Ex Libris - Part VI

"I'm worried about Demelza," his father said the second Ross came in the side door. The old man had been anxious since the moment Demelza had arrived at Nampara, fretting over this and that. The state of the house was the most pressing concern at the moment.

He stepped aside long enough for Jud to follow through with the box full of Chinese takeaway he'd picked up after leaving school. It was their usual Friday night ritual, one that had all but been abandoned after his meeting Demelza. Only once his navy wool pea coat was hung on the peg did Ross even entertain his father's statement. It was Friday. He was tired. The week had not been a kind one. "I tried to warn you she wasn't going to feel like being very social."

"That you did." Joshua took a seat at the head of the table in the kitchen while Prude went about setting out plates and silverware. "I'd hoped to see how she was getting on."

"She barely touchin' 'er trays either," Prudie added for good measure.

Ross couldn't blame Demelza there. Jinny Martin came to Nampara several times a week to prepare meals for them. She was a passable , if unimaginative, cook. Still, she was a step up from Prudie's culinary attempts. "Has Dwight said anything?" he asked, already knowing the answer because he knew his friend.

"Not much," his father went on as he started opening containers, "beyond she's slowly on the mend."

"Caroline then?" Ross knew she'd been over every day to spend a few hours with Demelza. The prospect was a bit frightening, but seeing as he had no other female friends of note there was little choice in the matter. The only other option was his cousin Verity, but she was otherwise engaged.

"No." Joshua huffed. "She said it's ladies' business, whatever that means."

"I believe it means mind your own business in Caroline speak."

His father grumbled something about betrayal under his breath, but was side tracked by a container he just opened. "Oh."

"The prawns are for Demelza," Ross blurted out before anyone could lay claim to them. Prudie gave him the stink eye after sharing a quick knowing glance at Joshua. It caused Ross to bristle a little. "It's her favorite."

"I'll fix 'er up a tray 'n take it to 'er then," Prudie offered helpfully. A bit too helpful in Ross's opinion. She was up to something, he could feel it in his bones, and it did not bode well. Jud, for once in his life, was mostly silent. The world had gone completely mad in the span of three days.

"I thought I would take it up to her myself," Ross said, cutting Prudie off at the pass. He found the container with the double cooked pork that he'd gotten for himself to put on the tray Prudie was suddenly putting together. "There should be a container of steamed veg and one of brown rice. Those are for her too." He was hoping by getting Demelza's favorite takeaway indulgence she would be tempted into eating something. At least that was what he was hoping. She must be so out of sorts that he couldn't even imagine.

The past few days had been very hard on him as well, having her in his house, in his room. In his bed. His mind was going to all sorts of places it shouldn't have wandered. It was causing him to lose sleep. He'd been worried sick about Demelza. She hadn't seemed herself since her ordeal of Tuesday night, and that was to be expected of course. It hurt his heart to see her so withdrawn. He was hoping that now a few days had passed, the shock of it had to start to retreat as her body began to heal.

"Put a good bottle of wine on the tray, Prudie, glasses too," Joshua directed, a sly smile lighting up his face.

Ross sighed. There was just no hope for it. "I don't think that is a good idea with the meds Dwight has her on for the pain."

"One small nip won't kill her," he said, chuckling to himself. "You can drink the rest then maybe you'll do something impetuous."

"Father!" Ross cried. He'd have been shocked if he hadn't known his father better.

"I'm not getting any younger, son," Joshua chided while Prude stood beside him nodding. "I want to see some grandchildren before I die."

"T'would do the house good to h've a mite 'r two abouts," she concurred. "Old Prudie ain't gettin' any younger neither."

There was nothing he could say. It was a team effort. Caroline was surely on his father's side by now. That left him with only Dwight as the voice of reason in all of this insanity. He was doomed.

"What say you, Jud?" Ross asked, barely able to keep the cynicism in his voice contained. "Have you an opinion you'd like to express as well?"

The caretaker sat up straight the moment he was addressed, shaking his head vigorously. "I, sir, 'ave an opinion? No, sir."

"Good. Take the tray upstairs and leave it on the table outside of the room. I'll be up directly."

Jud nodded and scurried to do as he was bid. That was something Ross could get used to happening, but he definitely was not going to pin his hopes on it. Over twenty years of dealing with the Painters had taught him to keep his expectations low. He grabbed two bottles of water from the refrigerator before heading up the back steps.

He knocked on the door before opening it to find Demelza perched in the window seat, her head leaned against the glass and an open book on her lap. She would've looked like a picture out of some home decorating magazine had it been featuring a shabby country estate in disrepair. It was good to finally see her up and about, even if it was just in his bedroom.

"Ross," Demelza said, quickly putting the book aside. "You're home late tonight."

He sat the tray down on the small table situated near the fireplace. The gas logs were doing wonders in keeping the room warm on a chilly night. "I stopped off to pick up Chinese. I got your favorite - prawns in lobster sauce."

"Oh." She moved carefully as she got up. In addition to the injuries to her face and arms, he'd learned later she had suffered bruised ribs. "I might could eat something."

"Good." He dragged the rocking chair over for him to sit in while she took a seat in the tattered old gold embroidered wing back chair. "I have veg and rice as well."

Demelza set about fixing herself a plate from the offerings on the tray. He had left the bottle of wine on the table in the hallway. "You do know me well."

