He'd always regret the circumstances in life which had caused him to propose marriage to her in the manner that he did.
To be fair, it had lacked much of the transactional structure which would have followed proposal to a woman of noble birth. There was no closed door discussion about dowry, no talk of an exchange of funds to another man for the hand of his young bride. No, in that regard it was not so contractual as all of that.
But it did reek of obligation, lacked any of the pomp, circumstance or even affection that one might expect when a man asked a woman to spend her life with him.
It was hardly a proposal at all, if truth be told. In the style that so often cursed his interactions, it was delivered very much like an order, the tone allowed for little in the way of disagreement. There was no sentiment, no terms of endearment, no presentation of flowers nor payment of compliments.
"You're right. You can no longer be my servant. We shall be married at once. I must meet with Odgers presently to make the appropriate arrangements."
Demelza, having not received formal training in etiquette, had never learned to school her features against strong emotion before their union. The heartbreak that surged upon her fine face at these words was enough to cause regret to lurch in his gut. Her lips trembled to hold back a cry, her blue green eyes grew glassy with tears and she looked sharply down in an attempt to hide what she had not restrained. This. This is what she had been running from. She had fled to avoid becoming a burden of duty.
Ross, never talented in the art of prose, was ill prepared to remedy the hurt he had caused. It's not that he wasn't fond of her- of course he was. She was witty, in a way, and beautiful in an exotic manner, and exceedingly kind. She lacked much of what he disliked in noble women- a liking for frivolous spending, lack of purpose, and a talent for being disingenuous. She had begun to walk back towards Nampara, defeat weighing down her shoulders. "No, Demelza-" he stopped abruptly, hearing perhaps for the first time, the command in his voice. In a deliberately softened tone he said, "Demelza, please, ride back with me. You've been away all day, you must be weary."
The only answer she gave was a press of her lips and a slight incline of her chin. He drew the reins further up Darkie's neck and tapped at her ribs with his heels so that the midpoint of her saddle was even with Demelza's body. He slipped his foot out of the stirrup nearest the kitchen maid, leant over and offered his right hand to Demelza's left, palm up. She seemed to stare at Darkie's front hooves for a moment before nodding once to herself, exhaling gently, and meeting his gaze. Her eyes, always somewhat reminiscent of the Cornwall coast due to their changeable blue-green colour, were even more so with the added sheen of her grief. Nevertheless, she took his hand, reached for the saddle horn, stepped into the stirrup, and allowed Ross to pull her into the saddle before him.
And that was it. A few poorly worded sentences, an offer of a ride on horseback, and the stench of "not from choice, sir" lingering between them.
To be clear, he did not regret the Original Sin that had started the ball rolling- no matter what the Book or Priest had to say about it. But everything that had followed?
He regretted allowing Elizabeth's judgmental comments and disapproving eyes to upset Demelza and strike disquiet in his mind. Regretted the distance he put between he and Demelza the day following their night together that led her to think that running away was the only option left to her. (The panic he felt when he'd called and she'd not answered was enough to send him flying down the road to Sawle on Darkie).
He was lonely, he'd admit. And Demelza had eased some of that, long before he had begun to notice the woman she had blossomed into.
And the threat of her having gone from his house for good was enough to spur him into the hasty marriage, instead of doing things properly.
Not that anyone of his status would have seen it that way.
But to think that his actions had caused such doubt in Demelza as to question, for months, why he had married her. To think that the sweet titian haired girl had made his house a home, had cooked and cleaned and ploughed, and offered any support or assistance she could and looked at him like he hung the moon and stars, all the while thinking he'd never love her?
It was enough to keep him awake and haunted.
It haunted him almost as much as the thought that if he hadn't happened across her at that fair in Redruth, her life might have continued as cruelly and violently as it had been. If her father hadn't beat her to death she'd probably have been married of to some miner's son with no money and no prospects, living off the non existent good wishes of some country squire.
Her fathers ill treatment of her had set his teeth on edge as soon as she'd told him of it, before she was anything more to him than an urchin child upon which he could bestow some pity and charity.
