They danced around one another for another week. He avoided going to the library more or less to avoid facing Verity and the things she surely had to say, but the downside to that was that he did not get to see Demelza. She must think he was the most ill-bred person alive after he sent her an email to thank her for the shortbread instead of going to see her.
He was a coward plain and simple, afraid to face two women. Verity he could handle. He'd had years of practice in disappointing her. It was Demelza that he was truly afraid to see. He'd fucked things up with her before there was even a thing to fuck up. It surely must be some sort of record. He was not fit to interact with women to whom he was not related and that was all there was to it.
It was times like these he was glad his mother was dead so she couldn't see what an idiot he'd grown up to be. She'd died well before he was of an age to appreciate her beyond just being his mother. Somewhere deep down inside he still longed to make her proud. Too bad he turned out to be such a miserable wanker.
His whole life was an embarrassment really, and then being the son of the notorious Joshua Poldark, one would think he'd have at least a modicum of common sense when it came to the fairer sex, but apparently that was not the case. His father had nearly every male in three counties out for his head because he couldn't leave a beautiful woman alone save the decade of his marriage. He'd been utterly devoted to his wife.
Instead of following in his father's footsteps, Ross had fallen head over heels in love with Elizabeth Chynoweth the moment he'd laid eyes on her at a dance just before he was to head off to university. She was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen in his life: tall and slender, long golden brown hair, and dark soulful eyes. She was like a flower in first bloom: delicate and fragile and breathtaking. Her parents took an instant dislike to him with his family reputation preceding him. His father said very little, but looked grim anytime her name was mentioned. The disapproval was palpable. He saw Elizabeth regularly despite the opposition from all sides. Within six months Ross knew that she was the only woman he'd ever love. It was serious for the both of them. Teary promises had been made when he enlisted in army; promises she would break nearly four years later when she toss him over to marry his cousin.
"Ross!"
"George." He stuffed his hands in his pockets to quell the urge to wrap his fingers around the other man's thick neck and squeeze with all his might. It'd been that way between them since they were at school together. If there was such thing as physical hatred, then Ross well and truly fucking hated George Warleggan. He was pretty sure the feeling was mutual.
"I dare say you're a hard man to find these days." George came to stand beside him just outside of his classroom door during class change, clasping his hands behind his back. "The bum leg bothering you that much?"
"I've been busy grading projects," Ross answered, ignoring the question altogether. The last thing he wanted was pity from that bastard. "What brings you to this side of the building?"
George could bare contain his contempt for the students hurrying through the halls. "I was thinking of throwing a little gathering for Saturday."
"I'm busy."
"All work and no play makes Ross a rather dull boy wouldn't you say?"
He was done pussyfooting around because he was in no mood for playing nice. "What do you really want, George?"
"I was thinking of asking the new librarian, you know, the ginger one with the long legs, inject some fresh blood into the party. Do you know her?" The glint in George's eyes told Ross he already knew the answer to that particular question. Mrs. Choake had been very busy indeed.
"We're acquainted."
"That is what I thought."
"She's not your sort, George," Ross said all but growling as jealousy roiled up from somewhere deep inside and it was all he could do to keep it tamped down. His arch enemy didn't need any more ammunition with which to goad him.
Unfortunately, George was smarter than he looked. "The into the Queen and Country martyr sort is she?"
"No," he hissed, "she's just a nice girl who doesn't need to get mixed up with your lot."
George nodded. "I see."
"I'm sure you do."
"Are you sure Caroline and Dwight can't drag you along? There will be gaming and drinking. I think you'd enjoy an evening out. You could stay at the house in town since the drive out to the country is rather dire."
Ross plastered a smile on. He liked living the country. "I'll pass."
"Shall I give Elizabeth your regards? She and Francis will be there, of course," George said with a slight edge of malice.
Just when Ross thought he couldn't hate George any more he dangles a carrot on a stick in front his nose. Ross had to bite back a hiss. "Do what you want, George."
"I always do," George called over his shoulder as he sauntered away.
Having to speak to George for five minutes made him wish he was the sort of teacher who kept a bottle of whisky hidden in the bottom drawer of his desk for emergencies. Now he would be spending the rest of the day wondering if George would make good on his threat to invite Demelza to one of his pretentious house parties. She'd probably go too. The very thought made him feel sick.