"Contrary to popular belief, I do pay attention."

They ate in companionable silence. Ross wolfed down his supper like he was a starving teenager while Demelza picked at her plate. He didn't comment opting to leave well enough alone. They were in new territory now and he had no bearings.

"I see Caroline has been over," he observed. It felt odd seeing feminine touches scattered throughout his room, and really drove home the fact he'd basically lived a monk's life these past few years.

"Yes," Demelza said, ducking her head a bit. "She helped me with a bath and to get dressed."

He'd noticed when he first came in that there were a couple baskets full of clean clothes sitting on the chest at the foot of the bed and there were assorted toiletries laid out on the vanity. Demelza was dressed in a deep green colored yoga pants and floral top ensemble that was surely Caroline's doing. Even her hair was pulled back in some impossibly elaborate braided something or another.

"Let me know if you want me to send her away," Ross noted. "She can be a bit much at times."

"Oh, no, Ross. She's been that kind to me. I don't know how I'll ever repay her."

"She won't expect it." If he knew Caroline, and he liked to think he did, she had all sorts of plans afoot concerning Demelza. He would have to see about quietly putting her off. There was no telling what sort of tales she was regaling Demelza with when she was over every morning.

Demelza did not look convinced. "Only if you're sure."

"Positive," he assured her, "but I do know she can be a bit much so just say the word."

"It is fine for now."

He nodded. "And Dwight? What has he had to say?"

"That the stitches will come out on Tuesday." She reached up to very carefully rub the skin around the healing gash above her eye. "I'll be glad too because it itches like the devil."

That was something he knew all too well, and had a sympathetic itch on his shoulder where he had a particularly nasty scar from a piece of hot shrapnel. "He said it will be barely noticeable once it's healed," Ross offered, anything to try to make her feel better.

"Dr Enys said it'll be a month or so before the bruises completely fade." Her voice trembled a little as she spoke.

He hated hearing that, hated knowing she'd be reminded of what a sorry excuse for father she had every time she looked in the mirror. Most of the swelling had gone down so her face was no longer misshapen, except for right around her left eye. That was where she'd suffered the most damage from Tom Carne's hands.

She put the fork down and leaned back into the depths of the chair. The plate of food had been barely touched. "What they must think!" she cried in obvious despair.

"They think nothing," Ross was quick to reassure her. He knew this outburst was coming. He just hadn't known when it would happen. Demelza had been so subdued since she'd awoken late Wednesday morning, in a stoic daze of pain, putting on a brave face whenever anyone had ventured in to see her. Dwight said it would happen once the shock had worn off.

"Caroline's so proper and elegant and b-beautiful, and I'm n-not," Demelza gasped through a flood of tears. "I'm the sort whose father...d-does this to them! S-she must t-think…I'm, I'm so n-not any of those things!"

He was at her side before he even realized what he was doing, and pulled her from the chair to envelope her in his arms. She clung to him as great sobs wracked her, crying out all of her fear and pain into his chest. He kissed the top of her head and let her have it out until she was nearly spent. "Demelza," he said gently, dropping his voice low, "I promise you she thinks no such thing. Dwight either for that matter."

"Your father," she faltered.

"Is greatly concerned for your welfare." He managed to retrieve a napkin from the table for her to dry her eyes. "Is that better?"

She nodded and laid her head against his chest as he continued to just hold her, and he could feel some of the tension in her starting to let go. "I-I didn't want to meet him this way."

"It's not what I had planned either, but you're here and that is all that matters," Ross told her, and it was true. The only thing that mattered was she was now at his ancestral home. It just seemed right, no matter the circumstance.

"And you," she spoke in a whisper, pulling herself away from him and keeping her eyes downcast, "what you must think of me."

Ross could only watch as she moved to put space between them, going to stand by the fireplace. "I think a lot of things," he started, trying to gather his thoughts. There was so much he wanted to say, butwhere to start escaped him. His feelings were complicated by his past history with Elizabeth. This could be the most important conversation of his life and he did not want to fuck it up.

"All of it good?" she queried, rallying enough to look up and offer him a half-smile. "I hope."

"Most of it," he offered, trying very hard to tamp down the urge to spill every thought and feeling he'd had since the first moment he'd seen her. The very last thing he wanted to do was frighten her off.

The smile fell from her face. "Oh."

"Why didn't you tell me your father was ringing you?" The question burst out of him before he could stop it; the hurt and anger and fear of the past few days came bubbling to the surface to overwhelm everything else. He had to put his hand on the back of the chair to steady himself.

"I don't know," she answered. "At first, I could scarcely believe it was him."

"Then?" he demanded to know.

A few tears coursed down her cheeks as a shudder passed through her. "Then he cornered me at the market, wanting money. I gave him what I had and hoped that would be the end of it."

"But he kept coming back didn't he?" Ross gripped the worn brocade of the chair hard, white hot anger was causing his blood to boil. Tom Carne had better pray to God that the police found him first.

"Yes," Demelza quavered.

"How long?"

She stole a glance at him. "Near on a week."

"Did he lay a hand on you before the other night?" he asked more calmly than he felt. Her silence was all he needed to know the answer. "Why didn't you tell me, Demelza?"

"What could you've done?"

