Jade Star - Catherine Coulter [121]
She felt great relief, and to her chagrin, tears stung her eyes. “I am so lucky,” she said, and flung her arms around her brother. “Thank you, Thomas.”
“Perhaps,” he said quietly, a bit of humor in his voice, “it is I who should thank you, my dear.”
She gulped, not pretending to misunderstand him. “Penelope told you that we had a little . . . talk?”
“Yes, though it took me a while to pry it out of her.”
“You’re not angry at me for meddling, are you?”
“No, little idiot.” He gave her a wicked grin. “Actually, it pleases me mightily to know that Saint is such a . . . caring husband.”
“Oh!” She pummeled his chest, her cheeks flushed.
“As for my wife, let us say that her attitude is changing. It’s now up to me, I suppose, to be patient as a saint.”
“My husband could give you advice about that,” she said, grinning up at him.
Penelope came into the dining room at that moment, Saint beside her. “Good morning,” she said, and when her eyes met her husband’s, she blushed faintly.
“Michael,” Jules said as she ate her scrambled eggs, “would you like me to change the bandage this morning?”
“All right,” he said. “Then, sweetheart, it’s off for good in three days. It’s time I saw my beautiful wife again, as well as my complaining patients.”
Jules was silent a moment; she was praying.
“I’ll provide the champagne,” Penelope said, surprising everyone.
Saint chuckled. “Your father does have the best wine cellar in San Francisco. Think you can sneak some out of there, Penelope?”
Penelope felt herself smiling. Indeed, she realized, she felt comfortable and . . . wanted. It was a heady feeling. “Yes,” she said, joining in the laughter. “I shall lock Ezra in the cellar if he gives me any trouble.”
“Or, love,” Thomas said, leaning closer to her, “if you prefer, I could be convinced to have Ezra lock us in the cellar with the champagne. I can just see you now, Pen, your petticoats in wild disarray and a half-empty bottle in your hand.”
To Thomas’ utter delight, his wife giggled.
How could I have forgotten even for a moment? Jules thought blankly that afternoon as she stood in the entranceway, another letter from Wilkes clutched in her hand. It read simply:
My dear Juliana,
You force me yet again to withdraw. It is not over. Pray do not forget me.
It was Penelope who found her, white-faced, rigid, and alone, huddled next to the sofa on the floor.
She took the crushed paper from her sister-in-law’s nerveless hand, smoothed it out, and read it. She said nothing, merely helped Jules to her feet and drew her against her, hugging her.
Jules said, “God I wish I had my derringer.”
Penelope gently patted her back. “Why don’t I purchase one for each of us?”
Jules could only stare at her.
“Yes,” Penelope said again. “I believe I shall go out now.”
And she did.
27
There was not a sound that morning in Saint’s surgery. The small room was crowded. Thomas, Penelope, Jules, and Dr. Pickett all stood as still as stones, waiting. Thackery and Lydia were outside the open doorway in the entrance hall.
Jules could hear everyone else breathing. She was holding her own breath.
Dr. Pickett cleared his throat. “Saint?”
Saint said nothing for many moments. “Jules,” he said finally, “is that a freckle I see on your nose?”
Jules stared at him, for the moment unable to accept his words. Then, at his slow smile, she flung herself into his arms, nearly knocking him backward. “Yes,” she said against his shoulder, “it’s a freckle. I don’t know where it came from. I suppose I could use some lemon juice or something . . .” She finally broke off, knowing she was babbling.
“Or some cucumber lotion,” Penelope said.
“Or just let me kiss that very cute freckle,” Saint said. He drew her back, stared down into the dearest face he’d ever seen, and lightly kissed the tip of her nose. “Hello, wife,” he said, stroking his fingertips over her face. “It’s quite nice to see you again.”
Thomas gave a loud shout and wrung Dr. Pickett’s hand.
“It seems to me,” Saint said after a moment, a mock