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Chapter Text

How was it possible he had just done that? Ross Poldark was sitting on his bed, loosening his shirt buttons at the top, removing his boots, furious with himself. Yes, it had been a long day, yes he was angry as all hell about Jim and totally full of loathing for the classism of this world and the behavior of the upperclass that was his by birthright and not at all due to any capability or efforts of his. But none of that was an excuse for the way he treated Demelza- if anything, it should have guaranteed he would treat her more compassionately, with more consideration. But when he saw her,in that blue dress, her fiery red and gold curls caught up just so, the light of the candles and the fire… And then she was so upset and he felt so terrible and wanted nothing but to make her smile again, stop crying.

He didn’t know why exactly, but her being that upset had upset him to his core. The look in her eyes, the tears on her face, combined with his own upset- the turmoil of the day, the fear for his mine’s future, his anger over Elizabeth and Frances… the only thing for it was to pull her to him hold her and feel her mouth on his, her breath against his face. He didn’t know if he would ever understand why, but in that moment, instinctively he knew that the only possible way to help was to take her in his arms and pull her to him, trying to comfort them both.

He was a cad. He was worse than a cad, he was everything people said of him- an entitled, self-important brat who would take his pleasure where he could, not caring for norm or convention or the girl’s honor. He should simply stick to whores at the Inn from now on, rather than taking advantage of the girl’s’ innocence and kindness? This girl… no, he shouldn’t think of her as a girl, she was a woman- a fully-formed, well-proportioned, beautiful and kind-hearted woman… this woman had come to him the victim of terrible treatment and abuse, she knew nothing of kindness or gentility or men. How could he take advantage of her like that? How was he going to face her tomorrow?

More importantly, how was he going to forget how she had looked in that dress? Or how her lips had felt on his, her body in his arms? All this time he had been pining for Elizabeth, but being near her had never given him the sense of comfort or belonging he had felt, if only fleetingly, when he pulled Demelza to him tonight. As he thought of it, he felt himself getting uncomfortably hard in his breeches, his breath hitched slightly.Her lips had been so soft, she had been so willing… He had to forget, he couldn’t…

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The door creaked as it was pushed open, hesitantly. There, in the doorway was Demelza, with just enough moonlight streaming in behind her that she appeared to be surrounded by a golden halo. When had she become so beautiful? Truthfully, he was trying to determine at what point she had moved past the gawky, tomboyish qualities she possessed when he first brought her back with him, into this stunning woman standing before him? This woman who he found himself spending so much of his time with, having her sit and eat dinner with him, discussing issues with his family and the mine and magistrates… when had he come to rely on her company and comforts so much?

“What is it?” He asked in a much rougher voice than he had meant. She paused in the door, looking hesitant, unsure. Then, she took a breath, squared her shoulders and moved towards him, crossing the threshold, into the room, towards him, and he had to admit that it was making his heartbeat pick up slightly as she moved closer. But, why was she coming in? He had apologized for yelling at her, he had simply lost his temper. What could he still do to make this any better? She paused in front of him, speaking so softly.

“The dress. It fastens down the back.”

He gulped, slowly standing, moving towards her back what was she saying? Was she asking for help to get out of the gown, or inviting him to undress her- two very different things, even if they both came to a similar end. She had seemed to enjoy kissing him, just moments before; in fact, she had been upset when he pulled away, asking why it mattered why he rescued her from her father. He didn’t know what she was looking for- what she was offering, but he moved to unlace the top few hooks of her dress, in case she did, in fact, need help to change and go to bed-- after all, he had told her to get out of that dress immediately.

But then… as he began to unlace the dress, he heard her breathe in sharply, she tilted her neck and ever so slightly leaned into him. He breathed in the scent of her soap and the meadow she had clearly spent time in today- flowers, grass, herbs… and then something else- yeast? Bread? Fire? She smelt like hearth, like home, like the soul of Nampara. He took a half step in, moving to unlace her bodice further, much further than was strictly necessary for her to simply get out of the gown, change and go to bed.

“Do you know what people say of us?” She was thankfully still turned away from him, he didn’t know how he would find the courage to speak if he had to look into her eyes.