He was next to her right then, crowding her a bit back against the wooden mantle so she could feel his presence. "I could've prevented this," Ross said simply, brushing his fingers very gently across the bruised apple of her cheek. She leaned a little into his touch, her eyes closing and lips parting slightly.

"How, Ross?" she breathed.

He lightly dragged his thumb across her bottom lip, and he could feel her suck in a deep breath as he leaned his head down, pressing his forehead to hers and closing his eyes. Her hands were on his chest, fingers seeking purchase in the cotton of his shirt. "I cannot stand seeing you hurt," he confessed.

"I'll mend."

"It makes me want to commit violence."

"Noton my behalf, Ross, please," she pleaded softly, her fingers tightening their grip. "Not for me."

"Demelza." His heart was pounding in his chest; she could surely feel it. The things this woman did to him. She drove him to distraction. Made it impossible to think of anything but her. She was consuming him body and soul and he was helpless to put a stop to it mostly because he didn't want it to stop. He would forever be her humble servant if she'd just ask.

A sharp rap at the door caused them both to jump, the spell binding them together suddenly shattered in a million pieces. "Mr Ross, I've come to take the tray," Prudie called from the other side of the door.

Ross jerked his head up, suddenly aware of his surroundings, eyes widening as realization of what he'd almost done crept up on him. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, pulling away from her. He could not believe that he'd had her nearly pinned against the wall. What the hell was he thinking?

"Don't be." She reluctantly released him, giving him a lingering look with luminous blue eyes that made his heart stutter a beat, before slipping away to go neaten the remnants of their dinner on the tray. "You can come in, Prudie," Demelza announced.

The caretaker slipped into the room, casting shifty glances their way. There was little doubt she was sent on a reccointer by his father with a full report expected upon her return to the kitchen. "Will you be wantin' an'thin' else?"

"No," Ross hastily said, sounding more harsh than intended. He just wanted Prudie gone, and watched her with narrowed eyes until she'd trundled out of sight and shut the door behind her.

It looked like Demelza wanted to say something, but she thought better of it. He knew his mood had suddenly turned sour, but it had nothing to do with her and everything to do with his nosy father. Explaining it to her was going to be difficult without making the situation worse than it already was.

"I should allow you to go to bed," he said, giving himself the perfect out, and hopefully she'd take the hint. "It's getting late. I'm sure you're tired and probably hurting."

"I am a little," Demelza conceded, going over to ease herself down on the side of the bed near where several pill bottles sat on the nightstand. "My side is starting to ache again."

A frown tugged at his face. He knew well how painful bruised ribs could be for weeks on end, having suffered on numerous occasions throughout his life due to periodic bouts of stupidity. "It will take a while for those to heal. Trust me, I know."

She threw back the tablets with a chaser of water from the bottle on the table before slipping her feet out of the gray fuzzy clog slippers Caroline had no doubt supplied. "It hurts if I breathe too deep."

He came to stand at the foot of the bed a safe distance away. "That it does, and God help you if you laugh or cough."

"Dr Enys did warn me."

"I'm sure he did." He thought to leave it at that, but there was something in the look Demelza gave him that kept him from moving. The pane in the window rattled loudly in the silence. The wind blowing in off the sea was rising as the evening wore on.

"Will you stay with me for a little while longer, Ross?" Demelza asked finally. "Just until I fall asleep. Please."

It was impossible for him to say no to such a request from her. That is how he found himself laying in his bed next to Demelza, her under the covers, him atop, with his arm around her and her head cradled against his chest. She slept soundly, barely moving. He slipped out of the room sometime just as dawn was breaking over the horizon to try to catch a few hours of sleep in the narrow bed in his old bedroom down the hallway.

"Your cat's very pretty." Demelza was standing in the doorway of the sitting room. It was the first time she'd ventured beyond the second floor since she'd arrived at Nampara. "What's her name?"

Ross was startled awake at the sound of her voice, having dozed off after not getting much sleep the previous night. His laptop nearly met its maker, but he managed to catch it before it landed on the stone floor. The threadbare red Turkish carpet would've done little to cushion the blow. "Demelza!"

His father lit up like a Christmas tree, straightening up in his seat and beaming a grin at her. "Demelza, my dear!"

"This is my father," Ross said, getting up to extend a hand to her. She looked painfully unsure and he wanted to give her all the moral support he could. "He doesn't bite, I promise. Father, this is Demelza."

"Mr Poldark." She gripped Ross's fingers with a strength he didn't realize she had as she came to stand in front of his father with him. He knew she was very self-conscious about the circumstances that brought her to this moment, and wished like hell things could have been different.

"Joshua, my dear, call me Joshua," the old man insisted, smiling as he held up the moggy for Demelza's inspection. "I'm so delighted to finally meet you and so is Tabitha Bethia. Aren't we Tabby?" The brindled cat meowed her greeting and offered her head up pets.

Ross held his breath when she reached to put a hand on the seemingly friendly cat, but he knew better and had the scars to prove it. Tabby could be rather possessive and territorial. He knew in his heart that wherever there was a definition written about evil cats there would be a picture of Tabitha Bethia next to it.

"You're a lovely, girl, aren't you?" Demelza cooed, relaxing a bit as she gave the now purring cat ear scritches. Apparently she was some sort of animal whisperer. It only made sense.