Normally he lived for the days in the classroom when he could work acting out a battle into the lesson plan and his students really seemed to love it. History might be the study of the past, but it didn't have to be boring, or at least not if Ross could help it. Today was the Battle of Bosworth, the last significant battle of the War of the Roses, and the death of Richard III in August 1485. A lively lesson with all the interest surrounding the discovery of the former king's long lost remains a few years ago beneath a Leicester car park where Greyfriars Priory Church had once stood.
Now he wished he'd given them an exam instead so he could sit at his desk and wallow in self-pity while his students suffered as much as he did. How could this little slip of a girl with red hair, long legs, and fabulous shortbread take over his life after a few meetings and one car ride on a windy and wet afternoon? And now George was sniffing around. Damn him.
A knock at the door stopped him mid-sentence in relaying the thrilling story of how Henry Tudor, Earl of Richmond, whose army was outnumbered, won the day on the King's foolish gamble to charge the field to kill his rival and put an end to the battle. The spell had been broken and the student closest to the door went to see who it was interrupting the lesson.
"May I speak to you a moment, Mr. Poldark?" Demelza asked sheepishly after slipping inside the doorway. "I'm sorry. I'm interrupting."
"It's fine." He stepped out into the quiet hallway with her and pulled the door behind him after telling the students to carry on and not draw any blood because it required too much paperwork on his end of things. "I asked you to call me Ross."
"Ross," she said, his name rolling off her tongue like fine silk and it made his insides feel a bit wibbly, "I know I shouldn't be bothering you right now, but I've come to ask you to dinner before I lost my nerve."
"Pardon?"
"Dinner. My flat. I'll cook," she said hurriedly, biting her lip and looking expectantly up at him.
It took him a second to recover the ability to think straight. "I'd like that."
"You would?"
"Yes."
She beamed. "Saturday?"
"Saturday is fine." Ross nodded, mesmerized by the light in her blue eyes. George either hadn't gotten to her yet or she much preferred his company to the weasel's. Either way he was inordinately pleased.
"About seven then?" She was practically bouncing with excitement.
This woman was entirely too much and he was unsure how to deal with her. "Are you sure about this after I was a rude bugger to you?"
"I'm willing to take my chances," she retorted with a laugh. "Seven?"
"Seven it is. Can I bring anything?"
"Just yourself is fine." He made a mental note to pick up flowers and a bottle of wine. It was proper etiquette after all.
"Is there anything you don't like?" she asked, turning all business like. "Allergies I should know about?"
"Nope," he said with a head shake, "I'm one of those blokes that'll eat anything put before him so long as he doesn't have to cook it."
She tsked him. "Men."
"What can I say?" he asked with a shrug and a rueful smile.
"Not a thing. I'll see you Saturday," she said. He watched her walk away down the corridor until she disappeared from sight. She was wearing a dark pencil skirt and blue jumper today, both of which accentuated her slender waist and the gentle flare of her hips. There were more than a few faces pressed against the glass inset of the classroom door when he turned his attention back to the room full of teenagers. A couple of his braver students whistled and cat called when he came in, but he shut that shite down with threat of extra homework.
The first thing Ross noticed when he approached the door at 7:03 p.m. (no one need know he had been driving around the block since 6:30 p.m.) was the smell of something absolutely mouthwatering wafting in the air. Demelza answered the door almost immediately after he knocked and it was no wonder because her flat wasn't bigger than minute. He took a seat in a deep green chair that was surprisingly comfortable after a few moments of awkwardness greeting one another. She'd gone to put the flowers in water and the wine in the kitchen.
The flat was shabby, not unexpected with a building that old and in the area that was in, but neat and clean, a mix of second hand and cheap Ikea furniture. Her vivid personality was all over the place from the bright pillows on the ugly brown sofa to cheerful curtains on the windows and the plants crowding the two front window sills. No television. The radio in the kitchen was playing BBC Eire, not that she understood a word mind, but enjoyed the comforting murmur in the background. It was warm and inviting, but devoid of family photographs anywhere. It was odd that, the mantle shelf at Nampara was overcrowded with pictures.
"I'm sorry I don't have wine glasses," she offered as an apology, handing him a drinking glass about a third of the way filled with white wine and took a seat on the sofa, curling her legs under her. She was barefoot. Her toenails were painted purple.
"It's fine. We rarely bother at home unless we have company." He held the glass, too busy watching her to taste the wine he spent half an hour selecting.
"I'm just starting out. My first real flat. I don't have a lot of the basics yet."
He liked the utter lack of pretension about Demelza and how so very different she was from most of the women he knew. Something else about her to be admired. "No worries. We all have to start somewhere."