To be sure, his own relationship with his father had never been idyllic, rife as it was with bickering and disapproval on both ends. But there was a quiet, stoic undertone to the criticism and quarreling which belied love and concern for one another. Gentlefolk rarely said what was actually on one's mind, and to Ross's mind it was to their great detriment. At any rate, no matter how bitterly he and his father clashed, his father had never raised a hand to him, not even as a boy.
So to think that Demelza had suffered lashes, beatings, starvation, and verbal abuse at the hands of the man that brought her into the world was inexcusable, urchin or no. He'd half a mind to find the man and give him a taste of his riding crop when he'd seen her back, hunched over what was likely her first full meal in weeks.
If he'd been affected then, he grew more so as his affection for her had. Most days, her prior trauma was far from his mind, as they labored the days away restoring Nampara's glory together as Master and servant. But every now and then it was brought to stark contrast in the forefront of his mind. Like the first time he had verbally castigated Jud and had issued his empty threat of a beating. Empty to everyone, that is, except for his new maid who had probably heard such phrases directly preceding unthinkable violence many times in her life. She had stumbled back towards the closest doorway, eyes wide and following Ross's every minute movement. His hands, especially she followed, as if to track at every moment how close they were to her person.
Jud, none too observant, hadn't noticed Demelza's distress, and, fully aware that Ross would do no such thing, ambled off muttering under his breath.
Ross watched Demelza recover her breath as she clutched at the door jamb, seemingly undecided if fleeing would be welcome or would invite such a threat to her as well. Ross had seen many a desperate look as this, in Virginia, on the faces of men who were desperate not to die, but somewhat resigned to the inevitability.
Ross heaved a great sigh and, attempting to put her at ease, sat at the kitchen table and clasped his hands loosely on the table where she could see them. He swallowed countless curses on the man that had instilled these reactions in her, and forced his oft neglected patience to the forefront.
"Demelza, I wish you'd come away from there, though I won't force you. Do not be afraid. I'm sorry I've frightened you. I forget myself sometimes. We Poldarks are an irritable, loud lot. I assure you, however, that you will not come to harm while you live under this roof. Not by my hands, nor anyone else's."
Her gaze alighted on the black eye and split lip which still marred his face from her father's visit days before. It seemed to do something to assure her that his words were genuine, if gruffer than he intended.
"I ain't afeared, sir. Not that. There isn't ought that could be done to me that's worse than what I've already 'ad." His mind conjured years old scars and welts only a few days old along the bony protuberance of her spine.
"Yes, I'm sure that's true. Have a glass of gin to settle yourself and leave the southernmost field for tomorrow." He said, using every fiber of his self control to keep from gritting his teeth in disgust for the likes of Tom Carne. It would do no good for his aggression toward the man to be misinterpreted by the girl.
"Gin- no sir, I be aright in a mo'. That be 'is drink sir, I'll not touch the stuff." She seemed to regain her composure slightly. Her colour had returned and her hands had fallen loosely at her sides.
"Very well. I'll head to wheal leisure then, see what's to be done. I'll go out first, shall I?"
She nodded, wiping undoubtedly sweaty palms on her apron and watching him take the other exit from the kitchen which led to the main entry. He had ridden Darkie at a hard gallop all the way to the mine in an effort to expel some of the lingering repulsion for the treatment of young Demelza.
Sixteen months on saw Demelza greatly changed. Ross's threats of horsewhipping Jud provoked only laughter from her, and a twinkling amusement in her eye. Indeed it had been months since either had been plagued by thoughts of violence.
No, his ire on the subject of her sore treatment had been absent until her accident with Darkie. The horse was uncommonly even keeled as mares went, and rarely was anything but gregarious and docile. Demelza had seen to her care regularly without the need for any assistance, even after her change in status from maid to mistress.
