was worried about money. Clothes were expensive, she assumed. Perhaps Michael didn’t wish to spend money on things like that.

Agatha and Chauncey stepped into Chauncey’s open carriage some thirty minutes later after a thoroughly satisfactory visit. Chauncey said to their driver, Lucas, “Let’s go to the Newtons’ home now, please.”

“She’s very . . .” Agatha broke off, shaking her gray head.

“Vulnerable? Frightened? Wary?” Chauncey said.

“Yes, I suppose all of those things.”

“I shouldn’t care if she were a wretched individual,” Chauncey said. “We must take care of her, for Saint’s sake.”

“Don’t you mean Saint Michael?”

Jules felt excited, yet very tense. Michael didn’t return home until late in the afternoon, and by that time she was nearly incoherent with anxiety.

“Hi, Jules,” he said, striding into the parlor. “How was your day?” He shrugged out of his light coat and tossed it to a chair back. “What’s wrong? Do you feel ill?” He’d looked at her only a moment, but he was so aware of her that he sensed almost instantly that something was different. He watched her glide her tongue over her bottom lip.

It affected him as strongly as if she’d thrown herself naked upon him. This has simply got to stop, he told himself. I will not be a slave to my damned randy body.

“Michael, do we have any money?”

He blinked at that. “Enough. Why?”

She said in a tumbled rush of words, “Mrs. Saxton and Mrs. Newton were here and they invited us to a party and Chauncey said she’d take me to Monsieur David’s for a new gown and I didn’t know if you would mind or if you would want—”

He held up his hand to stem the flow of words.

“He sounds very expensive,” she said, ignoring him in an effort to get it all out at once, “and Father, well, he never . . .”

Saint felt that damned elusive pain at the pathetic trailing off of her voice. She looked up at him, hopeful as a child, but certain that a treat was to be denied. But she wasn’t a child, dammit.

He said very gently, “Jules, of course you must have a new gown, several in fact. Do go with Chauncey. And don’t worry about money, all right?”

“But—”

“No buts. Don’t worry.”

“But Lydia told me how, many times, you have to barter for things, and how people owe you favors, and I don’t want to be a burden to you, at least more than I already am.”

That made him angry. Damn Lydia anyway for her big mouth! “Enough, Jules,” he said sharply. “You are not a burden, and don’t you ever speak like that again, do you understand me?”

She wilted at his anger. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her head bowed. “It’s just that I am a burden. I don’t do anything, nothing at all, and I’m—”

He couldn’t bear it. He strode swiftly to her and gathered her against him. She was rigid for a moment then leaned against him. He breathed in the sweet scent of her hair, felt her small bones beneath his fingers. He closed his eyes and held her. “I want you to be happy, Jules,” he said finally, his warm breath against her temple. “There is enough money, I promise. I could have ten burdens like you and it wouldn’t matter. In fact, I’d like it very much.”