“Yes.” She whispered back, her alabaster back showing, she moved slightly further back, curving into his solid body, crooking her neck more, as though willing him to nuzzle against it- tempting him to run his lips, his teeth, his tongue all along the porcelain skin she was taunting him with. In his breathiest voice, almost a growl, he whispered against her,

“If we behave like this, it will be true.” The feel of his breath against the hairs of her neck made them stand on end, tiny goosebumps popping up on her skin. He knew that he only had so much restraint, could only be so much of a gentleman, and her back arching towards him was not helping the matter, nor was the way her hips instinctively pushed towards his. He was experiencing a very uncomfortable hardening of his member and realizing how badly he wanted comfort right now- but not from just anyone. For some reason, this woman in front of him, seemingly submissive and willing, was what he needed, the only thing that would serve to actually slake his thirst.

“Then let it be true.” She breathed in and out, he pulled her to him, his hands pulling her in, moving to the front of her bodice, upwards in search of her small but perfectly ripe and full breasts. She sank into his embrace, reveling at his touch, the whisper of his breath and lips on her neck, silently begging him. As he reached her ear she could take it no more and turned to face him, wanting to feel his lips on hers, his mouth on hers, wanting to experience the sensation of his tongue battling hers. As he kissed her, her dress fell, pooling at her feet and she turned ever so slightly towards the bed. As she did that his desires began to completely overwhelm his chivalrous side, he bent her backwards until she sank onto the bed and he followed her down, wanting to kiss every inch of her creamy skin, so beautifully bare to him and his eyes, his mouth, his hands…

Ross Poldark certainly was no virgin- he hadn’t been one in at least a decade. But every woman he had ever become intimately acquainted with had been, well, at least somewhat experienced. Sometimes it had been an act merely of fun and lust, sometimes it had been a business transaction, as with the women at the Inn in town. But there was Demelza, there was no fear in her maidenly eyes. He paused his amorous attentions, currently focused somewhere in the vicinity of her left breast, and for a moment he was a bit nervous.Had he ever, in his life tried to make love to a woman? Trying to be tender, to be considerate, to give as well as receive pleasure. He had certainly been with women who he had pleasured (or so he believed), but that had only been a tangential concern. He had certainly never been with anyone he was concerned about hurting, and in his memory he seemed to recollect that it was supposed to hurt a woman, her first time.  

“Demelza, are you sure? Are you certain you want this?”

“I just… I want to know what it is like, Sir. Please, I need to feel this, right now, with you.” That was the only bit of gentlemanly restraint he believed he could be capable of at this point in time, his cock pulsing against his pants, his hands exploring her every bump and crevice, his need growing stronger by the second, and then she grabbed him- tentatively, but firmly, and it sent fire up his spine.

“I don’t want to hurt you, I hope you understand, but this may…” And as he was trying to explain, trying to prepare her for what was about to happen, he felt her arch her lower back and her hips began bucking towards him, begging for him to enter her- a call that he had no choice but to answer. In one quick motion he grabbed himself and guided it inside of her, pushing against her wall and breaking inside of her. She cried out, he was afraid it was from pain and considered removing himself from her, but before he could make up his mind as to what a gentleman would do, she began to push against him, begging him to start moving against her- rocking her hips and pelvis against him, trying to find ways to take him in deeper as he rode her small, delicate, but almost perfect body.

She was so tight around him, it felt as though she was gripping him, pulling him in closer to her, wanting to feel him deeper and faster and stronger. Although he was hoping to give her some pleasure, it had been quite some time since he had felt anything around his own cock but his own hand- while whoring and carousing had been perfectly fine for him in America, and maybe once or twice since returning home, he had been disappointed by most of those rendezvous, none of them had left him more than vaguely and very temporarily satisfied. There had been no cessation of the hunger or need or a slaking of his thirst for love and affection. And then Demelza was calling him, “Oh, Sir Ross… ‘ee feel right, ‘tis so right!” And before he knew was what happening, he felt himself begin to reach his climax, reach that moment of anxiety,of pain, of bliss- he shuddered, right there on top  of her, like a ruddy school boy of no more than 12. He pushed into her a final time as she sighed against him, as she wondered if that was truly the moment she had always been warned of by ministers and womenfolk alike.