However, it was, only to Ross's hindsight, an egregious lack of good judgment on his part which saw him asking his wife to tend to Darkie after he had been bucked from her back. The mare had been fighting the bit and tossing her head his whole trip back to Nampara from Truro that day, but he'd chalked it up to a build up of the kind of ornery behavior that was common among mares. Still, as the journey had progressed and she continued to kick her back legs, and yank at the reins, his patience had worn thin. Nampara in sight, Ross urged her into a gallop with heels and crop, thinking to rid her of some of her defiance. No sooner was the front gate and garden visible than Darkie decided to throw her rider and finally be done with it.
Ross was a good horseman but had misread Darkie's pain for obstinance and was now paying the cost for such a mistake. She reared several times, dislodging his feet from the stirrups and, with a final kick of her hind legs, flinging Ross to the ground hard.
Demelza had been in the garden weeding and was upon them at once. Ross had rolled to the side to avoid becoming trampled under foot. "Ross!" Came her cry as she ran toward toward the gate. The exhausting ride and unintentional dismount had left Ross in a foul mood, though mostly uninjured. Truth be told, his pride was hurt more than anything, and he sorely wished no one had been around to see it, let alone his new wife.
He snatched viciously at the reins and gave a heave, forcing the mare's head lower and thusly putting an end to her tantrum.
"Damnable horse!" He cursed. Demelza said nothing, just opened the gate for him, eyes heavy with concern. It chafed at him.
"Ross, are you hurt?" She said with all the compassion that was her trademark.
"I'm fine. Tend the horse, but give her no oats. She'll not be treated for such behavior."
"Yes, Ross. And you, you be needin' tendin'? I can make you a compress and pour you a brandy when I've done." She patted Darkie's neck discretely, attempting to settle the shifting mare.
"No, Demelza, I'm fine and I'll not say it again." He marched into the house without a backward glance. Ross sat in front of the fire in the parlor, drinking heavily from his glass of brandy nearly an hour later. It came to his notice that it was nearing on 7:30 and he hadn't been called to supper, nor had he heard stirrings in the kitchen to indicate it was imminent- little Ben Carter was sick so Demelza had offered Jinny a few days off and taken the duty upon herself.
With no small amount of irritation, he arose and ignored the slight ache of his arms, back and thighs. His inspection of the kitchen found no one, nor any meal being cooked. His search of Jud and Prudie's room found them asleep with a bottle of gin between them- they had long stopped preparing his meals for which he was exceedingly glad. The master bedroom was empty, as was the library. That left only the garden or Nampara's out buildings.
Stepping out of the house, it did not take long to find the young woman.
Demelza was hunched over the pump. Her movements were somehow both slow and jerky and it was evident that something was not right. He suddenly regretted his tone and dismissal of her concern. "Demelza, what on earth have you been doing out here?" He said, though not unkindly. He tried to inject the kind of amused exasperation which was often found in their interactions. Demelza whirled, startled, and he saw her visibly wince and clutch at her left shoulder.
"Judas! You'll be waiting on your supper. I-I'll fetch 'ee somethin', right now." She attempted to straighten her posture but hardly managed it, and only by clenching her jaw against the evident pain. He stepped closer, till they were merely a foot apart.
"Never mind that, what's the matter with you?"
She opened her mouth to protest but he cut her off before she could even begin. "No, none of that. You can't stand straight and you can hardly work the pump. What's happened?" He thought to undercut the brashness of his tone (born of the greatest of concern) by brushing a lock of hair from her face with a finger.
"I'm just a bit sore, si-Ross, took a bit of a tumble while I was tending to Darkie."
Ross pulled the handle of the pump several times to fill the bucket that Demelza had started on. "Is that so?" He asked, all too aware she was lying. He picked up the bucket and held it out to her. She took it from him, though his hand lingered on the handle. Her eyes flitted to his briefly before darting away again as he withdrew his support. As soon as the full weight of the bucket rested in her hands, she cried out, dropped the bucket, and stooped with it.
"For God's sake, Demelza end the charade." He knelt down on a single knee in an attempt to catch her eye. Something beneath his breastbone clenched at the sight of her pain, and the knowledge that it had occurred as a result of his swift abandonment of her when he had stormed into the house.