"She likes you," Joshua said approvingly with a nod. "Tabby's a very good judge of character."

"Is there anyone she doesn't like?" she asked, reluctantly giving up the cat worshipping to take a seat in the chair next to his father.

"Ross," Joshua chuckled, a deep, rich sound that had long been absent. "She doesn't like Ross."

"Ungrateful, evil cat," Ross mumbled none too quietly, giving his arch nemesis the side-eye and he would have sworn on the Bible that Tabby smirked back at him.

He then had to recount the story of him finding a nearly starved, filthy, tiny ball of fur on Hendrawna Beach all alone and crying pitifully. How he had to chase it over the rocks until he finally got her cornered, and how she drew blood when he tried to scoop her up. He brought her home to give to his father who nursed her back to health. That was just before he left for his first deployment.

There had been no need to be concerned about how the meeting between the two most important people in life would go. His father's natural ability to put any woman at ease worked to his advantage with Demelza. Any nervousness she'd felt upon first coming downstairs was completely gone now as they chatted about inane things. Ross could see peeks of the Demelza he knew only a week ago and was afraid he'd lost after this business with her father.

What was turning out to be a lovely Saturday afternoon had taken a bit of a turn when Prudie came in bearing a tray of tea. There on one of his mother's Old Country Rose Royal Albert china plates was a pile of orange and cranberry scones baked that morning by Jinny. Ross was pretty sure he could use those things to patch the stone fencing out front. Demelza, the polite soul that she was, managed to down most of a scone with the aid of lots of cream and jam with a tea chaser. He had never realized just how bad the food situation was at home until he'd met someone who could actually cook.

"We usually watch a film on Saturday afternoons when Ross's home," his father answered when Demelza had asked him what he liked to do.

"Papa," Ross groaned, "maybe she doesn't want to look at an old film." To be honest he was starting to get a bit jealous of how much his father had taken to Demelza in the scant few hours he'd known her, being an exceptionally pretty redhead probably swayed things a good bit in her favor. It took every ounce of his willpower not to glare at the pair of them.

"I love old films!" Demelza chipped in, smiling as much as the healing split lip would allow.

Joshua reached over to pat her hand, beaming himself. "That settles that then. You're our guest so you may have your pick. What would you like to watch, my dear?"

"Casablanca is one of my favorites," she answered immediately. "It's all terribly romantic and heartbreaking. I love it!"

His father just smiled that knowing smile, the one that got under Ross's skin since he was old enough to understand. "The lady has excellent taste. What is your favorite part?"

"Oh, it's silly, really," she answered half-giggling, "but when Ilsa confronts Rick in the deserted cafe and this random chair in the background falls over for no apparent reason. It's hardly noticeable because it's nearly off screen, but if you pay attention it's there! I don't know why, but it's always struck me as amusing. This deadly serious scene and a chair falls over."

Despite the fact he'd seen Casablanca enough times he could practically recite the dialog word for word, it had been his mother's favorite film after all, Ross could not recall ever noticing a chair fall over at any point ever.

"What keen eyes you have," Joshua said approvingly, and bestowing her with a warm smile. "My Gracie had taken notice of that as well. I'd taken her to a classic film festival in Truro to see it when I was trying to impress her early on."

Ross glanced at his father, trying to figure out where this conversation was going. Joshua rarely spoke of his long dead wife. "I didn't know you'd taken her to see it. Just that it was her favorite."

"It was the third time I'd taken her out," he continued on. "All of her mates were against her seeing me, and they were probably right, but I was determined to prove myself. I had a bit of a reputation back then, you see."

"A bit?" Ross snorted. He'd lived his entire life hearing about his father's notorious escapades. It was a favorite topic of discussion at family holidays when Uncle Charles was around. Of course, since the fracture between the two branches of the Poldark family there had been much less of that in recent years.

"Gracie redeemed me," his father said softly. "She was an amazing woman, your mother."

He could picture his mother if he closed his eyes, see her in the fancy kitchen his father had installed at Nampara just for her as a wedding present. She always wore a cheerful and colorful apron with flowers all over it so her clothes wouldn't get flour on them. His younger brother Claude Anthony would sit on the stool next to the table as she worked on whatever she was going to bake, and pretended she didn't see him and his brother licking the bowl when she turned to put the tin in the oven. "I know," Ross said.

The expression on Demelza's face was unreadable. "How did you meet, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Gracie was the prettiest girl at the fair, naturally," Joshua said with a rueful smile. "I went right up to her and told her so."

"Of course you did," Ross said dryly, managing somehow to keep the eyeroll to a minimum.

"Her boyfriend at the time was not impressed in the least."

"I suspect not!" Demelza snorted a laugh, and immediately wrapped her arms around her sides as her mirth morphed into a small yelp of pain. "Owwwww."

Ross was across the small space in three steps to crouch down in front of her, ignoring his own pain at making his bad knee bend in ways it really would rather not. "Take slow shallow breaths. The pain will ease off in a moment or two." He explained Demelza's predicament with the bruised ribs to his father as the older man watched on with great concern.

"I promise not to make you laugh again, my dear," Joshua swore, reaching over to take her hand and give it a gentle squeeze once the worst had passed. "I apologize."

