This is Ross/Demelza/Elizabeth, so don't worry if there's not much of your ship in this chapter. I myself am a Romelza shipper, so the next chapters will be good, I promise. This was originally a request from a Ross/Elizabeth anon on Tumblr and I'm working on a requested second chapter now.

"I'd like to think that we had it all, drew a map to a better place, but on that road, I took a fall. Oh, baby, why did you run away?"

"Elizabeth?"

She stopped as she heard Ross' voice and turned around, basket in hand, hair very slightly askew. She became conscious of it and tucked it behind her ear as best she could. She still wasn't used to venturing out without a hat to fix her hair in place. Ross swung off his horse and walked over, taking off his gloves to reveal his calloused hands.

"How are you faring? You and….Francis?"

He looked around before mentioning his cousin's name, as if he'd jump out of the bushes and murder him. His eyes narrowed against the gentle breeze.

"Francis is currently tending to his sore hands, I'm afraid, Ross. We are well….as well as we can be at such a time."

He nodded and looked around again, presumably for Verity. He stopped and smiled at something past Elizabeth's shoulder and sure enough, Verity made her way outside.

"Ross! What a pleasure! Will you come inside, have something to drink? I was actually out on my way to see Demelza."

"Go ahead, cousin, I'm sure she's waiting for you."

Verity clasped his hands one last time with her characteristic persevering smile, glancing meaningfully over to the house in which she'd just left her wounded brother. Wounded in more than one way, she thought.

"Goodbye," she smiled at both Ross and Elizabeth, saddling her horse and riding off.

Ross became so involved in seeing her off that he failed to notice Elizabeth looking at him expectantly.

"Could I help you in any way, Ross? These vegetables won't pull themselves, you see."

She gestured in her basket to a soily crop of potatoes and carrots, of which someone in the house would presumably make some sort of stew. Probably Verity.

"No, of course. I just came by to see if I could be of any service. I see you're busy, I'll take your leave."

He sent a short smile in her direction and turned towards his horse again. Elizabeth bit her lip, realising her words had probably sounded terse when she meant nothing of the sort.

"No, Ross."

He stopped still as he heard her, turning slowly.

"I didn't mean to sound short with you. You know we aren't in the best of circumstances here. Francis is….unable to work and we can scarce afford a cook or housekeeper so Verity and I both share the load. I'm afraid to say it's taking our toll on us."

She smiled apologetically and Ross frowned back.

"Please, come inside."

He followed wordlessly as she turned and made her way towards the house. Viewing her from behind, he couldn't resist a smile at the sight of her carrying the basket on her hip, making her way gracefully over the lumpy grass. And he suddenly knew why she looked so different to him. Her hair was arranged differently. No longer was it piled elegantly on her head with a thick ringlet falling down her pale neck. Now it was more….rustic, he thought. Half up, half down, like it had been when he'd known her before. The fines silks and satins were also nowhere to be seen. Instead, she wore a dull blue gown lined with white, much like the gowns Demelza often wore. They looked duller on Elizabeth somehow. Her dark curls tumbled down her back, jostled by the wind as she made her way inside her now humble home.

It was small, similar to his in many ways, but not nearly as lived in. Belongings gathered in clusters all around the various rooms as Elizabeth led him through into the bare sitting area. He took his hat off and looked around. Nothing had been removed from its storage, almost as if Francis didn't want to believe that this was now their new home. He heard tinkling from the kitchen as Elizabeth strode in with a tray on which sat a decanter of whisky and a small glass. Ross stopped for a moment and stared, wondering at just how much she looked like Demelza in that moment. He'd never imagined Elizabeth living in a place like this. He'd never seen her hands serve anything or carry anything apart from her beautiful baby son.

"How is Geoffrey Charles?"

She smiled at this as she poured the whisky out, but the corners of her lips turned down slightly.

"He's well. I worry for him catching cold at times, but I always keep him wrapped up warm. He's asleep."

Her manner was nervous as she handed over the whisky, her hand shaking slightly. Ross took the glass from her and sipped as he viewed her over the rim.

"And Julia? How is she? I'm sorry I haven't been able to see Demelza for some time."

"No, of course. Julia is….," he trailed off as a smile spread over his face, "A gem. Demelza copes admirably with her."

Elizabeth nodded and smiled, clasping her hands together as she stood some distance away from Ross. He couldn't help but smile at her hesitation, yet it was mixed with a strange resignation he hadn't seen before.

"Elizabeth…tell me what's wrong. Is it Francis?"