"I'll tell yee but only if you promise not to be angry." She said, knuckles white and clenching at the hem of her skirt as she let out a harsh breath from between clenched teeth.
"Yes, yes, silly girl. Tell me before I die of old age."
She grimaced as she shifted from her knees to her bottom, sitting clumsily on the soil. "''Twas Darkie. I suspicioned somethin' were the matter when she kept stomping. I found a rock right between 'er shoe and 'er hoof. I had a thought if I could loosen it she might not hurt a'much, maybe she'd not act so poor for you." She wiped at her nose with the back of her hand and finally made more than fleeting eye contact with him. As always, he saw in her a terrible, undeserved kind of loyalty. "She let me pick 'er hoof up jus' fine, I reckon she knew what I was about. But as soon as d' touch that rock, she kicked fierce, like it hurt. I was standing to the side, but she kicked and I fell and the noise of it startled her. She caught me a glance on my shoulder."
Ross blinked blankly at her in disbelief. "You've been kicked by my horse. And you thought to go about your chores as if it hadn't happened?" He was at a loss. Never had he met a woman like her. Truly, he'd never met anyone quite like her- man or woman.
"Well I've near given up hope for Jud and Prudie." She said with a sniff and a half pained, half teasing smile.
Ross barked a laugh at that. "Quite." He became serious all of the sudden however, when the full implication had time to settle. "I must send for Dwight. A kick from a mare her size is not to be trifled with, come inside, I'll send Jud to fetch him."
"There ain't no need for that, Ross. You worry overmuch. She 'ardly clipped me. I'll be fit again in a day or two." Instinctually she put her hands under her to shove herself to standing. The effect was immediate as she yelped and her left elbow gave under her sudden pain.
"Nonsensical girl," he accused with little heat. He took her gently by her right elbow and helped her to stand. He used a finger to tilt her chin one way, then the other, inspecting for any injuries to her head. "You're quite sure you didn't hit your head? She didn't 'clip' your head too, did she? You stayed conscious- that is, awake and aware- the whole time?"
"I'd be shocked if anyone could sleep feeling this kind of way. My 'ead is fine, Ross, I ain't need the doctor. I ain't worth the expense." She slowly brushed soil of her skirts and smiled self consciously at Ross.
He scoffed. "Hardly true. If every household had a mistress as dedicated and efficient as you, England's population of unemployed would rise steeply." He shook his head at her, to show his disapproval that she had continued her chores after such an event. He lead her by her elbow to the trough by the pump. He pressed a hand to her good shoulder, forcing her to sit on the rim while he retrieved the bucket. He made quick work of emptying it into the trough in Darkie's stall. He came back with a disapproving scowl. "I thought I said she shouldn't be given any treats. Imagine my surprise when I see the remnants of an apple happily chewed by my abusive mare."
"You said not to give 'er oats. You said ought about apples."
"You have some nerve." Said he with no small amount of amusement, drawing her into the kitchen.
He sat her down at the kitchen table and strode to the still room where she kept her preserves and other cold foods. He retrieved butter, bread, preserves, cold ham left from breakfast and, at Demelza's suggestion, two oranges.
"T'wasn't nerve, husband. Just… oh what's the word- when you feel what another does?" She fidgeted with a piece of buttered bread.
"Empathy." He recited slowly, setting a slice of orange before her that he had just finished cutting.
"Empathy." She repeated, and he watched her mentally add it to her ever growing vocabulary. "I felt empathy with her. I know what it is to be hurt and hardly know who's a friend and who ain't- isn't." Now that she had found some equilibrium, her composure was returning and she was able to formulate her thoughts the way she had been learning since she met Ross.
He smiled encouragingly at her and passed her another orange slice, which she ate readily. Today was probably the kind which she frequently had where she forgot to eat. For all the care she put in making sure he was well, she was quick to forget her own needs.
"Yes, you do. I'm sorry for that. And for leaving you with a temperamental horse. I shan't make that mistake again."
"That's alright. I'm just glad she's not in any more pain. She's that good a horse." Her fondness graced her voice with a rich, soothing quality.