He sighed and moved towards his pillow, as though he meant to go to bed after that. She was completely unsure what was appropriate for the moment after a couple joined like that. Should she get up and excuse herself? Or was she meant to lie there until he dismissed her. After a moment or two, she found herself sighing, she rose to collect her dress and leave the room. But he grabbed her, “So anxious to run away from me? Aye, I can’t blame you, I’m afraid I was none too gentle or solicitous of you just there. But pray, allow me a moment and I promise to make it right with you.”

She wasn’t sure what that could possibly entail, but the bed was so comfortable and she had to admit that after the problems of the day, she was feeling a bit tired. And possibly a wee bit sore- between her legs, she felt as though she had been riding a horse a bit longer than normal. She sat back down, tentatively, not sure what she was supposed to do now.

“Come, lie down. There is plenty of room in this bed after all.” She moved her head to the pillows next to him, trying to remember if she had ever felt a mattress or quilt so soft or inviting. She pivoted her body to fit next to his and he turned over on his side, into hers.

“I hope ye don’t hate me… Sir… but I…” She was interrupted from saying anything further by Ross’s mouth on hers, his hands running down the beautiful, soft, ivory skin of torso.

“Demelza, please understand, right now, that nothing I feel about you comes even close to hate.”

“But, Sir…”

“Demelza, I’m lying in my bed, arms about your naked flesh, in a rather compromising way I may add… I hope that you can begin to call me Ross, I believe we’ve moved past the formalities.”

“Yessir… Ross… I’ll try.” He turned towards her, kissing her, forcing her lips to open for his tongue, grazing his teeth against her lips, his arm moving to her breasts, seeking comfort in her warmth, moving his lips to her breasts and nipples, then her navel… reveling in the softness of her skin, the warmth of her body… With a groan he realized he’d never be able to resist her as long as she was lying there so beautiful and delightful and naked. She was right there next to him in his bed, with her fiery mane and enchanting smile, the one that brought sunshine to his darkest moments and reassured him in his most troubling concerns.

Ross Poldark was no beast, he would never stand to have a woman serve as nothing more than a horse’s mare, forced to do the bidding of a breeding stallion. He felt his hands begin to travel much further south of her navel, into the warm and soft folds of this goddess next to him, hearing her heart pick up a beat or two, her breath catch and a slight moan escaped her lips.

Demelza did not know that it would feel like this. She had been told that it would be a small prick, an annoyance, really- no one had told her that there was any chance of her enjoying what it felt like to have his rough hands against her womanhood.

Ross, on the other hand, was almost beside himself. She was so incredibly slick and warm, he didn’t completely understand how she could feel so lovely, so warm and inviting- and enthusiastic, if he wasn’t very much mistaken, from past experience. She leaned into his hand, his fingers- she had never felt anything quite like it- something seemed to be building inside of her and she didn’t understand what it was, but she was eager to feel it. She bucked her hips towards him, she called out his name and she sought and found a pleasure that she had never known was possible.

Afterwards, she rolled onto her side, realizing that he may never touch her like that again- likely wouldn’t touch her like that again. He pulled her to him, cradling her body with his, he kissed the back of her shoulder as he grazed the smoothness of her skin, all along her face and torso. Christ was she incredible to see and to feel! The feel of her delicate and innocent body was making him want more- to possess her entirely and immediately, he began to kiss the back of her neck as he felt his desire rising again. He cupped her breast and bit her shoulder so that she cried out his name, “Ross!” Rather than having her turn towards him, he pushed her so that her stomach lay flat on the bed and he massaged her weary shoulders and back, thoroughly, until he was trailing along her particularly well-formed ass. He continued his ministrations not with his hands, but his tongue and his lips and his teeth working their way up and down her body.

She moved to turn, and invite him into her, but he held her down, as she was. “Please, no.” He uttered, and then pulled her towards him, so that she was prostrate, but pushing back, towards him. She raised herself on all fours (balancing on her elbows rather than her hands) and gasped as he entered her that way, from behind. As he thrust in and out of her, she found herself quickly beginning to feel the sensation she had experienced just moments before, at the touch of his fingers. But this time, he was so deep inside of her, and she was moaning at his touch- pushing back against him, begging for more. As he began to feel his climax build, he was gripped with a need to make her feel something of what he was feeling. Her reached around her waist and began using his fingers on her again, as he continued to ride her.

