Read A Fateful Wind for Free Online

attempt to quell the cruel talk that circulated, stating that the death of Mrs. Penworthy was an unfortunate accident—nothing more, nothing less. And she spent her evenings sewing Jenna’s wedding dress and working on it as though Jenna was indeed Queen of England.
    Jenna stepped into the ivory lace and silk, whilst Tamzin set to work pinning the waistline in and folding pleats around the hips and bustline, working the delicate material expertly between her fingers.
    “You look like a princess,” Jenna’s nephews chorused. They fell silent as they sat cross legged in front of her, entertained by the role their mother took on as seamstress. Jenna’s father nodded with pride, taking the pipe from his mouth and wiping a tear from his eye.
    “She does look like a princess boys. A real princess! But more than that, she looks like her mother, doesn’t she, Tamzin?”
    Tamzin looked up from the hem, pins clamped between her lips and nodded sadly, looking at the woman who was her youngest sister standing before her.
    “She looks beautiful father, far prettier than Karenza or I looked in our wedding dresses.”
    Jenna rolled her eyes. She felt embarrassed by the adulation of her family and turned her head to look through the small front window. The light was beginning to dim. Sundown! Anxiety began to flow through her body once more as she realized Trystan would now be in the presence of Lord Edwin. She hoped the vile savage would make no mention of her. The thought of having to face him tomorrow already filled her with an unsettling combination of anger and dread.
    A knock came loudly on the front door. Jenna’s eyes widened, surely it couldn’t be Trystan back already? Her sister mumbled something about bad luck and stood to block Jenna from the visitor lest it should be Trystan. Even the overly talkative Tamzin was left speechless as Sir Jack Bartholomew strode confidently into the front room, a small bouquet of wild bluebells in his hands.

Chapter Five
    Trystan Trezies arrived early at the mine the next morning. His heart still raced from his meeting with Lord Edwin the previous evening. What confidence Lord Edwin instilled in him as he perched nervously on the edge of one of the worn green leather seats that adorned Lord Edwin’s study. Sitting there, he felt the eyes of centuries of Penrose's bearing down upon him—questioning, probing, inquiring Trystan’s performance as a tin mine foreman. Anxiously, he sat there as Lord Edwin said nothing, merely thumbing through a stack of papers as he sipped brandy from a chiseled crystal glass, not offering even a sip to Trystan. Not that he expected it. It was compliment enough to be invited to Lord Edwin’s home. Mine business normally took place at the mine. It left Trystan feeling very uncomfortable indeed. This was obviously a meeting of some importance and he had a nasty feeling he knew just what this meeting entailed.
    How wrong he was! It seemed like an eternity before Lord Edwin spoke, his voice clipped, stern and to the point.
    “Trystan, are you happy at Penrose mines?”
    “Very, my Lord.”
    “And you have no inclination to leave Cornwall for pastures green, America, for example?” Lord Edwin took another sip of brandy.
    Ah, here it came. The lure of America. Trystan felt impressed at how quickly Lord Edwin arrived at the point of their meeting. Resentfully, he braced himself to answer. Before he could reply, Lord Edwin walked around and stood in front of him clutching a small piece of paper.
    “I take it from your demeanor that America holds no lure for you. Perhaps you are wishing to follow in your brother’s footsteps and board a ship bound for Sydney?”
    Trystan shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. “Actually, my Lord, we have received no news from my brother since leaving Plymouth Harbor some eighteen months ago.”
    He took the piece of paper from Edwin’s hand and opened it. The words jumbled in a confusing blur.
    With a smirk on his