"You've refused a doctor, and I'll allow it only because you seem much recovered already. But I won't let you up those stairs until you let me examine that shoulder." His hand clutched at his tankard of ale, and the gleam in his eye told her it was pointless to argue.
"Yes, Ross." Sometimes, when she said that, he wondered if she meant more. They'd been married nigh on two months, but he could swear that sometimes the lilt of her voice, the timbre of it sounded closer to 'I love you'.
"Please don't touch it. It's rare tender."
He stood behind her while she remained seated, and she pulled back the shift that she wore below her frock. A nasty purple-black bruise the size of two of Ross's fists rested exactly above her left shoulder blade. He pulled back the shift further, revealing more of her smooth back, as if to compare. He detected some swelling in the heat of the injured flesh.
He asked her to move her left arm but she refused. So she had been putting on a brave face all night, then. It tore at him to no end to know that she was well practiced at hiding pain. Even beneath the blue of the bruise, the puckered skin of several scars was visible.
"I already checked for broken ribs in the garden, Ross. Nothing's shiftin' badly so I d' think I'll be alright." She shrugged stiffly and looked over her left shoulder at him as if to prove her point. The truth of it rended him terribly, and it occurred to him that he had never before this moment felt a sadness or anger that resembled the sensation of being bayoneted in the face.
"It is condemnable that someone as young and kind as you should know how to check for such things and, dare I say, has much practice at it." Demelza only averted her gaze and nodded. He placed a hand at the nape of her neck, guided her face to rest against his stomach, and combed his fingers through her hair soothingly. She wrapped her right arm around his waist, warmly welcoming his gentleness. "You'll not work the fields or tend the livestock for at least a fortnight, whether or not Jinny is able to return. Stick to the kitchen, or if you must, the garden. I'll brooke no argument or defiance on this matter."
Demelza, having known Ross for long enough to read his moods at this point, nodded again, and met his hazel eyes with her green-blue. "As you wish, husband."
Gratified that his concern was understood, hidden as it was in orders and surliness, he lifted her up by her waist and pressed a soft, nibbling kiss to her lips. She sighed into him, relaxing more fully, and he could tell her pain was quite forgotten at his efforts. He had half a mind to mend all her past hurts and scars in this way, but elected to save it for when she was less sore.
Still, even in a moment as tender as all that, Ross had been unable to voice the love he knew he had for her. He couldn't even identify what was stopping him from vocalizing it. It burned at him with a degree of self loathing thus unknown to him. His sweet, loving, giving Demelza deserved to feel more than an obligation, more that a bedmate for whom he had a casual affection.
And yet, even six months on, he continued to withhold the thing he knew she longed to hear most. It was pitiable to see how her eyes lit up at the smallest of changes in his behavior to her. The first time he had called her dear she had frowned at him quizzically, as if wondering if he was feverish, to be talking in such a manner. After that he endeavored to say it more often, to prove to her it hadn't been a momentary lapse.
Demelza was quite unable, it seemed, to keep from infecting every aspect of his heart, determined and stubborn as it was. The first time he'd called her darling he'd narrowly avoided falling to his knees and begging forgiveness for his neglect.
It was a couple weeks to Christmas, and he was riding home from Truro following a visit to Pascoe- as his friend, this time, not his banker. His banker already was apprised of the sorry state of his affairs.
Ross had crested a hill and his eyes had immediately caught sight of his young wife. She was, as he often found her, knelt on the ground plucking flowers with the utmost delicacy, arranging them in neat clusters of pleasing colors and shapes. He stilled his horse, hoping to admire the sight from afar for just a moment longer.
Her back was to him, but even at a distance, and without clear sight of her face, he knew the exact serene and gentle smile which graced her features. She was in her element out here, red hair blazing gloriously in the winter breeze, beckoning him to her warmth and comfort more enticingly than any hearth he'd ever seen. Her posture was relaxed, movements free. She lacked the regality she often strove for, here, in moments like these, but it made it all the more precious to him. This was the Demelza who had him besotted- not that he'd ever worded it that way to a living soul. But it was undeniable in his own mind. Demelza's natural state was one of organic, unfiltered purpose. Every move she made had function without overproduction or theatrics. She was as she appeared, there existed in her nothing covert or equivocal.