“Oooh, Ross. Sir… Oh…” He wanted to cup her breasts, to kiss her, to smack her ass- he wanted to do everything it was possible for a man to do to a woman, and then she shuddered against him, barely able to breathe or move and that sent him over the edge so that he only saw white and and feared his heart was about to leap from his chest. He rolled away from her, hearing her try to catch her own breath, trying desperately to do the same- not wanting to be touched (believing he would die from anymore pleasure), but also not being quite able to resist from touching her.

Tenderly he kissed her cheek and shoulder and turned to sleep, his arm draped over her, hoping she would stay the night. He had never before shared his bed with a woman, not for anything beyond that act of pleasure- he had never truly slept with anyone. He had always assumed that sharing a bed would be cramped and crowded and uncomfortable, but he found himself enjoying the warmth and softness of her being there, took comfort in her steady, even breaths and even the very faint, occasional snore once she had dropped into a deep sleep under the covers.

He looked at her as she slept. How had he never noticed precisely how long and beautiful her neck was? Or the way that she had that unruly curl that drooped over her forehead, whether she tied her hair back or no or that one small freckle on her bottom lip, a spot that he was fairly desperate to taste and suck on and tease.

He sighed, unsure how to handle things. Tomorrow they would have to speak, he had no idea what he would say- would she hate him? He didn’t think so, she had come to him willingly enough, and he thought he had given her pleasure in return. No, he did not know what he was going to do, what they would do, but he knew that this was the first time since he had returned to Nympara that he did not feel alone, as though his soul was tired of the world and he was a miserable wretch, completely alone and incapable of love or happiness, or even of contentment.

He looked at her sleeping one last time and then closed his eyes. Demelza may not have been particularly skilled or knowledgeable, but she had been enthusiastic and pliant and beautiful- if he had to admit it to anyone, he was quite sated and exhausted beyond belief. As he drifted off to sleep he thought that while tomorrow he and Demelza had much to talk about, he did not regret knowing the contours of her body and softness of her breasts… no, he did not regret a moment of tonight, other than wishing perhaps it had happened sooner.

Chapter Text

Demelza awoke to the smell of the meadow- her meadow. She smelled the grass and flowers, Garrick by her side, the salt of the sea crashing near her… and a new smell, it was musky and reminded her of tobacco, leather and… something she didn’t recognize actually- it was vaguely salty… it was the smell of Ross, on her skin, in her hair. She laid there in the field, remembering the events of the evening before, remembering the searing sensation of Ross against her skin… It had been the perfect night.

Unfortunately, as with all perfect nights, it had to end. Wanting to avoid any awkward scenes or recriminations in the harsh light of day, as soon as the sun broke over the cliffs of Cornwall she had risen from his bed and gone to change out of the taffeta gown of the night before back into her favorite yellow striped dress before going out for a walk on the cliffs, and had quickly felt very drowsy- she hadn’t gotten enough sleep the night before, and was a bit sore, so ½ way through their normal walk, she decided to kip up for a short nap.

But somehow she had overslept, she felt as though she had not slept in the least the previous night. The sun was directly overhead by the time she woke- she knew she had best return to the house, she and Mister Poldark… Ross… clearly had quite a bit to speak about- she didn’t know how she could return to being his maid, but she also didn’t see how she could possibly return to her father. What was there to do? Most likely she would have to request a good reference and move on- she knew he was satisfied with her hard work, he liked her cooking just fine, it seemed reasonable to expect that he would be willing to give her a nice letter of reference for her to find employment with a respectable family.

