Note: I do not own the Poldark series or its characters. This is adapted from BBC's Poldark season 1 episode 3. Enjoy reading and I would be glad to read your reviews! :)
He could not for the life of him understand why he kissed Demelza. It had been a long and tiring day─ a day wherein he had put all effort to try to prevent Jim Carter from going to prison. The devil to all those greedy, self-serving madmen who think they are serving justice to all people at best! They reek of nothing but power and greed making sure that their interests are best served while they trample on people who do not even have a proper roof above their heads. Justice be damned, indeed.
His whole body had been shaking with fury as he decided to go back to Nampara as quickly as possible before any encounter with a stranger ends in fisticuffs. Nampara had never felt as bleak and cold as he came through the door. There had been a tight knot at the center of his being; his breathing had been rapid, as his heart had tried to keep up with the ever-changing pace.
Jud had been especially hardworking today, that being the only good news. He had prepared a fire for his master before going abed. What Jud hadn't known was that his master's fury could ultimately battle and eventually triumph over the heat of the fire. It had been an anger that was deadlier than fire itself.
He had called for Demelza as he struggled to remove his boots from his numbing feet. Twice he had called her. It had been unusual since Demelza had always been up and about, ready at his beck and call. Somehow, her delay had annoyed him. Still, he had kept his gaze focused on the seething, golden embers of the fire. If only throwing the magistrate into the fire would be that easy, Ross would have had done that willingly years ago.
There had been a shuffling of feet and an almost subtle play of silk across the cobbled floor. Demelza. Ross had not almost noticed her arrival. He had been too engrossed with the fire.
Demelza had painstakingly entered the wide parlour, carrying with her what had been left of Prudie's cooking. Cautiously, she had calculated her steps. She had gone to the cupboard to get his bottle of rum; it was half-filled, surely not enough for Ross to drown himself in. She had put it on the table anyway; her mind fixed on getting out of the parlour as soon as possible before Ross sees her in his mother's gown.
"Jim Carter's got two years," Ross had said while Demelza finished preparing his table. He had heard her reply; it had been a consolation at its best. But he had known better that no amount and no kind of consolation could have had made things better. What happened to Jim had been entirely his fault. The blame should be on me, even if his family would think otherwise, Ross had thought, cursing himself and biting his lower lip hard. He had wanted it to bleed.
He had continued to tell Demelza of his wasted efforts of the day. His voice had sounded bitter and full of spite. He had paused for effect, allowing her to absorb the cruel judgement of the law towards Jim's life. The fire had continued to crackle and dance in the piercing, half-lidded eyes of its resentful spectator. But when the pause had been too long, he began to wonder.
"Demelza…" Half-questioning, half-commanding.
There had been no reply so Ross had turned his back from the fire to see wherever his kitchen maid had gone. Except that there had been no kitchen maid to behold but an impressive girl clad in turquoise silk− his mother's gown! ─that had fallen over her physique elegantly. The gown had been a little too loose for her but still it suited her in a strange way.
Demelza had shifted, her back stiff from his call. He had sensed that she had wanted nothing but to escape from his hands in an instant. But doing so would have had worsened the situation she had placed herself in. She had been caught off guard. Clearly, that would have had put sense in her not to run away.
Ross had wanted to interrogate her misbehavior, her utter disregard for respect for property that clearly does not belong to her. Jim's sentence had been infuriating enough for him to lose his good will but what had been most maddening was to find his kitchen maid wearing his mother's clothes! To discipline her had only been his sole purpose of coming closer to her. But things had taken a turn when he did.
It had been quite a turn indeed, as Demelza is presently in his bed, soundly asleep. He turns his head to face her sleeping form. It is impossible, he thinks, that Demelza's hair could be as sprightly and fiery in his darkened room. It had been equally sprightly and fiery but less unruly when he faced her late afternoon. It had been pulled up and tied with a used cloth; it hadn't looked genteel as it should have been with the women of his class, what with her red curls like springs falling sloppily to her lower neck. Some of her curls had been covered in flour and had smelled of butter. Her forehead even more so. But Ross remembers it as a picture of perfection. Why is it that he now remembers every little detail in one close encounter with his kitchen maid?
Except that Ross does not know now what Demelza is to him. Clearly, after the heated events that followed after their argument, clearly even after that one simple but passionate kiss, everything is different now. Ross tries to study Demelza's face under the faint moonlight. He looks at her eyelids, half-wishing for them to open. He wants to see those pair of grey eyes locked into his own set of black. Hers are a stark contrast to his. When they had looked into each other's eyes, she had not only given him a slight look of plea and confusion but also a sure look that she is his equal and he hers. That is one thing about Demelza. There is always this strong but soft look in her eyes that provokes anyone to accept her for who she is not for who society wants her to be. In one look, Demelza has damned what is both acceptable and unacceptable in the eyes of society.
There had been a pulling in from both parties, Ross is sure. He had been pulled in not only because of Demelza but also maybe because of his stresses of the day. He had needed someone to ease his pain, to remove his worries. Demelza had done that and even more. But Demelza is far different from all the women he had had. She had not only been medicine to his injuries or had served his carnal pleasures but she had also lit hope up inside him. One that Ross had thought he would never again feel.
As he listens to Demelza's rhythmic breathing, he wonders how ever did he pull her in? He thinks about his kindness and generosity to her since she had been a little waif of thirteen. It had always been a paternal and familial instinct towards her. One that he had felt he was inclined to give to help her relieve from the pain of her father's beating. Clearly, what he felt for her before was entirely different from what he feels now. He tries to reason with his feelings but his mind continues to wonder as to how and why Demelza is beside him now. It would be impossible if she were attracted to his daily courting of troubles and dilemmas.
Demelza turns her head facing the ceiling and suddenly back to facing Ross, making her unruly mane cover her entire face. He hears her mumble gibberish and it makes him suppress a laugh, afraid to wake her up. Slowly and gently, he removes her hair from her face. For a moment, he thinks Demelza would wake. He waits but she just smiles in her sleep, as if contentment written on her face. Ross caresses the roughness of her hair, finding pleasure and a wildness in his heart just because of doing so.
Dawn is almost coming now but strangely enough, his liquor is just beginning to kick in, making him fall asleep, finally. Tomorrow would be different, indeed. Ross is apprehensive yet eager to what tomorrow may bring. One thing is for sure, Demelza has changed his life. She did not change it just tonight. He realizes that she has started changing his life from the moment they first met. And he isn't just ready to let go of her yet. He might never be able to.
"Demelza, I hope you feel the same way too." Ross says, before finally closing his eyes against the impending sunrise.