He encouraged Darkie forward with a loosening of the reins and a hearty pat to her neck. Darkie, finally allowed to approach her favorite Poldark, trotted forward amiably and a mite faster than her normal pace. The clatter of hooves on the worn path prompted Demelza to stand and turn to face him. Her nose and cheeks were kissed with pink from the frigid air, her eyes were bright and vivacious. "R-Ross! I'm that glad you're home." She called, practically dancing to meet him.
Traitor that she was, she greeted Darkie first, rubbing the mare's forehead and kissing the bridge of her long nose, clutching a handful of pink winter heath and white snowdrops.
"If only a husband could receive as warm a greeting as his livestock." Ross muttered cheekily, mouth turned up at one side in a smile he reserved for her.
"If only a wife had a husband who did not leave her overmuch and force her affections elsewhere." Demelza threw back insolently, with a wicked grin on her face.
"Fickle sparrow." He whispered an inch away from her lips, bent near in half to reach her face.
"Dour crow." She replied, meeting him blow for blow and standing on her toes. He pecked her on the lips with great familiarity, then showered the same treatment on her reddened cheeks and nose.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when her ice cold fingers landed on the thighs of his trousers and sent a shock of discomfort through his body. "Judas!" He borrowed her favorite curse. He dismounted his horse with the jauntiness of a man ten years younger, and whipped his greatcoat off his shoulders.
"Darling, you'll catch your death of cold out here, have a care!" He exclaimed as he tugged the coat about her thin frame and adjusted it so the shoulders sat squarely. He hastened to button it shut against the chill, and reached into the sleeves to find her hands amongst the over long fabric. He finally caught hold of the icy appendages and cupped them between his own gloved hands, bringing them to his mouth to blow some warmth onto them.
Demelza looked far from troubled. She looked a little awestruck, and he puzzled at what she could be thinking. He pulled her to him, pressing her body to his, and she sighed dreamily. "Say it again, Ross." She requested on a whisper.
Ross, bemused, said, "Have a care?"
She repressed a grin as if to show displeasure, but it was wholly ineffective. "No. 'Darling.' Say it again."
A lump formed in his throat. How easily she was pleased by the smallest show of affection from him. She deserved to be endlessly showered with it, deserved to have no doubts on his feelings for her. His voice, roughened with the power of his feelings, murmured back, "Darling," against her lips.
"Do you mean it, truly, Ross?"
"My dear, darling Demelza," his arms clenched reflexively around her back, drawing her closer still, "I have perhaps meant it for much longer than I have said it, but it is true all the same."
She nuzzled her face into his collar, cold nose pressing into his neck, but for once he didn't feel the sting of it.
"Say it once more, Ross. I'll never ask again."
One hand snaked up to cradle the back of her head, pressing her further into him, willing his warmth into her, as her warmth had flowed into him since the day of their meeting.
"Darling, you may ask this of me anytime you like, and I shall be most happy to oblige."
Twenty minutes later, the couple arrived back at Nampara by horseback. Ross was back in his coat, only it remained unbuttoned. He sat astride in the saddle and Demelza sat side saddle, practically in his lap, and was tucked against his chest and underneath his coat. Her hands clutched at his back beneath the thick woolen fabric, warm at last. With Ross's coat and arms around her, his chest pillowing her head she was pleasantly drifting in a half conscious state, contented.
Ross, having noticed her eyes slip shut in lazy pleasure, kissed the crown of her head and whispered, "darling girl."
Demelza was, it seemed to Ross, perhaps not the wife he would have chosen for himself, but was undeniably the only that would have ever suited. Their match grated at societal standards, but no woman that would have been deemed a fit match would have been happy with the life he could provide, nor would be able to provide him happiness. Indeed, it would have been disastrous for all parties if Ross had made an apt match, and likely would have led to more folly and scandal than wedding and bedding his young scullery maid.