Or… could she possibly…? No, definitely not. She could never come to be his kitchen maid in the daytime and mistress in the evening. It wasn’t that she didn’t see the practicality of it, or that she even was particularly opposed on moral grounds- her father, until recently, had never been overly devout. But she knew well that she loved Ross Poldark, she loved him very much, and the idea of watching and waiting to be thrown over for the likes of Ruth Teague or another suitable woman of genteel breeding and income… well, that was impossible to her. She had known last night that it was most likely her last evening at Nampara, and so she had become bold, wishing for at least the memory of him, as though he did love her and belong to her… Aye, it would be enough to see her through some terrible days with her father back in his home.

But what if he did care for? What if Sir Ross did have some kind of feeling of affection or tenderness for her? Was it possible they could forge forward and create some kind of understanding? Could she be strong enough to try and gather as many memories of being with him as possible, before she had to return to her father? Perhaps she could. She was not ill treated at Nampara, for all that she did around the house, around the yard and the fields, she knew she lived well enough here, and a damn site better than she would if she returned to her father’s house. Yes, maybe she could bring herself to try it for a few days- a week or two, see if she could bear it all.

Her thoughts had so consumed her as she walked up to the house, she didn’t notice that there was an extra horse in the yard, she was busy humming the tune, Black is the Color of My True Love’s Hair”:

His face is like some rosy fair,

The prettiest face and the neatest hands,

I love the ground whereon he stands.

I love my love and well he knows,

I love the ground whereon he goes,

If you no more on earth I see,

I can't serve you as you have me.

So fare you well, my own true love

The time has passed, but I wish you well.

But still I hope the time will come

When you and I will be as one.

I love my love and well he knows,

I love the ground whereon he goes.

The prettiest face, the neatest hands,

I love the ground whereon he stands.

She entered the room loudly enough, trying to determine which pot would best display the particularly vibrant and lively flowers in her hands when she stopped short, the color draining from her face as she came upon the scene- Master Poldark and his beloved Mrs. Poldark- not his Missus, certainly, but his true love. As little as Demelza knew of love and romance, she knew how this man had loved the woman in front of him- Elizabeth, for quite some time, and most likely always would. She knew that if not for that blasted injury in America, they would most likely be married, settled and with one or two children by now.

And then, Elizabeth felt the need to comment on her flowers. No, not on her flowers, on Demelza. When she spoke of them fading so quickly, Demelza was taken aback by the comparison- but it wasn’t a comparison, nor an idle comment, it was an observation, a very real observation. It was as though Elizabeth knew everything that had happened last night, as though the walls had eyes, ears and lips to tell the stories, and she had come to reclaim what was rightfully hers, and shame Demelza, the poor and friendless kitchen maid for aspiring so high above her own station.

As soon as Demelza left the room, she knew she had no other option. As horrible as it would be, returning to her father after all this time. removing herself from the sunshine and warmth in her life that was Ross Poldark, she knew she could never live here so long as Ross Poldark continued to hold out hope for his cousin’s wife and the life he may have had. She had always known that she could never have him entirely, but perhaps a small part of her had always believed that maybe she could have SOMETHING with him- even if just a few days. But hearing her words, and the look on his face… no, she knew where she stood, and she didn’t believe she was capable of sitting by and watching.

She went into her room and looked about her for the last time. She gathered up the few things that she had come to think of as her own- she had no desire to be accused of stealing anything from this house. She found her one other dress, the cheap brush he had purchased for her a year or two ago, a few shells she had collected on the beach… and that was it. Was that all? She had made this place her home, and that was all she had to her name. Aye, that was what came of being the Kitchen Maid who thought herself different, who thought this was her home and her family. She would have written him a note, but she had no ability to write, not truly- she could make her letters, but she could never possibly explain what she was thinking or feeling, nor did she think it mattered if she did. She found some bread and cheese in the pantry, wrapping a portion of it for her evening meal- it was a long walk home, and she left, with the faithful Garrick beside her- knowing she could not look back, or she would forget everything and be incapable of leaving, and she knew leave she must.

Chapter Text

“Demelza? Demelza? Are you here?” Where the devil was she? He had walked to the stable and to the lower fields even, trying to find her. He knew that they must speak, he had hoped to speak at lunch, but then Elizabeth had arrived so unexpectedly, her first time since he had made Nampara his home, actually.

