A Fateful Wind (5 page)

“I’ve plenty of work to do as a junior mine boss.” He smiled, seeming anxious to hear her response.

Fiddling with the cuff on her sleeve, she willed herself to appear ecstatic and proud of Trystan and his achievements, but she saw through the thin veil of what his premature promotion entailed. She brought her gaze up to meet his, trying in earnest to blink back the tears that were already starting to sting. The frightened tears, tears of hopelessness over how her life from henceforth would be beholden to that dreaded rascal of an employer. Lord Edwin might have thought himself clever with his well-timed promotion of her betrothed, coinciding with Sir Jack’s demands for his American Mine workers, but she could see right through his sly and conniving praise of Trystan. No man was ever promoted to junior mine boss at such a young age. Lord Edwin wanted Trystan here because of her. How foolish of her to hope this would all go away. It was apparent that Lord Edwin had no intention of letting his lust for her dissipate. The feeling of dread in her heart deepened as she realized that until she had a child and could leave employment, her safety in Penrose Manor House would be severely questioned.

“Jenna, aren’t you proud of me?” Trystan's voice began to sound angry and hurt.

“Yes, Trystan.” She lied. “Of course, I am. I am so proud of you! I just felt so overcome.” She moved her hand up and stroked his face, the creases of his smile now dimpling his ruddy cheeks. “I just can’t wait to marry you and bear your children.”

Chapter Six

The late afternoon sun enlivened Sir Jack during his tedious carriage ride home from the market town of Launceston. The excursion proved most interesting for he and his cousin, Lord Edwin. But the ever growing monotonous tones of the Penrose family accountant had, over the hours, caused his eyes to glaze over, his mind beginning to daydream. Several times, he glanced over at his cousin who was desperately trying to stifle his yawns and will his eyes to remain open. However, the meetings were a necessity and gave both men a chance to arrange the details and the finances needed for their American mine formation. Jack felt satisfied with the day's meeting. With the finances more or less agreed upon, the next step would be to find workers willing to emigrate.

Now seated in the plush velvet coach, he gazed over at his portly cousin who sat snoring, his head bobbing up and down as the coach meandered its way through the small and winding country lanes. As they approached the tiny village of Upton Cross, which lay at the edge of the moors, Jack opened the window and bade the driver to stop.

“I think I will walk from here. My legs and mind could do with some exercise!” He hopped down from the carriage, stretching his long legs and breathing in the clear moorland air. His mind felt tired from being kept in the stuffy office of their accountant and his throat was parched from traveling.

Perhaps a tipple at the Caradon Inn, he thought as he approached the small country pub. It seemed typical for the area with a sloping thatched roof, floral hanging baskets adorning the low front door and rooms above for weary travelers wishing to rest for the night. As he made his way toward the entrance, the smell of stale ale and tobacco wafted out, bringing back memories of his days as a young teenager when he thought holding a tankard of beer to be the epitome of adulthood. He could hear the noise of the drinkers within, miners he supposed, busy drinking their paltry wages away.

As he approached the bar it felt as though he were stepping back in time. He may have been gone for five years, but entering that bar made him feel fifteen again, learning all he could about life from the patrons. None of it had really been of any use except for something an old farmer told him as he sat nursing a tall pint of cider.

Ale and women
, he noted wisely, his voice gruff with age,
can be the downfall of any man. Best to dapple in moderation and not allow either to become a constant hobby. The man who drinks away his life every night is a dying man. A man who goes home to a nagging wench every night is an imprisoned man. Just remember that boy and life will serve you well
.

Since then, Jack came to realize the old farmer had been right. Every woman he had ever known turned out to be a nagging wench just as the old farmer predicted. Women who stifled him and clipped the wings of freedom he so loved. He felt better off living life as a free man, having an occasional tipple of alcohol here and there and the pleasure of a woman’s arms now and again with no strings attached. It was exactly how he liked it.