"Verity told me you live with your father. That he'd had a stroke some years back and you help take care of things for him."
"I help run what's left the family estate. Rather poorly I might add, but I do what I can," he said, not wanting her to get the wrong impression of him.
Demelza sat her glass next to a library copy of The Hobbit with a bookmark about halfway through laying on the white wicker trunk she used as a coffee table. He approved of her reading choice. "That is to be admired. Is your father able to get around?"
"He potters around the house mostly. His doctor says if he'd do his exercises regularly he'd be more mobile, but Father's a Poldark through and through."
"Meaning he's hard of head?"
"That's being generous," Ross said with a laugh. "You've got the right of us already."
She tried not to smile and failed. "I've had fair warning."
"Only half is true I assure you." There was no telling what stories Verity had been regaling her with over the last few days.
"Only half?"
"Maybe a third," he teased, enjoying the blush on her cheek at his wink. "And what of you?"
"I have custody of my youngest brother, Drake. He's boarding at the Camborne Science and International Academy."
That explained the state of things in the household. Most everything she earned must go toward the boy's tuition and fees, leaving her very little to scrape by on to live. "How old is he?"
"He's just turned fifteen," she said proudly, "and doing very well in school."
Ross couldn't help but be impressed. "Drake must be very smart. I understand it's very difficult to get into that school."
"He's scary smart. He wants to be a structural engineer, build bridges."
They lapsed into silence since he wanted to ask about her family, but he could sense that was a topic that was best left for another time. Ross watched her pluck at the knitted throw blanket draped over the back of the sofa before she looked up suddenly with a grim look of determination on her face. "You must be wondering why I asked you over," she said finally.
"I'm sure you have your reasons." He'd pondered that very question for the past for days, rejecting every conclusion he'd drawn since each one was more outlandish than the last.
She took a breath before plunging in."I'm new here. I don't have many friends beyond Verity and Andrew. They've been so kind to me these past few months. I don't know what I would've done without them."
"They're good people," he agreed. His cousin most definitely was. He didn't know where he'd be today if it wasn't for her keeping him from going over the edge when he finally returned home permanently injured and bitter. Her husband, well, Ross still has his doubts about him, but so far he'd been the stand up sort.
"I thought I needed to branch out a bit, make some new friends so I wouldn't be quite so dependent upon them with the baby coming and all."
"So you thought you'd give me a test drive so to speak?" This was something he really wanted to know because he still didn't believe Verity's assertion this woman was interested in him.
"Yes, sorta," she laughed. "Verity suggested you after I failed miserably with Ruth Treneglos. She works in the admissions office. Do you know her?"
"Ruth is a bitch," he said baldly, not bothering to hide his contempt. He made the mistake of getting tangled up with her while they were at school. The more he got to know her, the less he thought of her. "You can do much better."
"She's a bit…snobby." Her nose wrinkled as she spoke.
Ross chuckled, amused by her obvious desire not to say anything impolite about the woman. "You are far too kind, Demelza."
"I don't know about that."
"I can assure you it's true."
A timer in the kitchen sounded with a jarring ring and she got up from the sofa, stretching. The t-shirt she wore rode up enough to give him a tantalizing peek of her flat stomach. "I do hope you're hungry."
"I could eat a horse," he said, following her into the small room at the back of the flat that served as a kitchen.
The meal of steak and mushroom pie and roasties followed with an apple charlotte for pudding passed in companionable conversation. Demelza was smart and witty, giving as good as she got, and Ross found himself enjoying her company more and more. Reading was how she passed most of her free time, that and attempting to knit with varying results. Verity was trying to teach her, but she was fairly certain she was a lost cause. She even liked sports. The only problem was she supported Arsenal mostly because she thought Olivier Giroud and Aaron Ramsey were rather handsome.
"So why with the librarian?" he asked, forking up tender steak and mushrooms. "You don't really seem the type."
"It wasn't my first love, but I do like libraries," she said with a sigh. "It was just the most convenient because I could do the course online."
"So you didn't attend university?"
"I was too busy working."
He frowned. "You had no one to help you?"
Demelza looked down at her plate as she shook her head, making it clear she was uncomfortable talking about her past. "I went to work as soon as I was old enough to get a job."
Things might not have always been good at home, but his father had made sure that he had what he needed growing up. He couldn't begin to imagine what sort of hell her childhood might've been like if she'd gone to work that early. Verity had warned him she'd had a rough upbringing. It was clear that was an understatement. "How many siblings?" Ross asked.