Elizabeth.That had not been the easiest moment of his life, when she arrived, unexpectedly and he had found himself unable to speak, not quite sure what to say to her. It wasn’t jealousy, for the first time since he had learned she was going to marry Francis, he actually felt quite comfortable around her. He wasn’t mad, he knew he would always love that woman, she was his first love and an ideal for his life- she had saved him in the War, given him something to live for, to come home to. And it was true, that with her interference, he may have taken his Uncle’s suggestion and left Nampara, left Cornwall.  But despite the fact that he would always love her, he would not necessarily covet the woman for the rest of his life.

In fact, the entire time she had been there, he had only been able to think of Demelza- where was she? What was she doing leaving his bed so early, was she alright with everything? And then she had coming stomping in, her hair all wild and akilter, her dress crumpled from chores and her customary long rambles about. She came in, a dreamy expression on her face, he would give anything to ask her what she had been thinking of… but as soon as she saw Elizabeth, she had frozen, all color drained from her face and her smile gone. She offered them refreshment, but Ross couldn’t let her serve him, not right now, not until he figured out what had happened the previous night, that seemed so wrong to him- she couldn’t simply go on waiting on him as before, could she?

And then there had been a conversation about flowers, one which Ross did not truly understand- it seemed as though Demelza had offered the posey to Elizabeth, and Elizabeth’s refusal had created a very tense and awkward environment. Women, he swore that he would never understand them- not only was Demelza now deflated and tense, but Elizabeth suddenly became anxious- almost desperate to leave the room, to leave Nampara in fact.

Ross was checking every room, he wanted to speak with her, but she clearly didn’t mean to be found. What could she mean by that? Why wasn’t she in the kitchen, starting on dinner? The sun would be down in the next two hours, she would normally have a stew started or something roasted by now so that he was able to sit and eat as soon as he came in from the mine or the fields. He saw Jud outside, trying to avoid the work he was meant to be doing.

“Have you seen Demelza?”

“Ach, no. P’raps her father has already returned.”

“He father? Mr. Carne? What the devil could he possibly want?”

“Her. Did you not hear of his visit yesterday?”

“He was here yesterday? Why wasn’t I told about this?” He strode up to Jud, sitting on the bench outside the barn, a new fear entering his mind. He pulled him up to his feet by the shoulder, pulling him close in, his eyes wild and dark with worry and anger. “He did not lay a hand on her did he? Or threaten her with any violence?”

“Nothing of the sort, he simply wanted to share the news of his recent marriage and give her notice he was to collect her today, take her home.”

“How am I only hearing of this now?”

“Tweren’t my place to say none, sir, Prudie and myself ain’t gossips.”

“You mean you were passed out from the drink by the time I returned home and had no memory until now.”

“Sir, you cut me as with a knife, ‘deed you do.” Ross had no patience to listen to anymore of that man’s yipping and protestations. He ran towards Demelza’s room, throwing the door open and seeing it bare- her palette was there, the washbasin and some candles, a vase of flowers on the window, but nothing else. She had few possessions, that was certain, but they were all gone- shells from the beach, her hair ribbons and brush gone from the stand, both of her dresses gone. Why? Surely she had not wanted to return to her father, she had only recently told him her place was here, with him, at Nampara.

He stepped out of the room, not sure what to do. DAMN! He never should have taken advantage of her last night, at the time it had not felt like he was, she seemed as anxious to be with him as he had found himself wanting to be with her. Whether it was simply a need to give and receive comfort, or it was something else altogether, he wasn’t sure, but it had been pretty bloody wonderful.

Everyone had been talking, assuming they had been doing that ever since she had come home with him, no one would ever know for sure that they had been intimate, why had she chosen to leave today?

“Ross Vennor Poldark, you certainly are a jackass and a cad.” He began cursing himself under his breath. Had last night been… had it been meant as a goodbye on her part? Had she for some reason decided she would leave and return to her father, his new wife? Was she concerned about her reputation and felt as though she could no longer risk the talk anymore, now that she was of a marriageable age herself? Was there perhaps someone, maybe from Illugan, that she was planning to…?