Jack paid the pretty barmaid who gave him more than a friendly smile and seated himself in the dusty alcove with his pint of ale. He scanned the groups of men who lined the pub. He recognized some of them from the other day when he met with a few of the miners to discuss the opportunities in America. His gaze abruptly fell on an old miner seated in the corner, his shoulders stooped over as he sat puffing on his pipe, holding a pint of ale between his bent fingers. The old man sat listening to a dark haired young man beside him, nodding as he sipped his ale. Jack instantly recognized the older as Jenna’s father. Rising, he approached the table, bidding each man to sit back down as they rose to greet him.

“Mr. Penworthy isn’t it?” Jack stretched out his hand for the old man to shake.

“Aye, Sir.” The man eased himself back into his seat. “This here is Trystan Trezies, my daughter’s fiancé. Trystan, this is Sir Jack Bartholomew.” He pointed at the young man sat next to him. The man rose and shook Sir Jack’s hand strongly.

“Congratulations on your impending nuptials. You must be very excited.” Jack smiled. The young man was extremely handsome, dark and swarthy with the physique of a hard worker. He turned to the old man. “How is your daughter sir?”

“Oh, she is very well, thank you. I think what with all the wedding preparations and working so hard up at the manor, she just overtired herself that’s all. She is back to her normal spirits now.”

Jack nodded, remembering the small pale hand wrapped around his, the odd nervousness he felt as her eyes met his. Glancing once more at the young man, he tried to quell the anxious feeling of envy that suddenly came upon him. How lucky the young man would be to come home to that soft skin and glorious beauty every night. To roll over in the darkness and feel her naked skin lying next to him. How could any man feel trapped being married to a woman such as her?

Jack breathed in deeply, a light headed feeling coming over his body. “Enjoy your evening, gentlemen.” He smiled, trying to pull himself together. “I am sure I shall see you up at the mines this coming week.” The men nodded. Jack noticed the cautious expression that suddenly crossed the younger man’s face.

As he left the Inn, he lifted his face up toward the sky, reveling in the warmth of the sun. He loved this time of year in Cornwall. The days were long and pleasant, neither too cold, nor too hot and the sun did not set until long past supper. Enjoying the nice evening, he decided to take the long way home, down through the valley, past the chapel graveyard and up along the stream which meandered its way along the edge of the moor. He stopped briefly outside of the graveyard, unsure whether to go in. The place always unnerved him so. Generations of Penrose ancestors were ensconced in its ancient walls. Even in the vivid sunlight, the aged tombstones held a haunted silence.

Hesitantly, Jack open the old creaking iron gates, the rails leaving orange rust marks on his palms and entered the eerie churchyard. The air felt colder as he walked along the pathway that meandered through the scattered burial plots. Wind crept through the leaves of the massive oak trees above, rustling in the still afternoon air. Sir Jack wrapped his coat closer around his body. He put off visiting the family graves since he arrived. Still, now seemed as good a time as any. He would send one of the servants up with flowers next week for this was a place he didn’t like to visit more than once.

Approaching the Penrose tomb, he sat next to the headstone of his mother. It seemed strange, but whenever he visited the site he didn’t feel anything. He found it hard to comprehend his mother, as vivacious as she was, lay buried deep beneath the earth. He much preferred to think of her when she were alive, bright, social, glamorous, a jewel in his life, rather than how she became before she died, sick and tired, well before her time.
Isn’t consumption a terrible thing, affecting rich and poor alike
? Slowly, he bent down and kissed the headstone, stroking the letters etched in the cool marble. “I hope you’re proud of me mother. I hope you’re proud.”

Quietly he stood up, making his way past the small chapel toward the front of the graveyard. He hovered outside the wooden door. Perhaps he ought to go in, say a quick prayer for his mother. He entered, tiptoeing across the stone floor, removing his top hat. He genuflected in the cold, dark chapel, crossing himself with the holy water and knelt in the back pew. He looked up at the crucifix hanging below the large stained glass window. A candle flickered wearily above the altar, fighting to hold its flame against the drafty interior of the church. Jack’s gaze rested on the front pew where a figure of a girl bowed in prayer, her wavy thick black hair falling into the small of her back, knelt. She was shaking and he could hear her sniffles echoing through the empty church. He knew instantly it was the beautiful servant girl and immediately his stomach knotted. He knelt there gazing at her, willing her to turn around so that he might, once again, feast his eyes on her glorious face. He suddenly had an intense feeling to go to her, hold her in his arms and protect her from all that obviously frightened her. But he felt afraid, too fearful of the passions that would overcome him should he hold her once more in his arms. Lowering his head, he closed his eyes, willing himself to get up and leave before he should come face to face with her. But his body remained rooted firmly in the pew. He could not move, he could not breathe and he found it hard to concentrate.

