He cares for Rosemariné.
Quite inconveniently, Jules realized that the day after Auguste violated him, when he watched him come to class pretending that everything was normal. His eyes were empty and sad and distant, though, sadder than they had been any other day befor. That was one Jules realized that he hand changed, broken into a million pieces forever. And it was his fault, or so he feared; Jules had been the one to help Mr. Beau find Rosemariné, the one who hadn't gone for help, the one who ran away from the crime and even as his palms covered wrinkled bills with sweat. He wished at that moment, for the first time in years, that he could take Rosemariné in his arms and make his problems disappear, just as he used to when Rosemariné worried about the monsters under his bed.
He despises Rosemariné.
Rosemariné is rough and violent, and Jules has always known too well that he ienjoys/i hurting others physically and sometimes more, enjoys telling them that their family is too poor or not noble enough and it's their duty to listen to him. That was how he was each day when they were children, and he didn't get any better as they grew older, just more polite about it. He says he likes Jules, says they're best friends and wants them to stay together forever and smiles, and Jules wants to believe him. He can't, though, absolutely not, because what if one day Rosemariné abandons him and he has no best friend and no money and is left alone with his mother and an empty wallet.
He idolizes Rosemariné.
Rosemariné is everything Jules wants to be, everything he isn't, everything he'll never be. Money and power... he can afford to be one of those horrible aristocrats who is able to control anybody with a few words, Jules included. He's intimidating and determined and cold and sexless and nothing will ever change that. Jules can never be any of those things, no matter how hard he tries to think of his studies and his goals (if he has any) and his potential. Jules always goes back to Mother and to God, and he's constantly thinking about whether what he's doing is ireally/i right and proper and gentlemanly, or if he's only pretending. iHe/i prefers not to pretend, at least if he can help it.
He doesn't deserve Rosemariné.
Rosemariné gives him everything, all of his money and all of his power and all of himself. He supports Jules, and takes care of him, and dotes upon him like no other, and it hurts Jules. It hurts to see someone so devoted to him when he's never done anything meaningful for him except sit there and nod. And so Jules pushes Rosemariné away, subtly, so that Rosemariné may not even notice, and hopes somewhere deep in his heart that he will find someone else, someone kind and devoted, someone too stupid to defy him or do anything but love him.
He loves Rosemariné.
Jules almost drops his teacup when he realizes that. He's always thought that Rosemariné is beautiful; the passion in his eyes and the gentle curls of his hair have been a part of some of Jules' most secret fantasies. It goes beyond that, though, it must. That's why his heart hurts when he forces himself to reject Rosemariné's gentle words and tells Gilbert that they're only friends because of Rosemariné's family and pocketbook. That's why he doesn't know if he wants them to be together forever or if he wants Rosemariné to leave him and be happy with somebody else. It doesn't make isense/i for Jules to love him - their history, their differences in power, and what would Mother say? - and yet he wants right now to take Rosemariné in his arms and make him giggle and kiss him and not worry about things like money and honor and the pain in both of their pasts.
"Are you all right?" Rosemariné asks, concerned at the shocked expression on Jules' face. (It's not ithat/i obvious, really, but he can always tell.)
"It's nothing," Jules lies.
Part of Jules thinks he might break at this discovery; part of him wants to.