He set his glass down and stepped towards her. She looked up almost in alarm.

"No, no!"

She tried to get words out but before she could find anything to say, she found herself tearing up, half in frustration and half at the alarm of letting Ross see her in this state. She'd never imagined she'd be inviting him into her home like this, or that indeed she'd ever have a home like this. She wasn't spoilt or haughty, she reminded herself over and over.

"I'm sorry, Ross."

She pressed a hand against her stomach and another under her nose, closing her eyes as if that would somehow stop the tears. Ross' face fell and he hurriedly strode over to clasp her hand, guiding her to sit down on the couch as she let out a small, pitiful sound, followed by a gasp to somehow inhale the tears back.

He knelt on one knee in front of her, holding her hand, squeezing it gently.

"None of this is your fault, Elizabeth, you must know that. And it's not your fault you find it difficult. This is a reasonable adjustment and make no mistake, I was glad to see that you and Verity understand there's no shame in working the land. I know you, Elizabeth. I know your fire, your determination, your steadfastness."

He looked at her earnestly, wanting to somehow reassure her that it was okay to cry. He didn't mistake those tears as sadness and longing for what she'd previously had. Elizabeth was better than that. He'd known her since she was a child. She was resourceful and clever, always curious and inquisitive. She would find a way out of this, a way to help her husband. She was glad too. She gathered herself and took deep breaths. At least he understood. The adjustment hard been hard.

"Especially with Francis in….such a way," she said quietly, "It's been hard for Verity and I. I don't blame anyone, and there are many people worse off than I," she continued fervently.

"I blame someone. I blame Francis," muttered Ross, letting go of her hand and standing up to pace the room, "I blame him. How could he have done such a childish thing? It's a mine, not a piece of crockery to be bartered at a market!"

Elizabeth stood, wiping her face, worried that Francis would hear. Ross took one look at her face and sighed, looking around the house aimlessly.

"I am sorry, Elizabeth. I'm sorry that you have to live like this, you don't deserve it. After all you've done for Uncle…for Francis…you don't deserve this."

"I don't think it's about deserving, Ross. What have any of us done to deserve anything?"

Ross stared at her.

"I've done a lot, Elizabeth. I've done things I don't ever want to do again. I think I deserve something."

"I didn't mean that, Ross, you know I didn't."

She walked towards him, her eyebrows furrowed at the place he seemed to be lost in. His eyes were looking past her now, almost out of the window at the rapidly darkening field.

"I deserved you."

At the last word, his eyes moved to focus on her instead and she blinked as she finally realised what he'd said. She wondered if her ears were deceiving her.

"I deserved you, Elizabeth. I deserved to come home and marry you, that was how it was meant to be. And God knows, you wouldn't have been living here."

He gestured dismissively around the room. His eyes bore into her uncomfortably and she looked down to escape from them.

"We've talked about this, Ross—"

"Do you ever think of me now, Elizabeth?"

The question was so abrupt and off piste that Elizabeth looked up in surprise. Ross' expression hadn't changed. His eyes were still searching her face for a response, anything that would betray her true emotions.

"I couldn't say."

She turned away, setting her back to him as she looked out of the window once more. Why was it so dark outside?

"Do you think of me, Elizabeth? It might seem like a petty question considering the circumstances, but I assure you, it is not."

"I wonder," she began.

Ross paused in his pre-emptive speech, looking up at her in shock. He was convinced she wouldn't speak. He couldn't see her face, and Elizabeth was aware of this.

"I wonder what Francis thinks of you. I wonder it often. What Francis sees in you to be envious of. To cause him to be so hateful towards you. He speaks of you often to me, you know. You're the only topic of conversation we seem to have these days. Whenever we do speak, that is."

"I'm not interested in what he says of me."

Ross' tone was blunt, his eyes still direct.

"What do you think of me, Elizabeth? Do you ever think of what happened before all of this? What happened between us?"

"Sometimes."

Ross' breath caught in his throat. It was a mere whisper that had slipped from her lips. Perhaps she hadn't even meant to say it out loud. She turned and stared at him.

"Sometimes. And I wonder what would have happened if I hadn't married Francis. If I'd married you. Trenwith, Grambler, Wheal Leisure, all of those things. But would I have been happy, Ross?"

"Are you happy with Francis?" he countered.

"It's not about that, Ross! It's not you or Francis, it's not as simple as that! I am not a…child's plaything, that can be made to choose between one fancy or the other. I have my own wishes and desires. And….it's different now. I have Geoffrey Charles to think of. And I do not regret the choice I've made."