Jack kept his head bowed, his cheeks burning, his mouth dry, until he heard the soft sound of footsteps coming toward him. Slowly, he lifted his eyes. Jenna! She stopped next to his pew as if startled by something and fixed her delicate gaze upon him. Her cheeks were wet and her hand trembled as she wiped away an errant tear. It seemed as though hours passed as they gazed at one another—the impoverished servant girl and the aristocratic adventurer. Slowly, Jack rose to his feet, his eyes never leaving hers. Quietly, he pulled his handkerchief from his top pocket and, lifting her chin with one hand, tenderly dabbed the tears away from her cheeks. Jenna looked up at him. He could feel his lips burning with desire, longing to feel her mouth against his. Cautiously, she lifted her hand brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. Sir Jack closed his eyes. He reached for her hand and pressed it against his lips.

“Jenna.” He kissed her outstretched palm. He breathed in deeply, feeling the softness of her skin against his lips. It was as though he were in a daze, powerless against the passionate emotions that permeated through his body. She released feelings he never knew existed before. He opened his eyes and cupped her face in his hands. Her turquoise eyes gazed into his, luring him deeper and deeper into his passionate lust for her. He bent his face closer and closer to her red lips. Suddenly she pulled away, her breathing deep and erratic.

“I’m sorry," she cried. “I’m so sorry.” She turned quickly, pulling her face from his hands and ran toward the church door. Quickly, he followed her, placing a hand against the wooden door as she tried to open it.

“Wait! Please wait.” He stood between her and the exit, his breathing hard, suddenly embarrassed for making a fool of himself by trying to kiss her. “Jenna, forgive me.” He silently willed her eyes to meet his. “I am sorry. I don’t know what came over me. Please. Let’s forget this ever happened. Just, just, just let me help you. Something is worrying you so, please, let me help you.”

Jenna shook her head. Resolutely, she looked him in the eyes “Yes, Sir Jack, let’s pretend this never happened.” She lifted his hand away from the door and pushed it open. She turned to him and smiled, the tears now dry against her cheek.

Jack nodded at her slowly. “We can forget this interlude, Jenna. But I am here if you need a stranger to talk to.” He watched her as she walked through the graveyard. Why did this woman have such an effect on him? And a servant girl, at that? There was something so different about her, so mysterious. Yet the poor girl was obviously terribly distressed about something, or someone. Her betrothed perhaps? He wanted to find out more about the young man she was due to marry and more about Jenna. God, he wanted to know everything about her. She enveloped his thoughts from the first moment he laid eyes on her. Their chance encounter now stirred his passions further.

Jack barely entered through the door of Penrose House before Lord Edwin was upon him. “I have just heard the most amazing news. Penrose Mines has tripled its profits over that of last year. I think this is good cause for celebration. Plymouth, perhaps?”

“Plymouth? Yes, I think a jaunt to the city would do us good.” Jack felt too tired to try and argue. His head reeled from the encounter with Jenna. Perhaps being surrounded by a throng of beauties in Plymouth would help ease the servant girl from his thoughts.

“Tomorrow eve then?” Edwin's eyes gleamed with excitement.

“‘Tomorrow eve it is.”

Jack spent the next day avoiding Penrose House as much as possible. He arose early, walking up to the mines and introducing himself to more of the miners. He was anxious to seek out Jenna’s betrothed, although he didn’t know for what reason. He supposed so he could size him up against himself. "Foolish man," he chided silently. "Whatever are you thinking?"