Growling he shook his head and began towards his horse, how did Demelza expect he would simply let her out of her commitment for some scrawny, spindly-legged miner from Illugan- her would be damned if she would lower herself to the life of a poor miner’s wife in some pitiful shack. As he mounted Darkie he thought of the way she had managed to bring some light and happiness to Nampara- crocks of flowers throughout, it was a tidy house, it always had a hearty fire with delicious food, she knew his moods and his thoughts and always provided the smallest of comforts of him, making it a home, a true home.

He started on the road to Illugan, Damn her! How could she do this to him? He needed her! Jud and Prudy were more effort than they were worth, she was far more than a maid- she helped with the fields, she made his meals, kept his home spotlessly clean and then in the evenings she would provide companionship while they sat in front of the fire- he had enjoyed helping her learn her letters and numbers, and he loved her quiet songs as she went about baking and kneading the bread…

He had no illusions, he was not in love with her, not at all. But she was a very bright spot in his fairly dark and lonely existence. He did not want to lose that, and certainly not so that she could be crushed and broken by whatever sniveling little toad her father may see it fit to “marry” her off to- Mr. Carne would have no issue with selling her off to the highest bidder or most beloved drinking buddy, with no regard to her feelings or desires.

He had been lost in his thoughts and had almost missed the outline of her up ahead, right where the cliffs plateaued. He picked up his pace, surprised that stupid dog didn’t bark at his approach.

“I engaged you for two years.” He was angry, but trying not to show it, trying to keep much of the accusation out of his voice. She stopped and turned towards him, but he couldn’t quite read her face. “Now what do you mean by running away?”

“Sir, I-”

“Haven’t you been well-treated? Aren’t you grown used to the house, to your tasks?” And more quietly, “And my moods?”

“Yes, sir, but I-”

“Do you not give me what I want even before I ask?”

“Yes, sir, but I thought that… after what happened…”

“You thought you would no longer be my servant?” She looked almost as though he struck her, she found her bearings on that one.

“Not from choice, sir.” Her eyes were red, she had been crying much of the walk so far, trying to search for another option in her mind, but she saw none. He shook his head, wishing on one hand he could throttle her, beat her, and on the other wishing he could kiss away her tears and take her right there in this field. She was right, wasn’t she? Things could not be the way they were before, not after last night. Not since he had discovered how he relied on her as a housekeeper, as a companion, even as a lover.

“You are right. You can no longer be my servant.” She turned away from him. She knew she was going to cry over him, for many days to come, but she did not want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he was hurting her. Why had he followed her? Did he really mean to upset her so much, to watch her cry? Did he want to see her beg for something? She heard him get off Darkie and fumed, ready to let him have what for-- how DARE he? She whirled about to yell.

“What the bloody hell are you about?” She was so confused, he was on one knee in front of her. “You shouldn’t be on the ground about like that, you’ll ruin your trousers, Sir.”

“Demelza, I’m-”

“Sir, you really shouldn’t be down there, t’ain’t proper, suppose people come along and see you there, like that? How will it look to them? It looks as you’re down and about to propose to a girl or summit.” She was looking about frantically, hoping that no one would come on this scene and see him mocking her so mercilessly, she knew how gossip was likely to happen.

“Demelza, please, if you would just stand still and be quiet for one minute you would let me do it properly.”

“Sir?”

“Demelza Carne, will you marry me?” She had opened her mouth, about to say something, but as she heard the end of his question, she found that no words were forthcoming. She just stared down at him, this wasn’t particularly funny, if he were mocking her… but he didn’t seem to be. He was there, kneeling in front of her, holding her hands and looking up at her somewhat expectantly. “Demelza?” He was searching her eyes, he didn’t think he’d ever live to see the day she was actually rendered speechless.

“Sir, I…”

“Demelza, really, don’t you think that given the last 24 hours, we can dispense with you calling me Sir?”

“Of course, Sir. I’m sorry Sir… Ross. I just- well, I don’t- I’m sorry, I’m a bit fashed. What do you mean marry you?”

Again, Ross was experiencing that desperate dichotomy of wanting to beat her with a strap and wanting to silence all of her words, questions and fears with his mouth and his tongue- although, from his vantage point on his knees, he could think of many places to put his mouth and his tongue, and he wasn’t sure how well they would silence her. He shook his head, trying not to get distracted from the subject at hand.