Her voice was determined, yet Ross raised an eyebrow at this, closing the distance between them in a few paces, standing in front of her. Only then did she realise how tall he was in comparison to her, almost bearing down on her. He didn't understand why she didn't regret her choice of marrying Francis. He was proud of the way she'd coped since they'd made economies, but that didn't mean that her life was one of happiness and contentment. Neither was his, with the imminent creation of the smelting company and an uncertain future ahead. He wished he could leave all of it behind sometimes.

"Do you remember the apple tree?"

Elizabeth unfurrowed her brow, fully expecting some rebuttal of her claims.

"The apple tree. Hours, we must have spent, trying to get the riper apples at the top. You bid me get you a ladder from a nearby house, you had such a craving. It became dark, just like this…I lit a lantern and climbed all the way up to fill a basket full of apples for you. And we sat at the base of the tree, eating them until it was too dark to see. Your mother wasn't best pleased when we arrived home. I still remember seeing you in that candlelight, wrapped up in your shawl, eating and laughing."

He could almost taste the sweet and sour juice in his mouth and hear the crunch of every bite. Her airy laughter as he bemoaned his travails.

"Anyone would think I was King Eurystheus, sending you on the Seven Labours! It's just a few apples, Ross!"

The scent of fresh apples filled his senses again as he looked around for a possible source. It wasn't a figment of his imagination. In Elizabeth's basket lay a few green apples, exactly like the ones he'd picked for her some years before. He leaned over and plucked one from the basket, rubbing it clean on his jacket. He offered it to her. All the while, Elizabeth had watched him and indeed, she remembered. She'd felt bad afterwards for pestering him so much.

"Eat."

She viewed him above the apple held out to her, his eyes soft now, gazing at her almost dreamily. She felt like the Elizabeth of her youth. Not reduced to relative poverty and farming allotments, but spending hours out in the fields, by the cliffs, doing…whatever she liked with her life. Not cooped up caring for her husband's wounded ego, but able to do whatever she wanted. The same daring spirit she'd had in that memory.

She leaned forward and bit the fruit, and a loud crunch echoed around the bare living room. As she ate, she expected Ross to take a bite too, but he simply watched her. She ate quietly, politely, almost shyly. The fine fabrics and elaborate hairdos may be gone, but her intrinsic grace still remained. She was perfection. She always had been.

"Do you remember?" he asked quietly.

She nodded slowly, almost too scared to admit anything from a past she hardly recognised anymore.

"It's always been you, Elizabeth."

She barely registered his whisper before he leaned down and licked the juice of the apple from just below her bottom lip, not stopping until his hands moved around her hips, pulling her closer to him gently as he kissed her. She was unaware as to when her own hands had placed themselves on his upper arms. His lips felt alien on hers. Not soft, but she'd expected roughness. The warmth was a fire, and she finally realised this is what she was meant to have, if things had gone right. She deepened the kiss, meeting his tongue with hers as he pulled her almost painfully tight against him, one hand squeezing the small of her back lovingly. She could hardly breathe for the shower of kisses Ross bestowed on her, pushing her against the wall with a thud, almost holding her in place with his body. They broke away slowly and he met her gaze with his, moving a calloused hand up to stroke her soft cheek and tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

All of a sudden, a loud cry filled the small house. Elizabeth stepped away from Ross in horror. Footsteps echoed and the cry became louder.

"Elizabeth? He's awake. He needs you."

"Francis….," she whispered, her eyes wide as she stared up at Ross, "Go. Now."

He opened his mouth to say something, but she raised a hand.

"Get out, Ross."

Her voice cracked and her eyes were fierce and hot as she gestured towards the door.

"You heard Francis. My husband and son need me."

Ross gritted his teeth and grabbed his hat and gloves from the table, storming out and slamming the door with a loud bang. The sound irritated the sleepy Geoffrey Charles and his cry became louder.

"Hush, my darling, my sweetheart, come here."

Elizabeth took him from a mildly annoyed Francis, who sat down at the table and rubbed his temples.

"Who was that?"

"Verity," replied Elizabeth quickly, "She'd been out."

Francis nodded and continued rubbing his temples. Elizabeth carried Geoffrey Charles upstairs for a nap. She was disgusted with herself.

Ross rode home furiously, so much so that Ginny was alarmed by the sound of him entering the house. She turned and watched him storm into the kitchen. He looked around aimlessly and turned away from her gaze, his hair all over the place. He rubbed his hands against his cheeks, trying to wipe away the tears that seemed to have formed.