"Not your fault," she assured him, giving them both a brave smile, and her eyes lingering on Ross. "I'm fine now. As you were saying, Grace's boyfriend was not impressed."

"Pray continue, Papa," Ross said, using the arms of her seat to brace himself on as he straightened up and returned to his place on the sofa, absently rubbing his knee. "I've never heard this story before."

"He was a Tregirls from Redruth, not near good enough for her and I said as much right in front of him."

"You did not!" Demelza exclaimed, hanging on his every word. Ross thought she was the most adorable thing he'd ever seen.

"I did just that," his father said with a nod. "The upstart thought he would challenge me to a fight in the car park. My brother Charles and his wife were mortified. Stodgy old coot he was, even then."

"Some things never change," Ross chimed in, more than sharing his father's opinion of Charles Poldark. If there was ever a killjoy, his uncle was the embodiment, being the boisterous, sour, negative human being that he was.

Demelza giggled. "Did he try to stop you?"

"Of course, he did," Joshua said jovially, "but I didn't pay any mind to his bloviating. I had to win the heart of the woman who had just stolen mine."

"And you did just that," she chirped, startling Tabby who had taken up residence in her lap at some point. Demelza soothed the slinky feline with soft coos and ear scritches.

Joshua fell silent for a few moments, lost in his thoughts. "That I did. We married quickly. We knew there would never be another for either of us."

That much Ross had known. His father had married his mother within weeks of her turning eighteen despite the vehement opposition from both families. Uncle Charles had always viewed his mother as a gold-digging social climber and could barely contain his contempt of her. He was sure she was just out to get her claws in the Poldark family fortune, and made sure that bit of information was known to any and all. That was the beginning of the wedge between the brothers that persisted and worsened over the years to the point they barely acknowledged each other.

"You must miss her terribly," Demelza said quietly, reaching out to put a comforting hand on the older man's arm.

His father's dark eyes grew watery. "Not a day goes by that I do not think of her."

"I would be almost afraid to love someone so much." She wasn't in a much better state herself with tears brimming in her blue eyes.

Joshua said, looking past Demelza and straight at Ross, "We must get past our fears of hurt and rejection, for those are just a fact of living, in order to experience the truest of loves."

Demelza dabbed carefully at her eyes with the handkerchief his father had somehow managed to produce from the pockets of his cardigan. "You did, didn't you?"

"Yes, my dear, for about a dozen years. There is no gain without substantial risk. Gracie was the only woman who has ever truly mattered in my life. I was at peace when I was married to her."

"I wish I could've known her," Demelza said wistfully. "She sounds like a remarkable woman."

"She had to be to put up with the likes of me," Joshua told her, "but a part of her is still here in Ross. He's much like her in many ways, but he does have my wild streak in him when the mood strikes just right."

Ross found himself having to swallow hard to hold back his emotions. Not once in his life could he remember hearing his father speak of his mother in such a way. Her sudden death had left his father barely able to function. It was he who had been left to console his six year old brother. So his mother was always a topic that he was afraid to broach with his father, especially as a ten year old boy who needed him so very much in that moment, so they each grieved her in silence. Claude Anthony's illness and death barely a year later had served to only widen the gulf between them. Much of his actual raising had been left to Jud and Prudie after that. As a teenager, he resented his father for all the women who had followed, none lasting longer than a few weeks at best, and never entertained at Nampara. But now, as an adult, with time and experience, he could see none of those women had ever held a candle to his mother. They were just a temporary bandage to cover a gaping wound that would never heal.

All of this talk made Ross think he needed to reevaluate his continued attachment to Elizabeth. Had he ever truly loved her in such a fashion? He'd definitely had thought so once upon a time, but now he was not so sure. There was no question that he was thrown out of orbit when she jettisoned him from her life. It left a black hole in the center of his chest that had yet to close. But was it the loss of Elizabeth herself or the grievous wound to his pride that had caused it?

He surfaced from his ruminations to hear his father going on about the time he tried to sneak some sweets from the tin his mother kept on a high shelf in the kitchen. Ross being the taller of the two, depended on his baby brother to hold the ancient three-legged stool in the kitchen while he reached for the purloined stash. Needless to say things did not go to plan, and both boys ended up on the floor covered in the contents of the flour box much to their mother's consternation.

"Papa," Ross interjected before his father could launch into any more tales of his youthful escapades.

"Oh, hush, Ross," Joshua chided him. "I won't spill all of your dirty little secrets...yet."

Demelza just smiled. "I hope to have such a happy marriage and homelife someday."

"You're young yet, lovey dove," his father said warmly, taking up her hand and kissing it before continuing on while giving Ross a very pointed look, "and very beautiful with a good heart and a kind soul. Someday you will find a man worthy of you. Settle for nothing less than you deserve."

"I won't," she assured Joshua.

Ross didn't miss the furtive glance she gave him as she made her promise.

"You shouldn't really shouldn't indulge my father like you did yesterday," Ross said, stepping fully into the library so she wouldn't catch him watching her. It was early on Sunday morning, the bright winter sun streaming through the windows bathed the usually dark room in warm light. She had been up for a while already. There were fresh cinnamon streusel muffins in the kitchen.

"I like your father," she countered, turning from perusing the shelves to give him a soft smile.