“Demelza, you have been with me since that day in the market, I have come to rely on you to tend my home, to tend to me and I find myself to be exceedingly fond of you. I’m not blind or deaf, I don’t believe- I know what people say about us, I know that my eccentricities may have put your reputation in jeopardy. And only a true cad and an unfeeling monster with no honor would ever… take advantage of you and not marry you.”

“Sir, I did not come to you last night expecting… expecting anything! I swear I did not.” Her eyes were wild, he didn’t think she had been trying to trap him, did he?

“Demelza, I wasn’t saying you did! I’m just saying that… well, Demelza, I think we can get along well enough, together. I understand if you need to return to your father, or… if you have other plans.”

“Plans, sir? Do you mean… marriage, Sir? I have no sweetheart, no man.”

“But your father? Does he not mean to see you married?” She stopped. Was that what the old man was about? Is that why he was so insistent in having her return home and so afeared for her honor and her reputation and her virtue? She let out a low, long curse and fell to the ground, sitting roughly, next to Ross. He saw her trying to work it all through in her head, she seemed so surprised and concerned, had she truly not thought about her father’s motives before packing up to return to him?

“Demelza, I am not rich, nor are we sweethearts. But I do care for you, quite a lot actually. And we do get on well, in our fashion. I cannot promise you jewels and silks and servants upon servants, but I can promise to be kind to you, to keep you fed and protected and that I will never lay a finger on you in anger. I can promise to be faithful and dutiful and to care for our children well. Is that not more than most get in life?”

She looked up at him, into his eyes, trying to figure this man out. Just 24 hours ago she had been certain she would never see him again after this morning, and now he was proposing marriage- seeing her every day for the rest of their lives… living together as man and wife, raising children together. Children. That made her think. She did not want him to marry her from obligation, just from what happened last night, but was it possible that she could be…? She shook her head, almost certain it couldn’t happen quite so easy or quick. But he was willing to take that risk on, to take her on. And he had a fair point- what was waiting for her at her father’s, or in Illugan? She loved him, madly- would it not be worth his affection and tenderness, even if he never did come to love her as she did him? Or she could chance going home and being bartered off by her father, or worse, find that her reputation was indeed so tarnished she never married at all.

She could be a good wife, a good mother. She had never dreamed she’d have a home of her own, much less a place like Nampara. Slowly she made up her mind, she gathered her courage and took in a deep breath, looking him squarely in the eye, sitting there on ground, with the sun setting behind him, its last days bouncing off the waves- it really was a beautiful and rather romantic setting, almost as though it had been planned. “Yes. Yes, I will marry you.” He let go of his breath, he hadn’t actually realized he had been holding it, took her hands again and kissed her soundly on the lips. “I will go see about a license then. Would two days from now be convenient for you? I believe I can procure a special license, we can avoid the three week waiting period.” He did not want to give her family or his enough time to try and cause a problem here, they would be married quietly but immediately.

“Two days? On Saturday? Is that… is that necessary, Sir?” He stood and moved to mount his horse, but leaned over to kiss her once more, this time a bit more thoroughly than a moment ago. He felt her melt into his arms, he couldn’t help but notice how snugly she seemed to fit, as though she was made to cuddle with him on cold nights. She felt a tingle begin to spread across her skin and up her spine, her lips moving into a wide smile- perhaps the faster to the wedding, the better.

“Will you be wanting supper when you return?”

“I’ll just have some of the veal pie in the larder, thank you. Why don’t you take Garrick inside, I may be home late and would prefer you are inside once the sun is set. If you would like…” His voice trailed off, he wasn’t quite sure how to address this topic, one of the reasons he thought a short engagement may be simpler… “If you would like, Demelza, you may begin to move your things into my room.” He looked at her face, she was turning a very rosy color as she tried hard not to blush. “If you would like, that is. I just thought, if you’re unpacking,” he motioned to her bag of items she had been carrying, “you may find it simpler to just unpack in my room. But I leave the decision up to you, of course.” With one more kiss, he pulled himself up onto Darkie and urged him forward, leaving her with her thoughts as she dazedly began making her way back home.