For Better or For Worse

Part 1

By: piperholmes

A/N: Tumblr prompt: "Could you please write how Ross asks Demelza to marry him or what happened after the wedding because in the church scene they all look awkward." Which actually works well with another prompt I received so this is a three part story. As usual unbeta'd. Thanks so much for your kind reviews and encouraging messages! I love writing for these two and it just means a lot to know someone enjoys what I've written! ^_^

"You're right. You can no longer be my servant."

With those words Ross Poldark had made his decision. Demelza stared up at him, her confusion clearly written on her pale face. He feared he had disappointed her somehow, and was unwilling to look too deeply to the source of her disappointment. Last night had been…pleasurable, and when he'd awaken he'd been surprised to find he felt no regret over what they had done. But he hadn't known the best course of action and so had left Demelza to her own devices. He cringed as he thought back to the meeting with Elizabeth. He knew he'd not handled the encounter well, but clearly he had left Demelza with the wrong impression because the only moment of regret he felt was when he realized she had run away from him.

Yet as they stood now, part of him wondered if it wouldn't be for the best, to let her go. Her eyes shown prettily in the fading light, her wild hair blowing about her face, a sad downturn to her lips, and he felt shame at the thought. She had nowhere to go because she had given her all to him. He was noble enough to want to acknowledge her sacrifice, and selfish enough to want to continue benefiting. Besides, he had taken no steps to prevent her from falling with child. For better or for worse she was a part of his life; a tree grown round a fence.

He said nothing as he shifted back on his saddle, leaving the customary space for her. She hesitated for a moment, a wary look in her eyes, but soon gave into the silent invitation, and allowed him to help her up, surprised when he settled her sideways across his lap rather than astride.

This new position forced her to wrap an arm around his middle to keep her balance as Ross nudged the horse into motion.

"Sir?" she pressed finally, trying to ignore the contented warmth she felt in his arms.

He glanced down at her, his dark eyes stern, his jaw set, but she could see a tenderness behind his gaze. "I was concerned that after last night you might be a bit…uncomfortable sitting astride."

To her horror she felt her cheeks burn. There had always been a rather brutal honesty between her and Ross, but this was all still so new and uncertain to her.

"And," Ross continued, either unaware of or choosing to ignore her pink face, "as my wife you can no longer bandy about riding like a man."

Her head whipped about so suddenly her small bag of belongings slipped out of her lap tilting her violently as she held onto the string to keep it from hitting the ground. Ross' grip tightened, holding her fast to him.

"Easy," he cooed, as the horsed danced a bit, unsure what was happening. A tug on the reigns brought the horse to a stop, and Ross, still holding her to him, looked down at her.

"Your wife?" she demanded, and if the moment hadn't called for seriousness Ross probably would have smiled at her indignation.

But this was a serious moment because he knew he had shocked her, and with that shock came feelings of fear and doubt.

"My wife," he answered firmly. "If you'll have me."

For all she knew of him, his moods, his wants and needs, he had truly surprised her.

"But–"

"But what?" he challenged, caught off guard by his own anxiety. Once he had decided they were to marry, he'd not honestly thought whether she would choose to accept or reject him.

"Ross!" she cried, as if he was a stupid, disobedient child. "Your sort don't marry my sort."

Ross raised a sardonic eyebrow. "I marry who I want to marry."

And that was all the argument she knew she was going to get.

"The question that remains," he carried on, "is whether you want to marry me."

She pressed her lips together, her head dropping as she considered his words. She supposed that was as romantic as the pragmatic Ross was able to manage. Uninvited, the image of the regal and elegant Elizabeth rose before her eyes, and she felt a wildness spring in her chest.

He had chosen her. He had come after her and wanted to make her his wife.

"Well, I suppose I do Ross," she answered gently.

"Then it's decided," he answered, once again setting the horse in motion, heading for home.

Despite the awkwardness, there was no discomfort between them. There never was with Demelza, and after a few quiet moments of rocking, her head fell to rest against his shoulder.

It was a content sort of familiarity that surrounded them as Garrick followed along dutifully, the sounds of the sea a caressing lullaby, the smell of the blossoming meadow heavy in the air.

Abruptly Demelza sat up, breaking the peace.

"Oh Judas!" she cried, her eyes big.

"What?" He snapped, disconcerted by her panic.

"Who's gonna tell Jud'n Prudie?"

The two stared at each other before both giving way to a fit of laughter.

to be continued.

Thanks for reading!