"He's on his best behavior, I assure you. He doesn't want to frighten you off." Ross neatened up a pile of papers on his desk as he spoke, not really sure why he bothered. The room was cozy and dark, cluttered with keepsakes and knick-knacks from the various Poldarks who'd occupied the house over its existence. It was his favorite spot in the entire house, and had been so since he was a young boy and played with his Legos under the desk as his father worked.

She lowered her head, but he could still see the coloring rising on her cheeks beneath the bruises that were starting to fade. "He won't."

"Promise?" Ross couldn't help asking her.

"Cross my heart," she told him while making the actual gesture.

He closed the space between them in a few strides to stand with her near the shelf of leather bound books that dated as far back as the mid-1700s. "Lemme see," he said softly, tipping her chin up with a finger. Her breath quickened as he examined the vestiges of the damage done to her face. The deep, angry violets and blacks were starting to fade into the splotchy, sickly greenish tinged yellows of slow healing deep bruises.

Demelza withstood his examination quietly, her eyes closing and he could feel her pulse fluttering. "Dr Eyns said it'll look worse before it gets better."

"Dwight was over this morning?" That surprised him. He usually knew when Dwight would be over.

She ducked away from him, turning her attention to a glass display case on the wall that held a mounted tomahawk and knife. "Yes. He rang early to say he wanted to check on me since he didn't see me yesterday and he would be over this way."

"Dwight's a good man."

"I like him. Caroline, too."

Ross could only repress a smirk. She hadn't met the real Mrs Penvenen-Enys yet. "Caroline...is Caroline."

"I like her just the same."

"Those are souvenirs from the Revolutionary War," he explained, getting her attention off of his friends and on to much safer topics. "An ancestor by the name of Ross joined the British Army after his father bought him a commission to escape the noose. Apparently he enjoyed brawling and wrecking a little too much. He ended up in the Colonies for three years or so. I'm named for him apparently. He was a bit of a black sheep."

"He made it home if these are here," she said, running her fingers along the glass.

"That he did," Ross agreed. "He went on to have a scandalous marriage, opened two copper mines, was a MP for a good many years, all before dying at a ripe old age."

"A scandalous marriage, you say?" Demelza asked with feigned shock. "Those seem to run in the family."

He had to laugh at that because it was true. "This particular scandal was because he married his very young kitchen maid. By all accounts they had a long, happy marriage and produced four living children."

She continued to move around the room, taking in all the things to see and touch and pick up. He followed her around like a puppy. "You seem to know a lot about your family history," she said as she made her way to the long table that was behind the old, worn, brown leather sofa that faced the fireplace. It was full of framed family pictures.

"It's the curse of being from a family with a long, complicated, and sometimes tragic history."

"Oh my God!" Demelza gasped, having discovered the framed photo of him in his desert fatigues and wearing dark sunglasses, standing in front of an American Apache attack helicopter with an automatic rifle pointed down in his hands. He remembered vividly when that picture had been taken three days after his arrival in the Kandahar Safe Zone. If he closed his eyes, he could still smell the dry heat of the desert air. His father had been inordinately proud of him. "Your hair! It's sooooooo short!"

"Yeah, well, that's what happens when you join the military," Ross responded, suddenly feeling very bashful that she was looking through these moments of his life that meant so much to him. "You don't get much choice in haircuts."

She looked at him over carefully before returning to examine the photograph. "You were so young."

"My first deployment," he said, answering the question before she could ask it. "I was probably about your age. I was fresh out of university."

"What made you join?" she inquired. "Not escaping the noose were you?"

"No, thankfully. I thought I had wanted to get out of Cornwall." Honesty was the best policy when it came to Demelza. She always peppered him with enough questions to ferret out the truth eventually so it was just best to get right to it.

She pondered on that bit of information for a few moments. "But you didn't really, did you?"

"No," Ross admitted, "I did not. It's in my blood apparently."

"I don't think I've ever seen you completely clean shaven," she continued on, "and this was before you had the scar."

"That came a few years later," he said, a rush of chaotic fragmented memories of explosions, screaming, scorching metal, and dust, so much fucking dust billowing in the sulfer tinged oppressive hot air came flooding back to him. He had to put a hand on the table to steady himself. Most of the time he could lock those memories away, but standing there with Demelza in his private sanctuary, talking about those things, all of his defences disappeared. He did not like feeling that exposed.

"It was terrible wasn't it?"

"More than I have words to explain," he answered simply.

She carefully placed the picture back in its spot on the table before turning to him and putting her hand on his chest, over his thudding heart. "Maybe one day you'll find them enough to tell me."

"I don't know." He couldn't make that promise, not even to Demelza. There were just some things that were beyond words.

"That's alright too," she said softly.

The sound of Jud and Prudie muffled arguing in the kitchen broke the silence of the house and brought Ross back to the here and now. He cleared his throat and Demelza reluctantly withdrew her hand and moved away to give him some distance.

"Do they always get on like a house of fire?" she asked with a little chuckle.

Ross snorted, embarrassed by the goings on in the household. What Demelza must think of him. "The picture of marital bliss."

She returned her attention to the display of pictures, and picked up one, smiling to herself as she ran her finger over the images beneath the glass of him as a very young boy with his mother in the front garden that was bursting with summertime flowers of every kind. "You favor her, you know," she observed, "but you've your father's eyes. His coloring too. I like him loads, your father. He's very sweet."