"Oh, six brothers, all younger."
"Do you know where they all are?"
"No. We were split up. No one wanted seven children. Drake was placed with me because he was the youngest and attached to me," her voice wavered slightly as she spoke and she fiddled with the napkin in her lap. It was obvious talking about it was very painful for her.
Desperate to change the subject to anything that would put her at ease again, he blurted out: "I'm writing a novel."
"You are?" Demelza looked up at him with startled wide, shiny eyes.
"Yeah," he said with nod, relieved he'd managed to avert tears. "Well, that's the plan anyway."
She took a moment before continuing. "That's amazing. What's it about?"
Ross told her about his idea for a historical fiction novel based on one of his ancestors who was a Cornwall mine owner and had died at Waterloo in his father's arms. There was a trunk full of letters in the attic he'd discovered by accident about ten years ago that had told the story first hand. "It's all terribly romantic and tragic and all that other rot," he explained, a tad bit embarrassed now that he'd said it out loud. He'd not told another living soul until now.
"I think that's most amazing!" Demelza broke out in a wide smile.
"Really?" It was his turn to be surprised. He'd always figured his idea would be met with skepticism and derision from his family and friends. Caroline would most likely have something choice to say about it all.
"Oh, yes! Have you done much research yet? Waterloo? Napoleon…"
"Yes," he smiled at her enthusiasm and warming with it, "the Napoleonic Wars was my specialty at university so…"
"Kismet," she breathed the word and held his gaze.
"Apparently so." He picked up the glass to down the last of his wine to break the intensity that had suddenly sprung up between them. She was still watching him when he poured himself the last of the bottle.
"I'd be happy to help you with the research," she said sheepishly, getting up to get coffee and pudding. "I'm good at that, being a librarian and all."
"I'm sure you're are." The novel thing was suddenly very real rather than this nebulous thing he'd considered off and on over the years. "I'd appreciate the help."
"Good, but only if you promise to sign my copy when it's published." Demelza set a dish with a generous helping of dessert in front of him.
"I'll give you a copy," he said, sure in the knowledge she would be the only person in the world who would want to read it.
She took her seat across from him again with her own plate. "I will be purchasing a copy thank you very much."
They lapsed into silence once again as Ross set about demolishing two helpings of the apple charlotte. For once the quiet was companionable rather than awkward, or at least he felt that way each time she smiled at him when they caught each other's glances. He feared he was beginning to like Demelza far too much already.
"I can't tell you the last time I had a meal this good," Ross said, leaning back in the wooden chair and barely refrained from patting his over-full stomach. That would just be rude and he was trying to be on his best behavior since Demelza's continued good opinion of him was important. "Why aren't you in a kitchen somewhere instead of a library?"
"I am in a kitchen!" she cried with a laugh. "My kitchen."
"Yeah, but people would pay good money to eat like that." He knew he would in heartbeat. The village girl in charge of the kitchen at Nampara was a passable (just barely) cook. Both he and his father could do with better meals.
She blushed prettily and looked away. "I'll take the compliment. Thank you, but a good strong Irish stout is the secret to steak and mushroom pie."
"Have you ever been to the British Library?" he asked, wanting to keep her talking, finding Demelza's rustic Cornish accent soothing. "Since you like libraries."
"No," she answered.
One eyebrow ticked up. "London?"
This time she frowned to go along with the head shake and he could sense he was starting to tread near the danger zone again. The very last thing he wanted to do was ruin what had turned out to be a quite pleasant evening by upsetting her twice. So he did the only thing he knew to do since he might as well get it over with anyway. "You have to be wondering about this," he said gesturing to the cane leaning against the wall next to him.
Her face softened and she got up to clear the dessert plates from the table. "I do wonder sometimes, but it's not right to assume you want everyone to know."
That gave him pause. Most people were dying to know the particulars beyond what was common knowledge - he served his country and came home injured to an ill father. Oh, and his fiancée tossed him over for his cousin. The cynic in him could scarcely believe her. "Surely you've heard the rumors. Asked Verity?"
"I don't set much store in rumors." She went about the wash up as if this was the most casual conversation in the world. "I believe it is your story to tell if you want me to know."
Ross considered telling her right then, but thought better of it because the gory story behind his limp was best left until they had a chance to know each other better. "Most people are nosy buggers who cannot mind their own business."
"They are that," she agreed, turning to face him and catching him watching her intently, "but I hope you find that I am not one of them."
"No, Demelza, you are most certainly not."