A genteel wife was ill prepared to participate in hard manual labor, knew nothing of what could be done to stretch rations and shillings, could not be content to sell their home furnishings to fill the bellies of common folk.
Demelza was content with bare necessities, pleased to do what she could to assist those in need, and reveled in the exertions of one's body.
She, like he, was well liked by the tenants, and while he had a talent for stirring them to action when the need arose, she had a talent for soothing them when naught else could.
He marveled at her ability to be right where he needed her and to effect progress wherever she willed it. When food was scarce in the villages, she was baking bread and picking apples from their orchard to spread amongst them. When fields were in need of scything, she was there beside him with sleeves pushed up, matching him stride for stride.
No, a society wife would never have done. He was not in need of a decoration for his parlor, he needed a partner. A handsome and capable partner he had indeed.
Sincerely, once he had broken the seal on his spoken love for her, he found that it was all he could do to say anything else.
Even several nights past Christmas he found himself feeling effusive with love of her, pride in her, joy through her. One evening saw Ross seated on the settle near the kitchen fireplace with a glass of brandy when Demelza pranced in with Garrick at her heels. She was humming and giggling and hopping about, enticing the tatty dog to play with her. Her joy was like a spark catching at a fuse which ignited Ross. He placed his glass on the table and hastened to his wife. She caught his eye as he advanced on her, a grin about his face that seemed to shed years and burdens from him. "Ross!"
"Hello, Sparrow," he pressed a kiss to her lips. His right hand brushed her belly just above her navel and he lowered his head and whispered conspiritorily downward, "Hello, Finch. He straightened and kissed his wife again. "My love, I missed you." He said as he set his hands about her waist and spun her 180 degrees until his back was to the door instead of hers. He nudged Garrick into the hall with his leg and tugged the door shut to ensure their party stayed at two.
"Don't be silly. I was only in the garden." She chastised without any bite. Truth be told, she looked thrilled at the attention and well pleased at his affection.
"Silly? In all my life I've never been accused of something as frivolous as that." He took her left hand and ran his fingers over the spot where her wedding ring always sat.
"Well those going about accusing you of ought mustn't 'ave know you as I do." Her smile was infectious and his cheeks ached, unused as they were to such occupation.
"I should hope not!" His eyes sparked amorously, and the clutch of his fingers at her waist implied an affection of a more carnal nature.
Demelza laughed, throwing her head back, and he took the opportunity to place kisses along the length of it in the way he knew she liked. She threw her arms around his neck, drawing him toward her, reveling in his ministrations.
At length he desisted and gentled his hold of her, loosening fingers and drawing his arms more tightly around her low back, as if to lock her between his arms. Their embrace shifted from one of passion to one of great tenderness.
"You make me a very happy man, my dear." His voice was barely above a whisper, and his breath tickled at her neck.
"You only say that because I carry your heir, love." Her voice held no bitterness or doubt- no, it was equal parts fond and amused. She was teasing him. He countered nonetheless.
"No, I say it because it is so. I love you so much I feel fit to burst." His fingers snaked up and tugged at some of the copper curls that had escaped the kerchief that tied her hair up. He tugged at them gently, with one hand, rubbed her back with the other, as if to soothe her.
"Would I be asking too much to ask you to sing for me? The one from the other night, I found it quite affecting."
"''Twas the port!" She nagged, tightening her arms around his neck as if to stifle his praise. She laughed breathlessly.
"''Twas you!" He lifted her feet off the ground and spun them round once, twice. "Please, will you?" He pulled back so that his sincerity could be seen in his eyes. She ran a finger beneath both his eyes, as if to acknowledge what she saw there.
She leaned back into him, resting her chin on his shoulder, standing lightly on his toes. "We must dance, if there be music for it, Ross. It's always right to dance when there be music, else it can hardly be properly appreciated."
He moved them about their small kitchen with even, sure steps, arms tight around her to keep their balance. She sang gently in his ears of roses and longing and loving and contentment and all the things he associated with their relationship.
When the verses ended, she continued to hum the tune, happy to allow her husband to spin them around the room as late night became early morning.