Ross huffed a little when a little flare of jealousy stabbed him. "Of course you do."

"Your mother was beautiful."

"She was." He knew the picture she was holding did not do her justice. It failed to capture the richness of her curly, deeply auburn hair or the dusting of freckles across her alabaster skin. Her warm smile was what he missed the most about his mother for it made everything in the world alright because she was happy. Ross felt that sometimes now when Demelza gave him one of her beaming smiles.

"How well do you remember her?"

"I was nearly eleven." The keen sense of loss that seized him took him by surprise. He hadn't felt that way in years, and he wanted more than anything to be able to introduce his mother to Demelza right then. Ross was beginning to believe they were kindred souls and would have enjoyed one another's company immensely.

She returned the picture and picked up another, this time of Ross and his brother on a beach in Greece during their last family holiday together. Claude Anthony had been afraid of the crabs after somehow managing to get himself pinched by a particularly ornery one. Ross had laughed and laughed every time his brother ran screaming from the surf and he could remember his mother scolding him for being mean.

"I don't remember my mother very well," she began after a long few moments of silence. "I was eight. All I can really remember was it was very chaotic and loud, crowded and messy, and never having enough of anything. There were so many babies, all one right after the other. My mother was always too busy to pay me much mind other than to put me to work washing dishes as soon as I was tall enough to reach the sink or folding the mountains of laundry that was constantly piled up. It got much worse after she died. Father was drunk all of the time and in such a rage. There was no pleasing him, no matter how hard I tried. I just gave up after a while."

He couldn't even begin to imagine what that must have been like. No matter how bad things got, his father made sure Ross was well taken care of. "Do you know where any of your brothers are beyond Drake?"

"Not really. I've heard things like Sam is in seminary school in the north somewhere, the others I don't know."

He placed his hand atop hers to lend whatever measure of comfort he could. They had somehow ended up seated on the sofa during the course of talking. "It must be hard, the not knowing."

"It is," Demelza agreed. There was a far away look in her eyes that made him want to gather her in his arms and protect her from all of the hardships of the world. "There was no way we could've been kept together because there were so many of us, and we were a feral lot."

"You turned out alright, though, despite it all."

"That was because of Vicar Sholl," she said with true affection. "He took me and Drake in after we had bounced around different foster homes. He was quite old, and retired from the church and lived in a little cottage on the outskirts of Illugan. He was stern, but fair, and had a very keen sense of how young people should comport themselves. Still being a bit feral, it took awhile for me to come around."

Ross had to laugh at that. "My father was the direct opposite."

"I can see that, and you turned out despite his best efforts."

"Barely," he snorted. "It took a stint in the army to finally set me on the straight and narrow."

She laced their fingers together while looking at their hands in her lap. "I'm very glad it did."

"Me too."

They talked late into the morning until hunger had driven them into the kitchen. He learned that it was thanks to Vicar Sholl that Demelza grew to love gardening. It was one of his hobbies, and from there cooking the things he'd grown. She'd shown interest and he'd encouraged her to learn. They went to the library once a week to look for new recipes to try. When Drake had started to show an aptitude for math, the vicar had contacted a former parishioner to be his tutor. The only time they truly butted heads was Demelza's resistance to the good word, much preferring to rely on what she felt in her heart than something written in some old book. Drake had taken to it though.

"The vicar was a good man," Demelza told him over a steaming cup of tea. "He told me when I first came to the cottage that I had a choice to make. I could either allow my anger with my father to define me, or I could use the experience to choose another path and make something of myself. It was up to me because no one else could make that decision."

Ross just nodded, very glad she was shown kindness in her darkest hour. "I wish I'd had someone to tell me that when I needed to hear it the most. I had to learn that lesson in the most difficult way possible."

"You managed pretty well." She quirked an eyebrow at him when he went for a second muffin, but didn't comment.

"So did you," he assured her, nudging his knee against hers beneath the table and earned a smile in return.

Demelza turned serious again with a heavy sigh. "I just wish I could rid myself of my father for good. I'm so afraid he will drag me back down with him."

"I won't let him," Ross vowed, and he meant it. He would do everything in his power to see that sorry son-of-a-bitch never laid another finger on his daughter.

She left him on his own not long after to go have a lie down, pleading a headache, and he retreated back to the library to reflect on all that had been said between them the past few days. It made him wonder what might have happened had he met Demelza early on. Would he have been as taken with her as he was now? Or would he have still been too full of himself to have noticed her? She wasn't beautiful in the conventional sense as Elizabeth with her cool almost regal perfection, but little beyond that to offer. He had been so taken with the idea of her that he'd failed to see the true Elizabeth for the longest time. With Demelza it was different, she was much more earthy, and warmth from within made her beautiful. He was drawn to her in so many ways - heart, mind, and soul - that it felt impossible he'd only known for a few months when it actually felt like a lifetime.

In the here and now, if he had to make a choice, he knew which of the two he found more appealing.

"Papa, is everything alright?" Ross questioned, suddenly very concerned. It was Wednesday afternoon and Wednesday afternoons were never frantic or exciting. He couldn't remember the last time his father had voluntarily left the house - yet there he was scurrying across the rutted side yard, barely using his walker, to greet him before Ross could get out of the car. "Did something happen?