"Where's Demelza?"

"Upstairs, Sir, with the little mistress. It were late, but she said she'd stay awake till you came, Sir, and to let 'er know when you was 'ome."

Ginny ventured towards the stairs to inform Demelza, but Ross stopped her.

"There's no need, I'll go. Get back to your work."

Ginny nodded and went back to the stove to finish up cleaning from the night's dinner. She stared at her master's back as he looked out of the window, pressing his hands against the windowsill as if he were gathering himself. Should he go upstairs? He didn't know. He couldn't face Demelza right now. But she'd be worried if he stayed out all night. She didn't need that insecurity. He made his way upstairs slowly, entering the bedroom.

"Ross? Why were 'ee out so late? Julia and I miss 'ee, did we not? We missed Papa!"

Demelza laughed happily, cradling her little girl in a soft white blanket. Julia cooed brightly, blinking up at her loving mother, showing no signs of going to sleep. Demelza sat cheerfully in bed, dressed in the same white nightgown she always wore, carefully arranging the blankets around Julia's face.

"I was afeared she'd get too warm with so much beddin' but Verity told me it'd be good for 'er. She be showing signs o' fever, I feel, sometimes. Wouldn't stop cryin' today, no matter wha' I did. She didn't want no feedin', no changin', no sleepin'. The only time she'd stop would be when I 'eld her all upright like that."

"She looks happy enough now. Must be a mother's touch."

Demelza smiled again and focused her eyes back on her daughter, watching her every movement keenly.

"Why were 'ee out so late? I stayed downstairs waitin'."

"Just…a meeting with the investors, my love. Nothing to worry about."

His heart broke as she nodded along acceptingly, stroking Julia's tiny fingers with hers. He felt heavy and his head hurt. It felt like it was on fire. He took his jacket off and tossed it aside carelessly, undressing for bed. Demelza frowned at his angry movements.

"Was it bad, Ross? Tell me what 'appened."

Ross scrunched his eyes shut and turned around with a reassuring smile, climbing into bed.

"Nothing, love."

He kissed her lips gently, closing his eyes as her unruly hair brushed against his face. Her lips tasted sweet. She smiled as he pulled away. Heleaned over and gently stroked Julia's forehead, resting closer to his wife and daughter against the pillows. Demelza smiled lovingly, leaning aside to rest her forehead against his.

"What a precious thing she is, Ross."

"The most precious," he half-whispered, closing his eyes as he bent his head to press a gentle kiss to Julia's forehead, resting his lips there for a few seconds. Demelza gently stroked his hair with her free hand. He wished he could stay that way forever. This is where he belonged. With his family.

"Look how she sleeps now," murmured Demelza, "her Papa sent her straight to bed."

She got up and placed Julia safely in her cot, climbing back into bed. Warming her feet under the blankets, she laughed as Ross wrapped his arms around her almost immediately, holding her close to him.

"Cold?" she enquired playfully, turning over to face him and snuggling up under the blankets.

He didn't reply as she lifted a hand to stroke his face, gently brushing his rough stubble with her fingers before lifting a single finger to trace the scar on his left temple. He closed his eyes at the feeling, letting Demelza's cool fingers wash away the fire in his head. She smiled at his laziness and moved her hand away to hold his hand, bringing their entwined hands to rest between them.

"Goodnight, Ross."

"Goodnight, my love."

She closed her eyes and smiled. Ross moved closer, as close as he could, and pressed a kiss to her lips. She responded warmly, kissing him deeply. His heart wrenched in two at her trusting, warm smile and soft, content gaze. He'd never hated himself more.

"I love you, Demelza."

She opened her eyes at his random declaration and furrowed her brows teasingly.

"Is that so, Mister Ross? In that case, I love you too."

As she closed her eyes, Ross lifted his hand to gently stroke her cheek with his thumb. In the candlelight, her skin looked an ethereal peachy gold, her hair shining like molten copper. She looked like something out of a painting. Titian, perhaps, or Caravaggio, with her rosy cheeks and pale skin. Even in her sleep, she looked so bright, so lively, but still so soft and honest. Pure, almost. Like a sleeping angel in an old painting. She'd redeemed him. And he needed redemption.

She opened her eyes sleepily and smiled, closing them again. Ross didn't close his all night.

"I hear your voice in my sleep at night, hard to resist temptation. Something strange has come over me, now I just can't get over you."