"Yes," Joshua insisted, his panting breath creating white clouds in the cold air, "something happened with Demelza."

The knot of fear in the pit of his stomach twisted tighter, making him feel nauseated. "Is she alright?" he asked, grabbing his laptop bag and cane, ready to make haste if need be.

"Fine, she's fine," the old man was quick to answer. "Dwight and Caroline have both been over to see her today."

Ross nodded, able to take a deep breath again before another sort of panic set in. He ran a shaky hand through his messy dark curls. "What did you do?"

"Me?" his father queried in feigned innocence, a hand over his heart. "Absolutely nothing."

"Why don't I believe you?" He narrowed his eyes, not sure where this was going and how frightened he should actually be. There was no telling when leaving that lot on their own.

"Your Demelza is a lovely young woman."

He groaned. "Father."

"Pretty too." Joshua flashed him a very cheeky smile.

"Jesus God."

"No worries, son, I didn't embarrass you," Joshua teased with a laugh, "at least not too much."

"I repeat: what did you do?" Ross asked, exasperated. This new, almost playful, side of his father perplexed him. He could barely remember a time when his father was this lively. There were glimpses of it when Caroline was there, but it seems to have become a permanent state of existence since the weekend.

"Well," his father drew out the word, looking sheepish, "I did introduce her to Van Morrison this afternoon."

It could have been worse. At least his father had decent taste in music. "Which album?"

"Astral Weeks."

"I don't know if I would have started with that one. She really likes bluegrass and folk."

"She liked it."

"How about 'Moondance'?" He was almost sure he knew the answer already, but he had to ask. That song held very special meaning, being his parents' favorite song. Some of his happiest memories were of his father and mother dancing around the sitting room while the stereo blared. It wasn't until he was much older that he realized it was a song about seduction.

Joshua gave him a wink. "I thought I'd leave that particular one to you."

"How thoughtful," Ross groused. They had made it as far as the side door. "Now, back to the actual matter at hand, what else have you done?"

"I don't know why you're always accusing me of being up to no good," his father grumbled.

"Experience," Ross deadpanned.

"Hrmph."

"Out with it."

"Fine," the older of the two huffed. "You cannot allow Demelza to leave."

Ross blinked, confused by the sudden turn of the conversation. "What?"

"I said," Joshua started again, enunciating each word clearly, "you simply cannot allow Demelza to leave Nampara."

"What are you going on about?" Ross scrubbed a hand over his tired eyes. There had been some discussion about Demelza returning to her flat in Truro once Dwight gave her the all clear, and to be honest, he was dreading for that day to come. He'd grown to like her being in his home.

"She made fish and chips for lunch, son," his father rhapsodized.

"Fish and chips?" he asked in utter disbelief. The old man had completely gone around the bend. There was no other explanation for the tête-à-tête he found himself mired in.

"Yes, that's what I said: fish and chips," Joshua continued. "Not that frozen shite Prudie puts on the table, but honest to God fish and chips from real fish and real potatoes cooked in our kitchen. Better than any chippy."

The little spot between Ross's eyes began to throb with the makings of a vicious headache. He was going to need a drink by the time he made it inside of the house. "Let me get this straight, you want me to keep Demelza from returning home because she made you fresh fish and chips for lunch?"

Joshua growled in frustration. "Are you not listening to me, boy?"

"I am," Ross countered, bristling a little being called 'boy'. It was one of his biggest pet peeves, and his father knew it and used it for tactical advantage. "I'm just trying to comprehend."

"It's not difficult. Keep up! She's in there making something called mushroom burgers for dinner."

"Alright." He wondered idly if his father realized that these mushroom burgers were probably going to be meatless, knowing Demelza as he did. If there was one thing he truly abhorred it was the trend towards healthy eating and vegetarian cuisine. He loved his pasties entirely too much. Ross had gotten over that particular affliction not long after meeting Demelza since it had been an eat or go hungry sort of situation. It would be amusing to see her pull that one on the old man.

"Did I mention there's a tart too?"

Ross just looked at his father. Of course, there would be tart. Why wouldn't there be? "What kind?"

"An honest to God Bakewell tart! From scratch!"

As if there was any other way with Demelza in the kitchen, but Ross had to remind himself that his father had not been treated to the life-altering experience that was her cooking before today. "Wait, we had all of the stuff to make that?" he asked, his mind trying to process the overload of information with the reality of what he knew to be his life.

Joshua growled, growing visibly agitated with him. "She made a list and sent Prudie to the shop with very strict instructions. Then marshalled Jinny about, making proper scones."

"Where are we going, and why are we in this handbasket?" Ross asked mostly to be cheeky, but also because he really wanted to know if he truly was on a one way descent into Hell because it sure felt like it.

"Are you going to make me say it outright, boy?"

"I think that would be for the best."

"You need to marry her," Joshua said rather boldly, nodding as he spoke the words.

Not often in his life had Ross been rendered completely speechless, but there he was, standing on the threshold with his father yammering at him, and unable to come up with a single word to adequately express the surreal turn his afternoon had just taken.

The old man jabbed hard in the side with a surprisingly sharp elbow. "Did you hear me?" he asked.

Ross, still reeling, managed to answer with a simple "yes."

"If you don't marry that woman, and do it soon," his father warned, dead serious, "I will marry her myself."